"Here, now, let me tell the tale, lad," the old captain interposed. "'Twas a duel began it, Mistress Tudor. The young bloods were so keen after fighting they could not wait for sunrise, but must needs have it out by moonlight on the beach. 'Twas over yonder, in the lee of the castle walls."
"Mr. Rivers and Don Pedro?"
"Aye, mistress. The Governor was not by,—'tis likely he knew naught of it."
"Not so!" I cried, "he had his share in the quarrel, and they left the house in company."
"Mayhap," said Captain Baulk, "I'd not gainsay it—for I trust no one o' them; but he chose to go with his weather eye shut rather than take precaution 'gainst the squall. So they had it out all by their selves,—and none of us a whit the wiser, saving young Poole, who had guessed somewhat was amiss and followed his master."
"What then? Speak quickly! Was Mr. Rivers wounded?"
"Not he! That's to say, not by any thrust of the Don's. Lor', but it must ha' been a pretty fight! Pity no man saw it that lives to tell!"
"In the name of mercy, sir, speak plainly!"
"Aye, my young mistress, but give me time an' I will. Mr. Rivers ere long did get in such a thrust that the Don went down before it as suddenly as a ship with all her hull stove in. He lay stranded, with the blood flowing away in a dark stream over the white sands. Our young gentleman, gallant heart, did throw away his sword and fall down beside the Spaniard and strive to staunch his wounds, crying aloud most lustily for aid. Who should hear him but young Poole and that yellow devil of a Tomas! They came from opposite quarters, and Poole was in the shadow, so the other saw him not. The mulatto ran up alongside, and, seeing 'twas the Don who had fallen, he whipped out a knife from his belt and struck at our young master as he knelt there on the ground. Nay, now, do not take on so! Did I not say he was but little hurt? Had the blow struck him fairly in the back, as it was meant to do, doubtless it would have put an end to him; but Poole was to the rescue, poor lad! He threw himself on the mulatto in the nick o' time. The knife had barely grazed Mr. Rivers on the shoulder; but young Tomas never let go his hold of it. He and the faithful lad rolled together on the ground—and Poole never rose again. His body was stabbed through in a dozen places. Mr. Rivers had no time to interfere; ere he could rise from his knees, or even put out a hand to take his sword, a dozen soldiers had laid hands on him. That devil of a Tomas finished his evil work, and then picked himself up and walked away; never a one laid a finger on him or cried shame on the foul deed!"
The old sailor paused, and each man of the group breathed a curse through his clinched teeth.