Prince Rupert, the Buccaneer

by Charles John Cutcliffe Wright Hyne

"Most certainly," said Rupert, "and I think the thing is easy proved, by watching the man eat a platter full of his own mess. Señor el Cocinero," he said, dropping into the Spanish tongue, "by its savoury smell to-day your cooking has surpassed even its previous excellence."

The cook gave a doubtful little bow.

"But there exists some doubt as to the wholesomeness of the condiments wherewith you have flavoured it. The nearest vacant place at the table appears to be my own. May I beg of you to honour me by sitting in it and to show by your own appreciation how excellent is the mess you have brought for us."

The cook gripped tight on to his ladle and glared about him like a trapped wild animal. "I am not hungry," he said, "and besides I am a Catholic and could not eat after the meat has been blessed by your chaplain. But the food is quite wholesome."

"I might point out to you that our honoured chaplain has not yet said the grace, nor will he till we know more about what is set before us."

"I will not eat," said the cook, and shivered violently. "I tell you I have no appetite. I am not hungry."

"My good man," said Rupert, "I stand in the position of king over this vessel, and my courteous invitation may be construed as a royal command. If you have no appetite, we must find you one." He signed to those of the buccaneers who sat nearest at the table, and these, who began to realise how matters lay, were nothing loath to give the cook some rough handling. He was forced into the chair at the head of the board, and those who held him began sawing at his ears with their knives. For long enough he withstood the torture, and sat there sullenly with the blood dripping on to his shoulders, and the buccaneers down the table, with the untouched platters still smoking before them, rested on their elbows and watched him. Prince Rupert, a man who was usually averse to these rude proceedings, looked on with a face that was hard and frowning, and except for the secretary, who felt herself pale as she watched, there was not a trace of pity shown by anyone.

Stoically this monster of a cook held out, proving by his very stubbornness how complete was his guilt, but at length he began to recognise that the grim men who held him were not the sort that show undue leanings towards mercy. He had to choose between eating or being carved alive; and as a poisoner of long and loathly experience, the full horrors of his dish were well known to him. But the sharp, cold pain of the knives daunted him at last, and with a cry he stretched out his hand and began to scoop up the food in the platter before him, and to cram it into his mouth. He fed like a beast, the sooner to get it over, but those who watched him expressed neither disgust nor interest; remained, in fact, immovable; and his eyes roved over the board and glared at them horribly.

At last the platter was cleaned, and he sat back in his chair with a face lividly white and beaded with perspiration. No one spoke; all in the great cabin watched him with unwinking eyes. Presently he reached out his hand for a mug of water, and gulped it down. His teeth chattered against the lip of the drinking vessel; black rings grew round his eye-sockets.

He lay back again in the chair, gripping hard upon the arms, and closing his eyes tightly. He knew the symptoms which should arrive, and in imagination endured half their torments before they actually came to him. When one remembered how he would have dealt out similar anguish to all the French and English of the ship's company, one could not deny that he was rightly served. But being human, one perforce had to pity as one watched.