I DICE FOR A LIFE
It was noon before I awoke; a terrific storm was raging outside, and
the sea was white with foam. Dressing rapidly, I made my way to the
great dining hall. Often had I eaten there, sometimes alone, and
sometimes with DeNortier, for when he was not on the island I ate
alone; the men always kept to their barrack, and never came to the
house save on some errand. They were uniformly respectful to me; they
had evidently had orders from the captain to be so, and they knew him
too well to dare to disobey his commands. I, of course, had naught to
do with them, save occasionally to ask them some question.
DeNortier supplied me with all that I needed. One evening when I
returned from a stroll, I had found a new doublet and hose in my room;
at another time a new feather for my hat. I had several times found
small sums of money upon my table, and appreciated that delicate sense
of honor which realized how I must feel, and did not roughly force what
I needed upon me.
DeNortier was seated at the table alone, eating a slice of venison.
"Welcome!" he said in a cordial tone. "This venison is excellent," and
he took a great bite as he glanced up at me.
There was no trace of the pallor and wildness of the night before in
his manner; now self-composed, alert, calm, he was himself again.
Seating myself opposite him, I helped myself to the meat.
"Count, I have a grievance to lay before thee," I said.
"What is it?" he inquired. "Have any of the men failed to show thee the
proper respect? If so, thou hast but to speak, and I will know how to
punish them."
"No, it is not that," I answered. "I find this morning the body of
one of the natives swinging in front of my window. Who has done this
deed?" and I looked intently at him.
His voice was cold as he replied: "He was a mutinous rogue, and even
dared to disobey my orders. The safety of my plans--the safety of us
all--depends upon the rigidity of the discipline which I maintain. Did
I but loose the reins, even for a moment, the men would break out of
all bounds, and our heads would pay the penalty; so I punished him as
he deserved."
"No need to hang him to my window, if thou didst!" I cried. "Thou hast
done many deeds of bloodshed and sin, but as I live I shall have thy
life for this!" and I struck the table with my fist a loud blow.
"It is a warning, Sir Thomas," he drawled, "'a word to the wise is
sufficient.' As for thy sword, put it up. I will not fight thee now;
I told thee once before, that I could not cross swords with thee just
yet. Have no fear, I will meet thee; thou hadst best save thy wind and
thy sword too, for thou wilt need them;" and he drummed upon the table
with his fingers, unconcerned, though I stood within two feet of him,
my sword in hand, and could have run him through before he could have
saved himself.
"Dost thou call thyself a gentleman?" I asked bitterly, "and hire a
cutthroat to slay a man, whom thou fearest to meet thyself?"
A dull red flush covered the Count's face, his eyes glittered like a
trapped beast.
"What meanest thou?" he growled hoarsely. "Explain thyself, for I know
not what thou referrest to."
"I refer to last night, when Father Francis tried to knife me by thy
command while I slept," I answered. "Oh! thou art a noble of Spain to
do such work as this; and then fear to meet the man thou didst try to
have murdered. I would disgrace myself by crossing swords with such as
thee."
"Have a care," he growled, his face swollen with anger, "have a care
lest I forget myself and run thee through. As for the priest, I swear
to thee that I know naught of that which thou sayest, until thou didst
tell me of it but a moment ago. This much I will say to thee, that I
never yet feared man or devil. I have ever done my work in the open,
have never stooped to such tricks as this, and were it not for a matter
that I cannot explain I would fight thee now, and forever rid myself of
thee."
"Save thy breath for one who will believe thee," I answered. "As for
myself, I believe naught that thou hast said." And picking up my hat, I
left him there, his face hot and red with rage, and walked out upon the
porch.
Looking out I saw two sailors coming up the path, leading a youth
between them. He was a stranger, young, handsome, with a sunny brown
eye, long yellow locks, a frank, open face, and could not have been
more than twenty years at most. As he came nearer I saw him glance at
me.
