Commodore Junk

“Why?” said Humphrey, sharply.

“Why?” said Dinny, scratching his head; “perhaps he wants to get ye in good condition before ye’re hung.”

“Hung?”

“Yis, sor. That’s what Black Mazzard says.”

“Is that the man who tried to cut me down with a boarding-axe?”

“That’s the gintleman, sor; and now let me put ye tidy, and lay yer bed shtraight. Sure, and ye’ve got an illigant cabin here, as is good enough for a juke. Look at the ornaments on the walls.”

“Are there any more places like this?”

“Anny more! Sure, the wood’s full of ’em.”

“But about here?”

“About here! Oh, this is only a little place. Sure, we all live here always when we ar’n’t aboard the schooner.”

“Ah, yes! The schooner. She was quite destroyed, was she not?”

“Divil a bit, sor. Your boys didn’t shoot straight enough. The ship ye came in was, afther we’d got all we wanted out of her. She was burnt to the wather’s edge, and then she sank off the reef.”

Humphrey groaned.

“Ye needn’t do that, sor, for she was a very owld boat, and not safe for a journey home. Mak’ yer mind aisy, and mak’ this yer home. There’s plinty of room for ye, and – whisht! here’s the captain coming. What’ll he be doing here?”

“The captain!” cried Humphrey. “Then that man took my message.”

“What message, sor?”

At that moment the steps which had been heard coming as it were down some long stone corridor halted at the doorway of the prisoner’s chamber, someone drew aside a heavy rug, and the buccaneer, wearing a broad-leafed hat which shaded his face, entered the place.

“You can go, Dinny.”

“Yis, sor, I’m going,” said Dinny, obsequiously; and, after a glance at the prisoner, he hurriedly obeyed.

There was only a gloomy greenish twilight in the old chamber, such light as there was striking in through the forest-shaded window, and with his back to this, and retaining his hat, the captain seated himself upon a rug covered chest.

“You sent for me,” he said, in a deep, abrupt tone.

Humphrey looked at him intently, the dark eyes meeting his, and the thick black brows contracted as the gaze was prolonged.

“You sent for me,” he repeated, abruptly; “what more do you want?”

“I will tell you after a while,” said Humphrey; “but first of all let me thank you for the kind treatment I have received at your hands.”

“You need not thank me,” was the short reply. “Better treatment than you would have given me.”

“Well, yes,” said Humphrey. “I am afraid it is.”

“Your cousin would have hung me.”

“My cousin! What do you know of my cousin!”

“England is little. Every Englishman of mark is known.”

Humphrey looked at him curiously, and for the moment it seemed to him that he had heard that voice before, but his memory did not help him.

“My cousin would have done his duty,” he said, gravely.

“His duty!” cried the captain, bitterly. “Your country has lost a treasure in the death of that man, sir.”

“Good heavens, man! What do you know – ”

“Enough, sir. Let Captain James Armstrong rest. The name is well represented now by a gentleman, and it is to that fact that Captain Humphrey owes his life.”

The latter stared at the speaker wonderingly.

“Well, sir, why have you sent for me!”

“To thank you, Commodore Junk, and to ask you a question or two.”

“Go on, sir. Perhaps I shall not answer you.”

“I will risk it,” said Humphrey, watching him narrowly, “You spared my life. Why?”

“I told you.”

“Then you will give me my liberty?”

“What for? – to go away and return with another and better-manned ship to take us and serve the captain of the schooner as I have served you?”

“No. I wish to return home.”

“What for?”

“Surely you cannot expect me to wish to stay here!”

“Why do you wish to go home to meet disgrace?”

Humphrey started at having his own words repeated.

“To be tried by court martial for the loss of your ship! Stay where you are, sir, and grow strong and well.”

“If I stay here, sir, when I have full liberty to go, shall I not be playing the part of the coward you called me when I was beaten down?”

“You will not have full liberty to go, Captain Armstrong,” said his captor, quietly. “You forget that you are a prisoner.”

“You do not intend to kill me and my men?”

“We are not butchers, sir,” was the cold reply.

“Then what is your object in detaining us. Is it ransom?”

“Possibly.”

“Name the sum, then, sir, and if it is in my power it shall be paid.”

“It is too soon to talk of ransom, Captain Armstrong,” said his visitor, “you are weak and ill yet. Be patient, and grow well and strong. Some day I will talk over this matter with you again. But let me, before I go, warn you to be careful not to attempt to escape, or to encourage either of your men to make the attempt. Even I could not save you then, for the first man you met would shoot you down. Besides that risk, escape is impossible by land; and we shall take care that you do not get away by sea. Now, sir, have I listened to all you have to say?”

