“They fly no colors, but they’re part of the Jamaica fleet.” Blood spoke without excitement, almost with a certain listlessness. “When dawn broke we found ourselves running to meet them. We went about, and it’s been a race ever since. But the Arabella’s been at sea these four months, and her bottom’s too foul for the speed we’re needing.”
Wolverstone hooked his thumbs into his broad leather belt, and from his great height looked down sardonically upon Lord Julian, tall man though his lordship was. “So that you’re like to be in yet another sea-fight afore ye’ve done wi’ ships, my lord.”
“That’s a point we were just arguing,” said Blood. “For I hold that we’re in no case to fight against such odds.”
“The odds be damned!” Wolverstone thrust out his heavy jowl. “We’re used to odds. The odds was heavier at Maracaybo; yet we won out, and took three ships. They was heavier yesterday when we engaged Don Miguel.”
“Aye—but those were Spaniards.”
“And what better are these?—Are ye afeard of a lubberly Barbados planter? Whatever ails you, Peter? I’ve never known ye scared afore.”
A gun boomed out behind them.
“That’ll be the signal to lie to,” said Blood, in the same listless voice; and he fetched a sigh.
Wolverstone squared himself defiantly before his captain.
“I’ll see Colonel Bishop in hell or ever I lies to for him.” And he spat, presumably for purposes of emphasis.
His lordship intervened.
“Oh, but—by your leave—surely there is nothing to be apprehended from Colonel Bishop. Considering the service you have rendered to his niece and to me . . .”
Wolverstone’s horse-laugh interrupted him. “Hark to the gentleman!” he mocked. “Ye don’t know Colonel Bishop, that’s clear. Not for his niece, not for his daughter, not for his own mother, would he forgo the blood what he thinks due to him. A drinker of blood, he is. A nasty beast. We knows, the Cap’n and me. We been his slaves.”
“But there is myself,” said Lord Julian, with great dignity.
Wolverstone laughed again, whereat his lordship flushed. He was moved to raise his voice above its usual languid level.
“I assure you that my word counts for something in England.”
“Oh, aye—in England. But this ain’t England, damme.”
Came the roar of a second gun, and a round shot splashed the water less than half a cable’s-length astern. Blood leaned over the rail to speak to the fair young man immediately below him by the helmsman at the whipstaff.
“Bid them take in sail, Jeremy,” he said quietly. “We lie to.”
But Wolverstone interposed again.
“Hold there a moment, Jeremy!” he roared. “Wait!” He swung back to face the Captain, who had placed a hand on his shoulder and was smiling, a trifle wistfully.
“Steady, Old Wolf! Steady!” Captain Blood admonished him.
“Steady, yourself, Peter. Ye’ve gone mad! Will ye doom us all to hell out of tenderness for that cold slip of a girl?”
“Stop!” cried Blood in sudden fury.
But Wolverstone would not stop. “It’s the truth, you fool. It’s that cursed petticoat’s making a coward of you. It’s for her that ye’re afeard—and she, Colonel Bishop’s niece! My God, man, ye’ll have a mutiny aboard, and I’ll lead it myself sooner than surrender to be hanged in Port Royal.”
Their glances met, sullen defiance braving dull anger, surprise, and pain.
“There is no question,” said Blood, “of surrender for any man aboard save only myself. If Bishop can report to England that I am taken and hanged, he will magnify himself and at the same time gratify his personal rancor against me. That should satisfy him. I’ll send him a message offering to surrender aboard his ship, taking Miss Bishop and Lord Julian with me, but only on condition that the Arabella is allowed to proceed unharmed. It’s a bargain that he’ll accept, if I know him at all.”
“It’s a bargain he’ll never be offered,” retorted Wolverstone, and his earlier vehemence was as nothing to his vehemence now. “Ye’re surely daft even to think of it, Peter!”
“Not so daft as you when you talk of fighting that.” He flung out an arm as he spoke to indicate the pursuing ships, which were slowly but surely creeping nearer. “Before we’ve run another half-mile we shall be within range.”
