Chapter Twenty Four.
The Prison Life.
“Not dying, Bart?”
“No, not exactly dying,” said that worthy in a low growl; “but s’pose you shoots at and wings a gull, picks it up, and takes it, and puts it in a cage; the wound heals up, and the bird seems sound; but after a time it don’t peck, and don’t preen its plumes, and if it don’t beat itself again’ the bars o’ the cage, it sits and looks at the sea.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I says, captain; and, after a time, if you don’t let it go, that gull dies.”
“Then you mean that Captain Armstrong is pining away?”
“That’s it.”
“Has he any suspicion of who we are?”
“Not a bit.”
“And you think he’s suffering for want of change?”
“Course I do. Anyone would—shut up in that dark place.”
“Has he complyned?”
“Not he. Too brave a lad. Why not give him and his lads a boat, and let them go!”
“To come back with a strong force and destroy us.”
“Ah, I never thought of that! Make him swear he wouldn’t. He’d keep his word.”
“But his men would not, Bart. No; he will have to stay.”
“Let him loose, then, to run about the place. He can’t get away.”
“I am afraid.”
“What of?”
“Some trouble arising. Mazzard does not like him.”
“Ah! I never thought o’ that neither,” returned Bart, gloomily. “Black Mazzard’s always grumbling about his being kept.”
The buccaneer took a turn or two up and down the quarters he occupied in the vast range of buildings buried in the forest, a mile back from the head of the harbour where his schooner lay; and Bart watched him curiously till he stopped, with his face twitching, and the frown deepening upon his brow.
“He will not give his word of honour not to attempt to escape, Bart,” said the captain, pausing at last before his follower.
“’Tar’n’t likely,” said Bart. “Who would? He’d get away if he could.”
“The prisoners cannot escape through the forest; there is no way but the sea, and that must be properly watched. Due notice must be given to all that any attempt to escape will be followed by the punishment of death.”
“I hear,” said Bart. “Am I to tell the captain that?”
“No. He must know it; but I give him into your charge. You must watch over him, and protect him from himself and from anyone else.”
“Black Mazzard!”
“From any one likely to do him harm,” said the captain, sternly. “You understand?”
“Yes. I’m going,” replied Bart, in a low growl, as he gazed in his leader’s eyes; and then, with a curious, thoughtful look in his own, he went out of the captain’s quarters and in the direction of the prison of the king’s officer.
Bart had to go down the broad steps of an extensive, open amphitheatre, whose stones were dislodged by the redundant growth of the forest; and, after crossing the vast court-yard at the bottom, to mount the steps on the other side toward where, dominating a broad terrace overshadowed by trees, stood a small, square temple, over whose doorway was carved a huge, demoniacal head, defaced by the action of time, but with the features still clearly marked.
As Bart neared the building a figure appeared in the doorway for a moment, and then passed out into the sunshine.
“Hullo, my lad!” it exclaimed. “You there?”
Bart nodded.
“Been putting in the last six barr’ls of the sloop’s powder, and some of these days you’ll see the sun’ll set it all alight, and blow the whole place to smithereens! Where are ye going?”
“Yonder, to the prisoners.”
“Poor divils!” said Dinny. “Hadn’t ye better kill the lot and put ’em out of their misery? They must be tired of it, and so am I. Faix, and it’s a dirthy life for a man to lead!”
“Don’t let the skipper hear you say that, my lad,” growled Bart, “or it may be awkward for you!”
“I’ll let annybody hear me!” cried Dinny. “Sure, an’ it’s the life of a baste to lead, and a man like that Black Mazzard bullying and finding fault. I’d have sent one of the powdher-kegs at his head this morning for the binifit of everybody here, only I might have blown myself up as well.”
“Has he been swearing at you again!”
“Swearing! Bedad, Bart, he said things to me this morning as scorched the leaves of the threes yonder. If you go and look you can see ’em all crickled up. He can swear!”
Bart slouched away.
“It’s a divil of a place!” muttered Dinny; “and it would make a wondherful stone-quarry; but I’m getting sick of it, and feeling as if I should like to desart. Black Mazzard again!” he muttered, drawing in his breath sharply. “I wish his greatest inimy would break his neck!”
Dinny walked sharply away, for the lieutenant seemed to have been gathering authority since the taking of the sloop, and lost no opportunity of showing it to all the crew.
Meanwhile, Bart had continued his way between the two piles of ruins, his path leading from the dazzling glow of the tropic sunshine into the subdued green twilight of the forest.
