THE PARTY FROM THE YACHT.
The schooner yacht Feu Follette swam sluggishly along shore, her lofty
canvas flapping in the faint air. On her spotless quarter-deck, Rupert
Venner, wealthy idler and owner of the vessel, lounged in a deck-chair a
picture of the utter finality of boredom. His guests, Craik Tomlin and
John Pearse, made perfunctory pretense of admiring the lovely coast
scenery along the port hand; but their air was that of men surfeited
with sights, tired of the languorous calm, _blasé_ of life.
The schooner's appointments typified money in abundance. From forecastle
capstan to binnacle she glowed and glittered with massive brass and
ornate gilding; along the waist six burnished-bronze cannon stood on
heavily carved carriages, lashings and breechings as white as a shark's
tooth; over the quarter-deck double awnings gave ample clearance to the
swing of the main boom--the outer of dazzling white canvas, the inner of
richest, striped silk-and-cotton mixture. The open doors of the
deckhouse companion revealed an interior of ivory paneling touched with
gold, and hung with heavy velvet punkahs. The walls were embellished
with exactly the right number of art gems to establish the artistic
perception of the owner and to whet the expectation for more yet unseen.
But, with all this, the Feu Follette housed a discontented master and
discontented guests.
"Oh, for a breeze!" grumbled Pearse, breaking in on the frowning
silence. "How much longer are we to drift around these stagnant seas,
Venner?"
"The very next slant of wind shall wing us homeward," replied Venner
dreamily. "I, too, am sick of the cruise and its deadly monotony."
Again silence, marred only by creak of gear and flap of idle sails. The
schooner barely moved now, though the western sky held promise of a
breeze later on. Then came a cry from one of the negro crew forward,
and its tenor stirred the party into mild interest.
"De debbil, ef 'tain't one o' dem marmaids! Oh, Cæsar!"
A ripple of panting laughter alongside brought Venner and his guests to
the rail in haste, and gone to the windless heavens was their _ennui_. A
gleaming, gold-tinted creature, a miniature model of Aphrodite surely,
arose from the blue sea and climbed nimbly into the main channels and
thence to the deck, where little pools of water dripped from the radiant
figure. She shook her small head saucily, and heavy masses of raven-wing
hair tumbled about her, provokingly cloaking the charms so boldly
outlined by her single saturated tunic of fine silk.
"Who in paradise may you be?" ejaculated Venner, while his friends
stared with unconscious rudeness.
"I? I am Pascherette!" laughed the small vision, and her black eyes
sparkled impudently.
"Pascherette!" echoed Tomlin, bewildered. "Does Jamaica hold such
beauties?" He awkwardly brought forward a deck-chair, while Pearse stood
by in speechless amazement. Venner, as better became the host, ordered a
steward to bring a wrap for the astounding visitor, but the girl laughed
provokingly and declined both.
"It is not for such as I, fine gentlemen," she said, and her sharp eyes
were roving busily about the schooner, appraising values like a
veritable pirate. "Keep thy courtesies for better than I."
"Better than you, girl?" Venner's tone was incredulous. He was taking
mental stock of the priceless pearls about Pascherette's dainty throat.
"To be found here?"
"If not here, where shall ye find such a one as my mistress?"
Pascherette retorted saucily.
"Your mistress?"
"Without doubt. I am but a slave, my lady is the queen, Dolores."
"A queen--a white woman?" stammered Venner.
"Oh, Venner, let us look into this!" exclaimed Pearse with unconcealed
curiosity.
"Just what we have prayed for!" Tomlin supplemented eagerly. "Anchor,
Venner, like a good fellow. A jaunt ashore will brace us all up."
"Nonsense!" objected the owner, albeit with a good trace of
inquisitiveness himself. "The breeze will come by evening; and who knows
what this coast harbors? A bad name sticks to this shore."