"What hast thou here?" I asked one of the men.
He answered, respectfully enough: "A young gentleman, sir, who was
washed ashore last night from the brig that went down. We kept him in
the barrack, for he was half drowned, although to-day he is as bright
as a cricket, and is the only soul that came ashore alive out of the
ship."
"Art thou English?" I asked the youth.
"Yes," the young fellow replied, looking at me out of his frank eyes.
"In whose hands am I?"
"Ask those who are better acquainted than myself," I replied. "The
Count is in the dining hall, my men."
"Come," said one of the sailors, and they led him in to where DeNortier
sat.
I watched him as they carried him into the hall; his was a fresh, young
face, virile and strong, a captive too, like myself, and I naturally
felt an interest in his fate. Turning, I passed back into the dining
hall, where the Count, silent and moody, still sat.
He was questioning the lad when I entered.
"What is thy name?" he asked, speaking in English.
"Oliver Gates," the boy replied in the same tone, his head held high.
"What art thou doing in these strange seas?" the other said.
"I was page to my Lord Lamdown," the lad answered brightly; "but I had
grown tired of the soft, idle life, and being an orphan, with none of
kin in England, I embarked with Captain Jones as a gentleman adventurer
for the coast of Cuba to trade with the natives. We had gotten this
far and all seemed well, until last night the storm arose, and the ship
went down."
"Where am I?" continued the boy, as DeNortier sat silent in the great
chair, his head bent in thought, as though forgetful of all around him.
At this question the pirate stirred, and raised his eyes to the
handsome face of the lad.
"I could best answer that question by telling thee into whose hands
thou hast fallen," he said, with a frown. "I am the Count DeNortier."
Oliver started, a look of fear crossed his face.
"What!" he cried. "Not DeNortier the pirate?"
"The same," answered the adventurer, unmoved by the other's alarm.
"I am in need of recruits," he continued. "Thou dost seem a likely
strippling, wilt thou come with us? Thou shalt be my right-hand man,
with thy pockets full of gold, and sword in hand thou wilt be the envy
and admiration of all the maids in London," and he laughed, a grim look
of mirth upon his face.
But the lad stood determined.
"I will not come," he said firmly, "though thou dost slay me. I was
raised in the family of, and have served, a nobleman; thinkest thou
that I would disgrace my training like this? To roam the seas with a
band of cutthroats, and finally to swing 'twixt heaven and earth, a
rope around my neck?"
The answer seemed to fan the smoldering rage of the Count into a flame.
With an oath, he caught up his sword which lay upon the table, and drew
it from its sheath.
"Choose!" he cried. "Either thou shalt join me without more words, or
prepare to meet thy doom; for as certain as thou dost stand there, I
will run thee through if thou dost not join me."
The boy threw back his head, his cheeks were pale, but his look was
high and unflinching.
"Strike," he said, "if thou wilt, for I refuse to join thee."
The Spaniard raised his sword, but leaning over I caught the hilt with
my hand and held it.
"Ruffian!" I cried. "Wouldst thou slay the youth? He is but a child."
A slow, evil look was upon his face; for a moment his anger mastered
him.
"Twice hast thou crossed my path to thwart me," he growled. "Take care,
there shall be no third time." Then drawing back, he sheathed his sword.
"I will dice with thee for the lad's life," he said suddenly. "If thou
dost win, he is thine to do with what thou wilt; if thou shouldst lose,
then he is mine. Wilt cast with me?"
I hesitated a moment; then turning to the boy, who stood gazing with
wide-open eyes upon us, I cried:
"Art thou content that we should dice for thy life, or wilt thou have
none of it?"
His face was pale, but he answered me quickly: "I am content; better
that I should die, than be in the hands of such as he."
"So be it," I answered. "Where are the dice?"
Turning to the corner, he drew from a chest the dice, and a little
round box, and with those in his hand, moved to the table.
