CHAPTER II I HAVE AN OFFER
I seemed to be back at Richmond Castle. I could see the great green lawn and the dove-cot with its pigeons. Old Dennis, the gardener, was speaking to me, "Mister Thomas, it's glad I am to see thee back." My hound came running forward to lick my hand, and I could feel the fresh breeze of the country, so different from the hot, feverish air of London, upon my face. A great peace fell upon me—I was at home.
The scene changed; I was at Lady Wiltshire's ball. I could see the brilliantly lighted rooms, the eager, joyous faces about me. There was the young débutante, unaffectedly pleased and amused; the bored, tired rake, weary of the game. Yonder comes my Lord Leicester, followed by his crowd of satellites, and with him my Lady Wiltshire and her beautiful ward, the Lady Margaret Carroll, surrounded by a little coterie of admirers.
I could see the light as it fell upon her beautiful brown hair, turning every thread into gold, as rich and pure as any mined from the far fabled land of the Indies in the days gone by, and the deep violet of her eyes, like the azure blue of the sky on a summer day, with not a cloud to disturb or ruffle it. As she turned her head, I could see the rich full throat, white as the driven snow, and the lovely rose color upon her cheek—that fair cheek, the envy and despair of many a titled beauty.
I could hear the whispers of the Viscount James Henry Hampden, who stood beside her; and while he fanned her with the pretty jeweled fan and poured out a stream of small talk, it was a sight for gods and men. It was more than mortal man could bear, and stretching out my arms, I called to her, "Margaret!" She turned her dark blue eyes upon me, and as she did so faded from my sight.
I seemed to be wandering in a vast and limitless desert, no vegetation was in view, and I could see nothing but the hot, burning sand. I was thirsty, but though I searched far and wide, I could find no water to cool my burning tongue. But as I looked toward the horizon, I saw a beautiful, cool oasis; the fresh, green trees seemed to beckon me on. I struggled through the terrible heat and sand, and finally as I reached it, it vanished, and I awoke.
My first sensation was one of pain. I raised my hand to my head. It was bandaged, as was also my left arm; and on attempting to turn on the bunk where I lay, a sudden pain seized me, which turned me faint and sick.
I lay perfectly still for some time, gazing at the ceiling above me—so different from my own apartments. My eyes were met with the sight of plain, unpainted pine boards, the rough, unfinished wood broken and defaced in places, as though dented by some heavy article coming into violent contact with it.
I also became conscious of a rocking, tossing motion, as if caused by the rolling of a vessel upon the open sea, and while wondering where I was, I dropped off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
I was awakened by someone shaking me roughly by the shoulder, and on looking up, I perceived the man who had dogged my steps on last evening standing over me, with a platter in one hand, upon which there was some salt beef and ship biscuits, and a candle in the other.
He, on perceiving my rueful countenance, broke out into a loud peal of laughter.
"Here, my fine fellow, eat whilst thou mayst!" he cried. "Perchance a day may dawn when thou canst not."
"Where am I?" I exclaimed weakly.
"Eat and ask no more questions," he replied. "Our captain will see thee after thou hast eaten."
Without more words I fell to upon the food, and notwithstanding that it was rough fare, I managed to make a good meal of it. My head had ceased to pain me, and while my arm still throbbed and ached, I was beginning to feel like myself again.
I thought of my encounter with the tall stranger of the night before—at least I supposed it was the night before; for although the room in which I was confined was without windows or openings of any kind, and was dark save for the candle, I had seen a gleam of light, as the sailor had opened the door. He was a short, bronzed fellow, with bold, dark eyes, and a sullen face, garbed in the rough clothes of a seaman.
I fumbled in my pocket, and finding a sovereign, drew it out, and extended it to him.
"My man, I would ask thee a question. Wilt answer it?"
At the sight of the gold, the face of the seaman changed. His dark sullen look was replaced by one, which, if not of delight, plainly indicated that he was pleased, and he extended his hand, with a rough, uncouth bow.
