Complete Works of Howard Pyle

by Howard Pyle

  “Tom,” said he, at last, in a low, solemn voice, “what do you think’s happened?”

  Tom sprang to his feet, and held out both hands, as though to defend himself. “Oh, Will, Will!” cried he, hoarsely; “don’t tell me any more! I can’t bear any more!”

  “But you must hear this,” said Will.

  Tom sat down upon his cot again. “Well,” said he, at last, in a dull voice; “tell me, if you must.”

  “Edmund Moor has committed suicide.”

  Tom looked fixedly at Will, and it seemed as though he was a long distance away. The room appeared to lengthen out on all sides of him. Then there was a sound of rushing and roaring in his ears, and a dark cloud seemed to rise and shut in everything from his sight. He heard Will’s voice calling to him, as though from afar— “Tom, Tom, are you sick?”

  He tried to shape the words, but it seemed as though his lips had no power to move. He felt Will’s arms around him; there was a humming in his ears, and a tingling at his finger tips, and then the dark cloud passed away, and he saw everything.

  “I’m better now,” said he, and then he sat up. Will was standing in front of him, holding a tumbler of water. He reached out and took the glass, and drained it at a swallow, and it seemed to bring fresh life to him.

  “I guess I’d better not tell you any more,” said Will.

  “No, I’ll hear all now,” said Tom; “the worst’s over.” Then, after a pause, “When did it happen?”

  “About a couple of hours ago.”

  “Did he — did he—” Tom stopped and looked at Will.

  “He left a confession,” said Will.

  “Tell me all about it,” said Tom.

  “Well, by noon I had got together all the evidence I had at hand, and about one o’clock I went up to swear out a warrant for Moor’s arrest, at the squire’s. The squire wasn’t in, and I waited about half an hour. Then I slipped down to the office, to see what had become of Daly. He had promised to come up to the squire’s and meet me at one o’clock, and here it was half-past one, and no signs of him. He had left me at half-past twelve, saying that he was going to get dinner, and that he would come over as soon as he had done. I was afraid that something was wrong, for I had a notion that he had been drinking this morning. However, I thought it just possible that he might be at the office. But there was no signs of him, so I went out again and stood on the sidewalk, looking for him up and down the street. Who should come along, but Mr. Moor. He stopped, and began talking to me, and I couldn’t help thinking that he suspected something, though, of course, he didn’t. I can’t tell you how I felt, Tom, to have that fellow talking to me about little trivial things, joking all the time, as he was given to doing. I don’t know how I answered, but I guess that it was all at random. Just then I saw Daly come out of the Crown and Angel, across the street. He staggered as he came down the steps, and stood on the sidewalk, looking all around him. I saw that he was as drunk as a lord, and was afraid that nothing could be done at the squire’s that day. As luck would have it, he caught sight of Mr. Moor talking to me, and he came right across the street to where we were, staggering like a brute. As soon as he came to us he caught hold of Mr. Moor’s hand and began shaking it. Mr. Moor tried to pass it off as a joke, for he saw how drunk the fellow was. But I was on pins and needles all the time, I can tell you.

  “‘What do you mean, sir?’ said I; ‘go into the office.’

  “‘You be d — d!’ was all that the fellow said to me. Then he turned to Moor. ‘Mr. Moor,’ says he, ‘you’re a good feller — a good feller! I’m d — d sorry for what you did, for you’re a good feller. I know all about it (here he winked), but, between you and me, I don’t care a d — n.’

  “There wasn’t a shade of color in Moor’s face. ‘What do you mean, you scoundrel?’ said he.

  “Daly straightened himself up with all the dignity that he could manage. ‘Scoundrel, eh?’ said he. ‘Oh! all right! I’m a scoundrel, am I? We’ll fix you for that; won’t we, Mr. Gaines? I reckon you thought no one’ld find them old clo’s o’ yourn, didn’t you?’

  “I never saw such a look come over any man’s face in all my life, as came over Moor’s. He went staggering back, as though he had been shot. I turned on the scoundrel, hardly knowing what I did, I was in such a towering rage. I left fly at him, and knocked him nearly into the middle of the street. He jumped up and ran at me, swearing like a soldier, and as soon as he had come within distance, I left fly another blow, and down he went again, for he was too drunk to guard himself. By this time a crowd had gathered, running from all directions. Some of them caught hold of Daly and held him, and he stood there cursing and swearing as I never heard a man curse and swear before. When I had time to look around again, I saw that Moor had gone. I asked Jerry White, who was standing near, — if he had seen him, and he said yes; that he had caught sight of him running down Market street, as though he was going home. By this time there was a crowd around me, all wanting to know what was the matter, and I told them in as few words as I could. A lot of them ran down to Beaver street, which suited me very well, for they would keep Moor in sight if he were to try to get away. Daly was washing the blood from his face in the trough before the Crown and Angel, and what with the licking and the pump water, he was pretty sober by this time. He was very sorry at what had happened, and didn’t seem to bear me any grudge. I waited till he had made himself as decent looking as he could, and then went up to the squire’s with him, though he had a bad eye where I had struck him. We found the squire, and he gave me the warrant against Moor. I had a hard time to find the sheriff, but I got him at last. This was about two o’clock.

