AT MARLBOROUGH
SOME time a little after noon the sloop sailed into the wide mouth of a
lesser stream that opened into the broader waters of the James.
The pirate captain lounged upon the rail not far from Dred, who held
the wheel, stooping as he looked out ahead under the boom of the
mainsail. The gunner, a man named Morton, joined the pirate captain,
with whom he stood talking for a while in low tones, Dred every now and
then turning to speak to them. The sloop, close hauled to the wind,
drifted slowly into the tributary river. “I reckon they’re going to
bring her up back o’ the p’int yonder,” said one of the pirates to
Jack, where nobody’ll be like to see us till we gets our young lady
aboard.
“Isn’t that a house over on the other side of the river?” asked Jack.
“Those look like chimneys over the top of the trees.”
“Why, yes,” said the other, “that’s a place they call Marlborough. They
say ’tis a grand, big, fine house.”
“Marlborough!” said Jack, “and so ’tis a big, fine house, for I’ve been
there myself and have seen it; ’tis as grand a house as ever you would
wish to see.”
“Do you, then, know it?” said the other. “Well, ’tis there the
captain’s going to-night to bring off a young lady he’s going to fetch
down to North Caroliny.”
Jack listened to the man, not for a moment supposing anything else
than that the young lady of whom the pirate spoke was to be a willing
passenger. He only wondered vaguely why she should choose to go with
Blackbeard.
The sloop lay in the creek all that afternoon. Dred was in the cabin
nearly all the time, and Jack saw almost nothing of him. Meantime the
crew occupied themselves variously. Six of them near Jack were playing
cards intently; sometimes in silence, sometimes breaking out into loud
bursts of talking and swearing. Jack lay upon the forecastle hatch
watching them. Every now and then the trum-trumming of Blackbeard’s
guitar sounded from the cabin. As the dealer dealt the cards around,
one of the pirates snapped his fingers in time to the strumming of the
music. “I tell you what ’tis, messmates,” he said, “the captain be the
masterest hand at the guitar that ever I heard in all my life.”
“To be sure,” said another, “he plays well enough, but Jem Willoughby
down at Ocracock can give him points how to play.”
“Did ye ever hear Jem Willoughby play the fandango?” said one of a
half-dozen men who lay at a little distance under the shade of the rail.
“Never mind Jem Willoughby and the fandango now,” said the dealer, as
he took up his hand of cards and, wetting his thumb, ran them over;
“you play your game, messmates, and never mind Jem Willoughby.”
Again they played with silent intentness. Meantime a negro was dancing
in the forecastle below. From above, Jack could see his dim form
obscurely in the darker depths, and, as he watched the hands of cards
that the others played, he could not but hearken to the shuffling and
pat of the dancing feet sounding in rhythmical time to the clapping of
hands. Then, after awhile, there was a sudden burst of talking from
the card-players, and the dealer reached out and raked in the half
score of silver pieces that lay upon the deck-house.
The afternoon slowly waned; the sun set, and a dim gray of twilight
seemed to rise from the swampy lagoon. Then the dusk shaded darker
and darker to the dimness of early nightfall. Suddenly the pirate
captain came up on deck, followed by Hands and Dred. Dred spoke to the
boatswain, who came forward directly and ordered the crews of the three
boats to lower them and to bring them alongside. Then there followed
a bustle of preparation. Presently, through the confusion, Jack saw
that the men were arming themselves. They were going down below into
the cabin and were coming up again, each with a pistol or a brace of
pistols and a cutlass. Finally Morton, the gunner, came up on deck, and
soon after the crews began scrambling over the rail and into the three
boats with a good deal of noise and disorder. It was after dark when
they finally pushed off from the sloop. The pirate captain sat in the
stern of the yawl-boat, Hands took command of one of the others, and
Dred and Morton went off in the third. Jack stood watching them pull
away into the darkness, the regular chug-chug-chug of the oars in the
rowlocks sounding fainter and fainter as the dim forms of the boats
were lost in the obscurity of the distance.