"Wilt thou throw first?" he asked, "or shall I?"
"No," I answered; "do thou throw. I will follow thee."
It was a strange scene in that great room. The rough seamen gathered
around the table watching, eager to see which way the dice would fall;
the boy, Oliver Gates, as he stood behind me, watching the dice in the
Count's hand--his life the stakes for which we gamed. DeNortier, a dark
scowl upon his face, fingering coolly the box in which the dice lay,
ready to cast without a tremor the little squares on which depended
a human life; myself, with face as white as the boy's, as I thought
of the great load which rested upon me, and of how much depended upon
"Chance," the blind goddess.
DeNortier stood opposite me, only the little light in his dark eyes
betraying his excitement. I watched his hand narrowly while he shook
the dice in the box, preparing to throw. I have often thought of that
scene since, and wondered if I fully appreciated its solemnity as I
watched the Spaniard, and yet I was oppressed by the thought that a
human life lay in my hands, either to be lost or to be gained; but as
the lad had said, better that he should die than to live a captive in
the pirate's hands and at his mercy.
He threw, and with a rattle the dice rolled out upon the table. For a
moment I feared to look, and then summoning all my courage, with an
effort I looked at the dice--double fours--could I beat that?
I saw the look of triumph in DeNortier's eyes, plainly he thought that
he had won; and there as I stood with the box in my hand, I sent up one
fervent prayer to whatever gods there be, to fight for me in that hour,
and guide the dice aright.
Raising my hand I tossed, and they rolled down upon the table and over
to the further side. I bent over them with eyes that feared to behold
the result, and I could hear the quick, deep breathing of Oliver Gates
behind me, as with beating heart he awaited to hear his fate. The two
seamen were bending over the table with eager faces. I straightened
myself up--five and four.
"The day is mine, Count," I said triumphantly.
"Yes," he answered, "thou hast it; the fates are propitious. Beware!
they will not be ever at thy side;" and turning from me he passed out
of the room. The men followed, leaving me alone with Oliver.
"Thy life is safe," I said to him, "and thou shalt be my page. Wilt
enter my service?"
"Who art thou?" he asked. "It seems as if I had seen thy face before,
yet I know not where."
"Sir Thomas Winchester, of London," I answered.
"I recognize thy face now," he said. "Oft have I seen thee in London,
but thou art changed," and he hesitated.
"Say that I have grown older," I replied. "Nay, do not deny it. I know
that I have grown older, and that the gray is beginning to fleck my
hair; hadst thou been through what I have the last six months, thy hair
would be gray too."
"What doest thou here?" he asked, his eyes fixed still upon my face.
"Thou hast not joined these ruffians, and become one of them?"
"The saints forbid!" I answered quickly. "I am a captive here even as
thou art." And then I related in a few words all I wished him to know
of my kidnaping and detention upon the island.
He listened intently, a look of wonder upon his face.
"And why does my Lord Dunraven hound thee thus?" he cried. "What motive
has he, that he should detain thee here?"
"Lad," I answered, a bitter smile upon my face, "thou art young yet,
and hast much to learn; when thou growest older thou wilt know what
a man will do for the love of a maid. Dost know the Lady Margaret
Carroll?"
"Aye," he answered, "the loveliest lady in England; as well ask me if I
know my master."
"Then," I answered, "is there need to look further than the lady for a
cause?"
A look of understanding came into his face.
"I see," he said, "and wonder no longer. A lady so fair would tempt a
man to risk his soul, could he but win her."
"But thou hast not answered my question; wilt be my man and enter my
service? I have need of such a one here, and when I come to my own
again, thou shalt not regret it."
"Yes," he answered, a look frank and true upon his open face. "I owe
my life to thee. I am thy man, for better or for worse, and here is my
hand on it," and he stretched out his hand to me.
