BRAS-DE-FER MAKES A CAPTURE
The feat at arms of Monsieur Mornay at the expense of the luckless
Gratz had set the ship by the ears, and with little opposition
Bras-de-Fer became the third in command. Before many weeks were gone it
was discovered that he had his seamanship at as ready a convenience as
his pike-play, for in a troublesome squall in a windy watch on deck,
while Jacquard was below, he had not scrupled to take the command from
Captain Billy Winch, who was so deep in liquor that he didn’t know the
main-brace from a spritsail sheet, and who had had the _Sally_ upon her
beam-ends, with all his ports and hatches open. Mornay sprang to the
helm and gave the orders necessary to bring her to rights. Indeed, the
command had clearly devolved upon Jacquard; for the lucid intervals of
Captain Billy Winch were becoming less and less, until from that state
of continued jubilation which marked his departure from the port of
London he had passed into one of beatific unconsciousness, from which
he only aroused himself to assuage his thirst the more copiously. One
black morning in the wilds of the Atlantic he reached the deck, his
eyes wide with fever and his mouth full of oaths, swearing that he
would no longer stay below, but his legs were so completely at a loss
that, what with the wild plunges of the vessel and the assaults of the
seas which made clean breaches over her, he was thrown down into the
scuppers again and again, and all but drowned in the wash of the deck.
But the bruising and sousing in the saltwater, instead of rebuffing him
or abating a whit of his ardor, but served to sober him and make him
the more ambitious to take his proper place aboard the vessel. Jacquard
would have restrained him, but he threw the Frenchman aside, and,
while trying to descend the ladder at the angle of the poop, lost his
balance, and, catching wildly at the lee bulwark, disappeared in the
dirty smother under the quarter and was seen no more.
After this mishap, Jacquard went below to the cabin with Mornay to
make his plans for the future of the _Saucy Sally_. There, among the
rum-reeking effects of the captain, he discovered the royal charter
and warrant under which the vessel sailed, together with the lists of
Spanish vessels which should have left port, their destinations and
probable values. Jacquard outlined the plans he had made for their
operations when they should have reached the waters he had chosen.
Cornbury, who had been reading abstractedly in the warrant, gave a
sudden cry.
“Bresac,” he said, pointing a long forefinger upon the parchment.
“Faith, my dear man, your fortune is a silly, whimsical jade, after
all. Cast your eye hither for a moment of time.”
Mornay took the document in amazement.
Whereas it hath come to Our Notice [it began] that certain
Enemies of the State sailing in the Vessels of the Kingdom of
Spain have prepared, ordered, and levied war against Us, and
have molested and harassed Our lawful Commerce upon the Sea,
to the oppression of Our loyal Subjects carrying on the same,
by the advice of Our Privy Council we hereby grant to our good
and loyal subject Henry Heywood, Knt., that his vessel or
vessels--
“’Tis as plain as a pike-handle,” said Cornbury. And as Mornay still
scanned the document: “Faith, can ye not see?--ye’re a guest upon a
vessel of your own. The vessel and all she owns is yours, man--yours!”
“_Parbleu!_” said Mornay, when the edge of his wonderment was dulled.
“I believe you. A rare investment, indeed, for the millions of the
Bresacs.”
“A thousand per centum at the very least, with a modicum for the King.
Ye cannot wonder how Charles bewailed the man’s demise. Ye touched his
purse, René. And friendship has little to expect from the conscience of
an empty pocket.”
“By my life, it is so!” said the wide-eyed Mornay. “Jacquard shall
know. Listen, my friend.” And, with a particular reticence with
regard to the name of Mistress Clerke, he told Jacquard of the great
secret, the rape of the papers, and the other things pertaining to
his discovery. It was learned that in the matter Jacquard knew only
one Captain Brail, a ship-chandler and owner, who had the finding
of all the sea appurtenances, the making of the contracts, and the
furnishing of the stores. The sympathetic Jacquard followed Monsieur
Mornay through a description of the duel, his face wreathed in smiles,
his eyes shining with delight. He wept at the tale of the mother,
commiserated the orphan, and, when he learned how Sir Henry Heywood had
taken possession of the proofs of the boy’s birth and lineage and had
kept him from his rightful inheritance, Jacquard rose upon his long
legs and swore aloud at the man’s perfidy. When Mornay had finished, he
sat silent a moment, clasping and unclasping his knotted, bony fingers.