Everything seemed strangely silent after the boats were gone. Only
five men besides Jack remained aboard the sloop, and the solitude of
the darkness that seemed to envelop them all around about was only
emphasized by the tide that gurgled and lapped alongside. “Who is it
they’re going to fetch from Marlborough?” Jack asked of one of the
men who stood beside him leaning over the rail, smoking his pipe and
looking after his companions.
“Who?” said he, without looking around. “Why, they’re going to fetch a
young lady”; and that was all Jack knew until she was actually aboard
the pirate sloop.
* * * * *
Colonel Parker was away from home. He had gone to Williamsburgh, but
there was some company at Marlborough—Mr. Cartwright (a cousin of
Madam Parker’s), his wife, and the Reverend Jonathan Jones, minister
of Marlborough parish church—a rather sleek, round-faced man, dressed
in sober clerical black, with a very white wig and a smooth, clean,
starched band of fine, semi-transparent linen. Madam Parker and her
guests sat at a game of ruff. Miss Eleanor Parker was trying a piece
of music at the spinet, playing smoothly but with an effort at certain
points, and then stumbling at the more difficult passages, to which
she sometimes returned, repeating them. The four played their game out
without speaking, and then, as the last trick was taken, released the
restraint of attentive silence to a sudden return of ease. “‘Twas two
by honors this time, I think,” said Mr. Cartwright to Madam Parker, who
was his partner.
“Yes,” she said, “I held the queen and ace myself, and you the knave.”
“Then that makes four points for us,” said Mr. Cartwright, as he marked
them.
“’Tis strange how ill the hands run with me to-night,” said the
reverend gentleman; “that makes the third hand running without a single
court card.” He opened his snuff-box and offered it to Madam Parker,
and then to the others, taking finally a profound and vigorous pinch
himself, and then shutting the lid of the box with a snap. Madam Parker
and her partner smiled with the amused good-nature of winners at the
game.
“Upon my word, Eleanor,” said Madam Parker, “I wish you would not play
so loud; my nerves are all of a jingle to-day; as ’tis, I can’t fix my
mind on the game.” The young lady made no answer; she did not even turn
round, but she continued her playing in a more subdued key.
“Was not that Lady Betty Arkwright in your pew last Sunday, Madam?”
asked the rector of Madam Parker, as he shuffled the cards.
“Yes, ’twas,” said the lady. “She came up from Williamsburgh last week,
and Colonel Parker went back with her yesterday.”
“I thought I could not be mistook,” said the Reverend Jonathan, “and
that ’twas indeed her. She hath a fine air of good breeding, hath she
not, Madam?”
“Why, yes, she is good enough,” said Madam Parker, “but has nothing
like the fine breeding of her sister, Lady Mayhurst.”
The reverend gentleman did not reply except by a deferential smile
and half bow. He had picked up his hand and had begun to run it over
swiftly, and then another round of the game began in silence.
Presently the young lady ceased playing and began turning over the
leaves of her music-book.
It was in this pause of silence that there came suddenly a loud and
violent knock upon the outside hall door. Madam Parker started. “Why,
who can that be?” she said, folding her hand of cards nervously and
holding it face downward, and looking around the table at the others.
The players all sat listening, and Miss Eleanor partly turned around
upon her music-stool. It was very late for visitors, and the negroes
had closed the house some time since. “It sounded like some one who may
have come in a haste,” said Mr. Cartwright. “Maybe Colonel Parker has
sent a message.”
“I don’t know why he should send a message,” said Madam Parker. “I hope
he has not been ailing again. But that may hardly be, for he has not
had a single touch of the gout for over three months, and no sign of
its coming back again.”
They listened as the negro crossed the hall to answer the knock. Then
came the sound of the rattling of the chain and the turning of the key.
Then the door was opened. As the card-players listened they heard the
sound of a man’s voice and then the reply of the negro. Then once more
the man’s voice and then the negro’s again—this time speaking, as it
seemed, rather eagerly. Then there came a sharp exclamation and then a
sound as of some one pushed violently against the door—then silence.
There was something unusual, something very alarming in the noise.
“What was that?” said Madam Parker, sharply, and there was a tone of
keen anxiety in her voice.
