Another striking contrast to the hand-shaking, virtuous compact between

Captain Brand and his friend, the pious padre Ricardo! I wonder if they

are shaking hands now! Probably not.

"Gentlemen," resumed Hardy, as he shook the ashes level in his

wine-glass, as if he wished to preserve them to clean his teeth with

after smoking, "I will not detain you much longer. Both vessels were

making great speed, and long before sunset we had been keeping a bright

look-out for the land. At last it was reported, trending all around

both bows, low and with a trembling mirage of pines and mangroves

looming up, and a multitude of rocky keys dead ahead. We were steering

directly for Las Mulatas Islands, a cluster then little known to any

navigators save, perhaps, the buccaneers of the Gulf of Columbus, and

perhaps, too, with the intention of running us just such another dance

as our pilot had a night or two before. However, we were again all

prepared to explore the unknown reefs; and, moreover, we got the

starboard anchor off the bow, and bent the cables to that and the spare

anchors amidships, so as to be all ready to moor ship in case our pilot

required us to do so. And likewise the cutters were hanging clear from

the davits--the same boats which had once before paid a complimentary

visit to some of his friends--supposing he would like to entertain us in

person.

"The sun went down again in a fiery blaze, and with its last ray there

slowly rose to the main truck of the pirate a swallow-tailed black flag,

with a white skull and cross-bones in the dark field. It fluttered for a

moment out straight and clear, and then twisted itself around the thin

mast, never more to be released by hands or halliards! That was the last

glimpse those pirates ever caught of the murderous symbol they had so

often fought and sailed under; and it was the last sun that a good many

aching eyes ever looked upon who were sailing there in that half league

of blue water. The moon, however, was riding bright and beaming, as

clear as a bell, overhead, and that was all the light we cared for. The

'Centipede,' no doubt, would have preferred no moon at all, with a

cloudy sky and a bit of a rain squall, to pursue the intricate

navigation before her; but Heaven arranged the atmospheric scenery

otherwise.

"'By the deep eight!' sang out the leadsman in the port chains. 'The

mark five!' came from the opposite side. 'Another cast, lads--quick!'

'And a half four!' 'Six fathoms, sir!'

"'We must have stirred up the sand, Cleveland,' said the captain; but

even as he spoke the man in the starboard chains cried, 'Three fathoms,

sir!' and while each instant we expected the ship to bring up all

standing, and the masts to go by the board, the other leadsman sung out,

joyfully, 'No bottom with the line, sir!'

"Well, we were safely through that bed of coral, doing, no doubt, some

trifling damage to the tender shoots and branches, as we flew through a

narrow channel, with the waves breaking and moaning on the sandy shores

over the keys, out into deep water again.

"Four or five miles beyond stood out a bluff rock, looking in the

moonlight like a dozing lion with his paws crossed before him, ready to

bound upon any who should approach his lair in the dense jungle of pines

and tangled thickets which stood up like a bristling mane on the ridge

behind.

"The 'Centipede' was now but a short half-mile ahead of us, her deck

alive with men, and manifestly ready for some desperate devilment. On

her after rail, too, stood that man, tall and erect, his feet steadied

by the cavil of the main boom, a spy-glass to his eye, and looking at

the rocky lion now close aboard him, still with a cigar in his mouth;

and we thought we could even see the thin puffs of smoke curling around

his face. Suddenly, too, we saw the spy-glass whirled around his head,

and at the instant the vessel fell dead off before the wind, the great

main-sail flew over with a stunning crash and clatter of blocks and

sheets as the wind caught it on the other quarter, making the long

switch of a mast to spring like a bow, while the weather-shrouds slacked

up for a moment in bights, and then came back taut with a twang you

might have heard a mile! We could now see, as the space opened behind

the rock, another frightful jagged ledge, on which the rollers were

heaving in liquid masses high up a precipitous rock, and where the

channel was not a cable's length wide, leading into a foaming gloomy

inlet, where not even the beams of the moon could penetrate! I heard the

captain say, in his old decided way,

"'Now for it, Cleveland! You take the battery, and I'll look out for the

ship!'

"Then, gentlemen," said Hardy, with unusual animation, as he waved his

right arm aloft with an imaginary cutlass swinging over his head, "came

the word 'Fire!'

"Yes, the entire starboard broadside, round shot, grape, and canister,

all pointed toward a centre, were delivered with one simultaneous

shock--the hurricane a mere cat's-paw in comparison--which shook the

corvette as if she had struck a rock, while the smoke and sheets of

flame spouted out from the cannon, half hiding the black torrent which

gushed forth from so many hoarse throats; and as the roar of the

concussion was taken up in terrible echoes from the lion on the rock, a

peppering volley of musket-balls from the marines on the poop and

forecastle made a barking tenor to the music.

"Meanwhile the helm of the 'Scourge' was hove hard down, and as she just

swirled, by a miracle, clear of the ledge under our lee, and came up to

the wind with the sails slamming and banging hard enough to send the

canvas out of the bolt-ropes, the courses were clewed up, every thing

aloft came down by the run; anchor after anchor went plunging to the

bottom, and before the cables had fairly begun to fly out of the

hawse-holes with their infernal jar and rattle, high above the sounds of

flapping sails, snapping blocks, running chains, and what not, came

another clear order, 'Fire!'

"Then pealed out the port broadside at a helpless, dismasted hulk within

two hundred yards of our beam, rolling like a worm-eaten log on the top

of a ruffled broad roller, going to break, in ten seconds, on the ledge,

whose pointed rocks stood up like black toothed fangs to grind its prey

to atoms! But before the fangs closed upon it our own teeth gave it a

shake; and as the breath of our bull-dogs was swept aft by the fresh

breeze, we could see the sluggish mass almost rise bodily out of water

as it was torn and split by the round iron wedges, the fragments flying

up in dark, ragged strips and splinters with squirming ropes around

them, looking, in the moonlight, like skeletons of gibbeted pirates

tossed, gallows and chains, into the air, and then coming down in dips

and splashes into the unforgiving water.

"A minute later, all that was left of the shattered hull fell broadside

into the open fangs of the ledge, which ground it with its merciless

jaws into toothpicks. But in all the lively music and destruction going

on around us--which takes longer to tell than to act--we heard no human

voice save one, and that came in a loud, terrified yell amid the

crunching roar of the ledge,

"'_O Madre! Madre dolorosa!_'

"This, gentlemen, was the last sound that came from the piratical

schooner 'Centipede.'"

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

VULTURES AND SHARKS.

"Oh ho! oh ho! Above! below!

Lightly and brightly they glide and go;

The hungry and keen on the top are leaping,

The lazy and fat in the depths are sleeping!"

"Ah! well-a-day! What evil looks

Had I from old and young;

Instead of the cross, the albatross

About my neck was hung."

When Hardy had concluded his part of the tale, he stuck the stump of his

cigar into the wine-glass of ashes, as if he had no farther use for

either, moistened his throat with a bumper of tinta, and almost

unconsciously passed his left arm around Harry Darcantel's neck.

Stingo drank two bumpers, as if he had a particularly parched throat;

but Paddy Burns and Tom Stewart, strange to relate, never wet their

lips, and passed their hands in a careless way across their eyes, as if

there were moisture enough there--as, indeed, there was; feeling, as

they did, in the founts of their own generous natures, for their dear

friend who sat opposite.

Piron's head rested, face downward, on his outspread hands, and a few

drops trickled through his close-pressed fingers, but they were not

wine. And as he raised his head and looked around the board, where

glowing, sympathizing eyes met his, he said, in a low, subdued voice,

"I trust I may thank Heaven for avenging the murder of our child!"

Even as he uttered these words, his gaze rested on the face of

Darcantel; and striking the table with a blow that made the glasses

jingle, he started back, as he had done on the frigate's quarter-deck,

and exclaimed,

"Great God! can it be possible that that boy was saved from the clutches

of the drowned pirate!"

Not so fast, good Monsieur Piron--not so fast. Your boy was saved, and

Captain Brand was not drowned. So keep quiet for a time, and you shall

not only see that bloody pirate, but hear how he departed this life;

only keep quiet!

Paddy Burns said, with a violent attempt at indignation, "Wirra, ye

spalpeen! is it thinking of old Clinker and his 'arthquake ye are?"

While Tom Stewart ejaculated, "Heeh, mon! are you for breaking the

commodoor's decanters and wine-glasses, in the belief that ye are the

eerthquak yersel?" Stingo, who was more calm, and a less excitable

Creole, merely murmured, "Commodore, we want to hear more of what took

place, and then what became of you for the past sixteen or seventeen

years."

"You shall hear more if you are not tired, gentlemen, though I have very

little to add to what Hardy has already related of the 'Centipede.'

Steward, let the servants turn in; and brew us, yourself, a light jorum

of Antigua punch! Now, then," said Commodore Cleveland, "I'm your man!

"After we had scaled the guns on both sides of the 'Scourge,' as Hardy

has told you, the captain thought it an unnecessary trouble to lower the

boats to pick up the chips floating about the mouth of the channel; and,

besides, it would have been a bit dangerous, since the sea was coming in

savagely, boiling about the ship, with a very uncertain depth of water

around and under us; and, moreover, we had our hands full the best part

of the night in reeving new running-gear, bending a new sail or two that

had flapped to pieces when every thing was let go by the run in coming

to anchor. However, before morning, we were in cruising trim once more,

and ready to cut and run in case it was expedient to lose our

ground-tackle, and get out of what we afterward learned was the Garotte

Gorge. But by sunrise the wind fell away into a flat calm, and with the

exception of the long, triple row of rollers heaving in occasionally

from seaward, we lay as snug and quiet as could be.

"After breakfast the quarter boats were lowered, and Hardy took one, and

I got in the other, and we pulled in toward the jaws of the channel,

between the Lion Rock and the ledge on the opposite side.

"There were still a good many fragments of the wreck, which had

escaped the reacting current out to sea, floating about on the

water; some of the timbers, too, of the hull were jammed in the black

gums of the ledge, shrouded in sea-weed and kelp, as if all had

grown there together. Farther on was part of the fore-mast and top-mast,

swimming nearly in mid-channel, anchored as it were by one of the

shrouds--twisted, perhaps, around a sharp rock below. The top-sail

was still fast to the yards, hoisted and sheeted home, and laid in

the water transversely to the masts, just as it fell under the raking

fire of our first broadside, jerking over the main-top-mast with it.

