Meanwhile, some three months before Colonel Bishop set out to reduce
Tortuga, Captain Blood, bearing hell in his soul, had blown into its
rockbound harbour ahead of the winter gales, and two days ahead of the
frigate in which Wolverstone had sailed from Port Royal a day before
him.
In that snug anchorage he found his fleet awaiting him--the four ships
which had been separated in that gale off the Lesser Antilles, and some
seven hundred men composing their crews. Because they had been beginning
to grow anxious on his behalf, they gave him the greater welcome. Guns
were fired in his honour and the ships made themselves gay with bunting.
The town, aroused by all this noise in the harbour, emptied itself
upon the jetty, and a vast crowd of men and women of all creeds and
nationalities collected there to be present at the coming ashore of the
great buccaneer.
Ashore he went, probably for no other reason than to obey the general
expectation. His mood was taciturn; his face grim and sneering. Let
Wolverstone arrive, as presently he would, and all this hero-worship
would turn to execration.
His captains, Hagthorpe, Christian, and Yberville, were on the jetty to
receive him, and with them were some hundreds of his buccaneers. He cut
short their greetings, and when they plagued him with questions of where
he had tarried, he bade them await the coming of Wolverstone, who would
satisfy their curiosity to a surfeit. On that he shook them off, and
shouldered his way through that heterogeneous throng that was composed
of bustling traders of several nations--English, French, and Dutch--of
planters and of seamen of various degrees, of buccaneers who were
fruit-selling half-castes, negro slaves, some doll-tearsheets and
dunghill-queans from the Old World, and all the other types of the human
family that converted the quays of Cayona into a disreputable image of
Babel.
Winning clear at last, and after difficulties, Captain Blood took his
way alone to the fine house of M. d'Ogeron, there to pay his respects to
his friends, the Governor and the Governor's family.
At first the buccaneers jumped to the conclusion that Wolverstone was
following with some rare prize of war, but gradually from the reduced
crew of the Arabella a very different tale leaked out to stem their
satisfaction and convert it into perplexity. Partly out of loyalty to
their captain, partly because they perceived that if he was guilty of
defection they were guilty with him, and partly because being simple,
sturdy men of their hands, they were themselves in the main a little
confused as to what really had happened, the crew of the Arabella
practised reticence with their brethren in Tortuga during those two
days before Wolverstone's arrival. But they were not reticent enough
to prevent the circulation of certain uneasy rumours and extravagant
stories of discreditable adventures--discreditable, that is, from the
buccaneering point of view--of which Captain Blood had been guilty.
But that Wolverstone came when he did, it is possible that there would
have been an explosion. When, however, the Old Wolf cast anchor in the
bay two days later, it was to him all turned for the explanation they
were about to demand of Blood.
Now Wolverstone had only one eye; but he saw a deal more with that
one eye than do most men with two; and despite his grizzled head--so
picturesquely swathed in a green and scarlet turban--he had the sound
heart of a boy, and in that heart much love for Peter Blood.
The sight of the Arabella at anchor in the bay had at first amazed him
as he sailed round the rocky headland that bore the fort. He rubbed his
single eye clear of any deceiving film and looked again. Still he could
not believe what it saw. And then a voice at his elbow--the voice of
Dyke, who had elected to sail with him--assured him that he was not
singular in his bewilderment.
“In the name of Heaven, is that the Arabella or is it the ghost of her?”
The Old Wolf rolled his single eye over Dyke, and opened his mouth to
speak. Then he closed it again without having spoken; closed it tightly.
He had a great gift of caution, especially in matters that he did not
understand. That this was the Arabella he could no longer doubt. That
being so, he must think before he spoke. What the devil should the
Arabella be doing here, when he had left her in Jamaica? And was Captain
Blood aboard and in command, or had the remainder of her hands made off
with her, leaving the Captain in Port Royal?
Dyke repeated his question. This time Wolverstone answered him.
“Ye've two eyes to see with, and ye ask me, who's only got one, what it
is ye see!”
“But I see the Arabella.”
“Of course, since there she rides. What else was you expecting?”
“Expecting?” Dyke stared at him, open-mouthed. “Was you expecting to
find the Arabella here?”
Wolverstone looked him over in contempt, then laughed and spoke loud
enough to be heard by all around him. “Of course. What else?” And he
laughed again, a laugh that seemed to Dyke to be calling him a fool.