As in answer, there was the shuffling sound of many feet crossing the
hall. Mr. Cartwright rose from his seat, and the Reverend Jonathan
Jones turned half-way round upon his chair. The next instant three
or four men with blackened faces were in the room. The foremost man
wore the loose petticoat trousers of a sailor, a satin waistcoat,
and a coat and hat trimmed with gold braid. His face was tied up in
a handkerchief, but they could see that he had gold ear-rings in his
ears. “Don’t you be frightened,” said he in a hoarse, husky voice,
“there’ll no harm happen to you if you only be quiet and make no noise.
But I won’t have any noise, d’ye hear?”
The three ladies sat staring with wide-eyed, breathless terror at the
speaker. His companions stood silently at the doorway, each armed with
a brace of pistols. There was something singularly dreadful in their
silence, their black faces, their lips red by contrast with their
sooty countenances, the whites of their eyes, which every now and then
blinked into darkness and then were white again.
“What d’ye want?” said Mr. Cartwright. “Who are you? What do you want?”
He had grown very pale, but his voice was strong and full, without a
tremor in it.
The stranger, though he was armed, did not carry any weapon in his
hand. He came out a little further into the room. “Ye see I have
nothing to make you afraid of me!” he said, opening the palms of his
hands. “So you may see I mean you no harm. But harkee! there’s to be no
noise—no screaming, d’ye understand—no calling for help. So long as
you keep still no harm shall be done to any of ye—man or woman.”
“You villain!” cried out Mr. Cartwright, with rising choler. “What do
you mean by coming here this way, breaking into Coloner Parker’s house
and blustering and threatening? Do you know where you are?” He pushed
back the chair from which he had risen and looked around the room as
though seeking for some weapon.
“Come, come, sir,” said the other sharply, and he clapped his hand
to the butt of one of his pistols, “don’t you make any trouble for
yourself, sir. I say there’ll be nobody harmed if you don’t make any
trouble for yourself. But if you do, I tell you plain it’ll be the
worse for you. I’ve got a score of men outside, and you can’t do
anything at all, and if you make any trouble you’ll be shot, with no
good to come of it. I’ll tell you what we came for—but first of all I
want you to understand plainly that no harm is intended to the young
lady and that no harm shall happen to her. And now I’ll tell you what
we have come for. Young Mistress Parker yonder must go along with us.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when Madam Parker started up out
of her chair with a loud and violent scream. Then she fell back again,
catching at the table, overturning one of the candles, and scattering
the cards on the floor in a litter. The other ladies screamed as in
instant echo, and shriek upon shriek rang violently through the house.
Miss Eleanor Parker had run to her mother, burying her face in Madam
Parker’s lap. “You villain!” roared Mr. Cartwright, and as he spoke he
snatched up the heavy candlestick that had been overturned, and threw
it with all his might at the head of the pirate. Blackbeard ducked, and
the candlestick whirled past his head, striking with a crash against
the wall beyond. “What d’ye mean?” roared he, as Mr. Cartwright grasped
at the other candlestick; “don’t you touch that candlestick! Ha!
would you?” The next instant he had flung himself upon the gentleman,
clutching him around the body. Mr. Cartwright struck at his assailant
again and again, trying to free himself. For one moment he had almost
wrenched himself loose. The men at the door ran around to their
leader’s aid. A chair was overturned with a crash, and the next moment
the two had stumbled over it and fallen, and had rolled under the table.
Mr. Jones, with a face ghastly white and eyes straining with terror,
thrust away his chair and rose, drawing back from the two as they
struggled and kicked upon the floor beneath the table; and still the
ladies screamed piercingly, shriek upon shriek. “Would you?” snarled
the pirate captain, almost breathlessly, under the table—“Would you!
Here—Morton—Dred—the devil’s choking me! Ach! let go there!” The
men who had run to his aid strove to drag the two apart, and a dozen
or more, all with faces blackened, came running into the room just
as they were separated. The pirate captain scrambled to his feet
disheveled and furious. Before he raised himself he tied up his face
in the handkerchief again. Then he stood up, feeling at his throat
and glaring around him. Mr. Cartwright lay upon the ground, held down
by two or three men. His lip had been cut in the struggle, and was
bleeding. His breath came thick and hoarse, and his face was strained
and knotted with fury. Every now and then he made a futile effort to
wrench his arm loose.