"A myriad of sea-birds, from Mother Carey's chickens to gulls and

cormorants, and even vultures and eagles from the shore, were clustered

on the wreck as thick as bees--screaming, croaking, and snapping at each

other with their hard beaks and bills, while thousands more were

hurrying in from seaward, and either swooped down over the ledge, or

tried to find a place on the floating spars.

"The gorge, too, was alive with barracoutas and sharks, leaping out of

water, or with their stiff triangular fins cutting just above the

surface, and sometimes even grazing the blades of the cutter's oars. I

pulled slowly toward the wreck of the fore-mast, and hooked on to the

reef-cringle of the fore-top-sail. The birds did not move at our

approach, and one old red-eyed vulture snapped on the polished bill of

the boat-hook, leaving the marks of his beak in the smooth iron. Down in

the clear green depths, too, the water was alive with ravenous fish, and

we could see at times hundreds of them with their heads fastened on to

some dark object, rolling it, and biting it, and pulling every way, with

now and then the glance of a clean-picked bone shining white in the

limpid water as the mass was jerked out of our sight.

"The bowmen, however, attracted my attention, and one of them sang out,

as he pointed with his finger, 'I say, Mr. Cleveland, here's the captain

and his priest lying in the belly of the top-sail!'

"I walked forward, while the men fired a few pistols to scare away the

birds, and looked in. There, about a foot below the water, lay one

drowned man and half the body of another, who had evidently been cut in

twain by a twenty-four pound shot at the stomach, leaving only a few

revolting shreds of entrails dangling beneath the carcass. The other

corpse was a large, burly, fat man, wrapped in a black cassock, with a

knotted rope to confine it at the midriff, and around his thick bare

neck was a string of black beads, holding a gold and ebony crucifix,

pendent in the water. The eyes of the one with half a body had been

picked out by the gulls, but he still possessed a fang-like tusk,

sticking through a hare-lip under a fringe of wiry mustache, which gave

me a tolerable correct idea of his temper even without seeing his eyes.

The truck and shivered stump of the main-top-mast, too, with the

piratical flag still twisted around it, lay across his chest; but, as we

approached, an eagle seized it in his beak, and, tearing it in tattered

shreds, flew aloft, with the remains of the parted halliards streaming

below his talons.

"The large lump rolling slowly over beside him had the crown of the head

shaved, and the mouth and eyes were wide staring open, as if it was

chanting forth a misericordia for his own soul. As I stood gazing at

these revolting objects, and while the men were firing pistols and

slashing the oars and boat-hooks around to drive away the greedy birds,

a huge pelican, unmindful of powder or ash, made one dashing swoop into

the sail, and as he came up and spread his broad pinions--nearly as

broad as the sail itself--he held in his pouch the crucifix from the

padre's neck, and as he slowly flapped his great wings and sailed away,

with the beads dropping pit-a-pat-pat on the glassy surface of the

water, a cloud of cormorants, gulls, and vultures took after him to

steal his plunder.

"At the same time the sharks--many of them resting their cold, sharp

noses on the very leech of the top-sail--waiting like hungry dogs for a

bone, with a thousand more diving and cutting in the water beneath, at

last cut through the canvas belly of the sail, and, before you could

think, the floating corpses were within their serrated jaws. In another

moment the bodies rose again to the surface outside the sail and wreck;

then another dash from the monsters, and a greedy dive and peck from the

birds; a few bubbles and shreds of black threads, and that was the last

of those wretches until the sea shall give up its dead.

"As for Hardy, he pulled higher up the gorge, and examined the rocks and

pools on both sides, but saw nothing living or dead, and we both

returned to the ship."

Had Dick Hardy landed at the flat rock where the eddy swept in under the

Lion's paws, he might have seen the footprint of a man, with a straw

slipper in it; and following the track a few yards farther, he would

have passed his sword through a villain lying bleeding in a mangrove

thicket; and found, too, in his belt, snugly stowed away, a lot of

gleaming jewels, with a sapphire gem of priceless value on the finger of

his bloody hand. But never mind, Hardy! You will hear more of that man

one of these days, and you will have no cause for regrets--though he

will, perhaps; and, meanwhile, let him wander in quest of fresh

villainies over Spanish South America.

"Well, gentlemen," resumed Commodore Cleveland, "although I have doubts

whether the mangled carcass we saw in the sail was the captain of that

notorious 'Centipede,' yet I felt confident at the time, and do now,

that it was scarcely possible for him or a man of his crew to have

escaped our fire and the water and rocks combined. So that evening, when

the land-wind made, we tripped anchor and sailed away from the coast of

Darien."

"Come, my friends," said Piron, in a low, tremulous voice, rising as he

spoke, "we must not push Cleveland too far to-night, for it is getting

late, you know, and they keep early hours on board men-of-war."

"No hurry, Piron! I'll talk to you all night, if you have the patience

to listen to me. No? Then I'll have the boat manned." He touched a

bell-rope which hung over his head, and the cabin door opened. "Orderly,

my compliments to the officer of the watch, and desire him to call away

the barge."

While some of the gentlemen in the forward cabin left the table, and

stood about in groups chatting till the boat was reported, Piron put his

arm around the commodore's belt, and they moved aft into the starboard

stateroom. Little Mouse was lying sound asleep on the elegant cot, with

all his clothes on, but with a smile on his lips, and dreaming, maybe,

of the dear widowed mother he would one of those days make proud of

him.

"Cleveland, my old friend, tell me more of that young Darcantel!"

"Hist! Piron, don't wake little Tiny! There's nothing to tell more than

he is my adopted nephew, and the son of the gentleman who occupies that

stateroom opposite. But when we go out to Escondido I'll tell you about

his father, who has led a very adventurous life."

"Well, good-night! You will bring young Darcantel with you, and this

little rogue, too, here in the cot. My wife and her sister will be

delighted to see you all. Good-night!"

As the "Monongahela's" bell struck eight for midnight, the commodore's

guests got in the barge and pulled toward the shore.

At the same time, a light gig, with handsome Harry Darcantel, went

alongside the "Rosalie," and Commodore Cleveland turned into his

friend's cot opposite, leaving small Mr. Mouse to sleep his dream out

till morning; while, as the barge ran up to the landing at Kingston

Harbor, and a gold ounce was slipped into the old coxswain's honest paw,

what did they all think about? Good-night!

CHAPTER XXXIX.

ESCONDIDO.

"They bore her far to a mountain green,

To see what mortal never had seen;

And they seated her high on a purple sward,

And bade her heed what she saw and heard;

And note the changes the spirits wrought,

For now she lived in the land of thought."

"'Twixt Africa and Ind, I'll find him out,

And force him to restore his purchase back,

Or drag by the curls to a foul death,

Cursed as his life."

Hidden in a cleft of the hills of Jamaica, fifteen hundred feet above

that blue tropical sea below, on the brow of a cool valley, where that

bounding stream of white water rushes from the tall peak in the sky in

tiny cataracts, till it forms a pool there, held in by the smooth rim of

rocks, where the cane-mill is lazily turning its overshot wheel, with

the spray flying off in streaming mist, and the happy blacks stacking

the sugar-cane in even fagots as they unlade the huge carts with solid

wheels cut out of a single drum of a cotton-tree; the six or eight yoke

of oxen ahead ruminating under the shade of the tropical foliage, with

never a switch to their tails; while the lively young sea-breeze comes

flurrying up the valley, whistling among the coffee bushes below,

bending the standing cane on the slopes, rattling the tamarinds,

cocoa-nuts, and plantains, and then climbing with noisy wings up the

mountain, is lost with a whirl in the heavy cloud which obscures the

lofty peak.

Below the mill, where the mule-path crosses the foaming torrent by the

shaky bridge, which stands on cocoa-nut stilts, and never yet has been

thrown down by an earthquake, nestling under a precipitous crag, stood

the mountain seat of Escondido. Vines and parasitical plants, mingled

with scarlet creeping geraniums, made a living wall of dewy green and

red on the face of the hoary rock, falling over here and there at some

projecting acclivity in leafy torrents, and then forming a glowing green

cornice along the topmost edges of the height.

The buildings stood on a flat esplanade below, looking down the gorge as

from the apex of a triangle, and taking in the overseer's houses on the

plantations, with their cone-shaped roofs, the fields of cane and coffee

groves, the cataract between, down to the white snowy beach at the

sea-shore, and the blue water crested by waves as far as the sight could

reach.

The main house was square--standing on stilts, too, like the shaky

bridge--the lower part fenced in by straight bamboos, of one story, with

a broad roomy veranda going all round, where half a dozen grass hammocks

were slung between the windows which opened into the dwelling. A great

airy saloon and dining-room faced the valley, while six or eight cool

bedchambers looked out from the rear up at the green wall of the

precipice, and down on the sparkling stream of the mill.

But there were no loopholes for musketry, nor vaults and dungeons.

The sun had long passed the tall peaks of the blue mountains above, and

the shadows had fallen down the valley until even the patch of white

pebbly cove at the shore had become dim; and no sounds were heard save

the rustling of the sea-breeze, the splash of the torrent as it fell off

from the rickety old wheel of the cane-mill, mingled with the shrill

cries and songs of the negroes as they unloaded the carts.

Yes; but there _were_ other sounds--the low, sweet tones of women's

voices--inside the villa of Escondido. Two lovely matrons were sitting

within that lofty saloon, hand clasped in hand, and gazing with glowing

pride upon a lovely girl, who waved lithe as a lily on its stem before

them.

It is about seventeen years since we last saw this charming trio. And

now look at them, old bachelors, and tell me if, while old Time has been

scraping the hair off your own selfish heads, and pinching the noses,

too, of the ancient maids beside you, has not the scything old wretch

spared these lovely matrons? Look at their rounded forms, those soft

dimpled cheeks, and those bands of brown tresses, kissing the

pear-shaped ears before they are looped up in one magnificent knot of

satin at the back of the head. Look at them, you miserable old

procrastinators, and then kneel down before the ancient damsels you have

sneered at, even if they have the pelican gout and a crow's-foot at the

corners of their eyes! They are better than you are, any day; so bear a

hand, send for the parson--and now stand back.

