"Then we'll die for it, Bart," said Jack, fiercely.
"If so be as you says die for it now, or to-morrow, or next day, or next
week, die it is, my lad," said Bart, despondently; "but luck's agen us,
and we're beat. Why not give up?"
"Give up?" cried Jack, whose appearance was somewhat altered by his two
years of hard sea-life in the tropics since the night when the cutter
sailed away into the darkness of what seemed to be their future. "Give
up?"
"Yes; and back out of it all. Why not take passage somewhere, not as
Jack, Commodore Junk's brother, but as bonny Mary Dell o' Devonshire,
going back home along o' Bart Wrigley, as is Bartholomew by rights?"
"Well?" said Jack, sternly.
"Don't look black at me, my lad. I'm tired o' boarding ships and
sending people adrift."
"Growing afraid, Bart?"
"Yes, my lad; but not for Bart Wrigley. For someone else."
"You are preaching to-night, Bart."
"Maybe, my lad, for it's solemn times; and something keeps a-saying to
me: `Don't run no more risks! There's old Devon a-waiting for you, and
there's the old cottage and the bay, and you've got the money to buy a
decent lugger, and there's plenty o' fish in the sea.'"
"Go, on," said Jack, mockingly.
"Ay, lad, I will," said Bart. "And you might settle down there, and
live happy with a man there to wait on you and be your sarvent--ay, your
dog if you liked; and some day, if you thought better of it, and was
ready to say, `Bart, my lad, you've been a true chap to me, and I know
as you've loved me ever since you was a boy, so now I'll be your wife,'
why, then--"
Bart stopped with his lips apart, gazing wonderingly at the angry
countenance before him.
"You madman! What are you saying?" was hissed into his ears. "Mary
Dell died when she left her home, driven away by man's tyranny--when she
sought out her brother and his friend, to find them working like slaves
in that plantation. It was John Dell who became your companion: Mary
Dell's dead."
"No," said Bart, speaking softly and with a homely pathos, full of a
poetical sentiment that could not have been expected from his rough
exterior as he sat on the deck of a long, low, heavily-sparred schooner.
"No, my lad, Mary Dell isn't dead. She's hidden here in my breast,
where I can look inwards and see the bonny lass with the dark eyes and
long black hair as I knowed I loved as soon as I knowed what love meant,
and as long as I've that lass will never die."
"Hush, Bart, old friend!" said Jack, softly. "Let her live, then,
there; but to me she is dead, and I live to think of her persecutions,
and how for two years man has pursued us with his bitter hatred, and
hunted us down as if we were savage beasts."
"Ay," said Bart, softly; "but isn't it time to take the other road, and
get away?"
"No," said Jack, fiercely. "Bart, old friend--you are my friend."
"Friend!" said Bart, in a reproachful tone.
"Yes. I know you are; but once more, if you value my friendship, never
speak to me again as you have spoken now."
"You're captain, my lad. I'll do what you like."
"I know you will. Well, then, do you think I can forgive the treatment
we have received? It has been a dog's life, I tell you--the life of a
savage dog."
"Ay, but we've bit pretty sharp sometimes," said Bart, smiling. "See
how we've growed, too. First it was the bit of a canoe thing as you
came in up the creek."
Jack nodded.
"Then we took the cutter."
"Yes, Bart."
"And with that cutter we took first one ship, and then with that
another, always masters, and getting, bit by bit, stout, staunch men."
"And savages," said Jack, bitterly.
"Well, yes, some on 'em is savage like, specially Mazzard."
"Black Mazzard is a ruffianly wretch!"
"True, lad; but we've gone on and got better and stronger, till we have
under our feet the swiftest schooner as swims the sea, and Commodore
Junk's name's known all along the coast."
"And hated, and a price set upon his head; and now that he is a prisoner
his people turn against him, and his most faithful follower wants to go
and leave him in the lurch."
"Nay, don't say that, my lad," cried Bart. "We was overmatched, and he
was took."
"Yes, by his men's cowardice."
"Nay; you're cross, my lad," said Bart, unconsciously raising one arm
and drawing back the sleeve to readjust a bandage. "Month to-night and
the deck was running into the scuppers with blood, half the lads was
killed, and t'other half all got a wound. We was obliged to sheer off."
"Yes, you coward! you left your captain to his fate."
"But I saved the captain's--brother," said Bart, slowly, "or he'd have
been shut up in prison along with poor Abel now."
"Better so," said the other, fiercely; "and then there'd be an end of a
persecuted life."
"Better as it is," said Bart, quietly; "but I did save you."
"Bart, old lad, don't take any notice of what I say," whispered Jack.
"I don't, lad, when you're put out. I never do."