  “He and I went down to Beaver street together. There was a great crowd around Moor’s house by this time, and the house itself was shut up as though no one was in it. The sheriff tried the office door, but found it locked. Then he went to the house door, and knocked a long while before he could get any answer, but at last the servant girl came. She seemed very much frightened at all the crowd and excitement, but she told us that Mr. Moor had come in about half an hour before, and had not gone out again. The sheriff told her that he had a warrant for Mr. Moor’s arrest, and asked her to show him into the office. The servant led us across the parlor to the door that opens into the office from the house.

  “The sheriff knocked at the door, calling; ‘Mr. Moor! Mr. Moor! You might as well let us in! If you don’t let us in, I’ll have to force the door!’ But no one answered him. By that time the parlor was pretty full of men, who had followed us in from the street. Sheriff Mathers shook at the door, and knocked for some time, calling to Moor to open it, but getting no answer. After a while, he peeped through the key hole. I asked him whether he could see anything of Moor; he said yes — he was standing in the corner. Then I advised him to force the door, and he did so, putting his shoulder to it. He had to push pretty hard, so that when the door broke open, he ran into the room, nearly falling down. He gave a cry and ran out against Johnny Black, who was just going in. I didn’t go into the room, but I could see over Black’s shoulder that Moor was hanging from a rope that was tied to a large hook in the corner of the room. He left a few lines lying on his office desk, confessing that it was he who murdered Isaac Naylor, and that he was tired of the misery of living. I can’t remember them exactly, but they were read before the coroner’s jury.

  “As soon as I saw how matters had turned out, I hunted up Judge West. He went down with me to the squire’s, without losing a moment, for he said that no innocent man should be kept in gaol longer than need be. It took about an hour to get the needful witnesses together. As soon as the matter was settled the judge gave the release, and—”

  Here Will stopped abruptly. He stood listening, and presently Tom heard a scuffling of feet out in the corridor. The door was opened, and his father and his brothers, John and William, came into the cell.

  “Are you ready now?” said Will.

  “Yes,” said Tom’s father; “I borrowed Ph
ilip Winterapple’s gig. It’s waiting at the door.”

  “Are you ready to go, Tom?”

  “Ready to go where?” said Tom, looking about him in a dazed way.

  “Ready to go home.”

  In this simple manner, and with these few words was his bitter trouble brought to a close.

  Well, that is all the yarn concerning Tom Granger that need be told. The troubles that had followed him in the year and a half past had been bitter indeed, but they had all gone by now. I am not going to tell you how he married, and how he lived happily, and all that sort of matter. Surely, such a home as I see around me, and such a crowd of loving faces as gather about me at times, children, grand-children, and three great-grand-children, bespeak a life not all unhappy of its kind.

  Even yet, beside me is that one whose face, always sweet, now shines with a light that comes not of this life, but of the life beyond. I do thank the Giver of all good things that He has permitted us to walk the path of life hand-in-hand together for this long time. A day or two now, and one of us may go — I care not which it be, for the other will not be long in tarrying.

  What matters then all these troubles of which I have been telling you! Such troubles, bitter and keen at the time, are but as a breath on the glass of life, that fade away, and are gone long before that glass itself is shivered.

  So, as I say, these sorrows and griefs that were once so bitter to me, stir me not at this day, saving now and then, while, as I sat writing these lines, a chord of memory did ring occasionally to the touch. Yes; all is gone by — happiness and grief, joy and suffering, and I am like a ship, one time battered and buffeted with the bitter storms of trouble and despair, but now, full freighted with my cargo of years, safe at anchor in my peaceful haven Within the Capes.

  THE END

  The Rose of Paradise (1888)

  “This quaint and fascinating tale will interest all lovers of adventure” is how the New York Tribune opened their review of the book when it was published in October 1887, some months after it had been serialised in Harper’s Weekly.

  The sub-title provides an introduction to the plot; “Being a detailed account of certain adventures that happened to Captain John Mackra, in connection with the famous pirate Edward England, in the year 1720, off the Island of Juanna in the Mozambique Channel; writ by himself and now for the first time published.” However, as with all of Pyle’s work, there’s much more to it than that.

  Mackra works for the East India Company and is tasked with transporting the Rose of Paradise, an enormous ruby worth several hundred thousand pounds, to their office in Bombay. Captain England and his fellow pirates attack his ship off the coast of Madagascar and steal the ruby. Of course, Mackra is determined to recover the jewel…

  Interestingly, when it came to review the book many newspapers, such as The Boston Globe, made much of the story being “a narrative of some exciting events in the career of the famous East India pirate, Edward England” and left the hero of the story to be a rather anonymous “English captain”. Still, they liked the novel: “It is full of adventure…the author has been simple and unpretentious, but is so effective as to make his story one of the best and most entertaining of its kind…”

  An eighteenth century woodcut of Edward England (c. 1685–1721), an Irish-born pirate. The ships he sailed on included the Pearl (which he renamed The Royal James) and later the Fancy, for which England exchanged the Pearl in 1720. His flag was the classic Jolly Roger — almost exactly as the one “Black Sam” Bellamy used — with a skull above two crossed bones on a black background.