But come here, my young gallants, and take a peep at that Bordelaise

demoiselle standing before those fair matrons. Strange to say, she is

nearly a blonde, with large blue eyes, so very blue that--fringed with

lashes that cast a shade over the cheek--they seem almost black. Then,

too, that low, pure forehead, with great plaits of hair going round and

round her elegant head like a golden turban, and thin hoops of rings

quivering in the pearl-tipped ears. Tall and waving in figure, as

maidens are; with slim, arched feet, dimpled at the ankle; and round,

tapering fingers too, with a wrist so plump and soft that no manacles of

bracelets could press it without slipping off the ivory hand. Dressed

she was in a light mousseline, coyly cowering in loose folds around her

budding bosom to the slender waist, where, clasped by a simple buckle of

mother-o'-pearl, it fell flowing in gauzy, floating waves to her feet.

Look at her, my gallants, for she is Rosalie!

"They are coming to-day, my aunt; and Uncle Jules says that our dear old

Captain Blunt has just arrived at Kingston, and is coming with them."

"What else, my daughter?"

The girl held a letter before her face, maybe to hide a little blush

which suffused her cheeks.

"Why, mamma, he writes that the spring-cart, with Banou, was to start

overnight with the 'traps'--that means trunks, I suppose--and that--"

"What, Rosalie?"

"That there is a handsome young officer, the nephew of Commodore

Cleveland--_merci_, mamma! some of Uncle Jules's nonsense!"

No such great nonsense, after all, mademoiselle, when your uncle Piron

tells you to keep that fluttering little heart safe within your bodice,

for there are thieves in blue jackets in the island of Jamaica. Strange,

too, as she spoke--with her animated face, large blue eyes, and

graceful, wavy figure--how much she resembled both those lovely women,

with their darker coloring, who sat smiling sweetly upon her.

"Oh! here comes Uncle Banou. Well, my good Banou, what news of your

master?" said Madame Piron, as she put out her hand to the black, who

raised it respectfully to his lips.

"He will be here with his friends at sunset, eh! And Mademoiselle

Rosalie must place the gentlemen's things in their rooms, and see that

the billiard-house has some cots made ready in it."

"Nothing more?"

"No, madame."

"_Allons!_ Rosalie, we have no time to lose."

Winding through the mazes of the tropical forest, over the broken stony

road, leading through a brilliant labyrinth of wild fig and acacia,

plume-like palms, white shafts of silk and cotton, and lance-wood,

mahogany, and ebony, parasitical plants in green and red, with endless

varieties of gay flowers strung and laced in superb festoons on trunk

and branch; singing birds and paroquets making the forest alive; while,

mingled with the delicious fragrance of orange-blossoms, cinnamon, and

pimento, the fresh breeze wheeled through clump and leaf, changing the

hues of plant and flower from white to crimson, green, purple, and gold,

as Nature painted them in gorgeous dyes.

Through this brilliant vegetation, along the uneven road, came the sound

of horses' feet, with hearty shouts and laughter; and presently appeared

a cavalcade, mounted on mules and horses, all making the forest ring

with merriment.

Ahead came Tom Stewart, on a small, sure-footed pony; and beside him Mr.

Tiny Mouse, reefer, on a high mule, with a scrubbing-brush mane, looking

like a fly pennant at the mast-head of the frigate, kicking his little

heels into the old mule, as if that mule minded it even so much as to

shake his long ears! Then straggling in the centre were Darcantel,

Stingo, and Paddy Burns; and behind them came a tall, muscular man, on a

mettled barb, which he controlled by a touch of his little finger. And

at his side, on the most diminutive of the donkey breed, with feet

touching the ground, clung stout Jacob Blunt, the sailor, in a more

dreadful trepidation than he had ever known on board his old teak-built

brig, lying there in the Roads of Kingston; while the rear was brought

up by Piron and Commodore Cleveland.

"Now, you little madcap, look sharp when we turn the curve of the

mountain, and you'll catch a peep at Escondido; and don't you pinch that

old mule again on her back, or she'll pitch you up into that silk

cotton-tree."

"If it pleases Providence to restore me safely to my dear old 'Martha

Blunt,' I'll take my davy never to sit astride of any d---- brute on

four legs again!" This mild vow came from the lips of Jacob Blunt, and

he honestly meant every word he said.

"Give us another jolly song, Stingo; it will keep your throat clear for

the claret."

"For the sake of my old timbers, sir, and as you vally my wife's

blessing, don't sing! There, you infarnal beast, you've yawed sharp up

into this ere bush, and put my starboard glim out forever! I say, Don

Spanisher, don't sing--_I'm_ going fast enough!" shouted the poor

skipper, as he passed his paws around the little brute's neck, with his

hat over his eyes.

"Colonel," said Burns, as he reined up, and gave the perverse little

donkey a cut with his whip, which elicited another hoarse roar from the

old sailor as the animal half doubled himself up, and then ambled away

like a yawl in a short sea, until he came up to the people ahead, when

he stood stock-still and brayed maliciously, "have you another cigar,

colonel? Thankee! Fine scenery this about here--never visited Jamaica

before? Ye have been off the island, eh? It's a nate little spot Piron

has there, that it is; and the whole of us will be mighty sorry to lose

him. Is he going to lave? Yes, he is; and, what is worse, he is going to

take his swate wife and her sister. Is the sister handsome? Begorra!

handsome? Why, man, she's a beauty! And didn't I crack the elbow-joint

of that ugly, abusive divil, Peter Growler, for saying he had seen a

gray hair in her head, when I knew it was only a loose thread from her

lace cap--and me in love with her all the time. Bad luck to him! he's

never fired a pistol since."

Here Paddy Burns's small eyes twinkled as he slowly raised the stock of

his riding-whip at a slender lance-wood-tree about twelve yards off, and

gave the lash a sharp crack.

The person on the spirited barb almost unconsciously put his right hand

in his pocket.

Take care, Paddy Burns; the colonel has a cool hand and a colder eye,

and has made a study of pistols--cannon and swivels too, perhaps. Knows

the cutlass exercise as well, and has had considerable experience in

bullets, knives, and ropes. Has murdered women--lots of them. Wouldn't

stick at killing a child with a junk bottle. And as for men--pshaw! Keep

a bright look-out, Paddy. Why, he'd drown your mother if you had a

sister to love. For didn't he drag his own old father and mother down to

a dishonored grave? and do you think, you brave, honest little Irishman,

that he would sleep a wink the less sound for putting you to death? Bah!

man. Shoot all the game you spring, but don't waste powder on a tiger or

a shark. You would like to take a mutual shot with him, though? Of

course you would--who doubts it? But then, gentlemen fight gentlemen;

and this colonel at your elbow is a scoundrel, miscreant, villain,

assassin, and--pirate! So you can't take a crack at him, Paddy Burns.

CHAPTER XL.

PAUL DARCANTEL.

"From the strong will, and the endeavor,

That forever

Wrestles with the tide of fate;

From the wrecks of hope far scattered,

Tempest shattered,

Floating waste and desolate."

"Well, Piron, as I have told you, after the peace was made in 1815, I

had command of a brig, and took a cruise on the coast of Brazil. After

that I was appointed to a thirty-six gun frigate--the old 'Blazer'--and

went, for three years, to the East Indies, and round home by the

Pacific. When we were paid off I made a tour in Europe with that boy's

father, Dr. Darcantel, and--"

"But you promised to tell me, Cleveland, something about him."

"Nothing easier; and, if we have half an hour before we get to

Escondido, I will give you all I know, in a general way, of his history.

Yes? Well, then, Darcantel is descended from one of the oldest and best

Creole families in our State of Louisiana, and the plantations of my

family and his father were contiguous to each other on the Mississippi,

some leagues up the coast above New Orleans. We had the same tutor when

we were children, and we grew up from infancy to boyhood together. He

was passionate and ungovernable even as a child; but as he was the heir

to a large estate, and his father dead, his weak mother humored and

allowed no one to curb him. I myself, one of a numerous family, was put

in the navy, and I went away on cruise after cruise, and did not get

home again to the old plantation for full seven years. I was a man then,

had seen some active service, and I held a commission as a lieutenant in

the navy.

"In the mean while, Paul Darcantel, who had taken, at the time I left, a

strong fancy for medicine and surgery, had been sent to France to begin

his studies. How he applied himself we do not know; but with a large

letter of credit he spent a great deal of money; and we heard that, with

great talents and wonderful skill in his profession, he was yet unfitted

for close application, and plunged madly into the vortex of dissipation

around him. I heard, too--or at least my brothers told me--that his

extravagances had seriously impaired his fortune, and that his duels

had been so numerous and desperate as to make his name dreaded even in

Paris. On one occasion, at a cafe, he had cut a bullying hussar's head

clean off with his own sabre for knocking a woman down; and in another

duel, where he had detected a French count cheating him at cards, he

shot his nose off for a bet. With this unenviable reputation, and at the

urgent solicitations of his agent, after years of absence he returned to

his ancestral home. We met as of old--it was Paul and Henry--and though

still the same restive, hot-headed spirit as he had ever been, he yet

always listened patiently to what I said, and I could, in a manner,

control him. He paid very little attention to his property, however, and

when he did go to the city to consult with his factor or trustee, he got

into some wild frolic, duel, and scrape, and came back worn out with

fatigue and dissipation. He was a fine, stern-looking youth in those

days, with great muscular power, which, even with the endurance put upon

it by gaming and drinking, seemed not to be lessened.

"After one of these visits to New Orleans, where his long-forbearing

agents had at last awakened him to a bitter sense of his delinquencies,

and when mortgage upon mortgage were laid with all their shocking truth

before him, he returned and came to me. With all his vices and faults,

he was truthful and generous. He told me all, and how he would try to do

better, and soothe the declining years of his too indulgent mother.

"I always had great faith in the companion almost of my cradle, and I

loved him, I think, better than my own brothers. Well, he spread all his

affairs before me, and in my little den of an outhouse on the plantation

we both went systematically over the papers. We were two days and nights

at the business; and when, at last, I showed him that he would still,

with a little prudent economy, have a fair income, and eventually,

perhaps, redeem his hereditary property, he burst out in a wild yell of

delight, and hugged me in his arms. When he had put away the papers, I

said,

"'Paul, you know I am engaged to be married, and I have not seen my

sweetheart for two whole days; she has a sister, too, prettier than my

Fifine, whom you have never seen since we were boys together. Come, will

you go with me? We can pull ourselves across the river.'

"He hesitated; and it would have been, perhaps, better had he refused to

accompany me, for dreadful misery came of it."

The commodore gave a deep sigh, and touched his horse with the spur.

