The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack

by H. Bedford-Jones

  “Not they!” And Ned laughed heartily. “They’ll row ten mile to avoid walking one. Wait and see!”

  “If Philip uses that woolly head of his,” I observed, “he’ll come aft, get the keys, and free us the minute the anchor goes down. All hands will be busy up above.”

  The anchor did not go down in a hurry, however, for the ship tacked about more than once before she was in shape to make the entrance to the bight. Gradually she came to an even keel, we could hear the thunderous roar of Thomas Winter as he bellowed orders, and presently we were at rest.

  Our voyage was done.

  Almost at once we were aware of a soft-footed scurrying up above in the cabin. I was minded to call out, but Ned Low restrained me; excitement was upon both of us at thought of Philip there, getting the keys and coming down to let us free.

  Philip it was, but in mighty fear, since he had no legitimate business aft. We heard a sudden ejaculation burst from him; then like a blow the voice of David Spry reached down to us.

  “What be doin’ here, ye black man? Ha, in the cap’n’s chests—”

  A cry broke from Philip, then the furious thud of a blow. Spry uttered a shout, which must have passed unheard on deck. The two men now began fighting across the cabin, and in the midst of this something fell between me and Ned Low, tinkling on the boards.

  “The keys!” cried Ned eagerly. “Grab them, George—”

  I found them and closed my fist on the precious things.

  Up above the two struggling men came to the deck with a crash, and their legs showed in the opening of the trap. From Philip a choked cry of despair and fear rang out; a moment they lay fighting there at the opening, then came gradually through, and at length fell precipitately, crashing down atop of us headlong.

  I saved them from broken necks, but at the cost of being knocked well-nigh senseless. When I had writhed clear, so far as the length of my chains permitted, I saw David Spry kneeling on the chest of the black and whipping out his sheath-knife.

  “Enough o’ that, Spry!” commanded Ned Low.

  Spry looked about and found that gimlet-dirk at his back. He was paralyzed.

  “Drop the knife, now! George, George, throttle him, lad!”

  Even as the fellow raised a wild yell in his throat, I lunged forward and got him with both hands, dragging him to the deck with me. Now he was beyond reach of the dirk, and knew it, fighting furiously to get at me; while black Philip, twisting to his knees, added his strength to mine.

  With never a sound out of him, David Spry fought on until he was black in the face as Philip and then suddenly collapsed.

  “Quick, George! Give Philip the keys. Now, cook, loose my wrists, then get back up to the cabin and make all straight, and get for’ard,” commanded Ned swiftly. “Look alive, lad; look alive! Not a minute to lose. We’ll take care of all here.”

  Under the spur of his tongue Philip fumbled about for the keys, where they had dropped out of my hand. Panting like a blown horse, he found them and worked at the ironed wrists of Ned Low until a sharp word broke from the latter.

  “Done! Enough, lad—up with ye! Leave all to us. Wait for word from us. Quick now!”

  Obeying in his blind fashion, Philip leaped for the ladder, planted a final kick in the ribs of the senseless seaman and made the best of his way above.

  When he had freed his ankles Ned Low knelt before me and worked on my irons with the keys. Blessed relief! In another moment my wrists were free, and I was rubbing at the torn skin, while Ned freed my ankles likewise.

  “Now,” I said grimly, “there’ll be a reckoning alow and aloft—”

  “Softly, softly!” said Ned, and laughed quietly in his throat. “First give me a hand with this godly rogue—thus! Good. Now strip the shirt from him and truss that jaw of his all shipshape.”

  In no long time we had Spry ironed in Ned Low’s place, and so well gagged that nothing but a stifled moan could come from him. He would not soon recover his senses, however.

  “Give us a sneaker of that port, lad,” said Ned, handing me the bent pewter bowl. “Aye, a good one! Now look ’ee, George, be not hasty to wrath, as Master Spry might say. They’ll not miss this rascal, what with the excitement and all. They’ll leave an anchor-watch and turn in all hands soon enough.”

  A few swallows of wine made us both sense our freedom more acutely.

  “You’ll try and take the ship tonight then?” I asked.

  Ned Low grinned. He was getting my pipe alight, and had trouble with the tinder; but at length he got it drawing, and shook his head.