Pascherette had wandered forward, and between sly glances aft and keen
scrutiny shoreward, she flung seductive smiles broadcast at the grinning
crew, prattling prettily to officer and man alike, as if she were indeed
a stranger to the ways of shipboard. While she made her rounds the party
aft entered into a warm dispute; their curiosity was whetted, but not
sufficiently in Venner's case, to whom the safety of the yacht was
paramount just then. They wrangled for half an hour, and the schooner
drifted on until she was within a mile or so of the outflung false
Point. Then they were again startled out of their self-possession--this
time by a cry from the girl who leaned over the bulwarks a picture of
ardent admiration for something in the water.
Double awnings and snowy hammock-cloths restricted the view shoreward
from the quarter-deck chairs, and surprise as deep as that which greeted
the girl surged through the disputing three at a great splashing over
the side, accompanied by the boom of a voice that must come from a
powerful, free-breathing chest.
"Room for Milo, servant of Dolores!" the hail rang out, and by the same
means as Pascherette had used, up climbed Milo, to stand motionless
before the white men, an astounding and awe-inspiring shape.
"Another slave of the mysterious queen?" demanded Venner, when recovered
from his astonishment. "It gets interesting, gentlemen. And what is your
errand, Goliath?" he inquired of Milo.
"I know no Goliath. I am Milo. I come to summon ye to the presence of my
queen," returned the giant with as much unconcern as if he were inviting
the pirates to a barbecue.
A titter of amusement passed over the three yachtsmen. It was tinged
with resentment, though, and only curiosity, aroused by shock upon
shock, prevented an angry rejoinder to Milo's speech that could only
have ended one way: in physical damage to three idle gentlemen of wealth
and pleasure.
"A summons, hey?" scoffed Tomlin. "Your queen values her rank, I think."
A dangerous gleam crept into Milo's eyes, and Pearse detected it in
time. "Venner," he said quietly, "you cannot let this adventure pass.
Here's every element of sport held up to us. Let us obey this command,
and get at least a thrill out of this humdrum cruise."
Venner was thinking of many things, and his mind needed little making
up. He had never lost sight of those pearls of Pascherette's; his eye
could not be deceived; they were priceless. And Pearse had not failed to
notice the green jade skull-charm that depended from Milo's columnar
neck, a jade skull with pearls for teeth like the altar brooch of
Dolores. And Tomlin, for all his expressed scorn, was tingling with
ardent desire for such piquant beauty and vivacity as Pascherette's. If
such a creature were the slave, then what could the mistress be? He
assumed a more complaisant attitude, and added his vote: "A good way of
passing away this odious calm spell, Venner. Let us go."
"Where is this great queen, my Colossus?" Venner asked.
"I will lead thee to her presence," replied Milo. "Thy boat will take us
there in a few moments. Further on, beyond that point, the ship may lie
safely in the haven."
Venner called his sailing master, and together they examined the chart.
It showed a sand-bar stretching off the point, a deep-water channel,
narrow but accessible, close to.
"You can work into that anchorage?" asked Venner.
"Yes, sir, if the air don't die away altogether. It seems good ground by
the chart."
"Then carry the schooner in and bring up. Call away my cutter, and"--in
an undertone--"keep a good watch, Peters, this is an evil coast."
* * * * *
The shrill pipes reverberated under the awnings, and sailors, neat and
trim in white uniforms that contrasted beautifully with their dark
skins, ran to man the graceful white cutter. Pascherette sat in the
stern-sheets, cuddled up like a pretty kitten on a crimson silk cushion,
and Milo stood erect, as firm as if on solid ground, between passengers
and rowers as the boat sped shoreward. As the two craft separated the
schooner stood out in veritable beauty, an exquisite thing of gold and
ivory, pearl and rose. Venner's eyes lighted with pride at sight of her.
Even a long, eventless cruise had not killed the artist in him. He
touched Milo softly on the thigh and said with a smile:
"Has your queen anything like that, my friend?"
Milo cast a disdainful glance at the yacht, abruptly turned away again,
and replied shortly: "That is nothing."
"Nothing!" said Venner. "Then where have you seen daintier work of men's
hands and brains?"
"Thou shall see. Thy ship is a petty thing."
"Now, by Heaven, Venner, he has you there!" laughed Tomlin, never
ceasing for a moment from ogling Pascherette, who purred with
contentment and smiled slyly at the frown that came to Milo's face.
