Spice and the Devil's Cave

by Agnes Danforth Hewes

  He paused to survey the mystified faces about him. “I didn’t see at first, either,” he laughed softly, “same as you. But all of a sudden it came to me.” Again he paused, and his hand tightened on the knife-hilt above his girdle, “What to do came to me at midnight when – everyone was asleep.”

  The Girl was leaning toward him. “You did – that – for me?” she asked, under her breath.

  “Yes, thinking I’d buy you right back with what I’d taken from – him. But when I got down to the slave market, they told me you’d been shipped out just after you’d been bought.”

  “Yes – that very night,” she shuddered.

  “It goes against you folks to hear talk of buying and selling her.” Apologetically he met Nicolo’s and Ferdinand’s angry eyes. “But how else could I save her?”

  “You’re all right, man!” Diaz told him. “Go on with your story.”

  “I traced her,” Scander resumed, “by her fair skin, to Alexandria, but there I lost her, till one day, in the big slave square, I noticed a ring of traders bidding – and there she was! I was just in time to see a big, handsome chap – a Moor he was – in a seaman’s dress, leading her away. ‘What’d he give for her?’ I asked around, and the figure they named swamped me.

  “What was I to do? I followed along behind them, turning my brains inside out for the answer. Finally, we got down to the water-front and I could see there was a heavy sea running. The tall chap walked her right along to a beached skiff, with a man in it, who grinned when his eyes lighted on her – and then my mind was made up: I was going where she went!”

  There was a restless stir through the room, and men’s eyes avoided meeting.

  “Just as the Moor lifted her into the boat, she looked off at the water, and her face changed-as if lightning had flashed in the dark. Remember what happened, then?” he asked the Girl.

  She drew a long, tremulous breath. “I meant to jump into the water,” she said, in a low voice.

  “The Moor saw what was up, too,” Scander continued, “and in a minute he’d put her into the stern, and was holding her arms. I could have praised Allah, for then I knew the other chap couldn’t make it alone, through that sea. ‘Need another hand, Chief?’ says I, with my heart in my throat, and before he even nodded, I shoved off the boat and scrambled in. The two men looked at me queer-like, and then sidewise at each other. ‘Where to?’ I asked, and they pointed out a fair-sized vessel that wasn’t flying any colours, and I had a mind to ask why, but I thought better of it.

  “I can handle a sail if I do say it, and I did my prettiest that day, so I wasn’t surprised when they asked if I minded rough weather. ‘The sea and I are like sweethearts’ said I, and they grinned and wanted to know if I’d ever had a pilot’s job. ‘Twas my specialty, I told them!

  “All the time this girl, here, never made a move; just sat there, head down; but I noticed he never quit watching her, never took his hands off her, either.

  “When we came alongside I saw the ship’s name was the Sultana. I made fast, and asked what to do with the skiff. ‘Could you take us out?’ said the tall chap, jerking his head toward the big craft. ‘Sure job?’ I asks, and he nodded, and then the two of them laughed. By this time the rail above us was thick with faces grinning down on us.” Scander paused, with a significant look. “Five minutes after the girl was lifted aboard, I was there, too, skiff all shipshape and lashed down.

  “The crew looked me over pretty sharp – as rough a gang as I ever saw. I edged forward as near as I dared to where she was standing between the tall fellow and an – other, who was older, and shorter by a head, but square-built and powerful. Moorish, too, he was. For all anyone could tell she might have been a corpse, with her face like ashes, and eyes blind-like. I listened a bit, and I made out they were talking a mixture of Franji and Arabic.

  “‘With a jewel like this,’ the tall chap was saying, ‘we can make what terms we want, anywhere.’ What did he mean? – and I edged nearer. ‘The Sultan himself wouldn’t be contemptuous of such a prize,’ the older man answered, ‘and we might even get a post in the royal navy out of it, Abdul, my boy! Shall we make the run to Constantinople, and bargain?’ Abdul – the tall chap – looked up, surprised-like, and the other one threw back his head and laughed and laughed; and I didn’t know why, but I wanted to kick him. Then Abdul says, easy and smiling – like one that’s been caught off his guard but doesn’t mean to be caught again – ’ First, though, Captain, you recollect we’ve an appointment at Tripoli with the San Marco, bound out of Venice.’”

