“It’s not,” said Ned stoutly, “I was at the taking of this hoard; none but Franklin and I knew where it was hid. It may well be, however, that Avery buried some other gold about the islands, and that the gunner knew of it, Avery’s been dead long years. Yet I don’t like the smell of it all, George; to me it looks like a plan ready laid. All cut and dried, said he! I’d give a thousand pound if I knew what it was John Russel wanted to say about Winter—”
“Hist, below!” came a sudden low voice.
We fell silent.
“Below, cap’n! Art well?”
“Aye,” responded Ned Low. “who’s there?”
“Me—Philip! What can I do for you, master?”
Lord, but how my heart leaped at those words! The black cook!
“Get the keys from the chart locker and loose us from the irons!” snapped Ned swiftly.
Hope thrilled in his voice, and I felt eagerness surge through me. Philip was a true man, and—
A curse, a shrill cry, the sound of trampling feet came to us, and the voice of Gunner Basil poured forth furious oaths. He had come upon Philip, had discovered him aft, and now drove him forward with blows and beery revelings; evidently a cask had been broached forward. And so our hopes died even more swiftly than they had arisen. All became silent up above.
“Well,” quoth Ned philosophically, “better luck next time, lad! And at least I have the little dirk.”
It was small consolation, to me at least.
CHAPTER VIII
With the morning, suddenly and most terribly, there was laid open before us the whole book of villainy which those above were writing. No, not the whole book either; one page of it was still hidden from us!
David Spry came down to us again, left us food and ale and went his way without saying a word, hurriedly. A little while afterward voices came to us through the trap, which remained open. The first voice which reached us was that of Spry himself.
“I am come to speak for them for’ard,” he said, “The bosun is a child o’ darkness, and we who be honest men will ha’ naught to do with his decisions. I say to your face, Gunner Basil, that we ha’ doubt of your regenerate state; and I demand to be heard among ye.”
The gunner’s whine rose, but with an ugly note to it.
“I accept the burden which be laid upon me; aye, the burden o’ doubt and mistrust! For my sins—”
“Stow it,” commanded a new voice curtly and with irritated contempt. “Stow it, ye swab! As for you, David Spry, ye are dead right, lad. Aye, sit among us, and welcome.”
Light came filtering down to us through the open trap. I stared at Ned Low, and he at me, with open wonder and astonishment. What voice was this? It was new to us; we could not place it. Then even as we stared came the answer to our wondering. Polly Langton’s voice floated to us.
“Well, Thomas Winter? Where is the bosun?”
“On deck,” returned Winter. “One of us must keep the deck, miss. Will ye sit?”
From Ned Low broke a low ejaculation. Winter, indeed! There was no daft vacancy in this voice; it was the full-throated growl of a seaman, as different from the man’s usual tones as day from night. The sickening conviction broke upon me full force.
“Ned, it was a plot from the very start!” I said softly with an oath at my own past blindness. “He and the gunner and Dickon, perhaps others! The man was no halfwit at all.”
“We’re a trifle late discovering the matter,” and Ned Low smiled whimsically.
“Now let us have an understanding once and for all.”
Polly Langton spoke up coolly, quiet command in her voice, and I could imagine her level eyes sweeping from man to man.
“You have taken this ship from her officers and owners, claiming to do it on my behalf, but without any orders or bidding of mine. Thus far I have consented to the matter, for the ship was in storm and distress. Now speak out your purposes flatly. What mean you to do?”
There was a moment of silence. Ned Low looked at me and made a grimace; here was a morsel of news indeed! We thought that the lass had been a party to our captivity, but now the matter appeared otherwise. As for me I felt a glow of warmth and joy, since it had been hard for me to lose faith in her.
“Mistress,” began Gunner Basil, “it be in the purposes of Providence—”
“Stow it!” commanded Thomas Winter. “David Spry, do ye answer the lady.”