  “Not a bit of it, George! Mind now! We have the run of the ship here below, if we want it. We’ve all the cabin stores here to hand. Let’s eat, drink and be merry, lad! Let’s have a sound night’s sleep, keeping alternate watch lest anyone comes down, and be ready for the morrow.

  “Figure it out for yourself,” he went on with an eager earnestness. “They’ll take the longboat to row around the point o’ the island after that gold, and they’ll go at the break o’ day. Who’ll go? Polly, for one; Thomas Winter, for another. Winter will take the six honest lads from up for’ard to row the boat. He’ll leave Gunner Basil here to keep the ship with Pilcher. Take the ship while he’s gone, George, and when he comes back we’ll have the dog at our mercy! Eh?”

  There was sense to this; I was forced to admit it, though somewhat against my will, for further waiting was both dangerous and irksome.

  “If things go as you expect,” I said, “that’s the best plan. Agreed! Then let’s get some food broken out before the light fails. Lord, but it’s great to be free to stretch again! What if Dickon comes down here, Ned?”

  “Clap him in irons.”

  Ned Low grinned.

  “I’ll hang that little bastard, George! I’d sooner fling him overboard, but he’d not drown, mark me! Well, I’ll not hang him either, for he’s only a lad. Wait and see, George; the rascal may yet hang himself.”

  “And so save Jack Ketch a job,” I said. “All right, Ned! I agree. Now to dine.”

  We were not disturbed again all that evening, for it appeared that owing to the heat and the calm of the bay dinner was served on deck. We ate our fill, luxuriated in our freedom and let our captive snore. From the silence above, all hands were sleeping.

  Ned Low had curled up and gone to sleep, and I, on watch, was beginning to nod, when a slight noise sounded above, and then came the voice of Polly Langton softly.

  “Are you there, Mr. Low—Mr. Roberts?”

  I touched Low’s face, and he sat up.

  “Aye, mistress!” I responded. “And we are like to stay here a while, thanks to you!”

  “Oh, you must not—you don’t understand!”

  There was a break in her voice.

  “If I had done anything else they would not have obeyed me! Don’t you see, I had to act as I have done, in order to keep where I am? When we get back with the treasure, I shall have you released at once, and then—”

  “You’ve been badly fooled, Miss Polly!” I spoke out, throwing off Ned’s warning hand. “Winter and the gunner have a rendezvous at one of the islands with a pirate ship; they are using you to get the gold, then they mean to take this ship and join their comrades. Go with them and bring back the gold, and trust all to us. Make them take the bosun with you, and do you have a talk with Pilcher, for he knows the whole game. He can give you proof enough of everything. But be careful! Don’t let Winter suspect that you know—”

  “Ah—I hear someone—I dare not stay!”

  She was gone again, and what effect my words had upon her we could not tell. Although we listened for a while we could hear nothing. Finally Ned Low whispered to me.

  “Why the hell did you tell her to take Pilcher?”

  “We don’t need him,” I responded. “She may.”

  “True enough,” mused Ned Low. “Sink me if I don’t believe her, George! Aye. She’s handled things well enough, all considered. She’s none of your patched and pow
dered fools who cry, ‘La, la!’ and fly into hysterics at the sight o’ blood; but an honest Devon lass, with hard good sense and sober wits. George, I take back all my harsh words and thoughts about her!”

  “Then go to sleep again,” I bade him. He obeyed, laughing softly to himself.

  The remainder of the night passed quietly. David Spry came to himself and tried to shake off his irons, but soon relapsed into immobility. The more I thought about Polly Langton’s words to us the more I admired the girl’s good sense in acting just as she had done. I could see now, in the light of those few sentences from her lips, that she had done the best possible thing for all of us.

  She had of course played into Winter’s hand without knowing it. Those poor “honest fools” up forward, panicky over being led astray by bloody pirates and murderers—as they considered me and Ned—had undoubtedly been prodded and urged all along, ever since we weighed anchor, by Winter and the gunner; in dealing with those fanatics the girl had been walking in slippery places and was aware of it. So all in all I felt greatly heartened by her few words; and when I waked Ned and laid myself down to sleep it was with the feeling that we owed a large debt to Polly Langton.