  The Girl glanced up, and a look of understanding flashed between them.

  “What?” Nicolo was asking, in a puzzled tone. “The San Marco, from Venice, did you say?”

  Scander surveyed him in surprise. “Yes, why?”

  Nothing. Go on,” with a careless gesture that contradicted a peculiar expression that had come into his eyes.

  “Then, in a minute,” Scander resumed, “I knew what kind of an outfit I’d shipped with, and why they’d all laughed when I’d come aboard so innocent: only one kind of crews has ‘appointments’ with merchant ships, and that’s pirate crews!

  “Well, a gale was blowing up, but I took the helm, and we began the run for Tripoli, all the way through head winds and heavy seas. We were so close to shore, you couldn’t tell which yelled louder, the storm or the reefs. Sometimes, what with a black sky hissing above us, and the water like foaming jaws that couldn’t wait to lap us down, I used to wonder if we’d make it.”

  “I used to pray Allah that we wouldn’t!” the Girl said under her breath.

  The sailor’s face softened. “I expect so … I expect so,” he murmured, while Ruth silently drew her nearer.

  “You see,” he told the room in a low aside, “Arab women of rank are brought up not to go out unless they’re veiled. This girl had probably never been in the streets at all. And there she was, set down, all of a sudden, in the roughest gang I ever saw – not to mention what she’d suffered in the slave markets. I could tell from her face the hell she was going through, and sometimes I ‘most wished she’d die. So, all those shrieking hours, that my hands were around the tiller head, there wasn’t a minute that they weren’t ready for the business end of – this!” Scander tapped the knife handle in his belt. “I’d pretty well made up my mind that seeing her dead was better than – than – Anyhow, I kept my knife ready.

  “Well, it cleared, and when we reached Tripoli, the expected merchantman hadn’t arrived. Right away, the captain and this chap, Abdul – first mate he was-held council, and I hung around to listen. They were considering offering the girl to the Bey of Tripoli. It was the captain who made the proposition. Slaiman, they called him.

  “They talked all around the subject, and finally Abdul says, ‘Let’s wait till we get to Tunis. We might get better terms there.’ But at the next port”– Scander’s eyes narrowed –” it was the same thing over. The same thing over/’ he repeated. “And then I knew what was up: each man was blocking the other to get the girl for himself. From that minute, I lived with just two things in my mind: to get her away from that hell-ship, and to keep my knife sharp.

  “I used to manage to be in the same place, just at sunset, fiddling with the rigging or something or other, but ‘twas always at the same time, in the same spot, right opposite her cage, and –”

  Puzzled voices stopped him: “Cage?” “How do you mean – cage?”

  For an instant the Girl’s downcast eyes were raised, and between her and Nicolo shot a swift glance.

  “She’d have thrown herself overboard. It didn’t take half an eye to see that. So, first thing, they’d built her a cage of spare timbers they had in the hold, and they kept her in it day times. Well, one sunset, I caught her looking at me; next evening, same thing. Then I knew she understood that – that –”

  “That I needn’t be afraid!” The Girl’s eyes, shy and tender, were raised to his.

  He, in turn, for a moment, looked
at her, and under his deep tan they saw him slowly redden. Then his head went up, and he plunged on.

  “Well, finally, something happened. One day the lookout called a merchantman bearing to the west. Everybody was excited, and crowded forward. The captain ordered all sail made and the grappling irons got ready. I knew that my chance to save – or to kill – her was coming. I pressed up to her and whispered – speaking Arabic, of course – that when I opened her cage, to follow me.”

  The Girl’s hands clasped and unclasped on her lap. “You said something else, too” she reminded him, in a low voice: “that nothing should harm me.”

  “Did I?” he asked, brusquely. “Well, by this time ‘twas agreed that this was the ship they’d missed at Tripoli,, and on her way to Malaga.”

  At mention of Malaga, Nicolo folded his arms across his chest, and leaned forward, as if to lose no word.

