VII

This man looked steadily at Barnaby True for above half a minute and

then burst out a-laughing. And, indeed, Barnaby, standing there with

the bandage about his head, must have looked a very droll picture of

that astonishment he felt so profoundly at finding who was this pirate

into whose hands he had fallen. "Well," says the other, "and so you be

up at last, and no great harm done, I'll be bound. And how does your

head feel by now, my young master?"

To this Barnaby made no reply, but, what with wonder and the dizziness

of his head, seated himself at the table over against his interlocutor,

who pushed a bottle of rum towards him, together with a glass from the

hanging rack. He watched Barnaby fill his glass, and so soon as he had

done so began immediately by saying: "I do suppose you think you were

treated mightily ill to be so handled last night. Well, so you were

treated ill enough, though who hit you that crack upon the head I know

no more than a child unborn. Well, I am sorry for the way you were

handled, but there is this much to say, and of that you may feel well

assured, that nothing was meant to you but kindness, and before you are

through with us all you will believe that without my having to tell you

so."

Here he helped himself to a taste of grog, and sucking in his lips went

on again with what he had to say. "Do you remember," says he, "that

expedition of ours in Kingston Harbor, and how we were all of us balked

that night?" then, without waiting for Barnaby's reply: "And do you

remember what I said to that villain Jack Malyoe that night as his boat

went by us? I says to him, 'Jack Malyoe,' says I, 'you've got the

better of us once again, but next time it will be our turn, even if

William Brand himself has to come back from the grave to settle with

you.'"

"I remember something of the sort," said Barnaby, "but I profess I am

all in the dark as to what you are driving at."

At this the other burst out in a great fit of laughing. "Very well,

then," said he, "this night's work is only the ending of what was so

ill begun there. Look yonder"--pointing to a corner of the cabin--"and

then maybe you will be in the dark no longer." Barnaby turned his head

and there beheld in the corner of the saloon those very two

travelling-cases that Sir John Malyoe had been so particular to keep in his

cabin and under his own eyes through all the voyage from Jamaica.

"I'll show you what is in 'em," says the other, and thereupon arose,

and Barnaby with him, and so went over to where the two

travelling-cases stood.

Our hero had a strong enough suspicion as to what the cases contained.

But, Lord! what were suspicions to what his two eyes beheld when that

man lifted the lid of one of them--the locks thereof having already

been forced--and, flinging it back, displayed to Barnaby's astonished

and bedazzled sight a great treasure of gold and silver, some of it

tied up in leathern bags, to be sure, but so many of the coins, big and

little, yellow and white, lying loose in the cases as to make our hero

think that a great part of the treasures of the Indies lay there before

him.

"Well, and what do you think of that?" said the other. "Is it not

enough for a man to turn pirate for?" and thereupon burst out

a-laughing and clapped down the lid again. Then suddenly turning serious:

"Come Master Barnaby," says he. "I am to have some very sober talk with

you, so fill up your glass again and then we will heave at it."

Nor even in after years, nor in the light of that which afterwards

occurred, could Barnaby repeat all that was said to him upon that

occasion, for what with the pounding and beating of his aching head,

and what with the wonder of what he had seen, he was altogether in the

dark as to the greater part of what the other told him. That other

began by saying that Barnaby, instead of being sorry that he was

William Brand's grandson, might thank God for it; that he (Barnaby) had

been watched and cared for for twenty years in more ways than he would

ever know; that Sir John Malyoe had been watched also for all that

while, and that it was a vastly strange thing that Sir John Malyoe's

debts in England and Barnaby's coming of age should have brought them

so together in Jamaica--though, after all, it was all for the best, as

Barnaby himself should presently see, and thank God for that also. For

now all the debts against that villain Jack Malyoe were settled in

full, principal and interest, to the last penny, and Barnaby was to

enjoy it the most of all. Here the fellow took a very comfortable sip

of his grog, and then went on to say with a very cunning and knowing

wink of the eye that Barnaby was not the only passenger aboard, but

that there was another in whose company he would be glad enough, no

doubt, to finish the balance of the voyage he was now upon. So now, if

Barnaby was sufficiently composed, he should be introduced to that

other passenger. Thereupon, without waiting for a reply, he

incontinently arose and, putting away the bottle of rum and the

glasses, went across the saloon--Barnaby watching him all the while

like a man in a dream--and opened the door of a cabin like that which

Barnaby had occupied a little while before. He was gone only for a

moment, for almost immediately he came out again ushering a lady before

him.

By now the daylight in the cabin was grown strong and clear, so that

the light shining full upon her face, Barnaby True knew her the instant

she appeared.

It was Miss Marjorie Malyoe, very white, but strangely composed,

showing no terror, either in her countenance or in her expression.

* * * * *

It would not be possible for the writer to give any clear idea of the

circumstances of the days that immediately followed, and which, within

a week, brought Barnaby True and the enchanting object of his

affections at once to the ending of their voyage, and of all these

marvellous adventures. For when, in after times, our hero would

endeavor to revive a memory of the several occurrences that then

transpired, they all appeared as though in a dream or a bewitching

phantasm.

All that he could recall were long days of delicious enjoyment followed

by nights of dreaming. But how enchanting those days! How exquisite the

distraction of those nights!

Upon occasions he and his charmer might sit together under the shade of

the sail for an hour at a stretch, he holding her hand in his and

neither saying a single word, though at times the transports of poor

Barnaby's emotions would go far to suffocate him with their rapture. As

for her face at such moments, it appeared sometimes to assume a

transparency as though of a light shining from behind her countenance.

The vessel in which they found themselves was a brigantine of good size

and build, but manned by a considerable crew, the most strange and

outlandish in their appearance that Barnaby had ever beheld. For some

were white, some were yellow, and some were black, and all were tricked

out with gay colors, and gold ear-rings in their ears, and some with

long mustachios, and others with handkerchiefs tied around their heads.

And all these spoke together a jargon of which Barnaby True could not

understand a single word, but which might have been Portuguese from one

or two phrases he afterwards remembered. Nor did this outlandish crew,

of God knows what sort of men, address any of their conversation either

to Barnaby or to the young lady. They might now and then have looked at

him and her out of the corners of their yellow eyes, but that was all;

otherwise they were, indeed, like the creatures of a dream. Only he who

was commander of this strange craft, when he would come down into the

saloon to mix a glass of grog or to light a pipe of tobacco, would

maybe favor Barnaby with a few words concerning the weather or

something of the sort, and then to go on deck again about his business.

Indeed, it may be affirmed with pretty easy security that no such

adventure as this ever happened before; for here were these two

innocent young creatures upon board of a craft that no one, under such

circumstances as those recounted above, could doubt was a pirate or

buccaneer, the crew whereof had seen no one knows what wicked deeds;

yet they two as remote from all that and as profoundly occupied with

the transports of their passion and as innocent in their satisfaction

thereof as were Corydon and Phyllis beside their purling streams and

flowery meads, with nymphs and satyrs caracoling about them.