"Anything that I know, I will answer, your honor," he said.
"Well, then, where am I?" I asked.
The man did not answer, and looking at his face, I saw that he seemed to hesitate between a desire to answer, and fear to do so.
"Come now, didst not thou say that thou wouldst answer my question?" I cried.
"Thou art on the ship 'Betsy' of London," he answered sullenly; and picking up his empty platter (for I had almost demolished the salt beef and bread), he strode out of the room before I could stop him, and I heard the heavy bolts turn, as he secured the door.
I had discovered on looking around the room while eating, that I was in a common sailor's cabin, the windows of which were boarded, so as to exclude all light from the room.
Groping my way in the dark, as best I could, I crossed over to the other side of the cabin, and began to feel with my right hand along the side of the room for the boards, with which the window had been planked up. But I was still weak and dizzy, and after a few minutes' work, I was compelled to sink down on the floor to rest, and while I lay there, I heard the sound of footsteps outside the door.
The heavy bar creaked; the door swung open; and I was gazing into the face of the tall stranger, with whom I had fought upon the streets of London. The same high forehead, aquiline nose, thin, cruel lips, and jet-black eyes and hair. He wore a plum-colored doublet, with dark fawn trunks and hose, and had about him that ease and grace which mark the gentleman.
In truth, he would have passed as a handsome gallant, had it not been for the cruelty and sensuality of his face. I have never been able to determine what feature it was that gave him that air of sinister, reckless cruelty. Analyzing his face, no one single member gave it that expression, but the combined effect was that of a man who had never let any fear or scruple come between himself and his desire.
He stood in the doorway a moment in silence, a candle in his hand, looking upward; then closing the door, he advanced into the room, and with a bow and smile, addressed me as I sat upon the floor, speaking in English, but with a pronounced accent:
"I trust that Sir Thomas Winchester will pardon this rude abode, and this somewhat unceremonious treatment. I assure him that nothing but the most urgent necessity is to blame for it."
"If thou wilt have the goodness to tell me where I am, how I came here, and by whom and what authority I am detained in this place?" I said angrily, for the Richmond blood, which had never brooked opposition, and which had been the pride and curse of my race, was up now, and was boiling in my veins.
"One thing at a time, my dear sir," he replied, and seating himself on a stool near the rude table on which he had placed the candle, he motioned me to a seat upon the other side of the room.
But my temper was aroused, and by a shake of the head I declined the proffered seat, at the same time indicating my desire that he should answer my questions.
"In the first place," he replied, "thou art on the brig, 'Betsy,' two days out from London. In the second place, as doubtless thou rememberest, thou didst attack me on the street of London, without any just cause, and wouldst have slain me, hadst thou had thy way. On my men coming up, thou wert unfortunately struck on the head, and being senseless, wert brought on board this ship. In the third place, thou art detained on board this vessel by me, and by my authority," and he looked down coolly upon me, as I sat upon the floor.
"Who art thou," I exclaimed, rising to my feet, "that thou shouldst detain me?"
My heat produced no noticeable effect upon him; with an evil smile he calmly replied, "The Count DeNortier."
In a flash I knew into whose hands I had fallen—DeNortier, the Spanish adventurer and pirate, whose boldness and cruelty had been the talk of London two years ago.
He had taken a Portuguese merchant vessel, bound from Lisbon to the West Indies, and fearful tales had been told of the way in which he had tortured the men and women. After taking everything of value from the ship, he had cut the throats of those who remained alive, and scuttling the ship, had sailed away. The ship, however, had not sunk immediately, and two days later was found by a Spanish vessel, and from a dying sailor the news of the tragedy had been heard.
Since that day, from time to time, had come news of some further devilish act, until the whole of Europe knew and feared this human fiend.
But I was a man. I could meet death like a gentleman, and if this desperado expected me to flinch, he would be disappointed. So unmoved, I awaited further explanation.
