Next morning I came out of the hut in time to see Mr. Shaw and his
companion in duress led forth from the sleeping quarters which they
had shared with their captors. They were moored as before to a
palm tree, by a rope having a play of two or three feet, and their
hands unbound while they made a hasty breakfast under the eye of a
watchful sentinel. Then their wrists were tied again, not
painfully, but with a firmness which made any slipping of their
bonds impossible.
While the pirates were breakfasting a spirited dispute took place
among them as to who should go to the treasure cave and who stay in
camp to guard the prisoners. Slinker and Horny urged with justice
that as they had missed all the excitement of the preceding day it
was their turn to visit the cave. There not only the probable
rapture of exhuming the chest awaited them, but the certain
privilege of inspecting "the Bones." This ghastly relic seemed to
exercise an immense fascination upon their imaginations, a
fascination not unmingled with superstitious dread. The right to
see the Bones, then, Slinker and Horny passionately claimed. Tony
supported them, and it ended with Chris and Captain Magnus being
told off as our guards for the morning.
At this Chris raised a feeble lamentation, but he was evidently a
person whose objections nobody was accustomed to heed. Captain
Magnus, who might with plausibility have urged claims superior to
those of all the rest, assented to the arrangement with a
willingness which filled me with boding. I had caught his restless
furtive eye fixed gloatingly upon me more than once. I saw that he
was aware of my terror, and exulted in it, and took a feline
pleasure in playing me, as it were, and letting me realize by slow
degrees what his power over me would be when he chose finally to
exert it. My best hope for the present, once the merciful or
prudent Tony was out of sight, lay in this disposition of
my tormentor to sit quiescent and anticipate the future.
Nevertheless, in leaving the cabin I had slipped into my blouse a
small penknife which I had found in Aunt Jane's bag. It was quite
new, and I satisfied myself that the blades were keen. My own
large sheath-knife and my revolver I had been deprived of at the
suggestion of the thoughtful Magnus. I had surrendered them
unprotestingly, fearful of all things that my possessions might be
ransacked and Peter's diary, though hidden with much art at the
bottom of a bag, be brought to light. For I might yet sell the
secret of the Island Queen at a price which should redeem us all.
Unobtrusively clutching for comfort at the penknife in my blouse, I
watched the departure of the pirates, including my protector Tony.
They had taken Mr. Tubbs with them, although he had magnanimously
offered to remain behind and help guard the camp. Evidently his
experience of the previous day had not filled him with confidence
in his new friends. It might be quite possible that he intended,
if left behind, to turn his coat again and assist us in a break for
liberty. If so, he was defeated by the perspicacious Tony, who
observed that when he found a pal that suited him as well as
Washtubs he liked to keep him under his own eye. With a spade over
his reluctant shoulder, and many a dubious backward glance, Mr.
Tubbs followed the file into the woods.
Aunt Jane had a bad headache, and as nobody objected she had
remained in the cabin. Miss Browne and I had been informed by Tony
that we might do as we liked so long as we did not attempt to leave
the clearing. Already Violet had betaken herself to a camp-chair
in the shade and was reading a work entitled _Thoughts on the
Involute Spirality of the Immaterial_. Except for the prisoners
tied to the palm tree, the camp presented superficially a scene of
peace. Cookie busied himself with a great show of briskness in his
kitchen. Because of the immense circumspection of his behavior he
was being allowed a considerable degree of freedom. He served his
new masters apparently as zealously as he had served us, but
enveloped in a portentous silence. "Yes, sah--no, sah," were the
only words which Cookie in captivity had been heard to utter. Yet
from time to time I had caught a glance of dark significance from
Cookie's rolling eye, and I felt that he was loyal, and that this
enforced servitude to the unkempt fraternity of pirates was a
degradation which touched him to the quick.
I had followed the example of Miss Higglesby-Browne as regards the
camp-chair and the book. What the book was I have not the least
idea, but I perused it with an appearance of profound abstraction
which I hoped might discourage advances on the part of Captain
Magnus. Also I made sure that the penknife was within instant
reach. Meanwhile my ears, and at cautious intervals my eyes, kept
me informed of the movements of our guards.
For a considerable time the two ruffians, lethargic after an
enormous breakfast, lay about idly in the shade and smoked. As I
listened to their lazy, fragmentary conversation vast gulfs of
mental vacuity seemed to open before me. I wondered whether after
all wicked people were just stupid people--and then I thought of
Aunt Jane--who was certainly not wicked--
As the heat increased a voice of lamentation broke from Chris. He
was dry--dry enough to drink up the condemned ocean. No, he didn't
want spring water, which Cookie obsequiously tendered him; he
wanted a _drink_--wouldn't anybody but a fool nigger know that?