On that Wolverstone turned to give his attention to the operation of
anchoring.
Anon when ashore he was beset by questioning buccaneers, it was from
their very questions that he gathered exactly how matters stood, and
perceived that either from lack of courage or other motive Blood,
himself, had refused to render any account of his doings since the
Arabella had separated from her sister ships. Wolverstone congratulated
himself upon the discretion he had used with Dyke.
“The Captain was ever a modest man,” he explained to Hagthorpe and those
others who came crowding round him. “It's not his way to be sounding his
own praises. Why, it was like this. We fell in with old Don Miguel,
and when we'd scuttled him we took aboard a London pimp sent out by the
Secretary of State to offer the Captain the King's commission if so be
him'd quit piracy and be o' good behaviour. The Captain damned his soul
to hell for answer. And then we fell in wi' the Jamaica fleet and that
grey old devil Bishop in command, and there was a sure end to Captain
Blood and to every mother's son of us all. So I goes to him, and 'accept
this poxy commission,' says I; 'turn King's man and save your neck and
ours.' He took me at my word, and the London pimp gave him the King's
commission on the spot, and Bishop all but choked hisself with rage when
he was told of it. But happened it had, and he was forced to swallow
it. We were King's men all, and so into Port Royal we sailed along
o' Bishop. But Bishop didn't trust us. He knew too much. But for his
lordship, the fellow from London, he'd ha' hanged the Captain, King's
commission and all. Blood would ha' slipped out o' Port Royal again that
same night. But that hound Bishop had passed the word, and the fort kept
a sharp lookout. In the end, though it took a fortnight, Blood bubbled
him. He sent me and most o' the men off in a frigate that I bought for
the voyage. His game--as he'd secretly told me--was to follow and give
chase. Whether that's the game he played or not I can't tell ye; but
here he is afore me as I'd expected he would be.”
There was a great historian lost in Wolverstone. He had the right
imagination that knows just how far it is safe to stray from the truth
and just how far to colour it so as to change its shape for his own
purposes.
Having delivered himself of his decoction of fact and falsehood, and
thereby added one more to the exploits of Peter Blood, he enquired
where the Captain might be found. Being informed that he kept his ship,
Wolverstone stepped into a boat and went aboard, to report himself, as
he put it.
In the great cabin of the Arabella he found Peter Blood alone and very
far gone in drink--a condition in which no man ever before remembered to
have seen him. As Wolverstone came in, the Captain raised bloodshot eyes
to consider him. A moment they sharpened in their gaze as he brought
his visitor into focus. Then he laughed, a loose, idiot laugh, that yet
somehow was half a sneer.
“Ah! The Old Wolf!” said he. “Got here at last, eh? And whatcher
gonnerdo wi' me, eh?” He hiccoughed resoundingly, and sagged back
loosely in his chair.
Old Wolverstone stared at him in sombre silence. He had looked with
untroubled eye upon many a hell of devilment in his time, but the sight
of Captain Blood in this condition filled him with sudden grief. To
express it he loosed an oath. It was his only expression for emotion
of all kinds. Then he rolled forward, and dropped into a chair at the
table, facing the Captain.
“My God, Peter, what's this?”
“Rum,” said Peter. “Rum, from Jamaica.” He pushed bottle and glass
towards Wolverstone.
Wolverstone disregarded them.
“I'm asking you what ails you?” he bawled.
“Rum,” said Captain Blood again, and smiled. “Jus' rum. I answer all
your queshons. Why donjerr answer mine? Whatcher gonerdo wi' me?”
“I've done it,” said Wolverstone. “Thank God, ye had the sense to hold
your tongue till I came. Are ye sober enough to understand me?”
“Drunk or sober, allus 'derstand you.”
“Then listen.” And out came the tale that Wolverstone had told. The
Captain steadied himself to grasp it.
“It'll do as well asertruth,” said he when Wolverstone had finished.
“And... oh, no marrer! Much obliged to ye, Old Wolf--faithful Old Wolf!
But was it worthertrouble? I'm norrer pirate now; never a pirate again.
'S finished'” He banged the table, his eyes suddenly fierce.
“I'll come and talk to you again when there's less rum in your wits,”
said Wolverstone, rising. “Meanwhile ye'll please to remember the tale
I've told, and say nothing that'll make me out a liar. They all believes
me, even the men as sailed wi' me from Port Royal. I've made 'em. If
they thought as how you'd taken the King's commission in earnest, and
for the purpose o' doing as Morgan did, ye guess what would follow.”