I reached out and grasped it, a mist before my eyes. 'Twas the first
friendly hand I had clasped since Steele had sailed away and left
me weary months before, and I knew what it meant to be alone and
friendless among bitter foes.
"Thou shalt not rue it," I said.
And thus Oliver Gates entered my service. He was a treasure, that boy;
he fell to and cleaned my muddy clothes and boots, polished my rusty
breastplate, mended the rents in my ragged doublet, and was ever at my
elbow, ready to serve me.
He had cleaned the musketoon which I carried, and one morning I came
suddenly upon him, his eyes fixed upon the sight, the weapon at his
shoulder.
"What art thou doing?" I asked in surprise, seeing no one at whom he
pointed.
He lowered the gun, a look of confusion upon his face.
"I was but wishing that my Lord Dunraven walked below," he answered,
"and I would soon rid thee of him forever;" and he looked up into my
face.
I was strangely touched by his thoughts of me, for I had grown to love
him well, with his frank and merry ways, ever with a song upon his
lips, ever busy with thoughts of my comfort and welfare.
"Lad," I said, "I know not what I would do without thee."
A tear came into his eye, and rolled down his rosy cheek; he tried to
speak, but could not, and turning, hurried from the room.
Sometimes at night as we sat together in my room under the candlelight,
I would have him to tell me of London, and what my friends did there,
of himself, and of his life before he sailed on his ill-fated voyage.
I learned that my old comrade Drake had sailed for the Spanish Main
in search of gold; that Bacon was busy with his law; Raleigh was in
high favor with the Queen, and seemed at present to be the favorite;
Bobby Vane he did not know. The Lady Margaret Carroll was the toast of
London, happy, gay, light-hearted; rumor had it that she would soon
become the bride of the Lord Dunraven, who, devoted, gallant, and
attentive, was ever her constant shadow, and since I had vanished so
mysteriously from London, he had no rival of importance.
Of me, London had gossiped for a few days; the tale of my
disinheritance had been the talk of the town, and followed so soon by
my disappearance had created quite a sensation, and a dozen different
stories had been circulated by way of explanation. Some said I had
committed suicide; others that I had gone to the Low Country to assist
the Dutch; still others that I had joined the freebooters and become a
sea-rover.
It had furnished sensation for the ladies and gentlemen of fashion,
as they gathered under the evening candles and sipped their tea, but
other things came to engage their attention; what cared they if one
poor gentleman, stripped of his position and fortune, lived or died? I
had passed from their world forever, and so with a jest upon their lips
they had flitted to some new topic.
Only a few friends had made an effort to find some trace of my fate.
Bobby Vane and Raleigh had indeed searched, but could find no clue. It
was as though the earth had swallowed me up.
Oliver Gates loved me, I believed. He followed me about like a dog;
had searched the island for Father Francis and Dunraven, and was ever
vigilant to track the Spaniard in hope that he would discover some
trace of my lord, but in vain.
Dunraven and Father Francis I had never seen since they left the island
that stormy night in the boat. Sometimes I thought they had gone down
in the gale, but they were too wicked to die like honest men. No, I
believed they were alive, perhaps in England, engaged in plots to
abduct my lady, and at the thought I would pace the floor and wring
my hands. At such times Oliver was a boon to me. He would sing some
ballad of the olden days, when a knight, brave in his armor, and with
his waving pennant, would ride out to do battle for his lady love; and
at the sound of his rich, mellow voice, the care and sorrow would fade
away from my heart, and I would forget myself and all my woes.
So the time passed, and spring had come; the sun shone brightly, and
its beauty had tempted me out of the house. All was light and merry
beneath the morning light; the birds were singing, and all earth seemed
to lie quiet and peaceful, as though weary of toil and labor, and
resolved to take holiday for one brief day.
Oliver I had not seen for several minutes, and I strolled down the
lane that led to the little settlement of the natives. A few of them I
met as I walked down the path, and with a word of greeting, they had
stepped aside to let me pass.
