THE BRIDEGROOM ATTENDS TO OTHER MATTERS THAN LOVE
The dainty bride leaned on her husband's arm, and together they looked
back and waved farewell. Flags answered them from the battery above the
cliff. Then she turned to the bridegroom and gazed into his eyes with so
radiant and tender a smile that, all forgetful of the abashed salt at
the tiller, he drew her to him and kissed her on brow and lips.
"Dear wife," he murmured, and could say no more.
Both were brave in marriage finery,--she in a pearl gown of brocaded
silk, a scarlet cloak lined with white fur, and a feathered hat, and he
in buff and blue from the wardrobe of the commandant of St. John's.
They gazed astern, across the dancing azure, to the brown and purple
rocks beautified by the sunlight and crystal air. "Homeward bound," she
whispered, happily, and turned her face from the mellowing coast of the
wilderness to the wide east.
Together they walked forward to the break of the high deck. A fair wind
bellied the sails. The tarred rigging and scraped spars shone like
polished metal. The men, in their brightest sashes and cleanest shirts
(in honour of the occasion), went about their duties briskly. The mates
wore their side-arms; both watches were on deck, with the gaiety of the
days ashore still in their hearts. Not a soul was below save the cook
(who sorted provisions in the forward lazaret), Maggie Stone (who sulked
in her mistress's cabin because she had not been asked to act as
bridesmaid), and old Trowley, with wrists and legs in irons and a
dawning repentance in his sullen blood.
An hour later Ouenwa ascended the starboard ladder from the waist, and
stood beside Master and Mistress Kingswell. He wore a dashing outfit,
which had been made to his shape by the garrison tailor in the days
preceding the marriage. A sword was at his belt; lace hung at his
wrists; his dark hair, slightly curled, fell to his shoulders. His
tanned cheeks were flushed with the excitement passed and the adventures
anticipated. Only the dark alertness of his eyes and the litheness of
his actions bespoke his primitive upbringing. Though he had been named
"dreamer" by his people, he gave promise now of a life of deeds rather
than of dreams.
"Do you mourn the little stockade and the great river, lad?" queried
Kingswell, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.
Ouenwa shook his head emphatically and glanced knowingly aloft. "Why
should I mourn them?" he asked. "Am I not bound for castles and great
houses, for books in number as the leaves of the birch-tree, and for
villages filled all day with warriors, and with ladies almost as fair as
Mistress Beatrix? Shall I not read in the books, and see horses, greater
than caribou, bearing gentlemen upon their backs? Then why would you
have me mourn? The land behind us is not a good land. My fathers were
brave and wise, and led their warriors to a hundred victories; but they
were murdered by their own people. I care not for such a country."
"True, lad," replied Kingswell, "and yet, even in glorious England, you
may find ingratitude as black as that of Panounia. Even kings and queens
have been guilty of ingratitude."
Beatrix patted the moralist's arm.
"Why think of it now?" she said, gently, "and why fill the dear lad with
doubt? Only if he climbs high need he fear disloyalty. As a plain
soldier, he shall never lack the protection of such humble friends as
ourselves."
Just then a lookout warned them of a sail on the larboard bow. Kingswell
and Ouenwa went forward to the forecastle-head. Tom Bent (now of the
rank of chief gunner) was already there, peering away under the lift of
the jibs. The second mate was with him.
"A large vessel," remarked Kingswell.
"Ay, and we's spoke mun afore now, sir," replied Bent. He was too intent
on gazing ahead to see the question in the captain's face. But the mate
saw it and answered it.
"She's run up a new spar, sir, an' mended her for'ard riggin'," said he,
"an' like enough she thinks she'll take the cost of damages out o' us."
"Ah!" exclaimed Kingswell, with a note of relish. Then he remembered
Beatrix, and a shadow darkened his eyes for a moment. "Pipe both
watches," he said, quietly. "Arm all hands. Clear decks for action.
Master Gunner, you must fight your barkers to-day for more than the
glory of England."
He returned to his wife and told her of the menace. She heard the news
with an inward sickening, but with no outward tremor. All her fear was
for him.
"Promise me that you will go to our cabin when I give the word," he
asked.
She nodded and smiled wistfully. "Your obedient, humble wife, my lord,"
she whispered, with a brave attempt at gaiety.
He caught her hands quickly to his shoulders and kissed her lips. He
felt them tremble against his.
"I must help with the preparations, dear heart," he murmured, and
hurried away. He consulted the mates and Tom Bent as to the advisability
of beating back for St. John's. The mariners shook their heads. They
held that the _Heart of the West_ could make a better fight on her
present course; and that the battle would be decided, one way or
another, before the garrison could send them any help. As if to confirm
their views, the wind freshened to such a degree, and held so fair
astern, that to beat to windward would require all hands at the sails,
and put gunnery out of the question.
"Like enough they be double our strength in men," said Tom Bent, "but we
equals 'em in guns and seamanship, sir, an' ye may lay to that."
So the _Heart of the West_ held on her course under a press of canvas.
After Kingswell and Beatrix had talked together for some time, they
went forward, hand in hand, to the break of the poop. Tom Bent called
the ship's company to attention. The brave fellows, stripped to their
breeches and shirts in readiness for the approaching encounter, looked
up, and such as wore caps doffed them respectfully.
"My brave lads," cried the lady, in a voice that rang clear above the
stir of wind and wave and tugging cordage, "but this morning you made
merry for my sake; and now, in so little a while, you will risk your
lives in defending your ship and me from that pirate whom we have
already encountered. My husband,--your captain,--like a true-bred
English sailor, is already sure of victory. A generous mariner, he has
promised me the prize; and now I promise it to you. In a few weeks'
time, my lads, we shall sell our enemy in Bristol docks. Not a penny of
her price shall go to owner or captain; but all into the pockets of this
brave company. And should any man fall in the encounter, I pledge my
word that those dependent upon him shall lack nothing that money can
give them during the remainder of their lives. Now, fight well, for God
and for England."