“Hell would follow,” said the Captain. “An' tha's all I'm fit for.”
“Ye're maudlin,” Wolverstone growled. “We'll talk again to-morrow.”
They did; but to little purpose, either that day or on any day
thereafter while the rains--which set in that night--endured. Soon the
shrewd Wolverstone discovered that rum was not what ailed Blood. Rum
was in itself an effect, and not by any means the cause of the Captain's
listless apathy. There was a canker eating at his heart, and the Old
Wolf knew enough to make a shrewd guess of its nature. He cursed all
things that daggled petticoats, and, knowing his world, waited for the
sickness to pass.
But it did not pass. When Blood was not dicing or drinking in the
taverns of Tortuga, keeping company that in his saner days he had
loathed, he was shut up in his cabin aboard the Arabella, alone and
uncommunicative. His friends at Government House, bewildered at
this change in him, sought to reclaim him. Mademoiselle d'Ogeron,
particularly distressed, sent him almost daily invitations, to few of
which he responded.
Later, as the rainy season approached its end, he was sought by his
captains with proposals of remunerative raids on Spanish settlements.
But to all he manifested an indifference which, as the weeks passed
and the weather became settled, begot first impatience and then
exasperation.
Christian, who commanded the Clotho, came storming to him one day,
upbraiding him for his inaction, and demanding that he should take order
about what was to do.
“Go to the devil!” Blood said, when he had heard him out. Christian
departed fuming, and on the morrow the Clotho weighed anchor and sailed
away, setting an example of desertion from which the loyalty of Blood's
other captains would soon be unable to restrain their men.
Sometimes Blood asked himself why had he come back to Tortuga at all.
Held fast in bondage by the thought of Arabella and her scorn of him for
a thief and a pirate, he had sworn that he had done with buccaneering.
Why, then, was he here? That question he would answer with another:
Where else was he to go? Neither backward nor forward could he move, it
seemed.
He was degenerating visibly, under the eyes of all. He had entirely lost
the almost foppish concern for his appearance, and was grown careless
and slovenly in his dress. He allowed a black beard to grow on cheeks
that had ever been so carefully shaven; and the long, thick black hair,
once so sedulously curled, hung now in a lank, untidy mane about a face
that was changing from its vigorous swarthiness to an unhealthy sallow,
whilst the blue eyes, that had been so vivid and compelling, were now
dull and lacklustre.
Wolverstone, the only one who held the clue to this degeneration,
ventured once--and once only--to beard him frankly about it.
“Lord, Peter! Is there never to be no end to this?” the giant had
growled. “Will you spend your days moping and swilling 'cause a
white-faced ninny in Port Royal'll have none o' ye? 'Sblood and 'ounds!
If ye wants the wench, why the plague doesn't ye go and fetch her?”
The blue eyes glared at him from under the jet-black eyebrows, and
something of their old fire began to kindle in them. But Wolverstone
went on heedlessly.
“I'll be nice wi' a wench as long as niceness be the key to her favour.
But sink me now if I'd rot myself in rum on account of anything that
wears a petticoat. That's not the Old Wolf's way. If there's no other
expedition'll tempt you, why not Port Royal? What a plague do it matter
if it is an English settlement? It's commanded by Colonel Bishop, and
there's no lack of rascals in your company'd follow you to hell if it
meant getting Colonel Bishop by the throat. It could be done, I tell
you. We've but to spy the chance when the Jamaica fleet is away. There's
enough plunder in the town to tempt the lads, and there's the wench for
you. Shall I sound them on 't?”
Blood was on his feet, his eyes blazing, his livid face distorted.
“Ye'll leave my cabin this minute, so ye will, or, by Heaven, it's your
corpse'll be carried out of it. Ye mangy hound, d'ye dare come to me
with such proposals?”
He fell to cursing his faithful officer with a virulence the like of
which he had never yet been known to use. And Wolverstone, in terror
before that fury, went out without another word. The subject was not
raised again, and Captain Blood was left to his idle abstraction.
But at last, as his buccaneers were growing desperate, something
happened, brought about by the Captain's friend M. d'Ogeron. One sunny
morning the Governor of Tortuga came aboard the Arabella, accompanied
by a chubby little gentleman, amiable of countenance, amiable and
self-sufficient of manner.
