“Of course you are lying,” George murmured.
“Señor!”
A sword whirred out.
“Tut and tut. Put up, my friend. You wouldn’t fight me. In the first place, I’m not properly armed.” He glanced at the cavalry saber he held, a good enough wand of authority but hardly a weapon with which to meet any hidalgo. “In the second place, you, a Spanish gentleman, surely would not condescent to cross swords with a common thief? In the third place, you know you really are lying, after all. And in the fourth place, If you was to take one step in my direction I’d whistle and this cabin would be full of my men. So . . . put up.”
The toothpick sheathed, his brow a thundercloud.
The captain had lifted his head and was watching them. He muttered something to the interpreter, who shrugged and made a curt bow.
“His excellency el capitán regrets to see that you are not sworded as befits one of your station, and he asks if you would be so kind as to accept a gift of his own blade.”
He’s afraid of losing more than that, was George’s thought. Yet George, delighted, accepted with an alacrity that was probably ill-mannered. It had been some time since he owned a real sword.
The thing was a treasure in itself. A true rapier, whippy, razor-edged, longer than a court sword but as light, it came from Toledo. The name of the maker meant nothing to George, but the heft of the weapon told him what he was getting. The blade was one that could only have come out of Spain.
Even as he strapped it on, even as he mumbled “Muchas gracias,” which was most of the Spanish he knew, he was wondering what had prompted the gift. They were eager to be rid of him: that was certain.
When he had boasted that with a whistle he could have filled this cabin, it was no more than the truth. The Nostra Signiora might have been short-handed but yet she carried five or six times as many men as the John and Elizabeth. Even if some were sick and all were dog-tired after the battle with the storm, and lacked gunpowder, they nevertheless could be a formidable force if ever they got together, if their rage was aroused. It was for this reason that George had given the command that the pirates stay on deck, not going below for any reason whatever, even to pursue a man with gold earrings. It would be too easy to get lost down there, too easy for a small party or a single prowler to be waylaid and slaughtered without any sound that would rise to the rest. This was an order it would not be easy to enforce. The pirates were a greedy lot. It was their natural wish to snatch things, to strip and secret them. But—one pirate striving to wrench one ring from the finger of one Spanish sailor might be enough to bring about a battle.
It had taken four Spaniards to haul this money chest to the middle of the captain’s cabin; it would take twice as many, or more, to lower it from the waist of the galleon to the foredeck of the rollicking John and Elizabeth, fastened alongside like a tender. At all costs George must keep his forces together and have that operation well guarded.
As he made for the deck he was conscious of the fact that he wore one sword at his side whilst he carried another, clumsier one in his hand. The difference between them, moreover, was marked. He felt oddly lopsided, like a man who walks with a polished jackboot on one foot, a hole-studded, run-over shoe on the other.
He waggled the saber apologetically.
“Tell the capitán that I would leave this behind, after his gracious gift, but that it has a sentimental value for a friend of mine, to whom I wish to return it.”
He slipped out the key, and from the open doorway turned to look at them. The captain’s face showed somewhat glassy, still streaked with tear-lines, but there was a glow of unforgiving hatred behind the self-pity. The toothpick with the long name, the interpreter, made not the slightest attempt to hide his own rage.
It would not be well if the tables were turned here. These men wouldn’t show mercy. By international law, such as that was, the captain of a ship at sea was not only permitted but even expected to hang without trial any pirate taken.
“I’ll return soon, gentlemen,” murmured George. He stepped out on the deck, locking the door behind him.
Hopefully he looked astern. This would be a meet time for the cry “A sail!” So much of his life these days seemed bounded by that call! But the horizon was unspotted.
He glanced at the foretop. There was a lookout posted, and he seemed alert, for he kept turning slowly, to scan all of the sea; but he gave no shout.
The pirates were not idle. They did not stand in one group to be scowled at. It had been George’s first order that they search the open-deck area for water casks, for fresh food, and wood. Even as George came out of the captains cabin a squad under the direction of Tom Walker was lowering a five sheep from galleon to sloop, where several such already were milling about, uncertain of themselves, where too there were piles of firewood and several crates of chickens.
There were only three persons left aboard of the John and Elizabeth, the boy Peter and the two women. Now George ordered half a dozen more there.
First, however, he had them haul out the money chest, and he gave them all a glimpse of its contents. He stood aside, glorying in the gasps, while the pirates one by one plunged their arms up to the elbow in gold and silver.
When after that he explained to them the need for an extremely careful handling of the money chest they were disposed to listen and to agree, taking their minds, for a little while at least, away from thoughts of more mundane plunder.
They were all good rope workers. Within minutes they had made a large firm hempen hammock. Lines through the handles of the chest would not have been enough. So they made a net for it, and wrapped it into this. They attached lines to each corner of this net, knotting the lines so that they could be the more surely lowered. Then, and not until then, with six men waiting for it below, while others held the two vessels close together with boat hooks and grappling hooks, they slipped the chest over the side.