The Count, seeing that I was unaffected by his name, continued:
"Thou wouldst perhaps know why I had thee brought aboard, and I will satisfy thy curiosity. I am in need of men—not puppets, but men. When thou wert overpowered upon the street of London, I knew thee to be a man, and had thee brought aboard this ship, not knowing who thou wert. Since bringing thee aboard, I have discovered thy name and reputation. Several of thy countrymen are with me. Come with us. I have lost my lieutenant, and thou shalt have the place. What more couldst thou desire? Gold, wine, the wealth of the broad seas at thy command, a climate the finest in the world, a life of stir and enterprise, which would appeal to thee. Is there more that thou couldst wish?" And leaning back upon his stool against the wall, he looked at me with his cold black eyes.
For a moment the audacity of the scheme amused me. I, a gentleman, to become a wild sea rover; to roam the sea knowing no law or God save that of my captain? It was ridiculous and laughable.
The Count perceived the look of covert amusement upon my face.
"Laugh not, my friend—I am in earnest!" he exclaimed slowly and deliberately. "Weigh my offer well before thou refusest," and he looked at me grimly.
And now the tempter rushed upon me, and whispered—why not? Thou art cut off from thy friends and people, and left an outcast upon the earth, with no home or friends. Why not? To roam the wide seas with none to say thee nay; free as a bird that wings its way among the clouds, far above the path of weary mortals; gold, the wealth of the seas at thy command. Why not?
All the demons of hell assailed me to bear me down. I had no one to mourn for me, or grieve that I should take such a course. To live the bold, free life, though but a day—were it not better than to stand a pariah among men? What matter the morrow? We could live the night with song and laughter, and if with the morn came the pale spectre to hold us to a grim account, we would at least have the consolation of knowing that for one brief night we had lived.
I had almost accepted his offer, forgetting all honor and manhood, forgetting all those higher, nobler things. I had turned to DeNortier, and had opened my mouth to close with his proposition. Already his eye had brightened at the prospect of securing a bold assistant and lieutenant.
And even as I turned there flashed into my mind the thought of a fair maiden, with clear, blue eyes and gold-brown hair, into whose pure soul there had never come one unworthy thought; and I could see with what scorn those eyes would be turned upon me, as one who had disgraced his birth and rank and the honored name he bore.
No, come what might, I would endeavor to be as she would have me. Cut off from her by an impenetrable barrier, I would yet live as a gentleman should, and would pursue my solitary path throughout the long night until the morn.
"Thou hast my answer," I said. "I will not join thee."
The pirate's face had changed, and had grown dark with anger. Although he endeavored to conceal his wrath, his eyes sparkled with rage, and his hand played with the hilt of his sword.
"Thou hadst best reconsider my offer," he said in a low, fierce voice. "We have a short way of dealing with those who thwart us."
"I have decided," I replied. "I am willing to abide by my decision."
He arose to his feet, and stood looking at me a moment; then picking up his candle, he left the room. The bolt turned in its socket; his footsteps died away; and I was left to my own meditations.
They were far from pleasant; afloat on the seas in the hands of a man who knew no law save his own will; shut off from all help, I was indeed in a not-to-be-envied position.
My thoughts turned to London. What did my old friends think had become of me? What did Bobby Vane think? Good old Bobby! How many times had we explored the city by moonlight. How many escapades we had had together, in the ten years we had been in London. We had been more like brothers than friends.
And then there were a score of others, boon companions, with whom I had laughed and drank and feasted; had frequented the playhouses, and seen the puppet shows with their tinsel and glitter. What did they think of me—or care?
Well, it was the way of the world. We have our little day, our little jest, our little song, and then the night falls, and shuts out the last faint gleam of the setting sun. As travelers who pass upon the road, we meet—a moment's greeting; then the journey is resumed, and we disappear in the deepening gloom. And so thinking I fell asleep.