“My Captain,” M. d'Ogeron delivered himself, “I bring you M. de Cussy,
the Governor of French Hispaniola, who desires a word with you.”
Out of consideration for his friend, Captain Blood pulled the pipe from
his mouth, shook some of the rum out of his wits, and rose and made a
leg to M. de Cussy.
“Serviteur!” said he.
M. de Cussy returned the bow and accepted a seat on the locker under the
stem windows.
“You have a good force here under your command, my Captain,” said he.
“Some eight hundred men.”
“And I understand they grow restive in idleness.”
“They may go to the devil when they please.”
M. de Cussy took snuff delicately. “I have something better than that to
propose,” said he.
“Propose it, then,” said Blood, without interest.
M. de Cussy looked at M. d'Ogeron, and raised his eyebrows a little.
He did not find Captain Blood encouraging. But M. d'Ogeron nodded
vigorously with pursed lips, and the Governor of Hispaniola propounded
his business.
“News has reached us from France that there is war with Spain.”
“That is news, is it?” growled Blood.
“I am speaking officially, my Captain. I am not alluding to unofficial
skirmishes, and unofficial predatory measures which we have condoned out
here. There is war--formally war--between France and Spain in Europe. It
is the intention of France that this war shall be carried into the New
World. A fleet is coming out from Brest under the command of M. le Baron
de Rivarol for that purpose. I have letters from him desiring me to
equip a supplementary squadron and raise a body of not less than a
thousand men to reenforce him on his arrival. What I have come to
propose to you, my Captain, at the suggestion of our good friend M.
d'Ogeron, is, in brief, that you enroll your ships and your force under
M. de Rivarol's flag.”
Blood looked at him with a faint kindling of interest. “You are
offering to take us into the French service?” he asked. “On what terms,
monsieur?”
“With the rank of Capitaine de Vaisseau for yourself, and suitable ranks
for the officers serving under you. You will enjoy the pay of that rank,
and you will be entitled, together with your men, to one-tenth share in
all prizes taken.”
“My men will hardly account it generous. They will tell you that they
can sail out of here to-morrow, disembowel a Spanish settlement, and
keep the whole of the plunder.”
“Ah, yes, but with the risks attaching to acts of piracy. With us your
position will be regular and official, and considering the powerful
fleet by which M. de Rivarol is backed, the enterprises to be undertaken
will be on a much vaster scale than anything you could attempt on your
own account. So that the one tenth in this case may be equal to more
than the whole in the other.”
Captain Blood considered. This, after all, was not piracy that was being
proposed. It was honourable employment in the service of the King of
France.
“I will consult my officers,” he said; and he sent for them.
They came and the matter was laid before them by M. de Cussy himself.
Hagthorpe announced at once that the proposal was opportune. The men
were grumbling at their protracted inaction, and would no doubt be ready
to accept the service which M. de Cussy offered on behalf of France.
Hagthorpe looked at Blood as he spoke. Blood nodded gloomy agreement.
Emboldened by this, they went on to discuss the terms. Yberville, the
young French filibuster, had the honour to point out to M. de Cussy
that the share offered was too small. For one fifth of the prizes, the
officers would answer for their men; not for less.
M. de Cussy was distressed. He had his instructions. It was taking a
deal upon himself to exceed them. The buccaneers were firm. Unless M. de
Cussy could make it one fifth there was no more to be said. M. de Cussy
finally consenting to exceed his instructions, the articles were drawn
up and signed that very day. The buccaneers were to be at Petit Goave
by the end of January, when M. de Rivarol had announced that he might be
expected.
After that followed days of activity in Tortuga, refitting the ships,
boucanning meat, laying in stores. In these matters which once would
have engaged all Captain Blood's attention, he now took no part.
He continued listless and aloof. If he had given his consent to the
undertaking, or, rather, allowed himself to be swept into it by the
wishes of his officers--it was only because the service offered was of a
regular and honourable kind, nowise connected with piracy, with which he
swore in his heart that he had done for ever. But his consent remained
passive. The service entered awoke no zeal in him. He was perfectly
indifferent--as he told Hagthorpe, who ventured once to offer a
remonstrance--whether they went to Petit Goave or to Hades, and whether
they entered the service of Louis XIV or of Satan.