There was something grim, something significant, in the way this man spoke to Gunner Basil. I remembered how I had overheard him addressing the gunner formerly in the cabin, and instinctively I began to feel a cold chill at thought of the man. Gunner Basil was no baby, but a murderous scoundrel himself; yet the gunner obviously stood in blank fear of this man Winter, whom we had accounted a daft person! Ned Low must have felt something of the same sense, for he murmured to me:
“Mark, ’tis Winter who gives orders! Winter who captains the ship! Winter who navigates her—”
“Why, mistress,” broke in the cold voice of David Spry from the cabin above, “we be honest men—some of us at least. Do ’ee mind how, that day Simon and Ezra Blake were murdered, and men lashed, ye cried to us to stand by ’ee against they pirates and bloody rogues? Well, we ha’ done so, and that be all.”
“All, you say?” spoke out the girl. “What say you, Winter? And you, gunner?”
“Aye,” they answered together.
“And what is your purpose now, David Spry?” she demanded. “Do you know why we sail to the Verde Islands?”
“Aye, mistress,” he responded. “We ha’ heard talk o’ gold. We stand with ’ee, I say, and we be honest men. We want no gold but our pay. We’ll not see they pirates do no more robbery an’ murder, nor take the ship from ’ee, mistress. We’ll ha’ no more to do wi’ they sons o’ Belial an’ darkness! Do ’ee say the word now, and we stand with ’ee.”
“Oh!” said the girl’s voice. “What say you to that, Winter? And you, gunner?”
“Aye,” they answered again.
Then her voice leaped out at them.
“Very well. If you be minded to obey me, Winter, go above and take the deck, and send Bosun Pilcher down here.”
Ned Low gave me a shove with his foot, and grinned admiringly. I awaited the answer. It came with a scrape of feet, and the heavy tread of Thomas Winter leaving the cabin. Immediately afterward, the girl spoke, but softly, so that we could hardly hear her.
“Gunner, what and who is that man? Since the day we left the Thames, he has been known to all aboard as a man of poor sense, no better than a fool. Now he is lucid, and you obey him, and he navigates the ship!”
“Why, mistress, ’tis the dispensation o’ Providence!” replied Gunner Basil in oily tones. “I know him no more than you, but praise be, in the hour o’ need he has been lifted up as a horn o’ salvation to us! What ’ud we ha’ done, else, for a navigator, mistress? If it be not a plain case o’ Providence, I know naught!”
Now Pilcher made his appearance evidently, for Polly Langton addressed him bluntly.
“Bose, these other men have declared that they have taken the ship on my behalf, will stand by me and take my orders. What say you?”
“I say now, as I said afore,” said Pilcher, “that Cap’n Roberts be no pirate! But as for standing by ’ee, mistress, I say aye to that. What’s done is done. I obey.”
“Very well; then we are agreed,” said the girl. “These are my orders! First, that we complete our voyage and get that for which we have come. Second, that the treasure be divided among those to whom it belongs—me, and Cap’n Low, and Mr. Roberts. Third, that these two gentlemen be kept confined until the division is made, then be given their shares and free passage ashore at the first port we make. Now, lads, speak out! Yes or no?”
“That’s fair, mistress,” said David Spry. “I agree.”
“As righteous men,” said Gunner Basil, “we ought to hand they over to the law; but I say aye your orders, mistress. Aye.”
“And yo
u, bose?” she asked.
“Aye,” said Pilcher.
“Very well. See that it be so done. Who among you elected Winter captain?”
“It was agreement, miss,” said David Spry. “He could navigate.”
“Very well. It is understood.”
The sound of feet and the scrape of chairs told us that the conference was over. I was about to speak when Ned Low, his head cocked on one side, made a gesture of caution. I waited. A moment afterward we caught a soft sound of laughter and the voice of Gunner Basil—shorn of its whine.
“Ha, Dickon! Here’s a mug o’ wine, ye devil’s imp! Now run and tell our cap’n, blast his soul, to step down here and finish the bottle with me. Move, ye damned pup!”
A mocking retort from Dickon, and the boy fled on his errand. I sat motionless and stared at Ned Low. We waited expectantly, and were soon rewarded. Winter’s heavy tread jarred the deck, and Gunner Basil greeted him with another laugh and an invitation.
“I ha’ no time to drink, ye black dog,” responded Winter’s suddenly masterful voice. “It went well?”
“Aye,” said the gunner. “She’s after the gold, right enough.”