"I don't know, though, Piron; there is a fate marked out for us all, and

we should not exclaim against the decrees of Providence. Paul went with

me across the river. There, on the bank, was a little bower of an old

French-built stone house, where dwelt the last of a line of French

nobility who dated back to the days of Charlemagne. It was an

impoverished family, consisting of a reckless brother and two sisters,

who, with a few acres of sugar-cane and some old faithful servants,

managed to make both ends meet, and to support the establishment in a

certain air of elegance and comfort to which they had been accustomed.

They were of a proud and haughty race--the brother a disdainful and

imperious gentleman, smarting and brooding over the reverses of his

family, and rarely visiting his neighbors. His sisters--and they were

twins--were trustful, happy girls, and Josephine had been my childish

love."

Here Cleveland bent over his saddle-bow, and if the quiet old horse he

bestrode believed the large drops which fell upon his sleek neck came

from the clouds, or the drooping foliage of the forest, that animal was

never more deceived in his quadruped life. We know that fact, for it

stands upon the angelic record.

"Well, my dear Piron, as we entered the little saloon where Fifine was

seated at the piano, playing the sweet airs she had sung to me when a

little bit of a girl, and her beautiful sister bending over a table

near, absorbed in a book, while the candles under the glass shades

lighted up her dark passionate eyes and brunette complexion, Paul

approached her. It was not love at first sight, because they had played

together when children; but it was such a love as only begins and dies

with man or woman. The brother came in soon afterward, but there was no

love exchanged between him and Paul, and they met in a manner which

seemed to revive the early dislike they had entertained one toward the

other in boyhood.

"So the time passed, and in the course of a few months Josephine and I

were married, and our home was made on my own old place. Still, night by

night, in storm, calm, or freshet, Paul pulled himself in a skiff across

that mighty river, and we could see the lights shining to a late hour in

the little bower. He had changed a great deal, for he loved with the

whole force of his fiery and impetuous nature. Pauline loved too, though

still she feared him. The brother, however, bitterly opposed their

union, and stormy scenes arose. Josephine and I did all we could to put

matters on a happy footing, but Jacques, the brother, grew more

determined as his sister refused to cast off her lover, till at last his

feeling against him broke out into open scornful insult; and though Paul

still persisted in seeing Pauline, yet we feared that the impetuous

spirits of the two men would, at any moment, burst out into open

violence.

"Darcantel, however, controlled himself, avoided as much as possible any

altercations with Jacques, applied himself to the duties of his

plantation, and always promised me that he would wait and see if time

would not induce the brother to give his consent to the marriage.

Meanwhile Paul's mother died. A year passed. Fifine gave me a little

boy, who was called after me, and then I went again to sea. Nearly three

years later I returned, and the very night before I reached the

plantation a dreadful tragedy had occurred. I might, perhaps, have

prevented it had I been there, but it was ordered otherwise.

"It seems that two days previously Jacques wrote to Paul--I saw the

letter--and it was something painful to read; for he not only

recapitulated his vices and follies, but he taxed him with being a

ruined gambler, who had brought his mother in sorrow to the grave, and

ended by swearing, in the most solemn manner, that if he dared again to

speak to his sister or darken their doors, he would shoot him like a

dog!

"That evening, as usual, the skiff pursued its way across the river, and

late at night when it returned there was a fluttering white dress in the

stern. Scarcely, however, had the skiff left the bank than a boat shoved

out from the other side manned by four negroes, and came swiftly over in

pursuit. What afterward transpired I heard from an old married couple of

servants who had passed their lives with the family. It appears that

Paul, with Pauline in his arms, had barely reached the hall of the great

house, and was giving orders to close the doors, when Jacques rushed in

with a naked rapier in one hand and a pistol in the other. Paul adjured

him, by all he held sacred, not to attack him, as his blood was up, and,

unarmed as he was, he would do him a mischief. Pauline, too, implored

him by a sister's love to desist; but seeing him still advance, as she

partially shielded Paul, she told him that the man she loved was her

husband.

"Blinded with haughty rage, this last admission rendered him ungovernable,

and he lunged with all his force at Darcantel. Paul parried his rapid

passes, though receiving some sharp thrusts in his arm and shoulder, and

still supporting his drooping, terrified wife on his left arm till, by a

quick spring, he got within Jacques's guard, and, seizing him by the

wrist, wrenched the weapon from his grasp. This was enough to make the

brother totally insane by passion from baffled revenge, when he leveled

his pistol and fired. There was a faint cry with the report, and a groan

from Jacques as the sword went through his body and heart, till the hilt

struck hard against his ribs as he fell, a dead man, on the marble

pavement. But the bullet from his pistol had pierced the fair forehead

of his sister, and she lay a bridal corpse in her husband's arms. It was

horrible.

"I spare you all the afflicting details, Piron, and will only add that

Paul left the plantation that night, and when I got home I found an

envelope post-marked 'New Orleans,' inclosing a paper, which constituted

me his sole executor, and leaving our little boy his heir. I had but a

short leave of a month, and duty called me again away. It was on the

anniversary of the day the tragedy occurred, after another long

interval of four years in the 'Scourge,' that I again returned, and then

there was wailing and moaning in my own dwelling. My poor Josephine had

never recovered from the shock; she drooped away like a lily, her little

boy by her side, and both died during my absence."

What makes the strong man's eyelids quiver and voice tremble--those eyes

that have looked calmly on death and carnage in every shape, with his

deep, calm voice cheering on the men to battle at his side? Ah!

"It was midnight, and I walked out to the little grave-yard where my

fathers had been buried, and bending my steps to a cluster of magnolias

on a little mound by itself, I--I--a--kneeled down beside the sod where

reposed all I had loved on earth! I do not know how long I remained

there, but presently I heard a groan near by, and a tall man rose up

from where he had been stretched, face downward, on the ground, and I

beheld Paul Darcantel! I could hardly recognize him at first, for he

seemed fifty years older than when we had last parted.

"'Cleveland,' he said, in a hollow, choking voice, 'forgive me! I am a

changed, and, I trust, a better man. I have been drawn to this holy spot

by the same errand which brought you hither, and though I did not expect

to meet you, yet I am glad of it now. Speak, and say you forgive me, and

you will shed a ray of hope and salvation into the heart of one who will

suffer unto the end! Speak!'

"Old memories crowded around me, and I saw before me the child in the

cradle, and with our arms round each other's necks as we played

together. I forgot, for the moment, the sisters lying there--bride,

mother, and baby-boy. The magnolias bowed their white flowers in the

light of the waning moon, and we fell again into each other's arms.

"After a time he said, 'My only friend, I have brought home with me a

little helpless boy; he is named Henry, after you, and will take the

place of the lost little one lying here. Whoever of us survives shall

inherit that estate. Come with me and look at him!'

"He led me to the other mound, and there, beside the tree, a beautiful

child lay calmly sleeping, wrapped in a sailor's jacket, with his curls

escaping from a straw hat, and the head resting on one arm on the grave

beneath him.

"'Be good to him,' Paul went on, 'for the sake of those we have lost

ourselves! His mother's name was Rosalie.'

"He stooped down as he said this, and, raising the boy in his arms, he

kissed him passionately, and then put him gently in mine. 'Let him kneel

sometimes at this grave, my friend, and pray for me.'

"In another moment Paul Darcantel had gone. The little fellow partly

woke, and put his arms affectionately around my neck, and whispered

'Mamma! mamma!' That dashing, brave young fellow ahead there was once

that boy.

"Well, I took the child to the house, where my good mother and sisters

went wild over him, and there he passed a happy boyhood. Years went by,

and he grew apace, the pride and delight of us all; and as he evinced

the greatest fondness for me and the accounts I gave him of my life at

sea, I had him appointed a reefer in the navy. Since that he has seen a

great deal of service; been distinguished in action; and, on shipboard

as well as on shore, liked and respected by all who know him.

"In the mean while his father went away, nobody knew whither, for years

and years. He wrote to me, however, and to his son, from all parts of

the world; and when I made the tour in Europe I spoke about, Darcantel

was my companion. But while there he passed a retired life, never went

into society, but visited every hospital in every sea-port from the

Mediterranean to Aberdeen in Scotland; for he is not only a surgeon, as

I have reason to know, of wonderful skill, but a thorough-bred seaman

too; and when he has been with me on board ship there is no one whose

opinion of the weather, or other nautical matters, do I place greater

reliance on. I could tell you of half a dozen times when his advice to

me has saved serious damage. And during all these years Darcantel's

estates, under the careful supervision of my eldest brother, have been

redeemed from their load of debt, and now he enjoys a noble income--or,

rather, he spends nothing on himself, but devotes it to widows and

orphans, and sick or worn-out sailors.

"In the seventeen years which have gone by since he brought his child to

me he has made several visits of a month or two's duration to the

plantations, but only when Henry was on leave from duty. Then it was a

pleasant sight to see them both together, and the touching air of

affection which bound the youth to his father. Henry, from a child,

often went and prayed beside the grave under the magnolias, and to this

day he believes that his own mother lies buried there. Perhaps it is as

well that he should cherish this early belief; for I may tell you in

confidence, Piron, that we believe there at home that he is the

illegitimate offspring of some erring passion of Darcantel, though none

of us have ever learned it positively from his father's lips. He is not

a person to be questioned by any one, not even by me; and as he seems

anxious to throw a thick veil over the past, we never venture to draw it

aside.

"When, however, I was appointed to my present command, Darcantel

desired to sail with me, and see the West India Islands, which he had

not visited for an age. I was only too happy to have him, especially as

Harry there--whom I love like a father--was named to the little

schooner he had cut out in Africa on his last cruise, and ordered to

join my squadron. But whenever we get into port his father goes

quietly on shore; passes his time, I think, among the sailors of the

foreign shipping, spending money freely among the deserving, and

again coming back in his calm, stern way. He told me, however, Piron,

yesterday, that perhaps he might accept your kind invitation to come

up here, though not for some days. By George!" said the commodore,

"that must be Escondido!"

Piron sighed as if a pleasant dream had vanished.

CHAPTER XLI.

INSTINCT AND WONDER.

"'Ho! sailor of the sea!

How's my boy--my boy?'

'What's your boy's name, good wife,

And in what good ship sailed he?'"

"Through the night, through the night,

In the saddest unrest,

Wrapped in white, all in white,

With her babe on her breast,

Walks the mother so pale,

Staring out on the gale,

Through the night!"

As the cavalcade trotted round the curve of the peak, and then walked

the cattle down the steep zigzag road of the beautiful valley, the

commodore said, "But, Piron, tell me who that large man is with the

black hair and blue eyes."