"Don't speak to me like that. It maddens me more."
"No, it don't, lad. It's only me speaking, and you may hammer me with
words all night if it does you good. I don't mind, I'm only Bart."
"My true old friend," whispered the other, quickly; "but it's time they
were back."
"Nay, not yet," said Bart, as the other stood gazing over the side of
the schooner toward where a long, low bank of mist seemed to shut out
everything beyond.
"They've been gone two hours, and it's now four bells."
"Ay, and it'll be six bells before they get back, and it's a long way to
row. Do you mean to try it, then?"
"Try it? Yes, if I die in the attempt. Did I hesitate when you two
were on the plantation, and I was alone and--a boy?"
"Not you," said Bart.
"Then, do you think I shall hesitate now that I have a ship and
followers to back me up?"
Bart shook his head.
"Abel must be saved; and the men agree."
"Ay; they say they'll have the skipper out of the prison or they'll die
first."
"Brave fellows!" cried Jack, enthusiastically.
"But I don't see how a schooner's to attack forts and cannon and stone
walls. My lad, it can't be done."
"It shall be done!" cried Jack. "How's Dinny?"
"Bit weak still; but he says he can fight, and he shall go."
"Brave, true-hearted fellow! And Dick?"
"Says he shall be well enough to go; but he won't--he's weak as a rat."
Jack drew a deep breath, and a fiercely vindictive look flashed from the
dark eyes which glared at Bart.
"They shall suffer for all this. Abel will pay them their due."
"Ay," said Bart; and then to himself--"when he gets away."
"It was a cruel, cowardly fight--four to one."
"He would attack," said Bart, heavily. "He'd had such luck that he
wouldn't believe he could be beat."
"He was right," said the other, fiercely. "He is not beaten, for we
will fetch him out, and he shall pay them bitterly for all this."
The speaker strode forward, and went below into the cabin, while Bart
drew his breath hard as he rose from where he had been seated and
limped, slightly bending down once to press his leg where a severe
flesh-wound was received on the night of the engagement when Abel Dell--
whose name had begun to be well-known for freebooting enterprise as
Commodore Junk--had been taken prisoner.
Bart walked to the forecastle, where, on descending, he found Dinny and
Dick Dullock playing cards, the life they had led with their three
companions being one to which they had settled down without a hint of
change.
"Well!" asked Dinny, looking up from his dirty cards; "what does he
say?"
Dick the sailor gazed inquiringly at both in turn.
"Says he shall fetch the captain out."
Dinny whistled.
"And what does Black Mazzard say?" asked Dick.
"Don't know. Hasn't been asked."
"Look here," said Dick, in a low voice. "There's going to be trouble
over this. Black Mazzard's captain now, he says, and he's got to be
asked. He was down here swearing about that boat being sent off, and
he's been drunk and savage ever since."
"Hist! What's that?" said Dinny, starting up, and then catching at
Bart's shoulder to save himself from falling. "Head swims," he said,
apologetically.
"Ay, you're weak, lad," said Bart, helping him back to his seat. "Why,
the boat's back!"
He hurried on deck, to find a boat alongside, out of which four men
climbed on deck, while Jack Dell, who had just heard the hail, came
hurrying up.
"Well?" he said. "What news?"
The one spoken to turned away and did not answer.
"Do you hear?" cried Jack, catching him by the shoulder as a
heavy-looking man came on deck, lurched slightly, recovered himself, and
then walked fiercely and steadily up to the group.
"Bad news, captain," said another of the men, who had just come aboard.
"Bad--news?" said Jack, heavily.
"Bad news of the Commodore!" said the heavy-looking fellow, who was now
swaying himself to and fro, evidently drunk in body but sober in mind.
"Yes," said the man who had first spoken, "bad news."
"Tell me," cried Jack, hoarsely, as he pressed forward to gaze full in
the speaker's face, "what is it? They have not sent him away?"
The man was silent; and as the rest of the crew, attracted by the return
of the boat, clustered round, Jack reeled.
"Stand by, my lad," whispered Bart at his ear. "Don't forget."
The words seemed to give nerve to the sturdy, broad-shouldered young
man, who spoke hoarsely.
"Tried and condemned," he said, in a hoarse, strange voice.
"They've hung him--"
"What!"
"In chains on a gibbet."
A hoarse, guttural sound escaped from Jack's throat as he clung tightly
to Bart's arm.
"The gibbet's on the low point by the mangrove swamp," said the man.
"They've cut down two palms about a dozen feet and nailed another
across, and the captain's swinging there."
"A lie!" yelled Jack; "not my brother!"