“It is a strange story, monsieur--the strangest I have ever heard. It
means, monsieur, that upon the _Saucy Sally_, at least, you have come
into your own. Besides, once my captain, always my captain. _Allons!_
It shall be as before. Bras-de-Fer shall lead. Jacquard shall
obey. That is all.” He arose and took Monsieur Mornay by the hand.
“Henceforth,” he said, “it shall be Captain René Bras-de-Fer. Now we
will go upon deck, and I shall tell them.”
Although the death of Billy Winch had caused much commotion aboard the
vessel, the crew in the main were tractable and compliant. Upon his
own great popularity, upon the reputation of Bras-de-Fer, and upon the
large portion of the crew who were Frenchmen like himself, Jacquard
relied to effect the necessary changes in the management of the vessel.
The Frenchman’s bearing since he had come aboard had been such as to
enhance rather than to remove the early impression that he had made,
and but a spark was needed to amalgamate him with the ship’s company.
That spark Jacquard dexterously applied. He called all hands aft, and
with a stirring appeal to their imagination, one by one, recalled the
feats of the chevalier--the fight in the open boat with the Austrian
pirate, the defiance of the Spanish Admiral under the very guns of the
_Bona Ventura_, the six duels upon the landing-place at Cronenburg,
the wreck of the _Sainte Barbe_, and the mutiny and ignominious defeat
of Jean Goujon upon the _Dieu Merci_. All of these things he painted
with glowing colors, so that as he stepped forth on deck they hailed
Bras-de-Fer with a glad acclaim. Then Bras-de-Fer told them what he
hoped to do, and read them (amid huzzahs) the list of Spanish shipping.
When the matter of the captaincy had been duly settled beyond a doubt,
with a grace which could not fail to gain approval, he unhesitatingly
appointed Yan Gratz again the third in command, and this magnanimity
did much to unite him to the small faction which stood aloof. The frank
confidence he placed in the Hollander put them upon the terms of an
understanding which Gratz accepted with as good a grace as he could
bring to the occasion. A cask of rum was brought up on the deck and
the incident ended in jubilation and health-giving, which in point of
good-fellowship and favorable augury left nothing to be desired. At the
end of a week Bras-de-Fer had given still more adequate proofs of his
ability. With a shrewd eye he had discovered the natural leaders among
the crew. These he placed in positions of authority. Then, appointing
Cornbury master-at-arms, put the men upon their mettle at pike-play
and the broadsword with such admirable results that the carousing and
laxity engendered by the habits of Captain Billy Winch became less
and less, until the rum-casks were no more brought up on deck, except
upon rare and exceptional occasions. Of growls there were a few, and
here and there a muttering apprised him of dissatisfaction among the
free-drinkers. But he offered prizes from the first Spanish vessel
captured for those most proficient in the manly arts, to appease
their distaste for the sport, himself entering upon the games with a
spirit and a poise which were irresistible. The unrestrained life had
caught the fancy of Cornbury, too, and with nimble tongue and nimbler
weapon he won his way with the rough blades as though he had entered
upon this service by the same hawse-pipe as themselves. Once, when a
not too complimentary remark had been passed upon his beard, which
was grown long and of an ingenuous crimson, he took the offender by
the nose and at the point of his sword forced him upon his knees to
swear by all the saints that his life-long prayer had been that some
exclusive dispensation of nature should one day turn his beard the
very self-same color as the Irish captain’s; who then, in satisfaction
of the cravings of that reluctant delinquent, forced him below to the
paint closet, where he caused him to bedaub himself very liberally with
a pigment of the same uncompromising hue--so liberally that not storm
nor stress could avail for many weeks to wash clean the stigma. Indeed,
so strikingly did the combative characteristics of his race manifest
themselves in the performance of his new duties that but for Jacquard
the aggressive Irishman had been almost continually embroiled. But as
it was, Cornbury served his captain a useful purpose; and, though the
ready tact of Bras-de-Fer averted serious difficulties, there were
adventures aplenty for the master-at-arms--enough, at least, to satisfy
the peculiar needs of his temperament.