  CONTENTS

  I.

  II.

  III.

  IV.

  V.

  VI.

  VII.

  VIII.

  IX.

  X.

  XI.

  XII.

  XIII.

  XIV.

  XV.

  XVI.

  The first edition’s title page

  The original frontispiece: “BOAT AHOY!” I CRIED OUT, AND THEN LEVELLED MY PISTOL AND FIRED.

  THE ROSE OF PARADISE

  Being a detailed account of certain adventures that

  happened to Captain John Mackra, in connection

  with the famous pirate, Edward England, in

  the year 1720, off the Island of Juanna

  in the Mozambique Channel; writ

  by himself, and now for the

  first time published

  TO

  LEWIS C. VANDEGRIFT

  This Book is Dedicated

  BY HIS FRIEND

  THE AUTHOR

  I.

  ALTHOUGH THE ACCOUNT of the serious engagement betwixt the Cassandra and the two pirate vessels in the Mozambique Channel hath already been set to print, the publick have yet to know many lesser and more detailed circumstances concerning the matter; (A brief narration of the naval engagement between Captain Mackra and the two pirate vessels was given in the Captain’s official report made at Bombay. It appears in the life of the pirate England in Johnson’s book: “A Genuine Account of the Voyages and Plunders of the Most Notorious Pyrates, &c.” London, 1742.) and as the above-mentioned account hath caused much remark and comment, I shall take it upon me to give many incidents not yet known, seeking to render them neither in refined rhetorick nor with romantick circumstances such as are sometimes used by novel and story writers to catch the popular attention, but telling this history as directly, and with as little verbosity and circumlocution, as possible.

  For the conveniency of the reader, I shall render this true and veracious account under sundry headings, marked I., II., III., &c., as seen above, which may assist him in separating the less from the more notable portions of the narrative.

  According to my log — a diary or journal of circumstances appertaining to shipboard — it was the nineteenth day of April, 1720, when, I being in command of the East India Company’s ship Cassandra, billed for Bombay and waiting for orders to sail, comes Mr. Evans, the Company’s agent, aboard with certain sealed and important orders which he desired to deliver to me at the last minute.

  After we had come to my cabin and were set down, Mr. Evans hands me two pacquets, one addressed to myself, the other superscribed to one Benjamin Longways.

  He then proceeded to inform me that the Company had a matter of exceeding import and delicacy which they had no mind to intrust to any one but such, he was pleased to say, as was a tried and worthy servant, and that they had fixed upon me as the fitting one to undertake the commission, which was of such a nature as would involve the transfer of many thousand pounds. He furthermore informed me that a year or two before, the Company had rendered certain aid to the native King of Juanna, an island lying between Madagascar and the east coast of Africa, at a time when there was war betwixt him and the king of an island called Mohilla, which lyeth coadjacent to the other country; that I should make Juanna upon my voyage, and that I should there receive through Mr. Longways, who was the Company’s agent at that place, a pacquet of the greatest import, relating to the settlement of certain matters betwixt the East India Company and the king of that island. Concluding his discourse, he further said that he had no hesitation in telling me that the pacquet which I would there receive from Mr. Longways concerned certain payments due the East India Company, and would, as he had said before, involve the transfer of many thousand pounds; from which I might see what need there was of great caution and circumspection in the transaction.

  “But, sir,” says I, “sure the Company is making a prodigious mistake in confiding a business of such vast importance as this to one so young and so inexperienced as I.”

  To this Mr. Evans only laughed, and was pleased to say that it was no concern of his, but from what he had observed he thought the honorable Company had made a good choice, and that of a keen tool, in my case. He furthermore said that in the pacquet which he had given to me, and which was addressed to me, I would find such detailed instructions as would
be necessary, and that the other should be handed to Mr. Longways, and was an order for the transfer above spoken of.

  Soon after this he left the ship, and was rowed ashore, after many kind and complacent wishes for a quick and prosperous voyage.

  It may be as well to observe here as elsewhere within this narrative that the Company’s written orders to me contained little that Mr. Evans had not told me, saving only certain details, and the further order that that which the agent at Juanna should transfer to me should be delivered to the Governor at Bombay, and that I should receive a written receipt from him for the same. Neither at that time did I know the nature of the trust that I was called upon to execute, save that it was of great import, and that it involved money to some mightily considerable amount.

  The crew of the Cassandra consisted of fifty-one souls all told, officers and ordinary seamen. Besides these were six passengers, the list of whom I give below, it having been copied from my log-book journal:

  Captain Edward Leach (of the East India Company’s service).

  Mr. Thomas Fellows (who was to take the newly established agency of the Company at Cuttapore).

  Mr. John Williamson (a young cadet).

  Mrs. Colonel Evans (a sister-in-law of the Company’s agent spoken of above).

  Mistress Pamela Boon (a niece of the Governor at Bombay).