"Why, Cleveland, all I know of him is that he landed at Kingston in a

vessel from the Isthmus of Panama, and is going to Cuba on his way to

England. He came to me, hearing that I was the consignee of old Blunt's

older brig, bound to New Orleans, and so home, to know if he could be

dropped at St. Jago, where he has some property or debts to collect; and

since the old skipper has no objection, he has taken passage in the brig

when she goes with me and my family. I have since met him--he calls

himself Colonel Lawton--at dinners of our set, and he seems to be an

Englishman or Scotchman. Tom Stewart thinks the latter from his accent,

and for his liking for snuff; but Paddy Burns differs, and believes he

don't like snuff, but only takes it to show his splendid box. Any way,

he speaks all languages, Spanish, French, Italian, and English, and can

talk slang in them all like a native. He has served, too, from his own

account, with Bolivar there on the Spanish Main; and he was with

Cochrane in that desperate affair of cutting out the 'Esmeralda' in

Callao Bay. A very amusing, entertaining vagabond he is, and I asked him

to join us to make the acquaintance of my people on our last frolic to

the valley; but, somehow, I am rather sorry that I gave him a passage

with us in the brig, for I don't altogether like his looks."

"Neither do I, Piron; his hair is too black for his light blue eyes.

However, we must make the most of him."

Over the shaky bridge of the torrent, where Jacob Blunt prayed earnestly

for Martha Blunt, and d----d his donkey as if he had never rocked on

water before; Mr. Mouse, with a last tiny kick on the saddle-flaps of his

lofty mule, tumbled off; Colonel Lawton swinging himself from the saddle

of his barb as if he had been part of him; Tom Stewart, Paddy Burns, and

Don Stingo sliding off any way; Harry Darcantel trying to descend in

fine style, and failing miserably; Piron and the commodore doing the

thing leisurely; Jacob Blunt pulled off bodily; while the laughing

blacks took the beasts and led them away.

There were three pair of eyes that watched all this grace and clumsiness

from the windows of the saloon. Two pair of dark ones smiled, and the

pair of blue opened until they seemed like azure globes, and then they

closed until the fringe of chestnut lashes nearly hid them from sight.

"Colonel Lawton, do me the favor to follow my old friend Banou--you too,

Captain Jacob, and Lieutenant Darcantel and Mr. Mouse; Paddy Burns and

Stingo, here, will show you your quarters in the old billiard-room.

Come, commodore, the rest of us will find quarters in the casa."

An hour later the saloon and sala were all alight, and the sashes of the

jalousies closed, for it was cool at times up there at Escondido. There,

too, stood the party of gentlemen, Mr. Mouse being a prominent figure in

the background. Then came a rustling of robes, and as the great folding

doors swung open, the three ladies lit up the saloon in a halo of

loveliness with brighter rays than were shed from the wax-lights in the

chandelier. Two fair hands were placed in those of Cleveland, and the

look which accompanied went back to the happy morning on the old brig's

deck, away off there to sea.

"Oh, monsieur, I can not say how glad I am to see you once more! Let me

present you to my sister, Madame Nathalie Delonde, and _our_ daughter.

Ah! my dear Captain Blunt, both your children before you again, and you

have come to take us away."

"Colonel Lawton, _ma chere_," said Piron.

"And, mesdames," said the commodore, "let me also present my nephew,

Lieutenant Darcantel, and Mr. Mouse."

What caused that woman to start as the girl took the tiny reefer by the

hand, and impulsively clasped those white hands together, while her

heart beat in yearning throbs, and her bosom rose and fell like billows

by the shore? Why did she then raise one hand to her fair neck, and, as

if in a dream, feel for the golden links of the chain, with the other

hand pressed to her panting heart for the locket which once reposed

there? How was it that, bewildered by a mother's instinct, she gazed at

the youth before her, and then turned her eyes hopelessly around in

search of her husband in the crowd?

"Yes, madame. This is my nephew, Henry Darcantel."

"Ah! Henri! Excuse me, _monsieur_. I am charmed to see you!"

Why, now, did the touch of his hand make her heart beat faster, and send

a thrill of joy through her frame? Only be a little calm, madame, for a

while longer, and don't be sad and ponder all night, like your good

Jules Piron does habitually. Wait; Jules will tell you all _he_ knows

when you are alone to-night.

The doors of the sala were thrown open. The broad pennant leading with

Madame Rosalie; the military chieftain marching beside Madame Nathalie,

much to the animosity of Paddy Burns. Then Mr. Mouse convoying

mademoiselle, to the infinite disgust of the commander of the "Rosalie,"

one-gun schooner, formerly the "Perdita." But what made that old negro

in spotless white, standing at the door, jerk his head back and open his

great eyes till there was no black left in them? And why did he blunder

about the table afterward, and pour wine over the colonel's richly-laced

coat, while staring like an ogre at the young blue-jacket opposite? That

old Banou, perhaps, did not like to see his young mistress too much

attended to by every gay scamp who came near her. Oh no; of course not.

But then, if that brawny negro in white had only known over whose arm

and mutilated hand he was pouring light wine in his abstraction, he

would have crammed that heavy cut decanter in powdered glass splinters

down the chieftain's throat. There would have been claret of a different

color spilled then--quantities of it. You needn't feel in your pockets,

colonel, or look round the sala to see if perchance there is a green

silk rope squirming from the ceiling. We don't keep any of those pretty

things out at Escondido. So go on with your dinner, you cold-eyed

scoundrel, and tell all the lies you can to that lovely woman at your

elbow; how you wanted to save Bolivar's life, and it was saved without

you. Don't forget, either, to tell her how that patriot had you drummed

out of his army, suspecting you of having assassinated the officer near

you in the confusion of battle, and robbing him of his watch to replace

the one presented to you by the captain general. Paddy Burns is watching

you, Colonel Lawton, and that whole-souled little Irishman is not the

man to be trifled with. Now remove the covers. But take care, Banou--you

nearly twitched off the military gentleman's hair. Tom Stewart saw it,

and he noticed, too, a broad red seam, like the track of a musket

bullet--honorable wound, no doubt--under your black glossy wig.

Mr. Mouse had fallen desperately in love with the perfumed damsel beside

him, and he knew she was up to her rose-tipped ears in love with him,

oh! fifty fathoms deep; but his mother liked girls, and he would leave

her half-pay! Still he didn't forget his adoration for the roast duck;

and he slyly swigged some Madeira too, with a wary eye on the broad

pennant through the flowers of the epergne. Talked, too, did that

reefer--ay, chattered--and said that the quiet young officer on her left

was very well liked in the steerage, and commanded a pretty little craft

named the "Rosalie." She knew that before, did she? Well, his father was

a cold, stern man, but he was kind and generous, and had been very good

to his poor mother, God bless him!

Commodore Cleveland talked in a low tone, all through the dinner, to the

lady who did not eat at the head of the table, but who occasionally

rested her white hand, with a trustful reliance, on the great

tanned-leather paw of Jacob Blunt, that honest mariner not wishing to

talk to any body, man or woman. That ancient mariner was mentally

cursing donkeys; speculating how he should get back to the "Martha

Blunt" brig, in Kingston harbor; and praying for Martha Blunt, wife,

riding at single anchor near Plymouth beach. Piron took wine with every

body, said a word or two all around the table, and talked to Tom Stewart

about certain business matters connected with the plantation when he had

gone.

Then came the last course, and the dessert of delicious fruits, which

quite stopped Mr. Mouse's mouth, and even his palpitating heart ceased

beating; while Mademoiselle Rosalie nibbled some lady-finger biscuit,

and bent her graceful head to listen to the music of the earnest lips

beside her.

We told you, miss, how it would be; and, in spite of the warning, there

you are--the color coming and going over your girlish cheeks, and never

saying a word! "What a couple that would make!" thought Madame Nathalie.

And what a resemblance in expression there is between them--he with his

dark hair and eyes, and she fair and blue. Be careful, my sweet Rosalie!

And so thought her sister and her sister's husband; Stingo, too, old

Banou, and every one save Tiny Mouse, who had no rivals but Rat, Beaver,

and Martin, and he could take the wind out of their sails any day.

The party of ladies rose from the table, and leaving the men--all

except the captain of the "Rosalie" and Mr. Mouse, who would have

remained had he not seen a shake of the broad pennant's finger--went

into the saloon. Then there was a brilliant prelude on the piano, a

touch of a guitar by stronger fingers, an air from an opera, a song or

two, much conversation--while Reefer Mouse slept on the sofa--and

coffee. Then it was late; every one was fatigued, _bon soirs_ were said,

and the party--coffee and all--separated.

CHAPTER XLII.

TRUTH AND TERROR.

"In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay,

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;

But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind."

"And how the sprites of injured men

Shriek upward from the sod;

Ay! how the ghostly hand will point

To show the burial clod;

And unknown facts of guilty acts

Are seen in dreams from God!"

In a great square room, standing, as usual, on cocoa-nut stilts, which

had once been used for a billiard-room, were half a dozen iron-framed

cots, ranged along the walls, in which some of the Escondido's guests

were to bivouac. Every thing, however, was tidy and comfortable;

snow-white bedclothes and gauze musquito nets, lots of napkins and

ewers, and things for bathing behind a screen of dimity curtains; and

not forgetting a large table--vice the billiard-table--in the centre, on

which stood plenty of sugar and limes, cinnamon and nutmeg, bottles and

flasks, red and white, and--very little water, in jugs.

The occupants of this bivouac had turned in, and the lights had been

doused. Conversation, however, was kept up, especially by the thin

little voice of Mr. Mouse, who, having enjoyed a nap in the early

evening, and having been danced and tumbled about on the trip to the

lodge by Harry Darcantel, who was in tiptop condition, the reefer was as

wide awake as a blackfish. Don Stingo chanted a few convivial airs and

snored; so did Jacob Blunt, with a spluttering groan intermixed; and

Paddy Burns fell off into a doze, saying blasphemous words addressed to

the world at large, with a mutter against the military, hoping he might

look at a Bolivian patriot edgewise with a friend and companion of his,

Mr. Joe Manton, at his side; he would put an end to any more lies about

charges of cavalry, and cutting out frigates in Callao Bay. That Paddy

Burns would, though he didn't wear a wig and a large sapphire on the

only finger he had left on his left hand, and with a diamond snuff-box,

too! Presented to you by a connection of your family, was it? Take a

pinch out of it? D---- him, no! Begorra, the snuff is not Lundy Foot's,

and the box is brass, sir, brass!