“Good! Then we’ll not have to squeeze the location out of her,” said Winter. “Play it fine and slip not, or I’ll carve the heart out of your carcass, d’ye mind that?”
“But, lad!” cried the gunner, “When this be done, will ye not run to the other island and pick up that gold I told ye of? The gold that Avery buried, his own share it was! No man alive but me knows the place, now that Cap’n Avery be burnin’ in hell! What say?”
“Like enough,” answered Winter indifferently as if postponing a matter on which he were none too eager. “But, mind ye, we have to make the rendezvous first, lad! We ha’ not enough hands to work ship, and will have less. Obey the lass, mind ye! Let her put her gold aboard afore we act. And take good care o’ Cap’n Low now; good care! I’ll carry him along of us to the rendezvous. There’s yet a fortnight afore the Rose Pink can be looked for; so, Gunner Basil, bide patient. If ye spoil my work I’ll spread-eagle ye!”
Now both men apparently left the cabin. I drew a long breath and met the gaze of Ned Low, for the moment wordless. But it seemed as if new life had come into him; as if these staggering disclosures had invigorated and heartened him. All the old reckless gaiety back in his eyes, he gave me a grin of sheer, delighted amusement.
“Ha, George! Now we have the right of it, now we have the whole scheme unfolded, sink me else! Damn me, but the rogues were smart! D’ye see, George, they were stranded in London town most likely or else were waiting for word from their friends. So they shipped aboard us and made a rendezvous with the Rose Pink at one o’ the islands—”
“Who’s ship is she?” I demanded. “Who’s this devil Winter, anyhow?”
“Damn me if I can figure it, George! The Rose Pink is a right good ship o’ twenty-two guns; Spriggs had her, but sold her to a Frenchman before he was taken and hanged. Whose she is now, I know not.”
“Perhaps Winter knew all along of our errand,” I mused.
“Not so. More likely he and the gunner and Dickon shipped with us, meaning to betray us as a prize to the Rose Pink; they did not look for so quick a passage as we made, which explains why a fortnight still lacks to the time appointed. Ye see how they ha’ made use of these honest fools for’ard? On the way they learned o’ what we were after, and Winter is handling the matter so Polly Langton will uncover the gold for him. Cursed clever rogue, ain’t he?”
“Too cursed clever for us, Ned. We’d better acquaint the lass with the truth—”
“Tut, tut! She’d never believe us; it would be taken as a ruse to get clear of our irons, lad. Make no mistake, George, the devil is loose aboard here! Bose Pilcher knows it. You heard how meek he spoke, assenting to all that was said! Take cue from him, George, and bide patient.”
Ned Low was aroused now and no mistake, and I began to see the man of energy, below that gay and almost insouciant exterior. There was a bite to his words. I verily believe he was enjoying himself, was scenting the battle. Perhaps indeed he had some prescience of that which was to come.
“Damn it, I don’t intend to stay in this hole a fortnight!” I cried angrily.
“We’ll not. Philip will be back when he gets a chance—perhaps when watches are changed and Polly takes the deck. Trust the black man, George!”
“But what the hell can we do even if free?” I demanded. “We’ve no arms.”
Ned Low laughed out at this.
“Ha, George—what’ll we do? It’ll be a sweet play, I’ll warrant you! Mind now, have patience! Leave the business to me.”
His tone of confidence irritated me.
“You’re damned cocksure about it, Ned. What’ll you do then? Out with it!”
“Why, hide honor under necessity, as Falstaff has it!”
He chuckled again.
“When needs must, lad, I can play the pirate very well, I do assure you! Ha’ faith, and wait.”
“I’m no pirate,” I said sulkily, “and sha’n’t go on the Account for any man.”
He laughed at that, then drew a dismal sigh.
“Heigh ho! Times aren’t what they were, George, even in the good old days when Kidd and Avery were in their prime! If we’d lived a few score years ago! What ruffing, bold times they were, eh? Sink me if there’s any romance at sea these days! Ships in the new fore-and-aft style, all the galleons rotted out, and the brave buccaneers degenerated into rascally thieves who’d slit your weasand for a shilling rather than risk a fight for a thousand pound!