  Morning came at last. Even before the first break of day, we were roused by the activity overhead. Obviously Winter intended to be off and away with the light, and our only fear was that he would visit us to make sure of our safety. As we later learned, we had been placed in the keeping of David Spry, and all hands were too filled with thoughts of gold to waste worry over what had become of Spry. Even Winter could not be blamed for supposing his prisoners well ironed and stowed; for he, playing a deep and desperate game—deeper even than we yet knew—was that morning on the verge of success, with the gold all but his.

  Ned and I broke our fast very pleasantly; and though poor Spry’s eyes besought us to have pity on him we dared not loosen his gag, promising to take care of him after a bit. Nor did we have any particular desire to ease his lot, since he had certainly made ours hard enough when he had the mastery.

  The stern window of the cabin above was open. We heard the men embark as soon as there was light enough to pilot the boat from the harbor. Water and provisions were placed aboard the boat, and the deep voice of Thomas Winter penetrated to us with his final orders. Then at length silence ensued, and we knew the boat had departed.

  “Now, George!”

  Ned Low drew a deep breath, and then laughed out gaily.

  “The question remains as to how many went along! Be quiet a while, lad. Give ’em a chance to get out o’ the harbor. Beshrew me if I don’t pistol that cursed Gunner Basil, and we do not want them to hear the shot.”

  “First get your pistol,” I reminded him dryly.

  He caught my arm. Steps sounded above, and immediately after, the voice of Gunner Basil himself, evidently addressing that imp Dickon.

  “What’s that ye want, Dickon lad—wine? Well, well, fill your cursed skin if ye will! Hast deserved it, ye limb o’ Satan! Here, pour me a drink likewise; I’ll wash my mouth clean o’ that damned sanctimonious talk. This time tomorrow, lad, we’ll ha’ the gold aboard, and hey for the Indies!”

  “Here’s luck, damn yer eyes!” shrilled the boy’s voice.

  “Sweet lad!” murmured Ned Low.

  Now Dickon vomited a volley of oaths, demanding to know why he had not been taken along with the others.

  “The black scum of a cook must go,” he swore roundly, “and that dog Pilcher, and they six godly fools from for’ard; eight sons o’ dogs at the oars, wi’ the cap’n and his lass in the starn—and me left here! Damn their eyes, I hope the damned boat sinks with all hands!”

  Gunner Basil fell a-laughing at these oaths and valorous wishes.

  “You and me, younker,” he responded, “got to stick here idle while they work. Aye, the cap’n knows Gunner Basil can lay a gun! Guzzle away, ye varlet, and I’ll go set me a fish-line for’ard. There be mighty fish in these waters.”

  For a while there was silence. Ned and I conferred together, being in no haste, and were delighted by the news we had gained. Those two were alone on board, which made things so much easier for us. Basil alone was sufficient to guard the ship, and Winter had wanted all the hands possible along to work out the treasure, as well as to row the longboat, which was a heavy craft.

  All of a sudden we heard a satanic chuckle from above, and then the head of Dickon appeared in the trap. The boy was half drunk, and I looked up to see a pistol in his hand. Staring down into the darkness, he could for the moment see no details.

  “Now, ye dogs!” he shrilled at us in maudlin tones. “Now ye have it, Bloody Ned! I’ll bleed the both of ye, blast yer damned souls!”

  Ned and I must have realized at the same instant that the little devil was run amuck. We sprang up together, but collided and fell back. He, weaving the pistol about in his unsteady hand, uttered a wild laugh and more curses.

  “I’ll bleed ye, ye dogs!” he went on. “I’ll show ye who’s the best pirate aboard this damned ship, damn ye! Take that! And there’s more for ye where it come from—” The roar of the pistol, volleying smoke and flame in our very faces, proved his words. Only that collision with Ned had saved my life, for the thing bellowed not a yard above my head. I was already heaving for the ladder again, and this time made it, and was up at the murderous little wretch while he still peered through the smoke.

  He uttered a strangled cry and rolled aside, but I was through the trap and had him. And how the drunken rascal fought me! He gouged and bit with the venom of a very fury, until I got hold of his fallen pistol and slashed him over the head with the barrel. That laid him quiet at last, knocking the senses out of him.

