CHAPTER III WE TAKE THE MERCHANT
Ten days more passed; but they were not so dull and tedious as those I had spent heretofore. Both Steele and myself were rapidly improving in health, under the cheering influence of our mutual companionship and conversation.
We passed the days in recounting our mutual adventures; he telling of his experience in the Low Country; the many hairbreadth escapes that he had met with at the hands of the Spaniards; of the struggles that the people of Holland were passing through in their fight for freedom, and how many gallant Englishmen had drawn swords in their cause. He also asked me something of my Irish campaign with Sidney many years ago, when I was but a light-hearted lad, before I had ever gone to London and lost the sweetness and freshness of my youth in that great city of fashions and society.
I would tell him of the gayeties of London of which he knew little; of the nobles and ladies of fashion, and their empty, care-free, butterfly existence.
I told him of a great play which I had seen, when the little man, Shakespeare, had played a noble tragedy before the crown, and tried to give him some idea of the great lighted house with its audience of nobles and fair ladies.
Steele's eyes flashed, as I tried to depict the play, and the enthusiasm of the people as they saw some noble scene.
"It must have been grand!—grand! lad," he cried. "I would give five years of my existence to live such a life, be it only for a day."
I also told him of my father's dismissal, for Steele's was a fine and generous nature, which invited confidence; and he agreed with me that Richard must have had a hand in it.
We also talked of the golden Virginia, which Raleigh was determined to make into a great, vast empire; and discussed its wild, ferocious tribes, and its mines of gold and gems. So passed ten days.
We had exhausted all plans for escaping; none seemed feasible. Were we to overpower our jailer, our condition would not be bettered; and so being surrounded by a shipload of pirates, and with no means of escape, we mutually agreed to wait until land was reached before making an attempt to free ourselves.
On the eleventh morning, just as we finished our breakfast, Steele went to the grating to look out, and as he did so, uttered an exclamation.
"Look!" he cried, pointing out upon the sea.
I ran over to the window, and following his finger, saw far away on the horizon a dark speck, which Steele asserted was a ship. Even as we looked we heard a hoarse order in Spanish, a language I am familiar with. It was DeNortier's command to the pirates to put about in the direction of the distant vessel.
All the morning long we followed that dark speck upon the water, gaining little by little, until about two of the evening we had gotten well in sight of her. She was a great galleon, bearing the yellow flag of Spain, her decks crowded with men, women, and children, who pointed and gesticulated at us.
Slowly, steadily, we drew nearer, nearer, until within a few yards of her. I could see the soldiers trying to drive the women and children down below. Suddenly we came about; I heard the hoarse word of command, and then like a peal of thunder from a clear sky, the pirates discharged their culverins into the galleon.
The slaughter was fearful. Men, women, and children were mowed down; and the screams of the wounded and dying rang loud and clear in our ears. Men ran hither and thither upon the decks. A few of the soldiers returned the fire of the pirates, but they seemed paralyzed with terror.
Slowly our vessel came around in the wind, and discharged another broadside—and yet another, the musketoons of the pirates keeping up an incessant fire all the while. The deck of the galleon literally ran blood. Of the many who had thronged the vessel but a few minutes before, barely one-half were alive.
The others lay huddled into great heaps—some dead, others grievously wounded, many praying, others screaming with pain. An officer, his steel helmet gleaming, ran to and fro, trying to get the men in order—but in vain.
They seemed utterly beside themselves with fright, and abandoning the culverins, from which they had never fired a shot, the gunners ran down the hold; while the remainder of the men stood as if dazed by the destruction which the pirates had wrought.
As we looked on, sick at heart, and wishing but for some weapon, that we might strike one blow for the galleon, we heard the door behind us open, and old Herrick, a grin of delight upon his face, came into the cabin.
"The captain wishes you to come on deck," he informed us.
We followed the old ruffian in silence up the companionway, and stood upon the deck. A few dead and wounded pirates lay about us.
DeNortier, sword in hand, stood by the mast, two or three of his lieutenants around him. He gave us a dark look and said, "Gentlemen, you will accompany me to yonder ship."
I merely inclined my head in token of our assent.
The boats were gotten out, and crowded with the pirates, made their way to the stricken vessel. As we drew nearer, we saw that the slaughter was even worse than it had appeared from the deck of the ship.
Here lay the body of a fresh young girl; there that of a grizzled old sailor; here a soldier in his armor, musketoon in hand; there a young child, his chubby arm under his head, as if asleep and dreaming; there a negro, dark and scowling. It was a horrible sight.