"I say, Mouse, keep quiet, will you, and let me go to sleep!" Harry

Darcantel did not think of going to sleep; that was a fib he told the

reefer; he wanted merely to shut his eyes and dream of--you know who--a

tall, graceful girl with blue eyes and light hair, who looked at him

once or twice such looks that there was no sleep for him for ever so

long. What did she say? Why, she never opened her pouting lips to show

those even pearly teeth. She only looked out of those soft blue eyes.

That was all!

"Mr. Darcantel, I think of getting married."

"The d---- you do! And who to, pray?"

"Why," said Mr. Mouse, as he rolled over and kicked the sheet off his

slate-pencil built legs, "I haven't made up my mind; but do you know

that that pretty girl up there at the big house has taken quite a fancy

to me, and when you were presented to her mother she gave me _such_ a

squeeze of the hand! Oh my!"

Here Mr. Mouse's narrative was cut short by a pillow hitting him plump

on the mouth, clean through his musquito net.

"Very charming young lady, Mr. Mouse," said a quiet voice, in a cool

tone, on the other side of him; "she did seem to take a violent fancy to

you."

Mr. Mouse rolled over, and then, sitting up in his cot, replied, "Yes,

sir! and that was her mother sitting by you when the big nigger in white

capsized the wine over your sleeve, and nearly pulled your a--hair

off."

Look out, Mr. Mouse! If that man there beside you once gives a twitch at

your curls, he'll pull something more than hair--perhaps a little scalp

with it!

"Oh!" was the sound that came back.

"Yes, sir; and the other beautiful lady next the commodore is her

sister. She had a son just mademoiselle's age, who was murdered by

pirates off Jamaica ever so many years ago, and Commodore Cleveland

chased them in a ship he was first lieutenant of--my father commanded

the ship--she was the old 'Scourge.'"

"Hold your tongue!" came from the cot where the spare pillow was thrown

from.

"Ho!" said the military chieftain; but if the room had not been so dark,

the way his eyes opened and emitted an icy glare of surprise would have

made Tiny Mouse shiver with cold.

"Oh dear, yes, colonel, I heard the commodore tell all about it the

other night on board the frigate. He thought I was asleep, but I kept

awake through the best part of it."

"The best part of it?"

"Why, sir, how an old one-eyed Spaniard deceived my father, and sent

him on a fool's errand from St. Jago down to the Isle of Pines, and

afterward how the 'Scourge' chased the piratical schooner in a hurricane

for ever so long, clear away to the coast of Darien, where they blew her

out of water, and killed every scoundrel on board!"

Not every one, Mr. Mouse. There is the very greatest of those scoundrels

grinding his teeth and glaring your way at your elbow.

"What was the name of that cape, Darcantel, where the schooner was

destroyed? No, I won't be quiet; the colonel wants to hear all about it.

There's a good fellow, tell me!"

"Garotte Cape."

The listener slowly raised the mutilated hand, and put the finger with

the sapphire ring to his throat, evidently not liking the name of that

cape, for it caused a choking sensation to utter it--"Ho! Cape

Garotte!"

"Yes, sir; and Darcantel's father here once chartered a vessel, and went

all the way down there to explore the place, and was gone fifteen

months! Wasn't he, Darky?" said the boy, familiarly.

"Mouse, I tell you what it is, if you don't shut up that little flytrap

of yours, I'll make Rat lick you when you go on board!"

"Rat lick me?" said Tiny, as he jumped straight up in the cot; "I gave

him and Martin a black eye apiece only on our last boat-duty day for

saying your father, the doctor, had killed his brother-in-law in a

duel!"

"Hush, my dear little fellow! you did a very foolish thing. There, say

no more on that subject; it gives me pain, my Tiny. So talk on as much

as you like."

"My dear friend," exclaimed the lad, in a broken voice; as he plunged

through his net and put his arms around Darcantel, "I wouldn't grieve

you for the world; but do you suppose, little as I am, that I wouldn't

fight for the doctor, who is so kind to me, and has done so much for my

poor dear sweet mother?"

Here there was a sob as he wound his arms closer round his friend's

neck, and cried like a child, as he was.

"Well, never mind, Tiny; go to sleep, now! I am not angry. There, turn

in!"

"I won't speak another word to-night, Harry, for any soul

breathing--little fool that I am!"

"I beg your pardon, monsieur," said the colonel, in French, with a

slight quiver on his tongue, "but did your father really go all the way

down to Darien out of mere curiosity?"

"Yes, sir, he did go there to see if by any chance one of the pirates

had escaped; and he traveled, too, a good deal about among the Indians,

making inquiries."

"Ho! and did he pick up any information there?"

"Why, sir, I am not positive, but I believe that he got a hint that a

European had wandered over that country who had been wounded in the head

and hand, and was almost naked; but the natives could give him but very

meagre accounts. He continued on, however, down the Isthmus, on the

Pacific side, by sea, as far as Chili, when he went into the interior to

Peru, crossed the Andes, and followed down the Orinoco to Para, when he

sailed again for England."

"Oh! no other motive than curiosity?"

"Perhaps he had; for he once told me he had some old scores to settle

with the man who commanded the pirate, and if he was alive he felt quite

sure he would, one of those days, put him to death. My father, sir, is a

very determined person, and never forgets an oath."

"Truly, monsieur, you interest me. But what sort of a man in appearance

is your father--a doctor, I think you said?"

"He is a tall gentleman of about fifty, sir, though he looks much older;

for he has suffered deeply in early life, when my mother--a--died; but I

shall have the pleasure of introducing him to you, colonel. He is now on

board our frigate at Kingston, and told me he would be up here to-morrow

or the next day."

"Ah! thank you extremely, Monsieur Darcantel. I shall have--a--much

curiosity to see him."

No more words that night; but much thinking and moving of thin lips, and

eyes staring in the dark, wide open. There was low grating of teeth,

too! And a man lay in that large room on a narrow cot, surrounded by a

gauze net; and, so far as mental torture went, it was not unlike a

trestle net we once saw without gauze, where a gaunt frame was

stretched, with myriads of sand-flies, musquitoes, and stinging

insects sucking his heart's blood. Sometimes the eyelids closed, as if

they were a film of ice forming over the blue cold orbs within; and

again the fabric cracked, and they were wide open once more. They

could read, too, those frozen orbs; and like heavy flakes of snow

falling on bloodstained decks, till it covered with a weight of lead the

stark, stiff corpse beneath, they yet tried to pierce into the dark

region beyond. And the heart beat with a slow and measured tramp, like

a moose crunching through the sharp, treacherous crust of snow, and

then stood stock-still! Had a letter, traced with the fingers of an

icicle, been congealed a hundred feet deep in the heart of a toppling

iceberg on the coast of Labrador, those eyes could have read it as

clear as day!

"You infamous pirate, Captain Brand!" it began--"the son of the man who

destroyed the 'Centipede' and her crew, and the boy whom your brutal

mate tore from the mother you saw at dinner to-day, are near you! That

calm, stern, determined doctor, too, whom you laced down on the trestle

for poisonous insects to kill, has been on your track for the past

seventeen years, and will soon hold you in his iron gripe! There will be

no mercy then!"

The eyes closed, the heart stopped beating, and the thin lips and

tongue, as dry as cartridge-paper, now took up the strain, while the

mutilated hand clutched convulsively, as if there were fifty fingers

fingering knives and pistols.

"Shall I assassinate my old doctor, and run the risk of being arrested

and hung? No! He thinks me dead, and I will go back to the island,

redeem my treasure, and pass the remainder of my life tranquilly in the

highlands of Scotland!"

Don't be too sanguine, Colonel Lawton; for, though your ten thousand

pounds in gold is still in the vault, yet there is Don Ignacio Sanchez,

whose estates have been confiscated, and who has just got out of ten

years' imprisonment in the Moro of Havana, glad to save his neck from

the iron collar, and, without the little jewel-hilted blade up his

sleeve, is now turning about to see how he may redeem his lost fortunes.

Don't be an hour too late, I pray you, Captain Brand, for that sharp eye

of Don Ignacio has already, perhaps, looked at the shiny cleft in the

crag, and thinks he knows what lies hidden there! Oh, _si_! nothing but

mouldy beans and paper cigars to live upon for ten years, and fond of

more substantial food, even though it were yellow greenish gold,

mildewed by damp, but yet solid and refreshing. _Cierto_--certainly!

_Quien sabe_--who knows?

But be careful, Don Ignacio! Don't take your old wife with you on that

projected expedition, for you have treated that old woman--who resembles

a rotten banana--badly! You have won back in monte all she ever won by

cheating, besides the half ounces you used to give her for the

Church--cheated her by drawing two cards at a time when you saw the

numerals with that spark of an eye, and when you knew that she would win

if you drew fairly! Yes, you have, you old sinner, for more than two

score of years! And she hates you now--though you don't think it--worse

than you did Captain Brand! Have an eye to that old banana!

So passed that short night--long enough, however, for somebody--and

before the fresh land-wind had woke up to creep down the valley, there

was a mettled barb, with open nostrils, galloping up the broken road as

if he had the devil on his back--as perhaps he had, or Colonel Lawton,

or Captain Brand, possibly all three, but it makes very little odds to

us.

CHAPTER XLIII.

PEACE AND LOVE.

"And many a dim o'erarching grove,

And many a flat and sunny cove;

And terraced lawns, whose bright cascades

The honeysuckle sweetly shades;

And rocks whose very crags seem bowers,

So gay they are with grass and flowers."

It was a delightful breakfast with the merry party at Escondido as they

sat under the wide, cool piazza in the shade, with the sun throwing his

slanting rays through the vines and clusters of purple grapes, and

through the orange-trees, where the yellow fruit was fast losing its

fragrant dew--all the men once more in summer rig, and the ladies in

flowing muslin and tidy caps.

"My dear," said Piron to his wife, "we have lost one of our guests,

Colonel Lawton; he went away at daylight this morning, and left a

message to me, and compliments to you all, that business of importance,

which he had forgotten, demanded his immediate return to Kingston."

There was no sorrow expressed by the lady or her fair sister, and even

the men treated it with indifference, except Mr. Burns, who remarked, as

he snapped a tooth-pick in twain, that, for his part, he was glad the

fellow had gone; he didn't like his looks at all, though he did make

himself so fascinating to the beautiful widow who sat next him.