Then passed long uneventful days and nights, during which I saw only the sailor who had first brought my meals, and who had told me his name was Herrick. Three times a day he brought my food, and stood by me, sullen and morose, while I ate. When I finished, he would take the platter and candle and leave me, locking the heavy bolt behind him. All my efforts to draw him into a conversation proved vain; he would not be drawn out, or answer any of my questions.
My health began to suffer from my close confinement, and I had almost given up all hope of ever seeing again the blue skies of heaven. I could still feel the rocking and tossing of the vessel, and sometimes could hear the shouts of the men, but outside of this, I was as much dead to the world as if I had been buried.
It was about the twentieth day, I reckoned, after my conversation with DeNortier, when I heard footsteps approaching the door of my prison at an unwonted hour; as only a few minutes before the grim Herrick had brought my meal—whether breakfast, dinner, or supper, I did not know.
The heavy lock groaned; the door opened, and Herrick stood outside.
"Come," he said, "thou art wanted on deck," and candle in hand, he waited for me.
The candlelight threw into relief his grim, dark features; his broad, flat nose and coarse, rough mouth; sparkled on the earrings in his ears; gleamed on his cutlass, which was suspended from his waist by a broad leather belt—altogether it was a picture for some ancient master, as he stood in the doorway.
Picking up my tarnished hat, I passed up the ladder and stood on the deck of the ship.
The vessel lay motionless upon the water. About the deck there clustered a group of rough sailors—English, by their costume and language, some thirty or more.
On the other side of the vessel there stood about fifty of the most villainous-looking men I had ever seen—the ruffians whom I had noticed in the alehouse in London—of every clime and nationality, their faces stamped with all manner of vice; they were a crew repulsive enough to make men shudder.
Between these two groups there stood DeNortier, and a broad, squat man, whom, from his dress and deportment, I surmised to be the master of the ship.
A few ship-lengths distant there lay another vessel, long, low, with the hull painted a dull black. Many culverins protruded their frowning mouths from her dark sides; her decks were crowded with men. From her mast there flew a black flag, and as I gazed at it the folds opened wide to the wind, and I saw upon its face the skull and crossbones of the sea rover.
From the vessel was putting out a boat filled with men, which was making for the ship on which I stood.
The voice of DeNortier fell upon my ears at this moment.
"Well, honored sir, I trust that thou hast had a pleasant trip."
I turned to him as he stood beside me looking at my face, with a sinister smile on his own.
"Pleasant trip!" I cried. "Yes—as the sufferings of the damned are pleasant, such pleasure have I had."
He shrugged his shoulders, then came close to me, and spoke in a lower tone:
"Thou hast in thy power to change it. Would it not be better to be a leader among those merry men yonder—to have the treasure of the world at thy command—than to languish out a miserable existence in some foul prison, shut out from the world; or perhaps to die by the thumbscrew and the torture?"
"Better," I replied, "perhaps—but answer one question."
"What is it?" he asked.
"Why dost thou detain me here?"
"I have told thee once," he answered; "it is not necessary to repeat it."
"Granting that," I said; "in case of my refusal, what dost thou intend to do with me?"
"I shall take thee with me to my rendezvous; shall keep thee until thou dost change thy mind. If thou wilt not join us after a reasonable time—why, dead men tell no tales." And as he said this, his black eyes narrowed to a mere slit.
He gazed at me a moment, then, turning his back, walked to where the pirates, whose boat had arrived, were scrambling aboard the vessel.
I was about to follow him, when my attention was attracted to two seamen who came up the companionway, bearing between them a man. They came forward to where I stood alone, and as they neared, I looked at the burden in their arms. It was not—could not be? Yes, it was the gentleman to whose rescue I had come on the street of London, and to whom I owed my present situation.
The confinement had told on him, great hollows were under his eyes, his cheeks were wan and thin; no wonder I looked at him twice before I knew him. The seamen brought him forward to where I stood, and there deposited him, as though he were a bundle of goods.