In this fashion, learning a discipline of gunnery, arms, and
seamanship, and a little of discontent at the restraint besides, they
crept south and across the broad Atlantic. Gales buffeted them and blew
them from their course, but after many weeks they made northing enough
to cross the path of the Spanish silver ships from South America. The
first vessel they took was a galleon from Caracas. She was heavy with
spices and silks, but had lost her convoy in the night, and was making
for Porto Bello. A shot across her bows hove her to, and her guard of
soldiers gave her up without a struggle. The _Sally_ hove alongside,
and here came the first test of the discipline of Bras-de-Fer. The
fellows rushed aboard with drawn weapons, and, finding no resistance,
were so enraged at the lack of opportunity to display their new prowess
that they fell to striking lustily right and left, and driving the
frightened Spaniards forward shrieking down into the hold. ’Twas rare
sport for Cornbury, who went dancing forward, aiding the progress of
the flying foe with the darting end of his backsword. Only the best
efforts of Bras-de-Fer prevented the men from following the victims
below, where darker deeds might have been done. Yan Gratz, who had
made one voyage with an old _pirato_ named Mansfelt, made so bold
as to propose that the Spaniards be dropped overboard, that being
the simplest solution of the difficulty. But Bras-de-Fer clapped the
hatches over the prisoners with a decision which left little doubt in
the minds of the crew as to his intentions. There was a flare of anger
at this high-handed discipline, for they were free men of the sea, they
said, and owed nothing to any one. Captain Billy Winch had been none
too particular in this matter of detail. But, in spite of their curses,
Bras-de-Fer brought the prisoners and the prize to port in safety.
It was the beginning of a series of small successes which filled the
_Sally’s_ store-rooms and brought three prizes for her into the harbor
of Port Royal, Jamaica. There, quarrelsome, bedizened, and swaggering
through the streets of the town, Bras-de-Fer and Cornbury saw many of
these gentlemen of the sea, who owed allegiance to no man, company, or
government. In the same trade as themselves, it might be, save only
that with a less nice discrimination these gentry robbed broadly, while
the _Sally_, in despite of her very crew, fought and took only from
the enemies of the English King. It was there, too, that the Frenchman
met the new English governor, and explained the freak of fortune by
which he had come to command the _Sally_. The governor became most
friendly, and (with a sly look of cupidity, which had but one meaning)
gave information of the sailing of the _San Isidro_ from Spain, bearing
the new governor of Chagres, several bishops and priests, and gold and
silver coin of inestimable value for the priests of the Church in the
Spanish colonies of America.
Learning that the _San Isidro_ would stop at the Havana, Bras-de-Fer
filled his water-tanks and sailed boldly forth to intercept her.
It was untried water to the Frenchman, and charted with so little
adequacy that the booming of the surf upon the reefs sounded with a
too portentous frequency upon the ears. But Jacquard had eyes and ears
for everything, and they won their way to the Florida coast without
mishap. There a herikano buffeted them out to sea, and it was with many
misgivings that they won their way back to the channels of the Bahamas.
The storm had blown itself out, and the ocean shone translucent as an
emerald. Low-hanging overhead, great patches of fleecy white, torn
from a heaped-up cloud-bank over the low-lying islands of the eastern
horizon, took their wild flight across the deep vault of sky in mad
pursuit of their fellows who had gone before and were lost in a shimmer
of purple, where the sea met the palm-grown spits of the western main.
The cool, pink glow upon the _Sally’s_ starboard beam filled the swell
of the top-sails with a soft effulgence which partook of some of the
coolness and freshness of the air that drove them. Far down upon the
weather bow, first a blur, then a shadow which grew from gray to silver
and gold, came the _San Isidro_. Jacquard sighted her, but it was
Bras-de-Fer who proclaimed her identity. She was a fine new galleon,
spick and span from the Tagus, with three tiers of guns, and masts of
the tallest. Her bright new fore-topsail bore the arms of Spain, and
the long pennons floating from her trucks and poles proclaimed the high
condition of her passengers.
Bras-de-Fer cleared his ship for action and called his men aft.
“There, my fine fellows,” he cried, “is steel worthy of your metal.
Let it not be said that _Saucy Sally_ takes her sustenance from the
weak and cowardly and flirts her helm to the powerful. Yonder is your
prize. She has thrice your bulk and complement--three gun tiers and
twenty score of men. So much the more honor! For in her hold are gold
and silver bright and new minted from the Spanish treasury, and wines
for fat priests, which shall run no less smoothly down your own proper
throats. Yonder she is. Take her. Follow where I shall lead and she is
yours for the asking.”
A roar of approval greeted him, and the manner in which the rascals
sprang to their places showed that, if they growled at his discipline,
they were ready enough for this opportunity.