She looked down at them, smiling divinely.
"And for the Lady Beatrix," shouted a youthful seaman.
Cheers rang aloft; bearded lips and shaven lips bawled her name; and
great, toil-seared hands were brandished, and stark blades gleamed in
the sunlight.
"God bless you, lady," they roared.
She leaned forward and blew a kiss from her lips with both dainty hands.
"God strengthen you, brave hearts," she cried, softly; and the nearer of
the loyal mariners saw the tears shimmering beneath her lashes.
The _Heart of the West_ held on her course, breaking the waves in
fountains from her forging bow. The _Cristobal_ raced down upon her with
the wind square abeam. It was evidently her intention to cross the
merchantman's bows and rake her with a broadside.
Aboard the _Heart of the West_ every man was at his post, and the
matches were like pale stars in the hands of the gunners. The second
mate was on the forecastle-head, beside the bow-chaser. The first mate
stood in the waist. Kingswell paced the poop, fore and aft. Each
measured and calculated the brisk approach of the _Cristobal_ with
unwinking eyes, and considered the straining sails overhead and the
speed of the wind.
Still the pirate boiled down upon them, leaning over in the press of
the half-gale. It was evident to Kingswell that she would pass across
his bows within a distance of a hundred yards, unless something was done
to prevent it. He spoke quietly to the men at the tiller, and called an
order to the officer amidships. Twenty seconds later he gave the signal.
The tiller was pushed over, the yards were hauled around, and the good
ship swung to the north and took the wind on her larboard beam. Now the
vessels leaned on the same course, and were not two hundred yards apart.
Almost at the same moment they exchanged broadsides, and the challenging
shouts of men mingled with the roaring of the little cannonades. The
smoke from the merchantman's ports blew down, in a stifling cloud, upon
the enemy. The _Cristobal_ fell off before the wind in an unaccountable
manner. The _Heart of the West_ luffed, in the hope of bringing her
heavy after-battery to bear, saw that the manoeuvre could not be
accomplished, and flew about on her old course.
"Her tiller is shot away," cried Kingswell. A cheer rang along the decks
and penetrated the cabins fore and aft. Beatrix heard it, and thanked
God. Old Trowley heard it, and, beating his manacled wrists against the
bulkhead, roared to be cast loose that he might bear a hand in the
fight.
From that first exchange of round-shot, the _Heart of the West_ escaped
without hurt, owing to the fact that the enemy's guns, elevated by the
pressure of the gale upon her windward side, sent their missiles high
between the upper spars of the merchantman. The _Cristobal_, however,
was hulled by two balls, and had her tiller carried away by a third;
for, just as her guns were elevated to harmlessness by the list of the
deck, so were the merchantman's depressed to a deadly aim by the list of
hers.
Taking every advantage which a sound tiller and perfectly trimmed sails
gave her over her enemy, the _Heart of the West_ raced after the
buccaneer. Passing close astern, she raked her with her three larboard
guns. Running on, and slanting across the wind's course more and more,
she presently had her two after-guns to bear on the three-quarter target
of the _Cristobal's_ starboard side. The range was middling; but, even
so, the gunners sent up a prayer to Luck, so violent were the soarings
and sinkings of the deck. The shots were followed by a tottering of high
sails above the _Cristobal_, and with a flapping and rending, the
mizzenmast fell forward and stripped the main of three of her yards.
Now the disabled, tillerless _Cristobal_, kept before the wind by a
great sweep, fled heavily. Her decks were cluttered with snarled
wreckage. Half a dozen of her crew were injured. Her commander and
Master Silva were mad with rage at the unexpected turn of events.
Aboard the _Heart of the West_, Ouenwa had just pointed out to Kingswell
the dashing figure of Pierre d'Antons.
"I take it that this is his last play," remarked the young captain, with
a grim smile.
For another hour the merchantman sailed about the pirate at her will,
pouring broadside after broadside into hull and rigging, and sustaining
but little damage herself. Now and then musket-shots were exchanged. Two
of Kingswell's men were wounded, and were promptly carried below, where
their hurts were tenderly bandaged by Mistress Kingswell and Maggie
Stone.
In a lull of the firing, the cook came running to the poop, with word
that Trowley was in a fair way to make matchwood of his surroundings.
"What ails him now?" inquired Kingswell.
"He be shoutin' for a chance at the Frenchers," replied the cook.
Kingswell considered the matter, with a calculating eye on the enemy.
"Cast him loose," said he, "and give him a chance to prove himself an
English sailor man."
Trowley appeared on deck just as a shot from the _Cristobal_ struck the
teakwood rail of the _Heart of the West_ amidships. A flying splinter
whirred past his head. He brandished his cutlass, and bawled a threat
across the rocking water. The men at the guns welcomed him with laughter
and cheers.
"Ye be in for the kill, master," cried one.
Kingswell beckoned the ex-commander aft, and met him at the top of the
ladder. Trowley looked guiltily this way and that.
"I have let you up, my man," said the captain, "that you may bear a hand
in the fight. I am willing to forget your knaveries of the past, and
remember only your actions of to-day."
Trowley nodded, and for an instant his eyes met Kingswell's.
"You can see what we have done to the enemy," said the other. "But I am
in no mind to break her up with this everlasting cannonading. What would
you suggest?"
Trowley straightened his great shoulders and lifted his head. "Lay her
aboard, sir," said he, "an' make fast."