We climbed on deck, and immediately DeNortier ordered a squad of sailors to throw the dead bodies overboard; another to divide the prisoners—the men into one group, the women and children into another.
Steele, who had been examining a culverin that stood near him, touched me on the sleeve. I turned and looked at the gun to which he pointed—it was spiked and useless. We looked at another—spiked too.
The culverins had all evidently been disabled by some trusty ally on the ship. This accounted for the fact that they were never fired. I turned sick at the thought of such treachery, which had cost so many human lives, and so much blood and carnage.
And now we noticed that the pirates had stood all the men, who were left alive, by the side of the rail, their hands bound behind them. DeNortier advanced in front of the silent line.
"My men," he cried in Spanish (most of the men were Spaniards), "who of you wish a merry life, plenty of wine, gold in abundance, and a good ship under you, to roam the wide blue seas? Any who prefer that to a watery grave, step forward."
There were about one hundred men left; some twenty stepped forward; the rest stood firm and unyielding. Some of their faces were pale; a few of them were wounded; some had wives and children in far-off Spain, who would watch for their coming in vain. The suns would wax and wane; the hair of the watchers would fade slowly into the white of the winter snows; their children would grow up, live their little day, and lie down in the arms of the great angel, "Death"—but still they would not come. Not for them was a grave beneath the sunny skies of Spain, with the mourners to weep about their lifeless clay—theirs was a watery grave, lonely and deep, beneath the ocean's brine.
"I will give you one more chance," the pirate said. "Step forward, and your lives are saved—if not, overboard you go."
I have never admired the Spaniard as a race; but at this moment I felt a thrill of admiration and respect for those men, most of them bronzed and battered veterans, who could look into the face of death and meet him unafraid and undismayed.
The captain raised his hand; but I could not see them go down without one effort to save them. I sprang forward, as did also Steele.
"Count," I cried, "thou canst not mean to throw them overboard?—thou dost not mean to do that?"
"Why not?" he said coolly. "They are of no use to me, if they will not join me. I cannot keep them as captives. What other course is open to me?"
"Unbind them," I said; "give them the ship and let them go. Better starvation upon the seas, than such a death as this."
"What? And let them bring down a swarm about my ears? Hardly!" he sneered. "I was not born yesterday, brave sir." Then raising his voice he shouted, "Herrick, seize them!"
The sturdy Herrick and a score of others rushed upon us. The struggle was brief; we were unarmed, and two against a score, for many others of the pirates had rushed to the assistance of their companions.
I felled some two or three of my assailants to the floor, and Steele did the like, but flesh and blood could do no more. We were seized, bound hand and foot, and deposited like two logs on the floor of the deck to await the destruction of the captives.
The prisoners, with their hands bound and tied together, could only dumbly watch the struggle, which was to decide their fate.
As the pirates, after securing us, turned to their captives to put the brutal sentence of their captain into execution, the prisoner who stood at the end of the line next us, and who wore a long white beard, which flowed down over his armor, turned to us and cried in English:
"We thank you, noble sirs, for your gallant struggle in our behalf. May the blessings of the Holy Virgin be with you forever! May you ever remember that you have stood up manfully for those who could not help themselves; and may the memory of this deed be as water to the thirsty traveler in the desert. Farewell! may the benediction of God be ever with you."
As he finished, the pirates rushed upon them. I had been a soldier in Ireland, and had looked unmoved on many a bloody field, but this slaughter of men, bound hand and foot, was more than I could see unmoved. A moment of brief struggle; I turned my head aside; there was a thud, as man after man struck the water—then silence. I looked again; they were gone; only the pirates, laughing and jeering among themselves, remained.
And now the burly Herrick appeared, leading by the sleeve a girl, dark, slender, petite, with a complexion like a wild rose, and great glorious black eyes. Truly she was a beautiful sight, though she shrank back in affright from the admiring eyes of DeNortier.
"By the Holy City! Here is a find!" he cried. "Herrick, thou shalt be made a bishop, and wear a miter; I swear it shall be so."
The rascal bowed, a leer upon his face.
"I thought that this would please thy Excellency," he said.
"I have long searched the broad blue seas for a bride—what need to go further? Here is a pearl from the Antilles, a very jewel of the West. Bid Father Francis stand forth, and make us one."
The girl stood as though frozen into stone, during this conversation, as if dazed by the terrible scene through which she had passed. But as DeNortier motioned a seaman to find the priest, whom he called Father Francis, the full horror of the situation seemed to burst upon her, and breaking away from the grasp of old Herrick, she threw herself at DeNortier's feet, in a torrent of tears.
