Prince Rupert, the Buccaneer

by Charles John Cutcliffe Wright Hyne

"Then the thing is simple," said Rupert, "and the less time it's put off the better. The key to your fortune is the key of our shackles. You get me that, and I will guarantee execution of the rest."

"I have only your word for it."

"I can offer you a better certificate. Regard my position and my need."

"Ay," said the sailor, "there's no questioning that. But is there to be a general killing on this galley, once you slaves get loose? My own mates are men I like, and it would grieve me to see them hurt. They have suffered from the soldiers equally with me."

"There shall be as few killed as I can help. I need all alive for my purposes. And as for your mates, amigo, if they will only bear a hand to help us, the thing will be done more simply. But help or stand aside non-interferent, I swear to you that no sailor on this galley shall be hurt unless he sides in with the soldiers."

"They'll not do that last. But I could not say they'll join with you till they see you've strong chance of getting the upper hand."

"I ask no better. Let them wait till the game is well started, and then join in with the winning side. So hand me the keys."

"Nay," said the sailor, "you will have to get those for yourself also; but I'll go so far as to tell you where they are, and that's in the boatswain's pocket. I'll give you this help, though," said he, and moved across to the other side of the gangway, and coiled up in sleep there.

For the moment Rupert thought the man had been mocking him; but then he saw that the gangway was narrow, that the boatswain traversed it every hour on his official watch, and that the sleeping sailor at the further side would cause him to walk near the other edge, and so within hand-grips of the slaves who wanted the keys. So the Prince sat on his bench well satisfied, and the men near him, who had heard what had been said, waited in silence to get their share of any benefits which might befall. There is no reason to ask the slaves on a galley if they will join an insurrection. That the chance for such a rising may come, let its risks be what they may, is the one hourly prayer of their terrible lives.

The time lingered on with a slowness that was incredible. The slaves in the secret rustled on their uneasy benches and winced as the chains galled them. But still the boatswain came not. It seemed as though the hour for his promenade was twice passed over.