  I rose, and then found that Ned had not followed me.

  “Ned!” I cried. “Ned! You’re not hit, lad?”

  His head rose through the trap, a grim look in his face.

  “The bullet slew David Spry,” he said, and came to his feet, looking down at the boy. “Sink me, but I could hang this little murderer—”

  “No time,” I broke in. “That shot will fetch the gunner, Ned! Get your pistols!”

  “Right,” he cried, and whirled about.

  Even as he started toward the lockers, Gunner Basil came running down the passage with a shout to Dickon. There was nothing else to do; I went for him with the empty pistol, and he stopped short in the doorway, his pale eyes popping at sight of me and Ned. His hand flew to the pistol in his belt, but I was ahead of him, and sent him staggering with one shrewd blow in the face.

  He tried to run for it, with me at his heels, and got to the companionway. Then as he started up for the deck I had him by the leg. He drew his pistol and fired down, and the bullet actually nicked my cheek and cut the skin of my shoulder, so that he pulled free of me.

  None the less I got him, for I reached the deck only a step behind him and gripped his shirt, and he whirled at me with knife up. I caught his wrist, and we went to the deck together, while Ned Low seized the pistol I had dropped and waited with butt reversed. His chance came as we rolled into the scuppers, and under the smash Gunner Basil relaxed in my grip.

  I rose, panting, and regarded the man. His face was smeared with blood, and though the eyes were closed that yellowy parchment face was evil to see. Ned Low touched my arm.

  “Get a coil o’ light line for’ard, George. We’ll tie up him and the boy.”

  Breathing heavily, yet mighty rejoiced to be free, I went forward and got the line. There I paused to glance around, and the pause cost us dear in the end. The King Sagamore lay in the quiet, landlocked bay with nothing in sight but the long sandspit to seaward and the sand-hills around. We were but a cable-length from the shore.

  A sudden shout from Ned Low roused me. I caught sight of Dickon, just riser from the companionway, and Ned leaping at him. The boy ran like a hare, evaded Ned and got to the rail. With one clean plunge he was overboard.

  Ned jumped to the fife-rail, caught out two of the teak pins and f
lung one. It drove within a foot of Dickon’s head as he came up and struck out for shore. The little fiend twisted his head and looked up at us.

  “I’ll bleed ye yet, ye dogs!” he screamed shrilly.

  Angered, Ned loosed another pin, but Dickon saw it coming and dived. Escaping it, he came up again and struck out for shore. Then I perceived something else, and flung a shout at him.

  “Quick, boy! Sharks astern!”

  True enough; a black fin was cleaving the water, and another after it. Dickon redoubled his efforts, and made so great a splashing that he got into the shoal water safe, and a moment later staggered up on the sand. He paused there only to shake his fist at us, then turned about and ran across the sand, and presently was gone over the nearest hill.

  Ned Low and I bound Gunner Basil hand and foot, gagged him and lashed him to the foot of the mainmast. The ship was ours again.

  “And what about Dickon, Ned?” I demanded.

  He shrugged, reading my thought.

  “The changes are ten to one, George, that he’ll not find Winter and the men. And if he does, what of it? We have the ship.”

  CHAPTER X

  In the course of the day Ned Low and I got David Spry decently buried and reoccupied our own cabins. Likewise we noosed a huge turtle swimming alongside, for the season was just beginning and the island waters were thick with the creatures, and we dined famously.

  We laid out loaded muskets and pistols with which to receive Winter when he came, and all the while the pale eyes of Gunner Basil watched us. We left him bound and gagged all day, then fed and watered him and took him below, ironing him where we had lain. He had not a word to say.

  It was late in the afternoon when we descried a boat, under sail, coming up the bay. The glass showed it to be one of the island boats, with four black islanders aboard; at sight of us they were fearful, but I stood in the shrouds and signaled them, so that they came on and rowed alongside. I could speak their tongue to some extent, and when they came aboard we had a conference.

  They were simple fellows, come hither after turtle. I told them that our men had mutinied and gone off in a boat but would return, and that we wanted a dozen islanders to ship aboard us as far as Lisbon. They were suspicious until I gave them what money we had and told them my name, and that I had visited their island of San Nicholas more than once.