“I don’t know what you all mean, anyhow,” said the pirate captain,
“squalling and fighting like that. By Zounds!”—to Mr. Cartwright, as
he lay upon the floor—“I believe you’ve broke my Adam’s apple—I do. I
tell you”—said he to Madam Parker, who, white and haggard, and shrunk
together with terror, sat looking up at him—“I tell you, and I tell
you again, that I don’t mean any harm to you or to the young lady.
She’s got to go along with me, and that’s all. I tell you I’ll take
good care of her, and she’ll be in the care of a woman who knows how to
look after her; and just as soon as his honor the colonel chooses to
pay for her coming back, then she’ll come. I’ve got a good safe boat
down here at the shore, and no harm’ll come to her. She’ll only be gone
for a month or so, and then she’ll be fetched back safe and sound. Now,
if she wants to carry any change of her clothes along with her to wear,
she’d better get ‘em together. D’ye understand me, Madam?”
Madam Parker, with her daughter’s face buried in her lap, still sat
looking up at the pirate captain. Her lips moved once or twice, and
then she whispered breathlessly, “Yes—I understand.”
“What d’ ye say, Madam? I don’t hear ye.”
“I understand,” she repeated a little louder, as he leaned forward
across the table to hear her.
“Why, then, Madam,” said he, “I’m glad you do; for I want the young
mistress to be as comfortable as she can, and if you don’t get
something for her to wear and make her comfortable, I’ve got to take
her off without. Now, Madam, will you get some clothes together? Maybe
you’ll send one of your black women to get them.”
Madam Parker sat gazing at him without moving; the pirate captain stood
looking at her. “What’s the matter with her, anyhow?” said he. One of
the men stooped forward and looked into her face. “Why, captain,” said
he, “the lady’s dazed like; she don’t know what you’re saying. Don’t
you see she don’t understand a word you say?”
The captain looked round and his eyes fell upon Mrs. Cartwright. “D’
ye think ye could get some change of clothes for the young lady, some
clothes to take away with her, mistress?” said he. “She can’t go away
from home for a month or so without a change of clothes to wear. You
can see that for yourself.”
“Shall I go, Edward?” said Mrs. Cartwright.
Mr. Cartwright groaned. “You’ll have to go, Polly,” he said; “there ‘s
nothing else to do. But, oh, you villains, mark my words! You’ll hang
for this, every mother’s son of you!”
“Why, I like your spirit, Mr. Tobacco-Planter,” said the pirate
captain; “and maybe you’ll hang us, and maybe you wouldn’t, but we’ll
take our chances on that.” Then with a sudden truculence, “I’ve put up
with all the talk from you I’m going to bear, and if you know what’s
good for you you’ll stop your ‘villains’ and your ‘hangings’ and all
that. We’ve got the upper hand here, and you’re the cock that’s down,
so you won’t crow any more, if you please.”
Mr. Cartwright groaned again. “You’re breaking my arm,” he said to the
men who were holding him down.
When Mrs. Cartwright came back into the room, carrying a large silk
traveling-bag packed with clothes, she was crying, making no attempt
to wipe away the tears that ran down her cheeks. The pirate captain
came and stooped over Miss Eleanor as she knelt with her face in her
mother’s lap. “Come, mistress,” he said, “you must go along with us
now.” He waited for a moment, but she made no reply. “You must go along
with us,” he repeated in a louder tone; and he took her by the arm as
he spoke. Still she made no sound of having heard him. Then he stooped
over and lifted her head. Mr. Cartwright caught sight of the face, and
felt a keen thrill pierce through him. “She is dead,” he thought. “Come
here, Morton,” called out the pirate captain, “and lend a hand; the
young lady’s swooned clean away.”
Madam Parker made some faint movement as her daughter was taken from
her, but she could not have been conscious of what was passing. Mrs.
Cartwright wept hysterically in her husband’s arms as they carried
the young lady away, leaving behind them the room littered with the
cards, the chair overturned, and the one candle burning dimly on the
card-table. Outside of the house the negroes and the white servants
stood looking on in helpless, interested terror from a distance, hidden
by the darkness. Mr. Simms was sitting in his office, gagged and bound
in his chair.