Amos Turnpenny
Dennis felt his limbs tremble as he stepped round the fallen body and
went forward. The white man and the biggest of the Indians had already
released themselves, and stood as though rooted to the ground with
amazement.
"I am a friend," cried Dennis, while still separated by some yards from
them.
"My heart, that's a true word!" gasped the white man, and Dennis
thrilled with joy as he heard the broad accent of a south-countryman.
"A friend, true; and a blessed word to Haymoss Turnpenny's ears."
They gripped hands, and looked each other squarely in the face. There
was a lump in Dennis's throat, and a mist of tears in the elder man's
eyes. Then Turnpenny glanced over his shoulder with a sudden access of
fear.
"We bean't safe," he muttered, and there was a world of terror in his
gesture and tone. "They'll find us, and then 'twill be hell-fire. Can
'ee hide us?"
"Let us first release that black man."
"Ay, sure, fellow creature, although black. I'll do it, in a trice."
He walked towards the trees where the last man was still struggling to
force out the staple. At this moment Dennis saw one of the others, who
had released his feet from the hobbling logs, springing past him with
uplifted axe, the fire of fury in his eyes. Turning, he noticed that
the Spaniard he had felled was moving. He had but just time to dash
after the man and prevent him from butchering his prostrate enemy. The
Indian drew back in surprise, and Dennis stood on guard until the
Englishman joined him.
"Bean't he killed dead? Why didn't 'ee kill him, lad? T'others be
dead as door nails, and won't trouble you nor me no more."
"We'll let this fellow live; he may be useful to us."
"Why didn't 'ee kill him with your sword or caliver? He's vermin, as
they be all."
"Well, his back was towards me," said Dennis. "Besides, a shot would
have alarmed his comrades on the ship."
"The ship!" repeated the man, looking round again with fear in his
eyes. "The ship! They'll find us! We are rats in a trap! Lord save
us all!"
"Come, we must think of something. Can you speak to these men?"
"Ay, in some sort. Not in their own tongue, 'tis monkey-talk to me.
Ah! look at 'em, poor knaves."
The Indians had fallen upon the provisions brought by the Spaniards for
their own consumption, and were devouring them ravenously. Turnpenny
called to them in a husky whisper, as though fearful of his own voice
reaching the ears of an enemy. Then, taking the dazed Spaniard with
them, the woodcutters, hobbled by the logs, made off across the island,
led by Dennis to the watercourse at the further end of which his hut
stood. Within half a mile of that spot he halted, and got the
Englishman to tell the others to remain there until rejoined. With
Turnpenny he hastened on.
"God be praised I was able to help you," he said.
"Ay, but I fear me 'tis to your own undoing. They will come ashore,
and catch 'ee, and flay 'ee alive."
"Tell me, how many men are left on the bark?"
"Ten, lad, all armed to the teeth. Sure they will land when we don't
go aboard at night. They will hunt us down. This time to-morrow we'll
be dead men, or worse than dead."
"Pluck up heart," said Dennis. "There are six of us; I have arms for
all; we can post ourselves at a place of our own choice, and make a
good defence, I warrant you."
"My heart! But what will be the use? Say we beat them off, 'twill be
like as if we tried to stem the waves. With a fair breeze the mainland
is but a day's sail, and there the Spaniards swarm like cockroaches in
a hold. I tell 'ee, lad, whoever ye be, we be dead men!"
"I've been nearer death," said Dennis quietly. "Look! There is my
hut. I was cast up on this shore from a wreck: I have been here
several weeks, months--I know not: it has pleased God to keep me alive
here, alone on this island, and I believe there is hope for us all."
"Amen! ... My heart! There's a sheer hulk in the pool yonder."
"Ay, all that's left of the _Maid Marian_. But I will tell you my
story anon. Come away into the hut, and let us talk of what we can do
to save ourselves from the Spaniards."
As they entered the hut, the Englishman drew back with a startled cry.
Perched on a cask sat Mirandola. He chattered angrily at the sight of
a stranger.
"My one friend on the island, and a faithful comrade," said Dennis. "A
gentle soul; he will do you no harm."
"A friend, say you? 'Tis against nature to be friends with a
spider-monkey. And I be fair mazed; it do seem all a dream, only in
the offing yonder there be a real ship, and, say what 'ee will, I be
afeard."
"We'll first file off these clogging hobbles. And what say you to a
mug of beer? It has come far; I have not broached the cask, and maybe
'tis still drinkable."
"My heart! I never thought to taste beer or cider again. 'Twill
comfort my nattlens, sure, and I was once a good man at a tankard."