Wolverstone swore elaborately, then suddenly checked. Out of the tail of his single eye he had espied a trim figure in gray silk that was ascending the companion. So engrossed had they been that they had not seen Miss Bishop come from the door of the passage leading to the cabin. And there was something else that those three men on the poop, and Pitt immediately below them, had failed to observe. Some moments ago Ogle, followed by the main body of his gun-deck crew, had emerged from the booby hatch, to fall into muttered, angrily vehement talk with those who, abandoning the gun-tackles upon which they were laboring, had come to crowd about him.
Even now Blood had no eyes for that. He turned to look at Miss Bishop, marveling a little, after the manner in which yesterday she had avoided him, that she should now venture upon the quarter-deck. Her presence at this moment, and considering the nature of his altercation with Wolverstone, was embarrassing.
Very sweet and dainty she stood before him in her gown of shimmering gray, a faint excitement tinting her fair cheeks and sparkling in her clear, hazel eyes, that looked so frank and honest. She wore no hat, and the ringlets of her gold-brown hair fluttered distractingly in the morning breeze.
Captain Blood bared his head and bowed silently in a greeting which she returned composedly and formally.
“What is happening, Lord Julian?” she enquired.
As if to answer her a third gun spoke from the ships towards which she was looking intent and wonderingly. A frown rumpled her brow. She looked from one to the other of the men who stood there so glum and obviously ill at ease.
“They are ships of the Jamaica fleet,” his lordship answered her.
It should in any case have been a sufficient explanation. But before more could be added, their attention was drawn at last to Ogle, who came bounding up the broad ladder, and to the men lounging aft in his wake, in all of which, instinctively, they apprehended a vague menace.
At the head of the companion, Ogle found his progress barred by Blood, who confronted him, a sudden sternness in his face and in every line of him.
“What’s this?” the Captain demanded sharply. “Your station is on the gun-deck. Why have you left it?”
Thus challenged, the obvious truculence faded out of Ogle’s bearing, quenched by the old habit of obedience and the natural dominance that was the secret of the Captain’s rule over his wild followers. But it gave no pause to the gunner’s intention. If anything it increased his excitement.
“Captain,” he said, and as he spoke he pointed to the pursuing ships, “Colonel Bishop holds us. We’re in no case either to run or fight.”
Blood’s height seemed to increase, as did his sternness.
“Ogle,” said he, in a voice cold and sharp as steel, “your station is on the gun-deck. You’ll return to it at once, and take your crew with you, or else . . .”
But Ogle, violent of mien and gesture, interrupted him.
“Threats will not serve, Captain.”
“Will they not?”
It was the first time in his buccaneering career that an order of his had been disregarded, or that a man had failed in the obedience to which he pledged all those who joined him. That this insubordination should proceed from one of those whom he most trusted, one of his old Barbados associates, was in itself a bitterness, and made him reluctant to that which instinct told him must be done. His hand closed over the butt of one of the pistols slung before him.
“Nor will that serve you,” Ogle warned him, still more fiercely. “The men are of my thinking, and they’ll have their way.”
“And what way may that be?”
“The way to make us safe.
We’ll neither sink nor hang whiles we can help it.”
From the three or four score men massed below in the waist came a rumble of approval. Captain Blood’s glance raked the ranks of those resolute, fierce-eyed fellows, then it came to rest again on Ogle. There was here quite plainly a vague threat, a mutinous spirit he could not understand.
“You come to give advice, then, do you?” quoth he, relenting nothing of his sternness.
“That’s it, Captain; advice. That girl, there.” He flung out a bare arm to point to her. “Bishop’s girl; the Governor of Jamaica’s niece . . . We want her as a hostage for our safety.”
“Aye!” roared in chorus the buccaneers below, and one or two of them elaborated that affirmation.
In a flash Captain Blood saw what was in their minds. And for all that he lost nothing of his outward stern composure, fear invaded his heart.
“And how,” he asked, “do you imagine that Miss Bishop will prove such a hostage?”