"Ah! Monsieur Burns, think you I would prefer a scarlet coat when--"

"You might get a blue!" broke in Paddy, with a comical twinkle of his

eye, as he winked in the direction of Commodore Cleveland, who sat

opposite.

"No, no," exclaimed the pretty widow, hastily, as she shook her finger

at her despairing admirer, "that is not what I was going to say--when

those red coats there from England killed my poor husband at Quatre

Bras."

"Ah! yes, my dear--bad luck to them! But an Irishman would never have

been so cruel, you know, though, 'pon me sowl," went on Paddy, as he

stuck a fork in an orange and began to divest it of its peel, West

India fashion, to present it to the matron beside him, "I fear I should

like to kill any man who loved ye, Madame Nathalie, myself."

"What a droll man you are, Monsieur Burns," replied the widow, laughing

outright, "when you know you would prefer a jug of Antigua punch, any

day, to me. Stop, now! didn't you say, at your grand dinner in Kingston,

that you would never allow a woman to darken your doors?"

"I--a meant--a black woman, my dear; as true as me name's Paddy Burns, I

did!"

"What are you two laughing at, my sister?"

"Why, here is Mr. Burns making love to me at breakfast, and before night

he will be abusing me for not pouring enough rum in his punch!"

"That's his caractur, Madame Nathalie; for I, Tom Stewart, am the only

person he ever loved, and he sometimes offers to shoot me for giving him

unco' good advice."

"Howld yer tongue, ye divil ye! and you too, Stingo, or the pair of ye

shall niver taste another sip of the old claret. Ye've ruined me cause

entirely! But I'll lave ye me property, madame, when I'm gone."

"He's been talking of going, Nathalie," said Piron, "for the last twenty

years, and has left his estate to at least thirty women, to my certain

knowledge; but he hasn't got off yet, and--"

"Tom Stewart, ye miserable limb of the law! make out me will this very

night."

Jacob Blunt unclosed his salt-junk mouth, and roared out in a peal of

laughter that would have shivered his old brig's spanker, and caused,

perhaps, Martha Blunt, sposa, to have spanked him, Jacob, had she heard

and seen that mariner wagging his old bronzed face at the lovely woman

facing him.

Mr. Tiny Mouse, who could not touch bottom on his high chair, with his

little heels dangling about, forgetful of discipline, fairly kicked the

broad pennant on the shins of his white ducks, screaming joyously; the

three women made the piazza vibrate with their musical trills; Stingo

and Stewart choked; Cleveland and Darcantel were amused; and old black

Banou looked at his master, and grinned till his double range of teeth

seemed like a white wave breaking at the cove. And then Paddy Burns took

up the chorus, and after one or two Galway yells his friends took him

up, thumped him smartly on the back, and stood him up against one of the

posts of the piazza to have his laugh out. When he did, however, recover

the power of speech, he wiped his eyes and looked around till they

rested on Madame Nathalie, when, with his white napkin held up like a

shield beside his rubicund visage, he spluttered,

"By me sowl, Tom Stewart, I mane what I say; and Paddy Burns's word is

his bond!"

Ay, and so it was, you generous, whole-souled Milesian! And you did this

time make a will. Tom Stewart and Stingo witnessed it, with handsome

legacies therein set forth; and when one night you tumbled down--Well,

we won't mention the particulars; but Paddy kept his word.

As the party rose from the breakfast table to get ready for a stroll

down to the mill and around the plantation, one fair woman's hand was

placed with a confiding, friendly clasp in that of Monsieur Burns; and

then, as a graceful girl reached up to pull down her great flat straw

hat from the post, Paddy Burns kissed her on the forehead, and she

returned it too, as if she knew how to perform that ceremony even before

people. Mr. Reefer Mouse had some thoughts of getting jealous, and

calling Mr. Burns out, at ten paces, ships' pistols, and all that sort

of thing; but the round, red-faced gentleman kissed him too, declaring

the while, as he held him aloft, that he was first-rate kissing--that he

was; nearly as good as mademoiselle, which quite disarmed Tiny's wrath,

and then he hooked on to the damsel's delicate flipper, and tripped away

with her down the valley.

Harry Darcantel exchanged a nod--not of defiance--with Paddy Burns, as

much as to hint that those were not dangerous kisses--oh, not at all;

and passing his hand over his brown mustache, he followed after the

couple before him. Yes, Harry, Tiny's legs will get tired soon, and he

will be hungry, and come back to old Banou for luncheon, while you will

be putting aside the coffee bushes, and imploring mademoiselle to keep

her straw hat about her lovely face, and not to get tanned by the sun.

And when she turns her humid eyes toward you, you begin to believe the

sky is never so blue as those eyes!

Tom Stewart, Stingo, and Burns never walked; they preferred lounging

about the veranda, smoking cigars, and talking over the price of sugar

and coffee, together with minor matters connected with factors' profits

and suits at law. Jacob Blunt leaned over the bridge, thinking of the

"Martha Blunts," brig and wife--not unfrequently confounding the two

together--thinking this was to be his last voyage by land or sea, and

that young Binks, his mate, should take command, and steer that old

teak-built vessel carefully--oh, ever so keerful--or else the old hulk

might come to grief.

Piron and his wife going mournfully down the valley--she with her

mother's eyes gazing far out to sea, and he with his strong arm around

her, whispering words of consolation; both looking, night and morning,

out over the blue water, from chamber and piazza, and seeing nothing but

a breaking wave and a baby-boy drowning beneath it--nothing more!

Madame Nathalie and Cleveland went on gallantly ahead--he with his blue

pennant flying, and she with a black silk widow's ribbon around the

frill of her cap, and a broader band about that muslin waist--talking of

those they had both lost years ago, and trusting they were in heaven, as

they believed they were; hope to meet again themselves in Louisiana, and

see a great deal of one another in time to come--not a doubt of it! Yes,

the cruise was more than half over, and he was quite tired of the sea.

She, however, thought the sea beautiful, and never tired of looking at

it. True, not rolling on top of it all the time--liked to sleep without

rocking.

When the sea-breeze came fluttering up the gorge again, through the

canes and the coffee-trees, and shaking up the superb foliage of the

tropical forest, with the brilliant feathered tribes nestling close

together on the lofty branches, and before the first salt breath had

been exhaled in the clouds about the topmost peaks of the Blue

Mountains, thousands of feet in the air, the party at Escondido had

again returned to the broad piazzas, where, with blinds open, and

swinging in cool grass hammocks, the men took siesta, while the ladies

sought the pretty bowers within.

So passed one happy day, like the one gone before; and before the close

of the week Dr. Darcantel joined the party, to take the place of Colonel

Lawton; and a few days after old Clinker crackled up, very dry and

thorny, with parchment in his pockets to take inventories, and do musty

business generally.

Then the fair women, escorted by the navy men, and the Droger and

Stingo, took their departure for the town house and ships in Kingston,

leaving Paddy Burns, and Tom Stewart, and Clinker with Piron to close up

matters, prior to his leaving the island. Paul Darcantel said he would

remain with them likewise, since he had got through his business in

Spanish Town and Port Royal, and wanted quiet. Madame Rosalie was the

last to leave; and before her husband lifted her into the saddle, they

stood together on the piazza, she looking with that still yearning gaze

over the sea, and seeing nothing but breaking waves. That was the last

look from Escondido!

CHAPTER XLIV.

SNUFF OUT OF A DIAMOND BOX.

"Hark! a sound,

Far and slight,

Breathes around

On the night;

High and higher,

Nigh and nigher,

Like a fire

Roaring bright."

"Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace--

Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;

I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,

Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right;

Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit,

Nor galloped less steadily, Roland, a whit."

Another week rolled on. Old Clinker had pounded the parchment down as

flat as last year's palm-leaves, rustling himself like the leaves of an

old book, and began to squeeze out a few dry remarks about earthquakes.

He at last got Paddy Burns, who was a round, fat man, with much blood in

him, in such a state of excitement, by talking about cracks, and yawning

chasms, and splits in the earth, clouds of dust, sulphureous smells, and

beams falling down and pressing people to powder over their wine, that

Paddy declared he thought he was swallowing sawdust and eating dried

codfish at every sip of Antigua punch and suck of orange he took.

Tom Stewart, likewise, said he couldn't sleep a wink for quaking, and

had cut a slice clean out of his chin while shaving, because his glass

shook by a slamming door, and he thought his time had come.

Darcantel said nothing, but he took a quiet fancy to old Clinker, and

talked for hours with him of the effect earthquakes had upon ships, and

especially of general matters connected with the shipping interest,

being withal very particular with regard to the appearance of the

crews.

Piron looked grave, and heard the old clerk out, as if dried fruit were

better than fresh, and limes sweeter than oranges.

Well, they were all sitting over their dessert at their last dinner at

Escondido, for they were all going to leave old Clinker in the morning.

[Illustration: "HIS RIGHT ARM POISED WITH CLENCHED HAND ALOFT," ETC.]

"Well, Clinker," said Piron, kindly, "don't let us talk any more

about the earthquake. You told me yesterday that you had a note from

Colonel Lawton, saying he would not take passage in the brig with us to

New Orleans, as his business obliged him to leave before we could

sail?"

Clinker choked out something like "Yes," as if it were the last sound a

body could sigh with three or four hundred tons on his back.

"I'm dooced glad to hear it, Piron; for your military friend didn't

enlist my fancy at all, and I don't believe any more of his patriot

sarvice than I do in Clinker's earthquake. That colonel is a baste; and

if my words prove true, I'll lave a thousand pounds to old Clinker

there."

Paddy Burns's words did prove true; and old Clinker was with him when he

gave a quake the earth had nothing to do with, it being entirely of an

apoplectic nature; but he got the thousand pounds nevertheless.

"For once in your life, Burns, I agree with ye; and if that military mon

went to shoot grouse with me in the Hielands, I'd tramp behind him, and

keep both barrels of me gun cocked. The devil take his black wig and his

green eyes! and he passing himsel' aff for a Scot, too! Tut, mon!"

"By the way, Clinker," said Piron, during a pause in the conversation,

"if the colonel is not going with us, I must take him back his

magnificent snuff-box he forgot when he left us so suddenly the other

morning. Here it is, with the letters of his name on it in brilliants. I

thought it too valuable to send by one of the blacks, and I kept it to

carry myself."

How singular it was that the colonel should have forgotten his royal

treasure! Keep your wits about you, Captain Brand, or one of these days

you'll be forgetting your pistols.