“Well, a few hours more and Bloody Ned will be walking his own deck again—then hey for villainy! I’ll slit weasands my own sweet self, and a kerchief about the head will vastly transform, you, George; should take to earrings, like the bosun.”
Realizing that he was only playing on my ill humor, I made no response to this.
The hours dragged past most unbearably, for it was stilling hot down in the lazaret; we both waited impatiently for noon to arrive, but it came on leaden wings. At length we heard cries and the stamping of feet on deck, though what had happened we did not learn at once. A little later Dickon came into the cabin and began to arrange it for the meals of those who were now aft. The little Imp had either forgotten the loss of his dirk or else dared not mention it. Instead of closing the trap, over which he moved the table, he began to shy oaths and hard biscuit down at us. In the midst of this he gave us news.
“A pox on ye, dogs! Tomorrow morning we’ll have the hanging of ye,” he shrilled most venomously. “We’ve raised the land, and by night we’ll be hook down. Tomorrow we’ll string ye up to a merry tune!”
His head vanished from the opening, and we heard Gunner Basil’s voice.
“Ha, Dickon! Make no talk of hanging where the lady can hear, ye imp o’ Satan! Out with ye now and bear dinner. Here’s Pilcher, what’s second mate now, to eat wi’ me. Ho, Pilcher! Be it true that land yonder be the islands, hey? What says cap’n?”
“Cap’n be ciphering and changing course to make the right island,” said Pilcher’s voice. “Harkee, gunner! I ha’ heard tales of ye afore this, man. Mark, I said no word this morning afore the lass—but I know well enough that you, and the cap’n likewise, aren’t no chickens. What’s i’ the wind, man? Are ye for the Account? If so, here’s my hand on it!”
The two men fell into low-pitched talk, little of which we could overhear, until the half convinced tones of Gunner Basil lifted in argument.
“Do ’ee listen, Pilcher! There be an article to which all the company, like all companies on the Account, be sworn; and that is not to force no married man to join us; d’ye see? I ha’ heard that you be married, Pilcher, The cap’n might be glad of ye, for you know they coasts o’ Virginia, whither we’ll be bound; but if ye be joining from fear—”
I listened in no little amusement while Bosun Pilcher swore by teeth and toenails that he was not married, hated women as th
e devil hates holy water and desired to go upon the Account of his free will. He convinced Gunner Basil too, and only a master-liar could have done that thing, especially as the two men disliked each other.
It was obvious that Pilcher was trying to get into the confidence of the rogues and was stopping at nothing to do it. We heard no more, for the gunner discovered the open trap under the table, and with an oath slammed it shut; but we had caught enough to be of great heart to us.
About an hour afterward the trap was hauled open again. That imp Dickon had secured some rock ballast and now began to heave the lumps of stone at us with many foul curses; he would assuredly have worked us some damage had not Thomas Winter come into the cabin and kicked him out. With Winter was David Spry.
Both of them were in huge glee, and no wonder! For by some miracle, since Ned Low was not at all sure of having run out his easting, the island which had been sighted was no other than St. Vincent itself, the very one for which we were bound. The two men discussed this, from which we learned that before sunset the ship would be anchored, then entered up the log and departed again.
“I’ll lay you two to one, George.” quoth Ned exultantly, “that they’ll go after the gold—take the boats and go—this very night! If they do, we’re free.”
I would not take his bet, however. Unless we were freed before Polly Langton left the ship I feared that the imp Dickon would pistol us where we lay. And such indeed was his intent, for the lad was bloody-hearted as Winter himself.
CHAPTER IX
Notwithstanding our hopes of the black cook, Philip, we saw nothing of him then, until later in the afternoon, by the stamping and singing above and by the change of motion in the ship, we understood that all hands were at the braces and the King Sagamore was beyond doubt heading up for the harbor.
“They’ll pick the northeast haven, that being closest to the treasure,” said Ned Low coolly. “Is it rocky about there, George?”
“No; all sand-hills, and two long spits of sand protect the cove,” I told him. “Indeed they might go across the end of the island to get the gold, since it cannot be over a mile and a half or two—”
The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack Page 47