“It’s a providence having her aboard; a providence. Heave to, Captain, and signal them to send a boat, and assure themselves that Miss is here. Then let them know that if they attempt to hinder our sailing hence, we’ll hang the doxy first and fight for it after. That’ll cool Colonel Bishop’s heat, maybe.”
“And maybe it won’t.” Slow and mocking came Wolverstone’s voice to answer the other’s confident excitement, and as he spoke he advanced to Blood’s side, an unexpected ally. “Some o’ them dawcocks may believe that tale.” He jerked a contemptuous thumb towards the men in the waist, whose ranks were steadily being increased by the advent of others from the forecastle. “Although even some o’ they should know better, for there’s still a few was on Barbados with us, and are acquainted like me and you with Colonel Bishop. If ye’re counting on pulling Bishop’s heartstrings, ye’re a bigger fool, Ogle, than I’ve always thought you was with anything but guns. There’s no heaving to for such a matter as that unless you wants to make quite sure of our being sunk. Though we had a cargo of Bishop’s nieces it wouldn’t make him hold his hand. Why, as I was just telling his lordship here, who thought like you that having Miss Bishop aboard would make us safe, not for his mother would that filthy slaver forgo what’s due to him. And if ye weren’t a fool, Ogle, you wouldn’t need me to tell you this. We’ve got to fight, my lads . . .”
“How can we fight, man?” Ogle stormed at him, furiously battling the conviction which Wolverstone’s argument was imposing upon his listeners. “You may be right, and you may be wrong. We’ve got to chance it. It’s our only chance . . .”
The rest of his words were drowned in the shouts of the bands insisting that the girl be given up to be held as a hostage. And then louder than before roared a gun away to leeward, and away on their starboard beam they saw the spray flung up by the shot, which had gone wide.
“They are within range,” cried Ogle. And leaning from the rail, “Put down the helm,” he commanded.
Pitt, at his post beside the helmsman, turned intrepidly to face the excited gunner.
“Since when have you commanded on the main deck, Ogle? I take my orders from the Captain.”
“You’ll take this order from me, or, by God, you’ll . . .”
“Wait!” Blood bade him, interrupting, and he set a restraining hand upon the gunner’s arm. “There is, I think, a better way.”
He looked over his shoulder, aft, at the advancing ships, the foremost of which was now a bare quarter of a mile away. His glance swept in passing over Miss Bishop and Lord Julian standing side by side some paces behind him. He observed her pale and tense, with parted lips and startled eyes that were fixed upon him, an anxious witness of this deciding of her fate. He was thinking swiftly, reckoning the chances if by pistoling Ogle he were to provoke a mutiny. That some of the men would rally to him, he was sure. But he was no less sure that the main body would oppose him, and prevail in spite of all that he could do, taking the chance that holding Miss Bishop to ransom seemed to afford them. And if they did that, one way or the other, Miss Bishop would be lost. For even if Bishop yielded to their demand, they would retain her as a hostage.
Meanwhile Ogle was growing impatient. His arm still gripped by Blood, he thrust his face into the Captain’s.
“What better way?” he demanded. “There is none better. I’ll not be bubbled by what Wolverstone has said. He may be right, and he may be wrong. We’ll test it. It’s our only chance, I’ve said, and we must take it.”
The better way that was in Captain Blood’s mind was the way that already he had proposed to Wolverstone. Whether the men in the panic Ogle had aroused among them would take a different view from Wolverstone’s he did not know. But he saw quite clearly now that if they consented, they would not on that account depart from their intention in the matter of Miss Bishop; they would make of Blood’s own surrender merely an additional card in this game against the Governor of Jamaica.
“It’s through her that we’re in this trap,” Ogle stormed on. “Through her and through you. It was to bring her to Jamaica that you risked all our lives, and we’re not going to lose our lives as long as there’s a chance to make ourselves safe through her.”
He was turning again to the helmsman below, when Blood’s grip tightened on his arm. Ogle wrenched it free, with an oath. But Blood’s mind was now made up. He had found the only way, and repellent though it might be to him, he must take it.