I kept steadily on my way, my head bent, thinking of old England and
wondering if I would ever see it again. The grass was green and fresh
there, the spring flowers were beginning to bloom, and in the fields
the sod lay upturned to the sun. The fresh scent of the turf struck my
nostrils. Ah, this was England! It held naught for me, perhaps only
scorn and hatred; still my heart yearned for the Old Country like that
of the exile condemned to some prison, far from his home. It was where
my eyes had first beheld the light, and it was there, when I finished
my weary journey and life's brief sorrows were over, that I wished
to rest quietly beneath its green turf, where naught of the world's
turmoil and strife could reach; safe from all harm, with only the
silent stars to shine down upon me, I would sleep with my fathers.
I was coming into the group of bark huts; only one old woman was
visible, her form bent nearly double with age, her hair snow white,
her eyes sunken, her face weather-beaten as though by many a storm.
Crouched by one of the low entrances she sat, her eyes fixed upon me.
There was that look of knowledge, of understanding, in them, which
comes only with extreme age; the look of one who has tasted of all
life's secrets, and who has known all that it contains.
I paused beside her, struck by the look of withered age upon her face,
and by her snow-white hair; for I had never seen a native with white
hair before.
"What is thy age, old crone?" I asked her, in the native tongue.
She did not stir, only her sunken eyes were fixed upon my face, and
then, in a voice cracked and broken, she replied:
"Neulta has seen the suns of one hundred and four summers, and still
she remains; those whom she knew in her youth have long since gone from
among her people."
One hundred and four years old! She was mad; but still she was
extremely old, her face showed that.
I knew the name too; often when the servants at the mansion had lost
aught, or anything had mysteriously disappeared, they would go to
Neulta, and she would tell them where to find the missing article.
Strange to say, when they had looked where she directed, they would
always discover the missing thing.
Wonderful stories were told of her superhuman powers by the natives. It
was said that DeNortier always consulted her before embarking on his
voyages; that she had foretold to Herrick, months before, that he would
meet death by the hand of a tall stranger, alone in a cavern; he had
laughed at her, but lo! it had been even as she had said. The Indians
swore by Neulta, and regarded her as a goddess.
I had scoffed at the tales told me by the dead José and the other
servants; had told them that the old hag had stolen the things herself,
and did but tell them where they were hidden that she might increase
their faith in her, but I could never persuade them that I spoke truth.
Some thought of the idle tales crossed my mind as she told me her age.
"Thy mind wanders," I answered. "It is not possible; tell me something
that I can believe."
The old woman sat still and motionless, then she answered: "Before the
Señor's father came into this world I was a middle-aged woman. When the
Señor dies I will still be here; for I hold the magic power handed down
from my people, who dwelt on this island long before these miserable
natives whom thou now seest about thee had landed in this place. Ah,"
she continued, rising to her feet at the thoughts of the past, "they
were a race of men! These are but cattle, who are fitted to wait upon
the white man. But why do I talk thus?" she muttered, seating herself
again. "My people have vanished, and I alone remain.
"The Señor does not believe me; he thinks that I dream. Let the Señor
but come into my hut here, and I will show him things which are not of
this world. Does he wish to behold whom he thinks of? But follow me and
he shall see what he wots not of. Come!" and she hobbled to the door of
the hut and threw it open.
I hesitated; she was mad doubtless, but I was in no hurry. I had naught
to engage my mind; perhaps she might amuse me. It might be that this
was but a trick of DeNortier's to lure me into this hut and then put me
out of the way; for that was a scheme worthy of his master mind.
The old crone stood in the doorway, looking at me.
"Ah! the Señor fears," she croaked. "Afraid of an old woman, alone and
unarmed," and she cackled in glee.
My mind was made up; stepping upon the threshold, I pushed the door
wide open and entered. The old woman closed the door, and I was in
total darkness. She moved about in the dark, until presently she
struck two hard stones together, and going to where three great torches
of light-wood were fastened in the wall, she lit them.