"Oh, yes, a poor thing!" laughed Pascherette, hugging her knees and
rippling over with amusement. "My mistress is a great queen.
These"--touching her pearls--"thy rigging could be formed of such, if my
queen willed."
"And in the house of such a great queen, my girl, are doubtless other
things of beauty and worth?" put in Venner with growing sarcasm.
"As witness this pretty wench!" smiled Tomlin, striving to fix the
girl's capricious attention, which persisted in flying ever to Milo.
"Patience," returned Milo. "Do ye know of anything of untold worth--my
queen has that which will buy it? Have ye seen a thing of peerless
beauty--in my queen's house are many of its peers! Patience!"
No word more would the giant utter. Like a bronze statue he stood erect,
guiding the cutter to a small landing with a silent gesture. And as the
boat swept alongside and the yachtsmen began to experience the thrill of
near expectancy, Pearse caught sight of a knot of men loitering on the
nearby slopes, and their appearance startled him.
"Good Lord, look at those piratical ruffians!" he cried.
His companions started, and doubt came into their faces. Then
Pascherette arose from her seat and pressed near to Tomlin, with an
insinuating, caressing movement; and that ardent gentleman exclaimed
impatiently: "Oh, never mind their looks! Come on Venner! This is what
I've dreamed of all my life! Come on!"
Milo touched Pearse's arm, said briefly, "Come!" and that reluctant
visitor stepped ashore; while Venner, after a little twinge of
misgiving, succumbed to his curiosity regarding the hidden glories of
this strange realm, and followed the great black readily enough.
Up the cliff they followed Milo, Pascherette running ahead and looking
backward ever and again with a seductive gesture of invitation; and in
good time they stood before the council hall, the loitering pirates
staring at them wonderingly, and from them to the graceful white
schooner just then entering the narrow channel.
"Enter!" said Milo, and stood aside at the open door.
The interior was dark and awfully still, and the three white men paused
on the threshold doubtfully, regarding each other with half-ashamed
faces.
"Enter!" reiterated Milo, and curiosity got the better of them, for a
swirl of fragrance eddied out to them, and one by one, until the hall
was dotted with them, ruby and amber lights twinkled before them,
seeming to beckon them on to something mysterious in the shadows beyond
the soft lights.
"Neck or nothing!" muttered Venner, leading the way. His friends
followed in silence. Then the doors closed behind them; but fear, doubt,
unbelief, all went to the winds at the spectacle that slowly unfolded
itself before their gaze.
"Cleopatra reincarnated, by God!" gasped Venner. His friends could find
no words to express their sensations in that moment.
Dolores glided out from the heavy hangings behind her chair of state,
and stood, a vision of majestic loveliness, on the dais. Clad in her
short tunic, her hair bound to her brow by the gold circlet that Milo
had made, she had calculated effects with the art of a Circe. Her
rounded arms and bare shoulders, faultless throat and swelling bosom,
radiant enough in their own fair perfection, she had embellished with
such jewels as subtly served to accentuate even that perfection. Upon
one polished forearm a bracelet was pressed, a gaud formed from one
immense emerald cut in a fashion that forced one to doubt the existence
of such a cutter in mortal form. About her neck a rope of exquisitely
matched black pearls supported a single uncut emerald which might have
been born in the same matrix with that on her arm. Her red leather
sandals were fastened, and her ankles crisscrossed, with such bands of
glittering fire as a goddess might have stolen from the belt of Orion.
These things were revealed gradually by cunningly manipulated light
effects until Dolores blazed out entire before her stupefied guests.
They, seeking for relief from the spell, sought in her face some answer
to the riddle; but her expression was that of a being apart:
tantalizingly, inscrutably indifferent to their presence. Then Milo
advanced, prostrated himself before her, and reported his errand done.
"Rise, Milo, and I thank thee," she said, and her soft, yet vibrant,
voice sent a thrill through her waiting guests. Dolores waved a hand
toward the door. "Send Sancho in to me at once, Milo, and do ye watch
for the return of my wolves."