“One word, sir. I am growing stronger every day. Will you grant me some freedom?”

“Captain Armstrong is a gentleman,” said his visitor; “if he will give his word that he will not attempt to escape, he shall be free to go anywhere within the bounds of our little settlement.”

Humphrey sat thinking, with his brow knit and his teeth compressed.

“No,” he said; “that would be debarring myself from escaping.”

“You could not escape.”

“I should like to try,” said Humphrey, smiling.

“It would be utter madness, sir. Give me your word of honour that you will not attempt to leave this old palace, and you shall come and go as you please.”

“No, sir, I will remain a prisoner with the chances open.”

“As you will,” said the buccaneer, coldly; and he rose and left the chamber, looking thoughtful and absent, while Humphrey lay back on his couch, gazing hard at the great stone idol, as if he expected to gain information from its stern mysterious countenance.

“Where have I seen him before?” he said, thoughtfully; and after gazing at the carven effigy for some time he closed his eyes and tried to think, but their last meeting on the deck of the sloop was all that would suggest itself, and he turned wearily upon his side.

“He seemed to have heard of our family, and his manner was strange; but I can’t think now,” he said, “I am hot and weak, and this place seems to stifle me.”

Almost as he spoke he dropped asleep – the slumber of weakness and exhaustion – to be plunged in a heavy stupor for hours, perfectly unconscious of the fact that from time to time the great curtain was drawn aside and a big head thrust into the dim chamber, the owner gazing frowningly at the helpless prisoner, and then entering on tiptoe, to cross to the window and cautiously look out before returning to the couch, with the frown deepening as the man thought of how narrow the step was which led from life to death.

He had advanced close to the couch with a savage gleam of hatred in his eyes when Humphrey Armstrong moved uneasily, tossed his hands apart, and then, as if warned instinctively of danger, he opened his eyes, sprang up, and seized a piece of stone close by his side, the only weapon, within grasp.

“Well,” said Bart, without stirring, and with a grim look of contempt, “heave it. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, it’s you!” said the prisoner, setting down the stone and letting himself sink back. “I was dreaming, I suppose, and thought there was danger.”

He laid his feverish cheek upon his hand, and seemed to fall asleep at once, his eyes closing and his breath coming easily.

“Trusts me,” muttered Bart. “Poor lad! it ar’n’t his fault. Man can’t kill one as trusts him like that. I shall have to fight for him, I suppose. Always my way – always my way.”

He seated himself at the foot of the couch with his features distorted as if by pain, and for hour after hour watched the sleeper, telling himself that he could not do him harm, though all the time a jealous hatred approaching fury was burning in his breast.

Chapter Twenty Four

The Prison Life

“Not dying, Bart?”

“No, not exactly dying,” said that worthy in a low growl; “but s’pose you shoots at and wings a gull, picks it up, and takes it, and puts it in a cage; the wound heals up, and the bird seems sound; but after a time it don’t peck, and don’t preen its plumes, and if it don’t beat itself again’ the bars o’ the cage, it sits and looks at the sea.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I says, captain; and, after a time, if you don’t let it go, that gull dies.”

“Then you mean that Captain Armstrong is pining away?”

“That’s it.”

“Has he any suspicion of who we are?”

“Not a bit.”

“And you think he’s suffering for want of change?”

“Course I do. Anyone would – shut up in that dark place.”

“Has he complyned?”

“Not he. Too brave a lad. Why not give him and his lads a boat, and let them go!”

“To come back with a strong force and destroy us.”

“Ah, I never thought of that! Make him swear he wouldn’t. He’d keep his word.”

“But his men would not, Bart. No; he will have to stay.”

“Let him loose, then, to run about the place. He can’t get away.”

“I am afraid.”

“What of?”

“Some trouble arising. Mazzard does not like him.”

“Ah! I never thought o’ that neither,” returned Bart, gloomily. “Black Mazzard’s always grumbling about his being kept.”

The buccaneer took a turn or two up and down the quarters he occupied in the vast range of buildings buried in the forest, a mile back from the head of the harbour where his schooner lay; and Bart watched him curiously till he stopped, with his face twitching, and the frown deepening upon his brow.

“He will not give his word of honour not to attempt to escape, Bart,” said the captain, pausing at last before his follower.

“’Tar’n’t likely,” said Bart. “Who would? He’d get away if he could.”