About half of the pirates were thus engaged, but George saw to it that the other half did not go prowling. He formed them into a guard, and caused them to stand in a semicircle around the workers, facing out, each cutlass drawn, every pistol cocked. There would otherwise be a chance of a sudden rush from out of some hold or companionway.
He did more. He formed Si Simonson and two others into a sort of flying squad, giving Si the key to the captain’s cabin, and every time George saw a Spaniard, officer or man, who looked like a possible upriser, he pointed that man out to Si and his companions, who promptly clapped him into the captain’s cabin.
Not until the job was all but finished did George slip away from the others and go aft to study the horizon. And his lips went into a small tight grin. He glanced aloft; but the lookout was too intent upon the lowering of the coin chest to have seen the vessel that approached. George regarded it again. It was coming fast.
“The bulldogs,” he muttered.
When the chest was safely down in the sloop’s hold, the pirates would have run every-which-way. Even George could not have restrained them much longer. But he held up both arms, as he thundered for attention.
“You see that dot astern of us? That’s an English frigate. She’s chased this galleon for three days, and she’s not likely to give up now and go after us—unless we’re still here when she arrives. You understand?”
He pointed down to the John and Elizabeth, a cockleshell, it seemed, alongside of this Spanish leviathan.
“We’ve got plenty. The rest of you can run around looking for more, but I’ll advise you to hang together and never turn your backs on anybody. And remember this: we sail in half an hour, and anybody who isn’t aboard of us then stays here. I mean that! I am going down to my cabin now and turn over my glass. It takes exactly half an hour, and when the last grain of sand has run through we cast off, no matter how many are left and no matter who they are. All right? Dismissed!”
He did turn his hourglass over, though he didn’t stand and watch it There was no need for this. The pirates operated boist
erously but with commendable speed. Before the last grain could have fallen, the decks of the John and Elizabeth were crowded with men who laughed and shouted as the two vessels drifted apart, and sometimes waved derisively at the onrushing frigate. Those decks were crowded too with an agglomeration of trinkets and furniture, tapestries and tooled leather, rings, bracelets, swords, muskets, chains, rosaries—not to mention the chickens that cheeped, and the baaing sheep, and the water casks and firewood.
Ezra Garde saluted.
“The course, cap’n sir?”
“Make for New Providence,” said George. “Wherever that is.”
“Aye, wherever that is.”
The loot was stacked in piles and pyramids, so many of them, and so haphazardly strewn about, that it would seem as though order would never be restored there. But already Tom Walker, in his capacity of quartermaster, the man who must supervise the sharing-out, was moving among them, labeling, making notes, restacking, and asking questions. . . .
George Rounsivel, unnoted at the moment, found one article that had escaped attention. This was a piece of paper that had been swept off the capstan, crumpled and forgotten, in the scupper. He picked it up.
It was the “marriage contract.” Looking around, to make sure that he was not being watched, he dropped it over the side. But there was a lump in his throat. He wished so much that the thing had been real!
CHAPTER XVII
IT WAS HARD TO SLEEP, the nights were so hot. In daylight hours the sun shone furiously, so that the very tar in the deck seams bubbled, while to pick up a marlinspike was like taking hold of the wrong end of a poker, and the breeze, when there was any breeze at all, was languid, soupy, soporific. But the nights were hell.
George Rounsivel was learning, as many another had, that marriage can complicate a man’s life.
The third day after the sack of the Spaniard, in the middle of the afternoon, he was lying, slimy with sweat, on his bunk. He was there only in order to get out of the blasting sun, as at night, hoping to catch some air, he would lie, like the others, on deck. He did not aspire to any real sleep; he would but doze groggily from time to time, feeling more fuzzy-headed after each nap.
The only sound that came to him, in addition to an occasional sad squeal of timbers, was the steady wet slap-slap of Anne Bonney’s knife on the honing-stone across the corridor. There was something fiendish about the way she kept sharpening that already perfectly sharp weapon; but then, there was something fiendish about Anne anyway.
The sound, though it irritated George, at least assured him that she was in her cabin. More and more often these days she was risking brief visits to the forecastle, where George had no doubt she harangued the Rackham forces. Well, he didn’t think she would get far. He believed that for the hour at least his leadership was not to be shaken. It had been a near thing. That galleon had come along none too soon. The great good luck of its being crippled was counted in George’s favor, as though he personally had arranged it.
These pirates were a superstitious pack, always prepared to follow anybody who seemed at the time to be blessed by the gods. Even more important to his prestige was the immediacy with which he had ordered an attack. It called for high courage to drive against three tiers of guns; and some of the pirates themselves, George had since learned, had muttered that this might be carrying rashness too far. Calico Jack, beyond all doubt, had been telling them that their new king was a coward. That charge would suit Rackham’s book, for had it not worked wonders when brought against Charles Vane? Now Jack Rackham must feel dashed. How Anne Bonney felt George didn’t know, and didn’t care; but he wished she’d stop honing that damned knife over there.
So just now his position was firm enough, if anything could be considered firm on this listless vessel as it loafed across a scorching sea.