The fetters were soon struck off; a mug of beer was drawn, and drained
at a gulp; but Turnpenny was still ill at ease. He went to the
entrance of the hut and looked nervously up and down the gully,
listening with head cocked aside. Dennis could not guess at the
terrible past which had made this stout English mariner as timid as a
child.
"Let us get back to the black men," he said, knowing from his own
experience the value of action in banishing sad thoughts. "Are they
Indians of America?"
"Maroons, sir, half Injun, half negro; lusty fighters, and faithful
souls when they do love 'ee."
"We'll knock off their chains and give them arms. What can they use?"
"Not muskets, nor harquebuses, but anything that will dint a blow."
"Half-pikes and swords, then. For yourself, take your pick."
"Ay, it do give me heart to handle a cutlass again. Here's a fine
blade, now, and a musket--give me a harquebus; I could shoot once, but
my arm is all of a wamble now. Lookeedesee!"
He raised the heavy weapon to his shoulder and tried to steady it.
"See! Shaking like a man with the palsy," he said, his nervousness
returning. "I be no more good than a bulrush."
"Pish, man!" said Dennis cheerily. "You are overwrought; your arm is
tired with wielding the axe. An hour's rest will set you up. Come,
bring the file and the weapons; we must see that the others are not
scared in our absence."
The four maroons had remained on the spot where they had been left,
keeping guard over the Spaniard, who had now quite recovered from his
blow. They eyed Dennis with a wide stare, and fell silent when he
approached, seeming scarcely to comprehend the wonderful good fortune
that had befallen them. The removal of their fetters and the gift of
arms struck them as a crowning mercy; they grovelled upon the ground as
in the act of worship.
"They take 'ee for a magician, sir," said Turnpenny. "'Tis marvellous
to their simple poor minds. All the world be full of spirits to them;
a storm at sea be the stirring of witches, and the Spaniards be devils.
My heart!" he exclaimed suddenly, "the fear has took me again! When
they do miss the sound of the axes they will jealous summat wrong, and
then they'll come and we'll be all dead men."
"Cheer up!" said Dennis. "'Tis easy to cure that. Two of the men can
set-to upon the trees again, and one can steal to the shore and keep an
eye on the ship, and acquaint us if he sees any stirring there."
"But what of the Spaniard, lad? 'Tis then only one maroon to watch
him, and 'tis not enough. If so be the knave be left to himself, he'll
run to the beach and give the alarm."
"We'll stop that, too. When he has had a portion of food, we will gag
and bind him, and all will be well."
When the Spaniard was secured, the whole party returned to the scene of
the tree-felling, and while one of the men went stealthily forward to
spy upon the ship, two others plied their axes upon the fallen trunks.
Dennis, more alert of mind than the sailor, foresaw that the trick
could have only a temporary success. When the time came for the
wood-cutting party to return to the vessel, their non-appearance would
awaken suspicion among the Spaniards on board. Believing the island to
be uninhabited, they would not guess what had happened; it would not
even occur to them as possible that cowed and unarmed slaves would have
courage enough to turn on their masters, much less overcome them. But
if the party did not return at nightfall, the captain would certainly
send some of his men to discover the cause. Of all men the Spaniards
were the most superstitious; when they landed, their very superstitions
would put them on their guard. Their approach would be cautious; they
would probably discover the escaped slaves before these could strike at
them effectively; and then, when the inevitable fight came, the party
of six, of whom only two could use firearms, and one had partially lost
his nerve, would stand a poor chance against men armed cap-a-pie and
doubtless inured to the practice of warfare. Besides, even if the
landing party could be taken by surprise and routed, the sound of the
combat would alarm the Spaniards still remaining on the ship. They
would sail away, and in a few days return in overwhelming strength.
Dennis was at first staggered by the difficulties and perils of the
situation, and he dared not consult with Turnpenny until the sailor had
regained his courage. For the present the important thing was to keep
him employed, so as to turn his thoughts from anything that would feed
his fears.
"We must bury these two knaves," said Dennis, glancing at the bodies of
the Spaniards. "You and I can do that. Your name, I bethink me,
is----"
"Turnpenny, by nature, Haymoss by the water o' baptism, sir."
"Haymoss?"
"Ay, sure, a religious good name, sir; a' comes betwixt Joel and
Obydiah somewheres after the holy psa'ms. Born at Chard, sir, in
Zummerzet, but voyaged to Plimworth when that I was a little tiny boy,
and served 'prentice aboard the _Seamew_--master, John Penworthy."