“The prisoners cannot escape through the forest; there is no way but the sea, and that must be properly watched. Due notice must be given to all that any attempt to escape will be followed by the punishment of death.”

“I hear,” said Bart. “Am I to tell the captain that?”

“No. He must know it; but I give him into your charge. You must watch over him, and protect him from himself and from anyone else.”

“Black Mazzard!”

“From any one likely to do him harm,” said the captain, sternly. “You understand?”

“Yes. I’m going,” replied Bart, in a low growl, as he gazed in his leader’s eyes; and then, with a curious, thoughtful look in his own, he went out of the captain’s quarters and in the direction of the prison of the king’s officer.

Bart had to go down the broad steps of an extensive, open amphitheatre, whose stones were dislodged by the redundant growth of the forest; and, after crossing the vast court-yard at the bottom, to mount the steps on the other side toward where, dominating a broad terrace overshadowed by trees, stood a small, square temple, over whose doorway was carved a huge, demoniacal head, defaced by the action of time, but with the features still clearly marked.

As Bart neared the building a figure appeared in the doorway for a moment, and then passed out into the sunshine.

“Hullo, my lad!” it exclaimed. “You there?”

Bart nodded.

“Been putting in the last six barr’ls of the sloop’s powder, and some of these days you’ll see the sun’ll set it all alight, and blow the whole place to smithereens! Where are ye going?”

“Yonder, to the prisoners.”

“Poor divils!” said Dinny. “Hadn’t ye better kill the lot and put ’em out of their misery? They must be tired of it, and so am I. Faix, and it’s a dirthy life for a man to lead!”

“Don’t let the skipper hear you say that, my lad,” growled Bart, “or it may be awkward for you!”

“I’ll let annybody hear me!” cried Dinny. “Sure, an’ it’s the life of a baste to lead, and a man like that Black Mazzard bullying and finding fault. I’d have sent one of the powdher-kegs at his head this morning for the binifit of everybody here, only I might have blown myself up as well.”

“Has he been swearing at you again!”

“Swearing! Bedad, Bart, he said things to me this morning as scorched the leaves of the threes yonder. If you go and look you can see ’em all crickled up. He can swear!”

Bart slouched away.

“It’s a divil of a place!” muttered Dinny; “and it would make a wondherful stone-quarry; but I’m getting sick of it, and feeling as if I should like to desart. Black Mazzard again!” he muttered, drawing in his breath sharply. “I wish his greatest inimy would break his neck!”

Dinny walked sharply away, for the lieutenant seemed to have been gathering authority since the taking of the sloop, and lost no opportunity of showing it to all the crew.

Meanwhile, Bart had continued his way between the two piles of ruins, his path leading from the dazzling glow of the tropic sunshine into the subdued green twilight of the forest.

Here, at the end of some fifty paces, he came to the external portion of the building which formed Captain Humphrey’s prison, and entering by a fairly well-preserved doorway, he raised a curtain, half-way down a corridor, passed through, and then came abreast of a recess, at the end of which was another broad hanging, which he drew aside, and entered the temple-chamber, where Humphrey lay sleeping on a couch.

As Bart approached he became aware of a faint rustling sound, as of someone retreating from the window among the trees, and starting forward, he looked out. But all was still; not a long rope-like liana quivering, no leaf crushed.

“Some monkey,” muttered Bart, and turning back, he gazed down with a heavy frown at the frank, handsome face of the young officer, till he saw the features twitch, the eyes open and stare wonderingly into his; and once more the prisoner, roused by the presence of another gazing upon his sleeping face, suddenly sprang up.

“You here?”

“Yes, sir, I’m here,” said Bart.

“What for? Why?”

“Nothing much, sir; only to tell you that you can go.”

“Go?” cried the captain, excitedly.

“Yes, sir. Captain Junk’s orders – where you like, so long as you don’t try to escape.”

“But I must escape!” cried Humphrey, angrily. “Tell the captain I will not give my parole.”

“He don’t want it, sir. You can go where you like, only if you try to escape you will be shot.”

Humphrey Armstrong rose from where he had been lying, and made as if to go to the door, his face full of excitement, his eyes flashing, and his hands all of a tremble.

“Go!” he said, sharply. “Send that man who has acted as my servant.”

“Servant!” muttered Bart, as he passed the curtain; “and him a prisoner! Dinny called hisself his turnkey, but said as there was no door to lock. Here! hoi! Dinny!”

“What do you want with him?” said a fierce voice; and he turned, to find the lieutenant coming out of one of the ruined buildings.