There was plenty of the real stuff aboard the schooner, on the
other side of the--adjective--island. Why had they, with
incredible lack of forethought, brought along nothing but their
pocket flasks? Why hadn't they sent the adjective nigger back for
more? Where was the bottle or two that had been rooted out last
night from the medical stores? Empty? Every last drop gone down
somebody's greedy gullet? The adjectives came thick and fast as
Chris hurled the bottle into the bay, where it swam bobbingly upon
the ripples. Captain Magnus agreed with the gist of Chris's
remarks, but deprecated, in a truly philosophical spirit, their
unprofitable heat. There wasn't any liquor, so what was the good
of making an adjective row? Hadn't he endured the equivalent of
Chris's present sufferings for weeks? He was biding his time, he
was. Plenty of drink by and by, plenty of all that makes life soft
and easy. He bet there wouldn't many hit any higher spots than
him. He bet there was one little girl that would be looked on as
lucky, in case she was a good little girl and encouraged him to
show his natural kindness. And I was favored with a blood-curdling
leer from across the camp, of which I had put as much as possible
between myself and the object of my dread.
But now, like a huge black Ganymede, appeared Cookie, bearing cups
and a large stone crock.
"It suhtinly am a fact, Mistah Chris, sah," said Cookie, "dat dey
is a mighty unspirituous fluidity 'bout dis yere spring watah.
Down war I is come from no pussons of de Four Hund'ed ain't eveh
'customed to partake of such. But the sassiety I has been in
lately round dis yere camp ain't of de convivulous ordah; ole
Cookie had to keep it dark dat he got his li'le drop o' comfort on
de side. Dis yere's only home-made stuff, sah. 'Tain't what I
could offah to a gennelmun if so be I is got the makin's of a
genuwine old-style julep what is de beverage of de fust fam'lies.
But bein' as it is, it am mighty coolin', sah, and it got a li'le
kick to it--not much, but jes' 'bout enough to make a gennelmun
feel lak he is one."
Cookie's tones dripped humility and propitiation. He offered the
brimming cup cringingly to the pale-eyed, red-nosed Chris, who
reached for it with alacrity, drank deep, smacked his lips
meditatively, and after a moment passed the cup back.
"'Tain't so worse," he said approvingly. "Anyhow, it's _drink_!"
Magnus suddenly began to laugh.
"S'elp me, it's the same dope what laid out the Honorable!" he
chortled. "Here, darky, let's have a swig of it!"
Cookie complied, joining respectfully in the captain's mirth.
"I guess you-all is got stronger haids den dat young gennelmun!" he
remarked. "Dis yere ole niggah has help hissef mighty freely and
dat Prohibititionist Miss Harding ain't eveh found it out. Fac'
is, it am puffeckly harmless 'cept when de haid is weak."
False, false Cookie! Black brother in perfidy to Mr. Tubbs! One
friend the less to be depended on if a chance for freedom ever came
to us! A hot flush of surprise and anger dyed my cheeks, and I
felt the indignant pang of faith betrayed. I had been as sure of
Cookie's devotion as of Crusoe's--which reminded me that the little
dog had not returned to camp since he fled before the onslaught of
the vengeful captain.
Cookie refilled the pirates' cups, and set the crock beside them on
the ground.
"In case you gennelmun feels yo'selfs a li'le thursty later on," he
remarked. He was retiring, when Captain Magnus called to him.
"Blackie, this ain't bad. It's coolin', but thin--a real nice
ladylike sort of drink, I should say. Suppose you take a swig over
to Miss Jinny there with my compliments--I'm one to always treat a
lady generous if she gives me half a chance."
Obediently Cookie hastened for another cup, set it on a tray, and
approached me with his old-time ornate manner. I faced him with a
withering look, but, unmindful, he bowed, presenting me the cup,
and interposing his bulky person between me and the deeply-quaffing
pirates. At the same time his voice reached me, pitched in a low
and anxious key.
"Fo' de Lawd's sake, Miss Jinny, spill it out! It am mighty
powerful dope--it done fumented twice as long as befo'--it am boun'
to give dat trash de blind-staggahs sho'tly!"
Instantly I understood, and a thrill of relief and of hope
inexpressible shot through me. I raised to the troubled black face
a glance which I trust was eloquent--it must needs have been to
express the thankfulness I felt. Cookie responded with a solemn
and convulsive wink--and I put the cup to my lips and after a brief
parade of drinking passed it back to Cookie, spilling the contents
on the ground en route.
Cookie retired with his tray in his most impressive cake-walk
fashion, and in passing announced to Captain Magnus that "Miss
Jinny say she mos' suhtinly am obligated to de gennelmun to' de
refreshment of dis yere acidulous beverage." Which bare-faced
mendacity provoked a loud roar of amusement from the sentinels, who
were still sampling the cooling contents of the stone crock.