“That is a desperate chance,” he cried. “Mine is the safe and easy way. Wait!” He leaned over the rail. “Put the helm down,” he bade Pitt. “Heave her to, and signal to them to send a boat.”
A silence of astonishment fell upon the ship—of astonishment and suspicion at this sudden yielding. But Pitt, although he shared it, was prompt to obey. His voice rang out, giving the necessary orders, and after an instant’s pause, a score of hands sprang to execute them. Came the creak of blocks and the rattle of slatting sails as they swung aweather, and Captain Blood turned and beckoned Lord Julian forward. His lordship, after a moment’s hesitation, advanced in surprise and mistrust—a mistrust shared by Miss Bishop, who, like his lordship and all else aboard, though in a different way, had been taken aback by Blood’s sudden submission to the demand to lie to.
Standing now at the rail, with Lord Julian beside him, Captain Blood explained himself.
Briefly and clearly he announced to all the object of Lord Julian’s voyage to the Caribbean, and he informed them of the offer which yesterday Lord Julian had made to him.
“That offer I rejected, as his lordship will tell you, deeming myself affronted by it. Those of you who have suffered under the rule of King James will understand me. But now in the desperate case in which we find ourselves—outsailed, and likely to be outfought, as Ogle has said—I am ready to take the way of Morgan: to accept the King’s commission and shelter us all behind it.”
It was a thunderbolt that for a moment left them all dazed. Then Babel was reenacted. The main body of them welcomed the announcement as only men who have been preparing to die can welcome a new lease of life. But many could not resolve one way or the other until they were satisfied upon several questions, and chiefly upon one which was voiced by Ogle.
“Will Bishop respect the commission when you hold it?”
It was Lord Julian who answered:
“It will go very hard with him if he attempts to flout the King’s authority. And though he should dare attempt it, be sure that his own officers will not dare to do other than oppose him.”
“Aye,” said Ogle, “that is true.”
But there were some who were still in open and frank revolt against the course. Of these were Wolverstone, who at once proclaimed his hostility.
“I’ll rot in hell or ever I serves the King,” he bawled in a great rage.
But Blood quieted him and those who thought as he did. “No man need follow me into the King’s service who is reluctant. That is not in the bargain. What is in the bargain is that I accept this service with such of you as ma
y choose to follow me. Don’t think I accept it willingly. For myself, I am entirely of Wolverstone’s opinion. I accept it as the only way to save us all from the certain destruction into which my own act may have brought us. And even those of you who do not choose to follow me shall share the immunity of all, and shall afterwards be free to depart. Those are the terms upon which I sell myself to the King. Let Lord Julian, the representative of the Secretary of State, say whether he agrees to them.”
Prompt, eager, and clear came his lordship’s agreement. And that was practically the end of the matter. Lord Julian, the butt now of good-humoredly ribald jests and half-derisive acclamations, plunged away to his cabin for the commission, secretly rejoicing at a turn of events which enabled him so creditably to discharge the business on which he had been sent.
Meanwhile the bo’sun signaled to the Jamaica ships to send a boat, and the men in the waist broke their ranks and went noisily flocking to line the bulwarks and view the great stately vessels that were racing down towards them.
As Ogle left the quarter-deck, Blood turned, and came face to face with Miss Bishop. She had been observing him with shining eyes, but at sight of his dejected countenance, and the deep frown that scarred his brow, her own expression changed. She approached him with a hesitation entirely unusual to her. She set a hand lightly upon his arm.
“You have chosen wisely, sir,” she commended him, “however much against your inclinations.”
He looked with gloomy eyes upon her for whom he had made this sacrifice.
“I owed it to you—or thought I did,” he said.
She did not understand. “Your resolve delivered me from a horrible danger,” she admitted. And she shivered at the memory of it. “But I do not understand why you should have hesitated when first it was proposed to you. It is an honorable service.”
“King James’s?” he sneered.
Captain Blood Page 27