  “We crowded sail and ranged alongside. Our long boats were lowered and manned, and then, from port and starboard at the same time, the crews closed in – and there she was, caught between our jaws! I hung back, thinking that in the scuffle I’d get the girl away, when, all of a sudden, there was Abdul, talking low and fast in my ear:

  “’What’ll you take, pilot,’ says he, ‘to keep everyone – friend or foe – out of the cage?’ Of course, I knew he meant Slaiman. Before I could speak, he put a sword in my hands. ‘A double share of the spoils, pilot,’ says he, ‘but if anything happens to her, I’ll spit you through like a roasting capon! ‘It flashed through my mind that he’d guessed my thoughts, but, with his sword and my own knife, I was ready to take chances.

  “By that time, men from the long boats were hanging to the San Marco’s forechains, knives between teeth, waiting for orders to board. Then, both crews were fighting like cats, and the passengers were hiding in corners, and scrambling into the rigging. A shot or two plopped down on our deck, and I heard a blade sing past, but it was mostly slashing right and left with cutlasses. I managed to keep my eye on both the mate and the captain. Here was my chance, plain enough, to clear out with the girl. But where to? If the San Marco’d had a ghost of a show, I could have got aboard her, but she was having the worst of it, and I saw that, presently, we’d be towing her back to some pirate nest. The Sultana’s men had pinned some of the crew clear through to the rail with pikes. They’d bound one poor devil to the mast and knocked his teeth out – so’s he couldn’t untie knots, I figured.”

  “Heavens, man,” Gama exploded, with a grimace, “leave a little paint out of your picture!”

  “’Twas a mess, sure enough,” the other impartially conceded. “But just like that,” striking his palms together, “something happened. In the thick of the fight, and before anyone saw her coming, right down on us bore a big merchantman, the Venezia!”

  In the absorbed interest of the room, no one noticed that Nicolo’s eyes flashed, and his fingers tightened on his folded arms.

  “’Twas a surprise all around.” Scander’s burnt gimlet holes twinkled. “The Venezia swept up, grappled the Sultana, and on to our deck burst her whole crew. When I saw those grappling irons, I knew my chance had come. I ran below, snatched a pair of breeches, and climbed back with them to the girl. It took about two shoves to pry loose the cage bars, and then, with my coat over her head, and my arm around her, we were ducking through a shrieking hell to the rail where the fighting had slowed up.” He paused to draw a long breath. “Saint Vincent, but ‘twas a hell!”

  “I was figuring,” he went on, “that we’d both jump overboard and then find some way of boarding the Venezia. All of a sudden, something made me look back, and there –”

  “It was so horrible!” the Girl shuddered out. “That long knife, up to its very hilt …”

  Scander assented. “We were just in time to see Abdul bury his knife in Slaiman’s back. I didn’t wait for more. We sprang for the rail, and were all but clear of it, when there was a yell from behind: ‘You’d take her from me would you, you – ’ and there he was on top of me – Abdul. I can feel his boots in my face now, as he wrenched her away, and sent me into the water.”

  She leaned suddenly toward him, her eyes large with profound excitement. “I thought he killed you!” she cried. “What happened then?”

  “Great heaven! What difference does it make what happened to me?” he choked out. “What happened to you is what I’ve asked myself ever since I felt that devil wrench you from me.”

  “But he didn’t! It was I who tore loose from you!” she exclaimed.

  In the stillness the sailor’s lips moved without sound. “He – he – didn’t – didn’t get you?”

  “I never saw him again! You see I – But first, what happened, when you fell overboard?”

  “Well, you see the San Marco’s mainmast had been cut down and the mains’l was trailing, and when I came up, I was under it. I worked around to the Venezia, and finally climbed up her forechains – and took my passage to Lisbon!” he ended, with a grin.

  At these words, Nicolo’s face cleared. Now he remembered!

  “Incidentally,” said he, raising his voice a little, you did a first class job after the regular helmsman was disabled in the fight!”

  The sailor stared stupidly at the laughing eyes, while the others looked on, dumbfounded.

  Suddenly, Ferdinand started up. “The Venezia” he shouted. “Why, Nicolo, that was the ship you came on!”