"Señor! Señor!" she cried, "for the love of God, have mercy! Hast thou no soul? Hadst thou a mother? For her sake I implore! Kill me if thou wilt, but do not do this act; 'twill be a stone about thy neck, to drag thee down to the bottomless pit."
The Count smiled and touched her with his hand.
"Rise up, fair one," he said; "thou shalt be queen of the tropic isles, and share my throne. Thou shalt have slaves to answer thy beck and call; thy slightest wish shall be my law. Dry those tears; Father Francis shall tie the wedding knot—and then, ho! for the fragrant isle where we shall reign."
The girl sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing.
"Dog!" she cried, "rather would I die than be the wife of such as thou! Rather would I let the crows pick the flesh from my bones, than to submit to such an outrage! Knowest thou not that I am the Donna Maria DeCarnova, the daughter of the Duc DeCarnova? The blood of kings and princes runs in my veins. Kill me, if thou wilt, but do not compel me to be thy wife."
The Count laughed—such a laugh as the damned might have uttered, as they gloat in the regions of the Inferno over a soul that is lost.
"Donna," he said, "save thy pretty blandishments, until after the priest hath finished with us. Thou mightst as well try to climb into the clouds of Heaven as to move me, after my mind has been made up. My wife thou shalt be, whether thou dost desire it or not. Prepare thyself for the wedding."
I could stand this scene no longer; for, from where I lay, bound and tied, I could see and hear all that passed. The agony of the girl touched me to the heart. I have seen much of the evil side of life; but all the scenes of sin and sorrow have made me unable to turn a deaf ear to the cry of suffering, agonizing humanity.
Naught had I to live for, disowned and spurned by my own father; cut off by an impenetrable barrier from all I knew and loved, what did there remain for me? What mattered a few short days? I could not ask the Lady Margaret Carroll to share such a life as this—would not let her do so, even were she willing.
The Spanish girl was young, wealthy, beautiful; life held much, meant much to her; stretched out rich and wonderful before her eyes. I would let the maiden go. I was a soldier and a gentleman, and death's cold hand had been near me too often on the fields of Ireland to fear him now.
"Steele," I said, "I am past my youth; have seen the best in life; have drunk deep of the golden cup. The maiden is young and lovely. I will exchange myself for the girl. DeNortier may do what he wishes with me, if he will but let the maid go free. Good-by, old friend—God bless thee! We have been together but a small space as time goes, yet I have learned to love thee. When thou returnest to England in the days to come, thou wilt bear my devoirs to Lady Margaret Carroll, and tell her that I was ever unto death her loyal knight. That I died as became a soldier and a gentleman—my last thoughts were of her. Farewell!"
I could not see his face, for they had bound and thrown me with my back to him; but in a moment he spoke, his voice husky with emotion:
"Truly, my friend, thou art the bravest gentleman that it has ever been my good fortune to know. I would I could persuade thee from this deed."
"Thou canst not," I answered. "My mind is fixed and immovable."
"Then fare thee well!" he answered, "and God be with thee. If ever I come to England, I will search out the Lady Margaret Carroll, and deliver thy message, though I be compelled to walk through England barefoot to do so."
"So be it," I replied, and I called loudly for DeNortier.
The Count came forward to where I lay bound, his face dark with anger, his eyes flashing; plainly the Spanish girl had not left him in the best of moods.
"What wouldst thou have?" he cried. "Speak quickly, my time is short."
"Count," I answered, "thou art a soldier, and sometime a gentleman. Release the maid; swear to me that thou wilt furnish her a safe conduct to Spain; let my friend, Steele, go with her as escort, and thou mayst do what thou wilt with me."
"Art thou mad," he said, "that thou proposest such a thing? Art thou flesh and blood, that thou shouldst pass through such torture as I can devise? Granting that thy life should be of enough value to me that I should release the maid, of what benefit would that be to me? What is the maid to thee, that thou shouldst give thy life for her?"
As I lay there, a verse of Scripture passed through my mind, learned long years ago, at my mother's knee. I had not thought of it for twenty years, but it came clear and fresh to my mind, as if learned on yesterday. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." Hardly knowing what I did, I repeated these few words, more to myself than to him. They were so short, and yet so full of meaning.
The loving face of my mother came back to me as of old, when kneeling at her feet, I would repeat my simple prayers. Much had I learned since then, more of sin and evil than of good; yet many things, that I had lisped long years ago, would come back to me at unexpected moments, like rich gold buried for a season, and but awaiting the spade of the miner to uncover the yellow ore. Dear patient one, thy toil was long and weary, but perhaps thou builded better than thou dreamed.