Here, at the end of some fifty paces, he came to the external portion of the building which formed Captain Humphrey’s prison, and entering by a fairly well-preserved doorway, he raised a curtain, half-way down a corridor, passed through, and then came abreast of a recess, at the end of which was another broad hanging, which he drew aside, and entered the temple-chamber, where Humphrey lay sleeping on a couch.
As Bart approached he became aware of a faint rustling sound, as of someone retreating from the window among the trees, and starting forward, he looked out. But all was still; not a long rope-like liana quivering, no leaf crushed.
“Some monkey,” muttered Bart, and turning back, he gazed down with a heavy frown at the frank, handsome face of the young officer, till he saw the features twitch, the eyes open and stare wonderingly into his; and once more the prisoner, roused by the presence of another gazing upon his sleeping face, suddenly sprang up.
“You here?”
“Yes, sir, I’m here,” said Bart.
“What for? Why?”
“Nothing much, sir; only to tell you that you can go.”
“Go?” cried the captain, excitedly.
“Yes, sir. Captain Junk’s orders—where you like, so long as you don’t try to escape.”
“But I must escape!” cried Humphrey, angrily. “Tell the captain I will not give my parole.”
“He don’t want it, sir. You can go where you like, only if you try to escape you will be shot.”
Humphrey Armstrong rose from where he had been lying, and made as if to go to the door, his face full of excitement, his eyes flashing, and his hands all of a tremble.
“Go!” he said, sharply. “Send that man who has acted as my servant.”
“Servant!” muttered Bart, as he passed the curtain; “and him a prisoner! Dinny called hisself his turnkey, but said as there was no door to lock. Here! hoi! Dinny!”
“What do you want with him?” said a fierce voice; and he turned, to find the lieutenant coming out of one of the ruined buildings.
“Prisoner wants him,” said Bart, sturdily. “Here, Dinny, Captain Armstrong wants you.”
“Ay, ay,” cried Dinny, who seemed to divine that Mazzard was about to stop him, and ran hastily on; while the lieutenant, who was half-drunk, stood muttering, and then walked slowly away.
“Not so well, sor!”
“Wine—water!” panted Humphrey, hoarsely. “I tried to walk to the door and fell back here.”
“Sure, an ye’re out of practice, sir,” said Dinny, hastening to hold a vessel of water to the prisoner’s lips. “That’s better. Ye’ve tuk no exercise since ye’ve been betther.”
“Ah!” sighed Humphrey; “the deadly sickness has gone. This place is so lonely.”
“Ay, ’tis, sor. One always feels like an outside cock bird who wants a mate.”
“Sit down and talk to me.”
“Sure an’ I will, wid pleasure, sor,” said Dinny, eagerly. “There’s so few gintlemen to talk to here.”
“Tell me about your commander.”
“An’ what’ll I tell you about him?”
“What kind of a man is he?”
“Sure, and he’s as handsome as such a little chap can be.”
“Has he a wife here?”
“Woife, sor? Not he!”
“A troop of mistresses, then, or a harem?”
“Divil a bit, sor. He’s riddy to shoot the boys whiniver they take a new wife—Ingin or white. I belave he hates the whole sex, and thinks women is divils, sor. Why, he hit Black Mazzard once, sor, for asking him why he didn’t choose a pretty gyurl, and not live like a monk.”
“Is he brave?”
“Yes, sor; and I wouldn’t anger him if I were you.”
“Not I,” said Humphrey. “There, the sickness has passed off. Now, help me out into the sunshine.”
“Help ye out?” said Dinny, looking puzzled.
“Yes; into the bright sunshine. I seem to be decaying away here, man, and the warm light will give me strength.”
“Shure, an’ if I do, Black Mazzard will pison me wid a pishtol-ball.”
“I have the captain’s consent,” said Humphrey.
“Sure, and ye’re not deludhering a boy, are ye, sor?” said Dinny.
“No, no, my man, it is right. Help me; I did not know I was so weak.”
“An’ is it wake?” said Dinny, drawing the prisoner’s arm well through his own. “Sure, and didn’t I see gallons o’ blood run out of ye? Faix, and there was quarts and quarts of it; and I belave ye’d have died if I hadn’t nursed ye so tenderly as I did.”
“My good fellow, you’ve been like a good angel to me,” said Humphrey, feebly. “Hah! how glorious!” he sighed, closing his eyes as they stepped out of the long corridor into the opening cut through the forest, and then between the two piles of ruins into the glorious tropic sunshine.
“Will it be too warrum?” said Dinny.
“Warm! No, man, my heart has been chilled with lying there in the darkness. Take me farther out into the bright light.”
“Sure, and it’s the sun bating ye down ye’ll be havin’,” said Dinny. “Look at that, now!”
