Chapter Twenty One.
The Black Schooner.
Commodore Junk’s schooner, with its enormous spars and sails, had been lying-to off the harbour of Saint Geronimo one afternoon, where she had taken in a good store of fresh fruit for her crew, while waiting the return of one of her officers who had been overland to Belize to pick up information that might be useful to the captain.
Bart Wrigley was silent that calm, still evening for a long time after the captain had spoken, and then—
“It’s a mistake, my dear lad,” he said angrily. “You do as you like, and I’ll follow you through with it, and so will the men; but I say it’s a mistake.”
“And why!” asked the captain, coldly. “Are you afraid to meet the ship!”
“Nay, I don’t know as I’m afraid,” said Bart; “but where’s the good? She’s twice stronger than we, and we shall get nothing but hard knocks.”
“Do you think I should be so mad as to attack such a ship as that on equal terms?”
“I dunno,” growled Bart: “May be. Where’s the good of fighting her at all?”
“Why do I pursue so many vessels, and take such revenge as I do!” said the captain. “Do you think I’ve forgotten mine and my brother’s wrongs!”
“No; you wouldn’t forget them,” said Bart, slowly; “but you’re going to run too much risk.”
“Not too much to gain such sweet revenge, Bart,” said the captain, excitedly; and the dark eyes which gazed at the rough, Devon man seemed to burn. “Do you know who commands this ship that has been hunting us these six mouths?”
“Yes; a brave officer in the king’s service.”
“A brave officer!” cried the captain, contemptuously.
“Well, that’s what they say; and that he has sworn to die or take us.”
“He—sworn!” cried the captain. “A brave captain! Did you and poor Abel find him so brave when you met him that night on the road to Slapton Lea?”
“What!” cried Bart. “No; ’tisn’t him!”
“That ship is commanded by Captain Armstrong,” said the captain, hoarsely; “by the man, Bart, who blasted my life; who sent my brother to his death out here, for it was through him poor Abel died.”
“No! Never!” cried Bart, incredulously.
“It’s true, Bart. I have just learned that it is he by Dinny, who has returned from Belize. She is commanded by the man I once thought I loved.”
“But you don’t love him now?”
“Love! Bart Wrigley, can you believe in a person’s nature being changed by cruelty and wrong.”
“No. Not yours,” growled Bart.
“Then you may believe it, Bart; and now the time has come, and I am going to have my revenge. Do you know what I am going to do?”
“You told me,” said Bart, roughly. “Fight.”
“Yes; but so as to spare my men, and to spare myself. Bart, I am going to teach the king’s grand officer what it is to trifle, and to treat those he holds beneath him as if they were meant for his pleasure, and made for that alone. I am going to destroy the ship of this grand officer, to scatter his men, and to take him prisoner if I can.”
“No!” said Bart, hoarsely. “Don’t do that.”
“Why!” cried the captain, mockingly. “Are you afraid that I shall be weak once more? Don’t be afraid, Bart. Mary Dell is dead, and it is the soul of her brother who moves this body, and he it is who will take a bitter revenge upon Captain Armstrong for slaying Mary Dell; for in spirit it is this he did.”
“You won’t kill him?” whispered Bart.
“Why not? Was Mary Dell spared? Was Abel, her brother, treated so tenderly that I should hold my hand?”
“But—” began Bart.
“Leave that to me, Bart Wrigley. Help me to get him into my power, and then he shall learn a truth which will make the traitor—the coward—wince. Brave officer of his Majesty the King! How brave you shall see. Now, do you understand why I mean to fight?”
“Yes,” said Bart, sadly; “I see. But think twice, my lad.”
“Bart!” cried the captain, passionately, “I’ve thought a hundred times; and if I were ashore, and could go there—”
“I know,” said Bart, gloomily. “You’d come out more and more savage and determined, as you always have been. Think twice, my lad. You’re rich; and you’re safe. Once more, why not throw it up now and let’s go home. I asks no more, captain. I’ve lived long enough to know all that; but come home now. There’s a life o’ peace yonder, and you can take it now; to-morrow it may be too late.”
“Let it be so then, Bart.”
“And you’ll come home—to old Devon once again?”
“No! I’m going to meet the captain face to face, Bart, and plant my heel upon his neck.”