"Given to him by a connection of his family, was it, Paddy? Weel, mon,

let's take a peench for the honor of Sackveel Street, and then push it

along to Meester Darcantel."

The doctor was sitting in his calm, grave way, listening to the

disjointed words--like dry nuts dropping on the ground--from the

shriveled lips of Clinker; but as he abstractedly put his fingers in the

box, and turned his eyes languidly as he pushed down the lid, he gave a

bound from his chair--with the box clutched in his left hand--giving a

jar to the room and table that even made Clinker believe the forty-year

earthquake had come before its time.

Standing there, with his tall, majestic figure, like a statue of bronze,

his right arm poised with clenched hand aloft in a threatening attitude,

his dark, grizzled locks bristling above his head, the black eyes

flaming with an inhuman light, as if prepared to crush, with the power

of a god, the pigmies around him, he said, in a deep low voice, which

made the glasses ring and shudder,

"Who owns this bawble?"

"It belongs to a Colonel Lawton who has been staying here!" exclaimed

Piron, quickly and hurriedly.

"What sort of man?" came again from those terrible lungs, without

relaxing a muscle of his frame.

"A square-built, tallish fellow, of about feefty, with greenish-blue

eyes, a black wig, and a glorious sapphire ring on the only finger of

his left hand!" roared Burns and Stewart together.

Again came the jar of the earthquake to make the building, table,

glasses, and all shake, as Paul Darcantel strode with his heels of

adamant out of the sala and to the veranda; then a bound, which was

heard in the room; and after five minutes' stupid silence Banou

appeared.

The buckra gentleman had torn rather than led his master's barb from the

stable, and scarcely waiting for a saddle, had thrown himself like an

Indian across his back. There! his master might hear the clattering of

the hoofs up the steep.

"The mon's daft--clean daft, mon!" "Be me sowl, it's the only pair of

eyes I iver wouldn't like to look at over me saw-handled friend, Joe

Manton!" "He's taken the box with him," crackled Clinker.

But that was the last that Paddy Burns, or Stewart, or Clinker ever saw

of man or box. Piron rose and listened to the sound of the receding

hoofs from the veranda; and when he resumed his place his lips were

sealed for the night. _He_ saw, however, and the rest of them heard a

good deal about the man and the box in time to come.

Did that blooded horse, as he dashed round the curve of the peak, with

his thin nostrils blazing red in the dark night, know who his rider was,

and on what errand he was bound? It was not snuff that distended those

wide nostrils as he plunged down the broken road, through the close,

deep forest, over rocks and water-courses, without missing a step with

his sure, ringing hoofs; and mounting the sharp gorge beyond with the

leap of a stag, his mane and tail streaming in the calm, thick night;

the eyes lanterns of pursuing light, flashing out before his precipitous

tread in jets of fire, as his feet struck the flinty stones, with a

regular, enduring throb from his heaving chest, as an encouraging hand

patted his shoulder and urged him onward.

Down the mountain again, with never a shy or a snort--the horse

knowing the rider, and the man the noble beast; the lizards wheetling

merrily, and the paroquets on the tree-tops waking up to chatter with

satisfaction. Then into the beaten track along by the sea-shore, the

horse increasing his stride at every minute, the spume flying in

flakes from his flaming nostrils, and the man bending to his hot

neck, smoothing away the white foam, until, with a panting stagger,

horse and rider stood still in the town of Kingston.

"Here, my boys, rub this your master's horse down well, and walk him

about the court-yard for an hour. There! Take this between you!"

One last pat of the steed's arched neck, a grateful neigh as the dark

face pressed against his broad head, and Paul Darcantel strode away in

the gray light of the morning.

"Gorra mighty! Nimble Jack, look at dis! Bress my modder in hebben, it

am one gold ounce apiece, sure as dis gemman's name Ring Finger Bill! De

Lord be good to dat tall massa! Him must hab plenty ob shiner to hove

him away on poor niggers!"

Even while the tall man strode on toward the port, and as the happy

blacks were chattering over their yapper, and walking the gallant steed

up and down the paved court-yard, a dull, heavy-sailing Spanish

brigantine was slowly sagging past Gallows Point and the Apostles'

Battery, when, creeping on by the frowning forts of Port Royal, she held

her course to sea.

Very different sort of craft from the counterfeit brigantine, with

clean, lean bows, slipping out from the Tiger's Trap one sultry evening

before a hurricane, which went careering, with a sea-hound after her,

down to the Garotte Gorge. Different kind of a crew too; and Captain

Brand must have remarked the contrast, with his keen, critical, nautical

eye--that is, if he chanced to sail in both brigantines, as there is

much reason for believing he did--with great disgust, on board the

dirty, dumpy old ballahoo now just clear of Drunkenman's Cay, and

heading alongshore for Helshire Point, bound for St. Jago de Cuba.

CHAPTER XLV.

LILIES AND SEA-WEED.

"Oh leave the lily on its stem!

Oh leave the rose upon the spray!

Oh leave the elder bloom, fair maids,

And listen to my lay!"

"When descends on the Atlantic

The gigantic

Storm-wind of the equinox,

Landward in his wrath he scourges

The toiling surges,

Laden with sea-weed from the rocks."

By day and night, under sun or moon, and in breeze or calm--by the

resounding shore--on the rippling water--in saloon and grove, picnicking

and boating--under vine or awning--all around in the whirling waltz, the

measured contra-danza--amid the tinkle of guitar or trill of piano, the

rattle and crash of the full band on board the frigate--gently rocking

on the narrow deck of the "Rosalie," or down in the brig of teak, there

was ever a white arm linked in the arm of blue--now timidly, then with a

confiding pressure--now a furtive look of blue eyes into dark, then a

fixed, steady gaze from the brown to the light--here a palpitating

pause, and then the blue arms wound around the waving stem--two white

arms clasping, with a passionate caress, the neck of the weed--and, yes!

the lily floating on the white cheek of the pond had been caught by the

strong weed, and with the reacting tide was going out to sea! Ay! the

sailor had won the maiden!

But while the lily rocked hither and thither on the pond, with its blond

leaves and petals of blue, and its pliant stem in danger at every tide,

did the fond mothers watch it from the bank? That they did, thinking of

the time when they were lilies of the pond themselves, with no fears of

danger near. But at last it came, and, like blooming flowers, they swung

to and fro in the rain, dropping a tear or two from their own rosy

leaves--more in dewy sorrow than in fear--and waiting for sunshine;

bending their beautiful heads of roses the while one toward another,

peeping out with their dark violet eyes, and listening, as the wind

shook them, with a tremble of apprehension, and clinging hopefully to

the straight support on which they reclined.

By day and night, in burning sun with not a drop to drink, and in the

sultry night with no morsel of food to eat--through the searing sand in

the streets and lanes, down by the quays--to every vessel in the crowded

harbor--in every hotel and lodging-house in Kingston--up and down

Spanish Town--away off to Port Royal--occasionally going on board the

frigate for gold, then on shore again--in ribald wassail and drunken

dance, gaming hells especially, and low crimping houses, maroon and

negro huts, and wretched haunts of vice--scattering gold like cards,

dice, rum, and water--no end to it--in large yellow drops too--and still

striding on, questioning, gleaming with those revengeful eyes--never

resting brain or body, without drink or meat--went Paul Darcantel.

Oh, Paul, that cowardly villain saw you from the very moment you took

that pinch of snuff out of his blue enameled box--ay, even before, when

you walked your mule slowly up the broken road, while a goaded barb was

curbed back in the gloomy forest till you had passed, with his rider's

finger in his waistcoat pocket. And in all your ceaseless wanderings, by

day and night, that now timid, terror-stricken villain has been

following you; dodging behind corners--under the well-worn cloths of

monte banks--in the back rooms of pulperias--hiding in nests of

infamy--every where and in all places steering clear of you.

Oh, Paul! what a deceived man you are!

And while you are doing all this, just turn your eyes out to the calm

spot off Montego Bay, where that leaky old brigantine is bobbing about.

The dirty, surly _capitano_ kicking and beating the hands from taffrail

to bowsprit, particularly one great tall fellow, without a hat, and but

a few dry thin hairs to shield his skull from the scorching sun; cursing

him, as he puffs a cigarette, for being the most idle scoundrel of a

skulk on board! But he--the scoundrel!--laughing with a hollow laugh up

the sleeve of his filthy shirt, with never a dollar in his belt or an

extra pair of trowsers in the forecastle, with bare feet, and still,

cold eyes, now turned to green--eating nasty jerked beef and drinking

putrid water--never sleeping for vermin--kicked and cuffed about the

decks.

But yet he smiled with a devilish satisfaction, Paul, for he has escaped

_you_, and was bound to St. Jago de Cuba! From there he would

charter--steal, perhaps--a small boat, and run over to the Doce Leguas

Cays, where there were ten thousand pounds in mildewed gold!--if nobody

had discovered it, which was not probable--and he--the scoundrel!--would

gather it up in bags, and slink away to some other part of the world.

You must be very quick, Captain Brand, for the leaky brigantine does not

sail so fast as the "Centipede," and your ancient compadre, Don Ignacio,

is just out of prison. His old, fat, banana wife is very sorry for it,

but that's none of your business.

And you, Doctor Paul! don't you pity that flying, dirty wretch, with his

mutilated hand, and soul-beseeching gaze out of those greenish frozen

eyes, where a ray of mercy never entered, but whose icy lids fairly

crack as your shadow stamps across them?

No, not a ray of pity or mercy for the infamous villain; not even a

twitch of the little finger of his bloody, mutilated white hand! No, not

the faintest hope of pity! He shall die in such torments as even a

pirate never devoted a victim.

But you are worn out, Darcantel; your prey has escaped you. The people

think you mad, as you are, for revenge; and though your stride is the

same, and your frame still as nervous as a galvanized corpse, yet flesh

and blood can not stand it. Go on board the "Monongahela," and talk to

that true friend whose counsels you have ever listened to since you were

rocking in your cradle; or take that noble, gallant youth in your arms

and console him--for he needs consolation--and think of the mouse who

gnawed the net years and years ago.

Well, you will, Paul Darcantel; but before you do, you will step into

that jeweler's shop and buy a trifle for old Clinker there, out at

Escondido. You want a ring, the finest gem that can be found on the

island of Jamaica. There it is--its equal not to be bought in the whole

West India Islands, or the East Indies either.