If the Spanish vessel had aught of fear of the English brig, she did
not show it. The sound of trumpets had proclaimed that she had called
her gun-crews, but she shifted her helm not a quarter-point of the
compass and came steadily on.
Bras-de-Fer lost no time sending the English colors aloft and firing
a shot from his forward guns, as a test of distance. This brought
the Spaniard speedily to himself, for he shortened sail and came
upon the wind to keep the weather-gauge. When he had reached easy
gunshot distance, the _Sally_ began firing a gun at a time with great
deliberation, and so excellent was her aim that few of these failed
to strike her huge adversary. Cornbury, who had taken a particular
fancy for great-gun exercise, practised upon the rigging to such
advantage that he brought the mizzen topsail and cross-jack yard in a
clatter about the ears of the fellows upon the poop. As the Frenchman
suspected, the Spaniards’ gun-play was of the poorest, and the
glittering hordes of harnessed men upon his decks availed him nothing.
Then the _San Isidro_, with true concern, and thinking to end the
matter, eased her sheets in the effort to close with her troublesome
antagonist. Bras-de-Fer kept all fast, and, braving a merciless
broadside which churned the ocean in a hundred gusts of water all about
him, went jauntily up to windward with no other loss than that of the
main top-gallant yard, the wreck of which was quickly cut away.
For two hours the roar of the battle echoed down the distances. The
_Sally_ presented a forlorn appearance with her main topsail torn to
shreds. Two guns of her broadside had been dismounted and ten of her
men had been killed and injured; but upon the Spaniard the wreck of
yards and spars hung festooned with the useless gear upon her wounded
masts, like tangled mosses or creepers upon a dying oak.
At last a lucky shot of the unremitting Cornbury carried away her
pintle, rudder, and steering-gear, so that she lay a heavy and lifeless
thing upon the water. Bras-de-Fer called for boarders, and, firing a
broadside pointblank, lay the _Sally_ aboard, and with a wild cry for
those who dared follow, himself sprang for the mizzen chains of his
adversary. In the light of the dying day, like a hundred wriggling,
dusky cats, they swarmed over the sides of the luckless _San Isidro_,
springing through the ports and over the bulwarks upon the deck with
cries that struck terror to the hearts of their adversaries, many
of whom threw down their weapons and sprang below. A few men in
breast-pieces, who gave back, firing a desultory volley, made a brief
stand upon the forecastle, from which they were speedily swept down
into the head and so forward upon the prow and into the sea.
Bras-de-Fer and Cornbury sprang into the after-passage. Two blanched
priests fell upon the deck, raining their jewels like hailstones before
them and chattering out a plea for mercy from the _pirato_. Indeed,
Bras-de-Fer looked not unlike the pictures of the most desperate of
those bloody villains. A splinter-cut upon the head had bathed him
liberally with blood, and the wild light of exultation glowed from eyes
deep-set and dark with the fumes of dust and gunpowder. His coat was
torn, and his naked sword, dimmed and lusterless, moved in reckless
circles with a careless abandon which spoke a meaning not to be
misconstrued.
The priests he pushed aside, and burst through the door into the cabin.
It was almost dark, but the glow in the west which shone in the wide
stern ports shed a warm light upon the backs of a dozen persons who
had taken refuge there, and were now gazing wide-eyed upon him. By
the table in the center two or three figures were standing, and an
old man with streaming gray hair drew a sword most pitifully and put
himself in posture of defense. Several women thereupon fell jibbering
prone upon the deck, and two figures in uniform crouched back in the
shadow of the bulkhead. But the shedding of blood was done. Cornbury
took the weapon from the patriarch, and Bras-de-Fer, seeing no further
resistance, bowed in his best manner and begged that the ladies be
put to no further inquietude. It was then for the first time that
he noticed the figure of one of them, tall, fair, and of a strange
familiarity, standing firm and impassive, her hand upon a small
petronel, or pistolet, which lay upon the port sill. The splendid
lines of the neck, the imperious turn of the head, the determination
in the firm lines of the mouth, which, in spite of the ill-concealed
terror which lurked in the eyes and brows, betrayed a purpose to defend
herself to the last. Bras-de-Fer stepped back a pace in his surprise
to look again; but there was no mistake. He had seen that same figure,
that same poise of the head, almost that same look out of the eyes,
and, deep as he had steeped his mind in the things which brought
forgetfulness, every line of it was written upon his memory. The lady
was Mistress Barbara Clerke.