There was a dead pause of utter silence for a few moments, and then the
man said slowly:
"Yes, we all saw it and made sure;" and a murmur of acquiescence arose
from his three companions, who had been in the boat in search of far
different information to that which they had brought.
"But not my brother?" groaned Jack.
"Yes," said the man. "It was Commodore Junk."
As a dead silence once more fell upon the poop, the dark, heavy-looking
man stood swaying to and fro for a few minutes, gazing down at Jack, who
had dropped into a sitting position upon a water-keg, his arms resting
upon his knees, his hands hanging, and his head drooped; while Bart
stood by his shoulder with his face wrinkled and a pained expression
upon his brow, just illumined by the bright glint of the stars.
The heavy man nodded and seemed about to speak, but remained silent for
a time. Then patting Jack on the shoulder:
"Brave lad! Good captain! For time of war!" he said. "But never mind,
my lads. We'll pay them for it, yet."
He lurched slightly and walked slowly toward the captain's cabin,
unnoticed by Jack and Bart; but Dinny's eyes were sharp enough to read
what all this meant, and he turned to his comrade Dick.
"Look at that, now!" he whispered.
"Ay, I was looking. What does it mean?"
"Mane!" said Dinny, scornfully. "It manes that Black Mazzard thinks
he's captain now."
"Then if the throat-cutting scoundrel is, I'm off first chance."
"An' I'm wid ye," said Dinny, earnestly. "I'll go and lade a virtuous
life."
"And leave the skipper's brother and Bart?"
Dinny pulled off his cap and rubbed his head viciously.
"Now, why did ye want to go and say that?" he cried. "Iverything was as
aisy as could be, and you go and upset it all."
"Poor Abel!" said Jack at last, softly.
"Ay, poor old Abel!" said Bart, with a groan.
"You here?" said Jack, starting up and catching the rough fellow by the
arm.
"Here?--ay!" growled Bart, slowly. "Where did you think I was, lad?"
"I didn't think, Bart, or I shouldn't have said that," cried Jack,
earnestly. "Where would you be but at my elbow if I was in trouble,
ready to be of help?"
"Ay, but there's no helping you here, lad," said Bart with a groan.
"No helping me! But you can, Bart. Do you wonder that I hate the
world?--that I see it all as one crowd of enemies fighting against me
and trying to crush me down? Not help me! Oh, but you shall! My poor
brother! They shall pay heavily for this!"
"What'll you do, lad?" said Bart, despondently.
"Do!" cried Jack, with a savage laugh--"do what poor Abel always hung
back from doing, and stopped Black Mazzard from many a time. I don't
read my Bible now, Bart; but doesn't it say that there shall be blood
for blood; and my poor brother's cries aloud for vengeance, as they
shall see!"
"No, no, my lad," whispered Bart, hoarsely; "let it stop here. It seems
to me as if something said: `This here's the end on it. Now get her to
go back home.'"
"Home!" said Jack, with a fierce laugh. "Where is home?"
"Yonder," said Bart, stolidly.
"No! Here--at sea. Bart, there is no other home for me; no other hope
but to have revenge!"
"Revenge, lad?"
"Ay, a bitter, cruel revenge. I could have been different. I was once
full of love and hope before I knew what the world was like, but that's
all past and dead--yes, dead; and the dead yonder is looking toward me
and asking me to remember what we have suffered."
"But think."
"Think, Bart? I have thought till my brain has seemed to burn; and
everything points to revenge, and revenge I'll have!"
"It's the end of it all now," said Bart, solemnly. "Let's go back."
"The way is open, Bart Wrigley. I have no hold upon you, and I can work
alone. Go!"
"You wouldn't talk like that," said Bart, huskily, "if you was cool."
"What do you mean, man?"
"'Bout me going," said Bart, in a low, husky voice. "There's only one
way for me, and that's where you go, lad. It allus has been, and it
allus will be till I'm took. What are you going to do?"
The question was asked in a quick, decisive way, very different to the
despondent air that had pervaded his words before, and the manner was so
marked that Jack laid his hands on his companion's shoulders.
"It's my fate to be always saying bitter things to you, Bart, and
wounding you."
"Never mind about that," said Bart, huskily. "Long as I'm the one as
you trusts, that's enough for me. What are you going to do next?"
There was no answer for a few minutes, and then the words whispered were
very short and decisive.
"And let 'em think it's scared us, and we've gone right away?" said
Bart.
"Yes."
Bart gave a short, quick nod of the head, walked sharply to the
forecastle and yelled to the men to tumble up. The result was that in a
very short time sail after sail was spread till a dusky cloud seemed to
hover over the deck of the schooner, which heeled over in the light
breeze and began skimming as lightly as a yacht eastward, as if to leave
the scene of the Commodore's execution far behind.