  “Of course! And Scander brought her in over the bar as smooth as silk, though the captain had expected to take on a pilot.”

  A quick little cry broke from the Girl. “You were on the big ship, both of you? … So was I!”

  Out of the bedlam that followed, Nicolo recalled only one thing: the Girl’s question had included both him and Scander – but she had looked only at him.

  “But from the Sultana to the Venezia?” Ferdinand asked her. “How did you manage that?”

  “All I knew was that I must get away from the Sultana! I ran through the fighting and the noise, and I got across to the Venezia. I’d pushed my hair under the coat, and no one seemed to notice me. At first I hid behind some rope. Then I noticed a ladder leading below, and when it was dark, I crept out and slid down it. I could feel boxes and cases, and I could hear the water so plainly that I knew I was in the bottom of the ship. I don’t know how long I stayed there.”

  “It was several days before we docked at Lisbon,” Nicolo quietly said.

  Ruth’s hands flew up in consternation. “And you had nothing to eat, child?” she cried. “No wonder warm milk tasted good to you, that first night! Do you remember?”

  “I shall never forget it,” the Girl said, fervently. “There were some barrels of water, and I used to steal out and drink, when no one was about. But what was I going to do when the cargo was moved? That was all I could think of. What if – those – men – on the Sultana should find me again?”

  “Didn’t you know?” Scander broke in. “The Ve-nezia’s men scuttled the Sultana! She went down like a pup with a stone ‘round its neck!”

  There was a long sigh of relief from the Girl; then, “And Abdul –”

  Scander’s tone was dubious. “Wish I could say as much for him and his crew, but –”

  “You don’t mean they were too quick for you?” Ferdinand exclaimed.

  “Wait till you see those pirates in action, young fellow,” countered Scander. “They take the edge off a streak of lightning. Isn’t that so? “he demanded of Nicolo.” Besides, there was a plenty to do, without chasing them, what with nursing the San Marco along to Malaga, and a storm coming up, and all. Well,” picking up the Girl’s story, “when the ship docked?”

  There was a quick gleam behind the dark eyelashes. “I was part of the cargo – then!” she announced. “I was a barrel of sugar!”

  “Sugar!” Nicolo repeated. “Sugar!” He looked hard at Ferdinand.

  Ferdinand was staring back. “By Saint Vincent – that ‘short’ barrel!” He whirled on Abel. “Do you remembe
r, Master Abel, Aunt Ruth, my telling you of the row on the quay about the shipment of sugar?”

  “The time you were trying to find a clue to this child?” “exclaimed Abel.

  “Yes! When the merchant who’d bought the sugar was threatening trouble for the Venezia’s captain, and Nicolo paid –” He checked himself awkwardly at a sign from Nicolo, but not before the Girl had caught at the word.

  “Paid? “she repeated, while the colour mounted to her forehead.

  “How did you make room for yourself in the barrel?” Nicolo hastily interposed.

  She made no answer at once, but her puzzled eyes searched his. “I scattered the sugar here and there,” she said at last, “where it wouldn’t be noticed. The hardest thing was to knock the top in. I was so afraid I’d be heard.”

  “You managed that, child – with those hands?” cried Abel. He unclasped them from where they lay clasped on her knees, and measured their slenderness on his own broad palm.

  She smiled faintly. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted, “but I found a piece of iron. Besides, that was nothing to what I had to think of: how to get ashore, without being seen.”

  “There!” Ferdinand exploded. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for!”

  “At first,” she went on, “I thought I could be taken off in the barrel, with the rest of the cargo. I thought I could somehow pull the head in, after I was inside, but –”

  “You poor waif,” Diaz interrupted her, “didn’t the risk of that occur to you? Freight piled on top of you, for instance?”

  She regarded him for a long moment. “Nothing seemed a risk after Aden, or the Sultana!”

  An impatient movement from Ferdinand roused her. “But when the Venezia began to unload?” he reminded her.

  “As soon as I felt the ship stop, I knew they would unload, and I got into the barrel. I tried and tried to put the head in, but I couldn’t!”’