The giant went out; yet the calm face of Dolores gave no relief to the
three yachtsmen; uneasiness began to sit heavily upon them, and it was
not lessened by the entry of Sancho, for such an awful impersonation of
evil in one man they had never seen before.
"Sancho," Dolores commanded him, "it is my will that the vessel now
entering my haven be cared for as mine. See to it!"
"The lads are hungry, lady; it is long since they tasted such--" Sancho
snarled his protest with wickedly curling lips that revealed ragged
yellow fangs. Dolores stared him down with blazing eyes, held his gaze
for a breath and uttered: "Go! See to it! Thy life is the bond!" and
Sancho slunk out like a whipped cur.
There was an uncanny hint of dynamic force in the girl's swift
assumption of authority, and Tomlin found his throat very dry despite
the fact that he was drinking greedily of her beauty. Venner stole a
look at Pearse, and saw in that gentleman a reflection of his own rising
uneasiness. And then, at that instant of shivery doubt, Dolores smiled
at them; and in that same instant three men, with immortal souls, forgot
everything of the world and affairs in the mad intoxication of her
charm.
"Welcome, sirs," she smiled, and stepped down to offer each a hand in
turn--not in handshake, but with an air that said plainly homage was due
to her; and whether he would or not, each of her guests raised the hand
to his lips with reverence.
"What is your pleasure, lady?" asked Venner quietly. He was resolved to
show his friends the way into this magnificent creature's intimate
confidence; and the resolution promised interesting developments, for
each of his friends nursed a similar one. There was, even now, less of
comradeship in the looks with which the friends regarded each other. If
Dolores detected this, she made no sign. She gave a hand to Venner, led
him to the door, and smiled invitation to the others. They followed
hungrily.
"I will give thee food and wine," she said; "then I have much to say to
thee. I have commanded that thy ship and thy men be cared for; to-night
ye are my guests. Come! But first give me thy swords. Thou'rt with
friends." They complied dumbly, dazed by her radiant charm.
They stepped outside into the glaring sunlight; a light breeze was now
singing in the tall palms and making silvery music of the wavelets along
the shore; far away to the southwest a sliver of sail was in sight, and
to a practised eye could be made out as the pirate sloop returning.
Dolores glanced swiftly around, seeking some evidence that her commands
to Sancho were being obeyed; but she saw no man--no figure save the
ancient crone she had discarded and sent to the drudgery of the kitchen.
With a keen sidelong glance she saw that the schooner was heavily
grounded on the Point; a second glance told her that her guests were
thinking little of the schooner, for their eyes never left her face. But
notice was forced upon them, and the reason for the camp's desertion
impressed upon her, by the weird, drawn-out scream of jubilation that
issued from the old woman's withered throat an instant before her old
eyes gave her sight of her mistress and froze the cry at her lips.
"Ha, ha, ha!" she shrieked, waving skinny arms. "That's the way Red
Jabez taught his lambs! Flesh your blade, my bully Rufe, and bring me
some of the meat!"
Abruptly Dolores's guests swung around to follow the direction of the
old woman's arm, and the girl darted a look of fury at the scene. Out
from the point poured Yellow Rufe and a horde of strange mulattos and
blacks, and shots crackled from the schooner's rails. On the little bay
two boats filled with Sancho and his men pulled frantically toward the
fight, and the haven rang with howls of gleeful anticipation. Venner
uttered a smoking oath, and clutched Tomlin and Pearse by the arms.
"Come fellows!" he cried. "This is treachery!"
"Treachery? Ye wrong me, sirs!" Dolores's soft voice halted them. They
stared at her, and she gave them back look for look until she saw the
blood surge back to their faces and their eyes lose their hardness. Then
she laughed, low and sweet, and waved them back.
"Wait. I shall preserve thy ship, and give thee back an eye for an eye
if thy men are harmed. Trust me, will ye not?" She paused a moment to
thrill them with her eyes; they stayed. They she sped down the cliff
like a deer.
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK. Don't forget this magazine is issued weekly,
and that you will get the continuation of this story without waiting a
month.
The Pirate Woman
by Captain Dingle
Author of "The Coolie Ship," "Steward of the Westward," etc.
This story began in the All-Story Weekly for November 2.