“Prisoner wants him,” said Bart, sturdily. “Here, Dinny, Captain Armstrong wants you.”

“Ay, ay,” cried Dinny, who seemed to divine that Mazzard was about to stop him, and ran hastily on; while the lieutenant, who was half-drunk, stood muttering, and then walked slowly away.

“Not so well, sor!”

“Wine – water!” panted Humphrey, hoarsely. “I tried to walk to the door and fell back here.”

“Sure, an ye’re out of practice, sir,” said Dinny, hastening to hold a vessel of water to the prisoner’s lips. “That’s better. Ye’ve tuk no exercise since ye’ve been betther.”

“Ah!” sighed Humphrey; “the deadly sickness has gone. This place is so lonely.”

“Ay, ’tis, sor. One always feels like an outside cock bird who wants a mate.”

“Sit down and talk to me.”

“Sure an’ I will, wid pleasure, sor,” said Dinny, eagerly. “There’s so few gintlemen to talk to here.”

“Tell me about your commander.”

“An’ what’ll I tell you about him?”

“What kind of a man is he?”

“Sure, and he’s as handsome as such a little chap can be.”

“Has he a wife here?”

“Woife, sor? Not he!”

“A troop of mistresses, then, or a harem?”

“Divil a bit, sor. He’s riddy to shoot the boys whiniver they take a new wife – Ingin or white. I belave he hates the whole sex, and thinks women is divils, sor. Why, he hit Black Mazzard once, sor, for asking him why he didn’t choose a pretty gyurl, and not live like a monk.”

“Is he brave?”

“Yes, sor; and I wouldn’t anger him if I were you.”

“Not I,” said Humphrey. “There, the sickness has passed off. Now, help me out into the sunshine.”

“Help ye out?” said Dinny, looking puzzled.

“Yes; into the bright sunshine. I seem to be decaying away here, man, and the warm light will give me strength.”

“Shure, an’ if I do, Black Mazzard will pison me wid a pishtol-ball.”

“I have the captain’s consent,” said Humphrey.

“Sure, and ye’re not deludhering a boy, are ye, sor?” said Dinny.

“No, no, my man, it is right. Help me; I did not know I was so weak.”

“An’ is it wake?” said Dinny, drawing the prisoner’s arm well through his own. “Sure, and didn’t I see gallons o’ blood run out of ye? Faix, and there was quarts and quarts of it; and I belave ye’d have died if I hadn’t nursed ye so tenderly as I did.”

“My good fellow, you’ve been like a good angel to me,” said Humphrey, feebly. “Hah! how glorious!” he sighed, closing his eyes as they stepped out of the long corridor into the opening cut through the forest, and then between the two piles of ruins into the glorious tropic sunshine.

“Will it be too warrum?” said Dinny.

“Warm! No, man, my heart has been chilled with lying there in the darkness. Take me farther out into the bright light.”

“Sure, and it’s the sun bating ye down ye’ll be havin’,” said Dinny. “Look at that, now!”

Dinny was gazing back at the pile of ancient buildings, and caught sight of a face in the shadow.

“Yes, I am trying to look,” said Humphrey, with a sigh; “but my eyes are not used to the light.”

“Sure, an’ it’s the captin, and he’s kaping his oi on us,” said Dinny to himself. “Well, all right, captain, darlin’! I’m not going to run away.”

“What place is this?”

“Sure, an’ it’s meself don’t know, sor. Mebbe it’s the palace that the American good payple built for Christyphy Columbus. Mebbe,” continued Dinny, “it’s much owlder. Sure, and it shutes the captin, and we all live here whin we don’t live somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else?” said Humphrey, looking at Dinny wonderingly as he grasped his arm and signed to him to wait and give him breath.

“Well, I mane at say, sor, doing a bit o’ business amongst the ships. Ah, look at her, thin, the darlin’!” he muttered, as a woman appeared for a moment among the lianas, held up her hand quickly to Dinny, and turned away.

“What woman was that!” said Humphrey, hastily.

“Woman, sor!”

“Yes; that woman who kissed her hand to you.”

“An’ did she kiss her hand to me, sor!”

“Yes, man, you must have seen.”

“Sure, an’ it must have been Misthress Greenheys, sor.”

“Mistress Greenheys!”

“A widow lady, sor, whose husband had an accident one day wid his ship and got killed.”

“And you know her!”

“We’ve been getting a little friendly lately,” said Dinny, demurely. “There, sor, you’re getting wake. Sit down on that owld stone in the shade. Bedad, it isn’t illigant, the cutting upon it, for it’s like a shkull, but it’s moighty convanient under that three. That’s better; and I’ll go and ask Bart to bring ye a cigar.”