Though the pirates did not know it, their king’s first consideration when he had ordered an attack on the galleon was of Delicia Rogers. It was still only the thought of her, so near him here, that could stir his senses. If ever they did reach land, he was determined somehow to smuggle her ashore. He would have to do this alone, for there was nobody he dared, as yet, to take into his confidence. Thomas Walker? He had thought of it. But he must proceed carefully.
One thing he did have, a thing that was sure to be useful, and this was money. His share-and-a-half of the coins in the chest made his purse much heavier.
The division of the spoil, an operation in which all the others took a fanatical interest, and which George found somehow sickening, had occupied most of the waking time these past three days. Though Walker was in charge of this, George as skipper was often appealed to. The cash was easy enough. That was simply a matter of counting, then dividing. But when candlesticks were involved, and necklaces, and bolts of linen, then squabbles were inevitable. George, as must as he could, stayed aloof. Peter Knight the innocent, the one who had sighted the vessel that became a prize, before the division had been awarded a brace of pistols. As the first man to board that prize, George himself was entitled to a similar pair of pistols, but he had pistols already and elected to keep his Spanish sword instead. As for the miscellaneous loot, he simply waived all claim to it. They could divide it among themselves, he decreed. This greatly helped his popularity.
As a pirate king, then, he was doing well. He should have been exultant. He wasn’t. He was miserable.
“Stop sharpening that knife,” he cried suddenly, snappishly, startling even himself.
The slap-slap ceased. He heard Anne get up, heard her slouch out through the deck door. With a sigh he rose, supposing that he’d better go after her before she stirred up trouble.
“Master Rounsivel—”
“Yes?”
“Please come in.”
He entered that cabin quietly, almost reverently. It was hung with clothes, strewn with small feminine articles, and smelled of rosewater, perfume, cigaro smoke, and hot human flesh. Delicia was lying in the upper bunk, the one that had been George’s. She had her face turned to the wall, but she lifted a feeble hand to acknowledge his entrance.
“Are you ill?” he asked anxiously.
“Not physically, no. But I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.”
He sat down, palming his knees.
“Ma’am, I would admire nothing better than to lead you away. But we are surrounded by water, as you may have noticed. The longboat is too much for us to handle, you and I, and the Moses is too small to carry more than a few days water and food.”
“I know. And you have been very kind. I shouldn’t whimper. But there’s one thing—”
“Ma’am, name it.”
“Couldn’t I get away from this beastly woman? She talks all the time. She seems to talk to herself, but it’s all meant for me. She’s nasty-mouthed without any letup, even in the middle of the night. It isn’t the words. I was brought up in a seafaring neighborhood, and I suppose I know all the very words. But it’s her manner. And the details she goes into about . . . well, you and her . . .”
There was some silence.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he muttered at last, “but I don’t see what I can do.”
“Couldn’t I be moved to that cabin across the way, the one you have now, and you come back here? Then I would at least be alone. I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”
“Ma’am, you have forgotten one thing. We are supposed to be married, you and I. Any change of bed would be known forward, and right away. How do you suppose they would think about a man who a few days after his marriage put his wife out and slept with another woman?”
“Are you afraid of your own reputation, then?”
“No, I’m afraid of yours. Or rather, ours, which yours just now depends upon. If we are ever to slip away, as I hope, it will only be because nobody, not even Anne Bonney herself, had suspected us. You must remember that.”
She turned, propping herself on an elbow. She had been weeping, but now she managed a smile. She even put out a hand for
him to kiss.
“I am sorry, captain. I was weak for a little while. It won’t happen again.”
George went out on deck. Anne, who doubtless had known that she would be followed, was chatting with the helmsman. Tom Walker was in the waist, a harassed man, still from time to time mumbling figures, adding sums in his head. George scanned the horizon, and sighed, and went to the quartermaster.
“You think Garde will ever get us there?”
“He might.”
“By God, it would be good to be on land again!” George cried.
Walker looked at him sideways. The huge man, the onetime blacksmith, who never smiled, from time to time could show some emotion; and George liked to believe that Walker was fond of him. But now Tom shook his head.
“You won’t be going ashore, cap’n.”
“And why not? ’Tis all the clack—we’ll have a council about it—but the way the talk runs is we may put in at New Providence and demand that the fort be turned over to us by reason of the hostage we hold. Do you approve of that, Tom? Using a woman like that?”
Tom spat thoughtfully over the side. He answered at last that he would do whatever the council decreed.
“Of course. And so will I. But just supposing that’s the way it goes? Why do you say that I wouldn’t go ashore? Who is better equipped to make terms with the law than I am, the chief?”
“Her husband?” Tom said softly.
“Oh.”
“You hadn’t thought of that, eh?”
“Well, the truth is, I hadn’t, no.”
“I’m sure the men trust you, cap’n sir. Leastways as much as they ever trust anybody. But after all—”
“Yes, I see.”
He went back to his cabin, and threw himself on his bunk, fairly panting from the heat. Anne Bonney returned, and soon she started to sharpen that knife again. And a sail whoomed out and back, the reefpoints pattering. And a timber creaked . . .
Captain Crossbones Page 16