Dinny was gazing back at the pile of ancient buildings, and caught sight of a face in the shadow.
“Yes, I am trying to look,” said Humphrey, with a sigh; “but my eyes are not used to the light.”
“Sure, an’ it’s the captin, and he’s kaping his oi on us,” said Dinny to himself. “Well, all right, captain, darlin’! I’m not going to run away.”
“What place is this?”
“Sure, an’ it’s meself don’t know, sor. Mebbe it’s the palace that the American good payple built for Christyphy Columbus. Mebbe,” continued Dinny, “it’s much owlder. Sure, and it shutes the captin, and we all live here whin we don’t live somewhere else.”
“Somewhere else?” said Humphrey, looking at Dinny wonderingly as he grasped his arm and signed to him to wait and give him breath.
“Well, I mane at say, sor, doing a bit o’ business amongst the ships. Ah, look at her, thin, the darlin’!” he muttered, as a woman appeared for a moment among the lianas, held up her hand quickly to Dinny, and turned away.
“What woman was that!” said Humphrey, hastily.
“Woman, sor!”
“Yes; that woman who kissed her hand to you.”
“An’ did she kiss her hand to me, sor!”
“Yes, man, you must have seen.”
“Sure, an’ it must have been Misthress Greenheys, sor.”
“Mistress Greenheys!”
“A widow lady, sor, whose husband had an accident one day wid his ship and got killed.”
“And you know her!”
“We’ve been getting a little friendly lately,” said Dinny, demurely. “There, sor, you’re getting wake. Sit down on that owld stone in the shade. Bedad, it isn’t illigant, the cutting upon it, for it’s like a shkull, but it’s moighty convanient under that three. That’s better; and I’ll go and ask Bart to bring ye a cigar.”
“No, stop,” said Humphrey. “I want to talk to you, man. That woman’s husband was murdered, then?”
“Murdered! Faix, and that’s thrue. Sure, an’ someone hit him a bit too hard, sor, and he doied.”
“Murdered by these buccaneers!” said Humphrey, excitedly, and he looked wildly around him, when his eye lighted on the trim, picturesque figure of the little woman, who was intently watching them, and he saw her exchange a sign with his companion.
“The key of life—the great motive which moves the world,” said Humphrey to himself; and he turned suddenly on Dinny, who had his hand to his mouth and looked sheepish.
“You love that woman,” he said, sharply.
“Whisht, captin, dear!” said Dinny, softly; and then in a whisper, with a roguish leer, “sure, it isn’t me, sor; it’s the darlin’s took a bit of a fancy to me.”
“Yes, and you love her,” said Humphrey.
“Och, what a way ye have of putting it, sor! Sure, and the poor crittur lost her husband, and she’s been living here iver since, and she isn’t happy, and what could a boy do but thry to comfort her!”
“Are you going to marry her, Dinny?” said Humphrey, after a pause.
“Faix, an’ I would if I had a chance, sor; but there’s two obshticles in the way, and one of ’em’s Black Mazzard.”
“Then, why not take her, Dinny!”
“Tak’ her, sor?”
“Yes; from this wretched place. Escape.”
“Whisht! Don’t say that word aloud again, darlin’, or maybe the captin’ll get to hear. Sure, and I belave that the great big sthone gods shticking up all over the place gets to hear what’s said and whishpers it again to the captin, who always knows everything that goes on.”
“Take her, and help me to escape,” whispered Humphrey, earnestly.
“Whisht, man! Howld your tongue. Is it wanting to see me hanging on one of the trees! Eshcape?”
“Yes. I am a rich man, and if you can get me away I’ll reward you handsomely.”
“Hark at him!” said Dinny, scornfully. “Why, I should have to give up my share of what we’ve got shtored up here. Why, sor, I daresay I’m a richer man than yourself. Eshcape! and after all I’ve shworn.”
Dinny turned away and began cutting a stick.
“Tell me,” said Humphrey, “are there many of my men here?”
“Jist twenty, sor.”
“And how many are there of the pirates!”
Dinny laughed with his eyes half shut.
“Shure, sor, what d’ye tak’ me for? Ye don’t think I’m going to tell ye that!”
Humphrey sighed, and was silent for a time; but an intense desire to know more about the place was burning within him, and he began to question his companion again.
“Are the prisoners in one of these old temples!”
“Yes. On the other side of the big pyrymid yonder, sor; but ye can’t get to them widout going a long way round.”
“Are there many women here besides that Mistress Greenheys?”
“Sure, yis, there is a dozen of ’em, sor. Not half enough, but just enough to kape the min quarrelling; and there’s been no end of bother about the women being kept in the place.”