Dennis had heard only the first sentence of this string of facts. He
was in the very act of stooping to dig a grave with one of the maroons'
big axes, when there flashed into his mind an idea which set him aglow
with hope.
"Well, friend Amos," he said, so quietly that none could have suspected
his inward eagerness, "think you not we may strip the outer garments
from these knaves before we bury them? Your back would be the better
for a covering, and this leathern doublet would well beseem you."
"True, sir, but I never donned a stranger's coat yet. I be English
true blue, and though the Spaniard's doublet might span my back,
'twould irk my feeling mind, sir!"
"To please me, Amos. I would fain you covered your arms--the red is
too like blood, and we may see enough of that ere we be many hours
older."
To Dennis's gratification the sailor did not again blench at the
suggestion of a fight with the Spaniards. He laughed.
"My heart! 'Tis easy to see you be a new man in this new world, sir.
The stains of logwood don't worrit me; 'tis a noble dye, you must own,
and many's the noble garment that has been dyed for a Spaniard's madam
out o' the logwood I've cut. But since it offends your innocent eye,
I'll e'en don the knave's coat afore I put him out o' sight in earth
too good for him."
Overjoyed at the man's recovered spirits, Dennis hastened, as they went
on with their task, to press his advantage.
"You are two enemies the less, Amos--nay, three, counting the knave we
have in pound among the trees yonder. What say you to our making a
shift to put a few more in the same case?"
"What mean you, sir?"
"Tell me, what people hath the ship yonder, besides the ten Spanish
knaves of whom you spoke?"
"Why, sir, as a true man I answer, a black cook--no maroon, but a swart
fat knave from the Guinea coast; and three maroons, who fell sick, or
rather were well-nigh beat to death, in an island over against the
continent yonder we visited on the same errand."
"And they are gyved, as you were?"
"All but the cook. He goes free, but, my heart! 'tis little he gains
by it. He is every man's football and whipping-boy."
"Why then do the Spaniards remain aboard the ship when there are so few
slaves to guard?"
"'Tis first because they be idle knaves, who would never do a hand's
turn save by necessity. Item, because they be but poor seamen, and
need a dozen to handle a craft, only forty ton burden, that three
true-born Englishmen could sail into the devil's jaws. Item, because
the spot where she lies at anchor is ill-protected; 'tis rather an open
roadstead than a bay, and if a squall should come up sudden, as 'tis
nature in this meridian, they'd need all the lubbers' work to get a
fair offing."
"So three true-born Englishmen are a match for a dozen base cullies of
Spain? Is that your thought, Amos?"
"Ay, at musket, pike, or quarter-staff; there's never a doubt on it."
"Think you two, then, are a match for ten? The balance turns a little
in favour of the Spaniards; by right proportion it should be two to
eight; but mayhap four maroons on t'other scale would even the odds."
Turnpenny desisted from his work, and a shadow of his former fear came
upon his face. Dennis did not allow time for the fit to lay hold of
him.
"There is advantage to him who strikes first," he went on, quietly.
"If we wait, assuredly we shall have to fight against heavy odds. But
if we assume a bold part, and jump the risks, we may gain all the
vantage of surprise, and enforce it with that English blood you hold so
high in estimation, to say naught of English thews and sinews. Why,
man, that stout arm of yours would fell an ox."
"True, sir," said the simple mariner, bending his arm to raise the
muscle, and looking at the knotty protuberance with great complacency;
"I ha' done desperate deeds of strength in my time. But, heart alive!
do 'ee think to capture the ship?"
"I think of venturing for it; and, unless I be mightily mistaken, Amos
Turnpenny is not the man to turn his back on a venture of that kind."
"Not by nature, sir," said the man, uneasiness struggling with simple
vanity in his mind. "By nature I be as bold as a lion. But the lion
in the story was meshed in with ropes, and could do no harm to a silly
mouse; and for four year past, sir, the ropes of mischance have held my
spirit in thrall, wherefore it is that----"
"That you are afraid? Nonsense! You are the lion; I am the mouse.
Let us say that I, by good luck, have gnawed those confining ropes
asunder, and now, on this island, you are free of mind as of limb, and
a man of heart and vigour."
Turnpenny flung down his axe and fairly jumped.
"My heart!" he cried, gleefully; "'tis the very marrow of the tale! I
be free, free! For four year I have forgot the word. Sound of limb,
straight of eye, with all my five wits, praise God above! Speak your
thought, sir; Haymoss Turnpenny is your man."