DeNortier burst into a peal of laughter at the words. "This is the best yet!" he shouted, stamping his feet with glee. "The devil turned priest! I had as soon expected old Herrick to don the cassock."
I answered him: "The maid is naught to me, yet I would not see her young life blighted. Swear to me on the crucifix that she shall go unharmed, with my friend as an escort; that thou wilt send them to some Spanish port, and I am content. Let it be said that thou didst one good deed in all thy career of blood and crime; perhaps it will avail thee much, at the last grim moment."
He still stood looking at me. "Thou art a strange and perverse man, that thou wouldst give thy life for an unknown maid, but the humor of the thing appeals to me. I, too, am strange, and have my whims and fancies. So be it; the maid shall go free with thy friend to see her safe. I have another vessel, which meets me in a day or two; they shall go on that, and thou canst take her place."
"One last word," I said, "thou canst take my life if thou wilt, but thou canst not make me stoop to play the knave. A gentleman I was born, and by God's help, a gentleman I will die."
A bitter smile played around his mouth for a moment. "So be it," he said, and turning, he called: "Francis! Francis! where art thou?"
"Here, thy Excellency," cried a voice; and from out of the group of pirates, there waddled towards us the large, stout figure of an Englishman, clad in the gown of a priest; a man on whose rubicund face the mellow juice of the grape had stamped its seal. The nose red and swollen, the cheeks puffed and bloated, the watery eye, all told the tale of his vice as plainly as if it had been spoken in words.
He came forward, a smile of triumph upon his face. "Ah! thy Excellency," he cried, as he came nearer, "did I not do my work well? Not one culverin to answer thee with, and all at the risk of my life. Was I not nearly discovered several times? I would not go through the like again for a mine of gold, freshly dug from the virgin soil."
"Thou shalt be well requited for thy pains," DeNortier replied. "In the meantime, hast thou a cross?"
"Most assuredly," he answered; "the servant hath ever the tools of his calling," and he plucked from under the folds of his cassock a little iron cross, and held it out to the Count.
"Swear upon it," I said, "that by the bones of thy ancestors, by the body of Jesus, by all the fears of perdition, thou wilt deliver the maiden, with Captain Steele, safe and unharmed, into the hands of her friends. If thou failest to do so, may a thousand curses weigh down thy soul."
"I swear it," he said sullenly, kissing the cross, and returning it to the priest.
"And thou foul imp of Satan," I cried to the priest, "the first time I get but a chance, I will run my sword through thy traitor heart; and this I swear."
"Bold words, brave sir," he answered. "Strange words from a dying man. I will heed them more, when thou art more able to perform thy threat," and with a leer at me, he hobbled after DeNortier, who had gone forward to acquaint the girl with the fact that she was free.
As he told her that she was at liberty, and would be placed in the hands of her friends in a few days, and that I had taken her place, she ran forward to where I lay, and threw herself at my feet.
"Oh, Señor!" she cried, "thou must be a blessed saint in disguise."
"No saint, maiden," I answered, "only a weak, erring man."
"But thou canst not mean that thou wilt stay among these dreadful men, and let me go back to my home? I cannot let thee do that; thy blood would be upon my hands."
"No," I answered, "I am in the hands of God; thou canst do no good by remaining here. I am in the power of these men already, and can be in no worse position. Perhaps," I said, speaking in a lower tone, "thou canst bring succor, and thus assist me."
"I will," she answered quickly, "though I be compelled to go to the King himself. Have no fear, I will send back as soon as I reach my friends, and rescue thee." And before I could prevent her, she had caught my hand, and pressed it to her lips.
Herrick and a party of his men came forward at this moment, and with his accustomed sneer, he bowed.
"I am sorry to interrupt this touching scene, but orders thou knowest must be obeyed," and with that two of his men picked me up and carried me forward. Passing the group of weeping women and children, huddled together near the companionway, they carried me in a small boat over to the other vessel and down below to my old prison. I was alone this time though; unbinding my hands, they left me.
Two days later DeNortier summoned me to come on deck. At some little distance there lay a small vessel; and on its deck, leaning upon the rail, stood two figures—one I knew for Steele, and the other was the Spanish maiden.
Even as I looked, the ship got under way; I waved my hand at them, and they replied. They still waved at me as far as I could see them. Smaller, smaller, smaller the vessel grew, until she dwindled to a mere speck upon the water; finally I could discern it no longer—the ship was gone. And thus I saw them no more.