I believe he did not know me when he raised his eyes blankly to my face, but as he looked at me a moment, the light of recognition crept into them, and he held out his hand in greeting, with a smile.
"Pardon me, that I did not at first know thee, but thou must remember that I only saw thee a moment in the moonlight, when we were both engaged, and this cursed imprisonment has so worked upon me, that I hardly believe I would know my own mother, could I see her."
I laughed at the energy with which he spoke, and after grasping his proffered hand, sat down beside him.
"Dame Fortune has played us a scurvy trick," I said, "but perhaps the wheel may turn. I am Thomas Winchester, Kt., of London. Pray, whom have I the honor of addressing?"
He bowed. "I well know Sir Thomas Winchester by reputation, and am glad to know in person so redoubtable a gentleman," he answered. "Thou wert in Ireland some years ago with Sir Philip Sidney. Permit me to introduce Captain Henry Steele, at thy service."
Steele? Steele? Where had I heard that name before? Ah, yes, it all came back to me. I remembered Philip Sidney's recounting, at the old Mermaid Inn, over a pipe of the fragrant Virginia tobacco, the tale of how this man Steele had swam across a river in the Low Country, during the campaign with Spain, and had traveled ten miles through a country swarming with the enemy, where capture meant certain death, to carry dispatches to a besieged fortress.
I remembered the crowded room; the cloud of blue tobacco smoke, through which peered the eager, interested faces of the listeners; remembered the applause which the tale evoked; and Francis Drake's "By God! 'twas a gallant deed, sir."
No wonder was it that I wrung his hand, glad to have so sturdy a warrior with me. Short, erect, strongly built, with a face that bespoke courage and determination, his was a noble spirit, and one calculated to invite confidence and trust.
"And now let me thank thee for thy assistance in that fight on the street of London," he said. "The gods only know what I would have done without thy arm, for I have never before seen such swordplay in mortal man."
"Tell me," I inquired, "how thou didst come to get into a difficulty with thy assailant?"
And then, in a few short words, he told me that he had just returned from the Low Country a few days before, where he had been engaged in the noble fight that the Netherlands were waging against their Spanish oppressors. He had spent the early part of the night at a tavern with some of his friends, and was returning to his lodgings, his head heavy with wine, when he was stopped on a corner by DeNortier, who held up a sparkling ring, set with a precious stone, and asked him if he had lost it. He stepped nearer, to look at the gem; the man struck him in the face, and then, drawing his sword, had rushed at him.
The rest I knew. Then he requested me to tell him where he was, and I told him all that I knew. I had barely finished, before I saw DeNortier approaching us.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, "the boat awaits you."
I looked around—I had no weapon, neither had Steele. We were both weak from our long confinement, and were surrounded by the cutthroats whom DeNortier had brought with him from London. Resistance seemed useless, so gathering up my faded cloak, and assisting Steele, who was very feeble, I followed DeNortier to the boat.
For a moment I hesitated at the ladder, which led down to the little craft, but the pirate, as if divining my purpose, had placed his whole force at the entrance. Grim and cold they stood, weapons in hand. Bowing to the inevitable, we went down the ladder into the boat, and were rapidly rowed over to the pirate vessel.
The men who manned the craft were like those I had seen on the "Betsy," wild and reckless, and were dressed in fantastic costumes. They were also heavily armed.
On attempting to address one of them, I was immediately silenced by Herrick, who seemed to be in command, and who growled out that if I wanted to save my neck, I had best hold my tongue. Taking the polite suggestion, for the remainder of our trip I held my peace, and we neared the vessel in silence.
Reaching the pirate, we were immediately carried down the cabin way into a large bare room, with a rough bunk in one corner, and only a rude table together with a chair or two. The window of this room was enclosed by an iron grating. Here Steele and myself were left alone.