“No, stop,” said Humphrey. “I want to talk to you, man. That woman’s husband was murdered, then?”

“Murdered! Faix, and that’s thrue. Sure, an’ someone hit him a bit too hard, sor, and he doied.”

“Murdered by these buccaneers!” said Humphrey, excitedly, and he looked wildly around him, when his eye lighted on the trim, picturesque figure of the little woman, who was intently watching them, and he saw her exchange a sign with his companion.

“The key of life – the great motive which moves the world,” said Humphrey to himself; and he turned suddenly on Dinny, who had his hand to his mouth and looked sheepish.

“You love that woman,” he said, sharply.

“Whisht, captin, dear!” said Dinny, softly; and then in a whisper, with a roguish leer, “sure, it isn’t me, sor; it’s the darlin’s took a bit of a fancy to me.”

“Yes, and you love her,” said Humphrey.

“Och, what a way ye have of putting it, sor! Sure, and the poor crittur lost her husband, and she’s been living here iver since, and she isn’t happy, and what could a boy do but thry to comfort her!”

“Are you going to marry her, Dinny?” said Humphrey, after a pause.

“Faix, an’ I would if I had a chance, sor; but there’s two obshticles in the way, and one of ’em’s Black Mazzard.”

“Then, why not take her, Dinny!”

“Tak’ her, sor?”

“Yes; from this wretched place. Escape.”

“Whisht! Don’t say that word aloud again, darlin’, or maybe the captin’ll get to hear. Sure, and I belave that the great big sthone gods shticking up all over the place gets to hear what’s said and whishpers it again to the captin, who always knows everything that goes on.”

“Take her, and help me to escape,” whispered Humphrey, earnestly.

“Whisht, man! Howld your tongue. Is it wanting to see me hanging on one of the trees! Eshcape?”

“Yes. I am a rich man, and if you can get me away I’ll reward you handsomely.”

“Hark at him!” said Dinny, scornfully. “Why, I should have to give up my share of what we’ve got shtored up here. Why, sor, I daresay I’m a richer man than yourself. Eshcape! and after all I’ve shworn.”

Dinny turned away and began cutting a stick.

“Tell me,” said Humphrey, “are there many of my men here?”

“Jist twenty, sor.”

“And how many are there of the pirates!”

Dinny laughed with his eyes half shut.

“Shure, sor, what d’ye tak’ me for? Ye don’t think I’m going to tell ye that!”

Humphrey sighed, and was silent for a time; but an intense desire to know more about the place was burning within him, and he began to question his companion again.

“Are the prisoners in one of these old temples!”

“Yes. On the other side of the big pyrymid yonder, sor; but ye can’t get to them widout going a long way round.”

“Are there many women here besides that Mistress Greenheys?”

“Sure, yis, there is a dozen of ’em, sor. Not half enough, but just enough to kape the min quarrelling; and there’s been no end of bother about the women being kept in the place.”

Chapter Twenty Five

Plans of Escape

Humphrey Armstrong was weaker from his wounds than he believed; but the change from being shut up in the dim temple-chamber with the great stone idol for company to the comparatively free open air of the forest clearing rapidly restored the elasticity of his nature, and gave him ample opportunities for studying the state of affairs.

He found that the buccaneers went out but seldom, and that when expeditions were made they would be fairly divided. At one time the captain would be in command, at another the lieutenant, so that their settlement was never left unprotected.

As far as he could judge, they were about a hundred in number, and great dilapidated chambers in the range of temples and palaces formed admirable barracks and means of defence, such as in time of need could easily be held against attack.

But Humphrey’s great idea was escape; and to accomplish this it seemed to him that his first need was to open up communication with his men.

This he determined to accomplish, for with the liberty given it seemed to be a very easy thing to walk to some heap of stones at the edge of the forest and there seat himself till he was unobserved, when he could quietly step into the dense thicket, and make his way to where his followers were imprisoned.

He had not long to wait, for it seemed that, after being closely watched for the first few days, the latitude allowed to him was greater. He had but to walk to the edge of the forest and wait, for the opportunity was sure to come.

Easy as it appeared though in theory, it proved less so in performance, and it was not till after several attempts that he felt one day sure of success.

It was soon after mid-day, when the great amphitheatre and the grotesquely ornamented ruins with their huge heads and shadowy trees were baking in the sun. The men who were often idling about had sought places where they could indulge in their siesta, and a silence as of the grave had fallen upon the place.