"Learning to like what I do already, hey?" guffawed the captain,
and he called on Chris to drain another cup with him to the lady of
his choice.
I have believed since that dragging, interminable time which I now
lived through, that complete despair, where you rest quite finally
on bedrock and have nothing to dread in the way of further tumbles,
must be a much happier state than the dreadful one of oscillating
between hope and fear. For a leaden-footed eternity, it seemed to
me, I oscillated, longing for, yet dreading, the signs that
Cookie's powerful dope had begun to work upon our guards--for might
not the first symptoms be quite different from the anticipated
blind staggers? Fancy a murderous maniac pair reeling about the
clearing, with death-vomiting revolvers and gleaming knives!
And then suddenly time, which had dragged so slowly, appeared to
gallop, and the morning to be fleeing past, so that every wave that
broke upon the beach was the footfalls of the returning pirates.
Long, long before that thirsty, garrulous pair grew still and
torpid their companions must return--
And I saw Cookie, his stratagem discovered, dangling from a
convenient tree.
Gradually the rough disjointed talk of the sailors began to
languish. Covertly watching, I saw that Chris's head had begun to
droop. His body, propped comfortably against a tree, sagged a
little. The hand that held the cup was lifted, stretched out in
the direction of the enticing jar, then forgetting its errand fell
heavily. After a few spasmodic twitchings of the eyelids and
uneasy grunts, Chris slumbered.
Captain Magnus was of tougher fiber. But he, too, grew silent and
there was a certain meal-sack limpness about his attitude. His
dulled eyes stared dreamily. All at once with a jerk he roused
himself, turned over, and administered to the sleeping Chris a prod
with his large boot.
"Hey, there, wake up! What right you got to be asleep at the
switch?" But Chris only breathed more heavily.
Captain Magnus himself heaved a tremendous yawn, settled back in
greater comfort against his sustaining tree, and closed his eyes.
I waited, counting the seconds by the beating of the blood in my
ears. In the background Cookie hovered apprehensively. Plainly he
would go on hovering unless loud snores from the pirates gave him
assurance. For myself, I sat fingering my penknife, wondering
whether I ought to rush over and plunge it into the sleepers'
throats. This would be heroic and practical, but unpleasant. If,
on the other hand, I merely tried to free the prisoners and Captain
Magnus woke, what then? The palm where they were tied was a dozen
yards from me, much nearer to the guards, and within range of even
their most languid glance. Beyond the prisoners was Miss Browne,
glaring uncomprehendingly over the edge of her book. There was no
help in Miss Browne.
I left my seat and stole on feet which seemed to stir every leaf
and twig to loud complaint toward the captive pair. Tense,
motionless, with burning eyes, they waited. There was a movement
from Captain Magnus; he yawned, turned and muttered. I stood
stricken, my heart beating with loud thumps against my ribs. But
the captain's eyes remained closed.
"Virginia--quick, Virginia!" Dugald Shaw was stretching out his
bound hands to me, and I had dropped on my knees before him and
begun to cut at the knotted cords. They were tough strong cords,
and I was hacking at them feverishly when something bounded across
the clearing and flung itself upon me. Crusoe, of course!--and
wild with the joy of reunion. I strangled a cry of dismay, and
with one hand tried to thrust him off while I cut through the rope
with the other.
"Down, Crusoe!" I kept desperately whispering. But Crusoe was
unused to whispered orders. He kept bounding up on me, intent to
fulfil an unachieved ambition of licking my ear. Cuthbert Vane
tried, under his breath, to lure him away. But Crusoe's emotions
were all for me, and swiftly becoming uncontrollable they burst
forth in a volley of shrill yelps.
A loud cry answered them. It came from Captain Magnus, who had
scrambled to his feet and was staggering across the clearing. One
hand was groping at his belt--it was flourished in the air with the
gleam of a knife in it--and staggering and shouting the captain
came on.
"Ah, you would, would you? I'll teach you--but first I settle
_him_, the porridge-eatin' Scotch swine--"
The reeling figure with the knife was right above me. I sprang up,
in my hand the little two-inch weapon which was all I had for my
defense--and Dugald Shaw's. There were loud noises in my ears, the
shouting of men, and a shrill continuous note which I have since
realized came from the lungs of Miss Higglesby-Browne. Magnus made
a lunge forward--the arm with the knife descended. I caught
it--wrenched at it frantically--striving blindly to wield my little
penknife, whether or not with deadly intent I don't know to this
day. He turned on me savagely, and the penknife was whirled from
my hand as he caught my wrist in a terrible clutch.
All I remember after that is the terrible steely grip of the
captain's arms and a face, flushed, wild-eyed, horrible, that was
close to mine and inevitably coming closer, though I fought and
tore at it--of hot feverish lips whose touch I knew would scorch me
to the soul--and then I was suddenly free, and falling, falling, a
long way through darkness.