Immediately the room became brightly illuminated, and I looked around.
There was nothing in the hut; only a rough pile of leaves in the
corner, which served as a bed, and a rough stone bench in the center of
the room, together with a little wooden chest.
Going to the chest, she raised the lid, calling as she did so to me,
"Let the Señor seat himself upon the bench."
I did so, and watched her movements, until finally she drew an article
from the chest, and turning, held it out to me. I took it in my hands,
and glanced down to see what she had given me. It was a polished disk
of silver, perhaps a foot in diameter, curved and embossed with strange
and barbarous shapes. I had seen naught like it in all my travels.
"How camest thou by this?" I asked sternly.
The old woman, her back to me, was groping again in the box. "Let not
the Señor be troubled," she said dryly, "for the mirror was handed down
to me from my fathers, who dwelt here in the days of yore. It is mine;
be not uneasy on that score."
And then from the box she drew a little stone image of a man,
grotesquely shaped, with great staring eyes, and with a cold, sinister
expression upon his carved face. She set it on the floor in front of
me; as I looked at it, the face reminded me of someone whom I had seen.
Yes, the same hard, cold look and hawk nose of Lord Dunraven; I was
struck by the resemblance, for rough, uncouth as the image was, it
resembled my lord.
The old crone had sprinkled a yellow powder in front of the idol, and
had lit it, and now she was kneeling in front of the image, crooning a
low savage song, her eyes, keen and piercing through the smoke, fixed
upon me. I rose in disgust. Was I a fool, to sit through such mummery
as this?
She called to me even as I stirred, "Let not the Señor arise; but a
moment, and he will behold a sight upon the mirror such as he has never
seen before. Let him wait but a moment, and gaze upon the disk."
There was something in that look, eager, commanding, fixed upon me,
that I could not resist. I resumed my seat.
"I will remain but a moment," I said. "Quick with thy foolery, I am
wearied and would go."
"Look upon the glass!" she shrieked. "Look!"
I looked down carelessly at the mirror in my hand. Unaccountably,
marvelously, there was something dim, misty, and hazy, growing
upon the polished disk; more and more distinct it became, until
wonder of wonders, I looked into the violet eyes of Lady Margaret
Carroll!--there, lovely, beautiful, divine, she gazed at me, gowned
for some ball, a flower in her hair, the soft curved neck encircled by
a chain of precious stones, her lovely dimpled chin, and little mouth
curved as though laughing at its own red beauty. For a moment I looked
at her, and then I was gazing at the vacant glass in my hand.
I sprang to my feet. "Hag!" I cried, "what trick is this? Beware how
thou triflest with me."
The voice of the crone floated across to me through the smoke.
"No trick," she mumbled; "'tis but the magic of the great white spirit.
Would my lord behold his rival? Look!"
And there upon the silver disk, with his brave, true eyes upon me,
shone the face of Bobby Vane.
"'Tis false!" I cried. "False! He would not act thus."
"Wonder not," replied the crone. "Stranger things than this have
happened; men would betray all for love of such a maid;" and she
muttered something to herself. "Wouldst behold how thy friend conducts
himself in thy absence with thy lady-love? Behold!"
And there upon the glass I saw my lady and Bobby. They were at some
dance or merry-making, for I could see dimly the moving forms around
them. Suddenly they turned and passed out into a moonlit garden, and
seated themselves in the shadow of some thick trees. I saw Bobby lean
forward nearer that beautiful face; saw him whisper something into that
little shell-like ear; saw the smile upon her face; and then, reaching
out his hand, he took one of Margaret's in his own, and bent down as
though to kiss her, looking into her beautiful blue eyes all the while.
It was more than flesh and blood could stand. With an oath, I cast the
mirror far from me, and throwing the cowering crone a coin, strode out
from the miserable hut into the free air of heaven.