Twilight had taken the place of the red sun, the stars came timidly out one by one, and then in sparkling clusters the brilliant constellations illumined the blue heavens as the rosy twilight faded again away. Then the ripple of the inlet came with a tranquil musical sound upon the white pebbly beach, the lizards in the holes and crevices of the rocks began their plaintive wheetlings, the frogs and alligators joined in the chorus from the low lagoon in the distance, and the early night of the tropic had begun.
But louder far than the hum of the insects and reptiles, and brighter than the lamps of heaven, arose the wild shouts and songs of the pirates carousing, where the torches and wax-lights lit up the scene of their orgies with the glare of day. The great mess-room was a blaze of light from candles and lamps, stuck in brackets or gilt sconces about the walls, or hanging awry in broken chandeliers from the lofty beams. The remains of their feast had been cleared away, and the tables were covered with bottles, cups, and glasses, with boxes of cigars and pans of lighted coals. At one end of the room was a large table, on which was laid a black cloth with a broad silver border––sometimes used by the padre on great occasions––and covered with cards and piles of Mexican or Spanish dollars. At the other end was a raised platform, where four or five swarthy fellows with guitars in their hands were strumming away in the clear rattling harmony of Spanish boleros and dances, shrieking out at intervals snatches of songs in time to the music, or twirling the instruments around their heads in a frenzy of excitement. At the tables, 80 too, were more of the excited band, vociferating with almost superhuman fluency in various languages their exploits, pausing occasionally amid the hubbub to clink their glasses together, and then chattering and yelling on as before. In the centre of the apartment were some half dozen of the same sort, either spinning around the floor in the waltz, or moving with a certain air of careless, manly grace one toward another in the gavotte or bolero. There were at the least some sixty or seventy of these fellows in the room together, most of them above the middle height, with finely-developed muscles, broad shoulders, bushy whiskers, and flowing hair. They came apparently from all climes, from Africa to the Mexican Gulf, and their features and complexions partook of every imaginable type, from the light skin and florid complexion of the Swede, to the low brow, oval olive cheek of the Mediterranean, and the coal-black hue and flat nose of the Bight of Benin. Their dress was uniform––frock collars cut square and thrown well back over their ample chests; their nether limbs incased in clean duck or brown linen trowsers, with silk sashes around their waists, and large gold rings in their ears. Mingled here and there in the moving throng, or leaning over the large table with the black cloth cover, were a few fellows in the uniform rig of the Guarda Costa, in navy jackets and black silk belchers around their throats; but all were without weapons of any description, and were enjoying themselves each after his fancy. Sentinels stood at the doors of the mess-room with drawn cutlasses over their shoulders, so that in case of a violent quarrel or row, in dance, drinking, or gaming, the culprits might be cared for.
While the uproar was at its height, and the lofty tiled roof was ringing with the gay and ribald songs and shouts of the excited crowds, two persons appeared in the doorway at the middle of the room, and entered. In a moment, as the busy revelers beheld them, the dance ceased, the music of the guitars died away in a tinkling cadença, the glasses stopped clinking, the dollars no longer chinked, and the songs and shouts were hushed. You might have heard a real drop for a minute, until one of the individuals who had entered slowly walked forward a few paces and threw his right hand aloft in salutation. Then burst forth a hoarse, simultaneous shout of
“Viva nuestro amigo! Viva el capitano!”
Captain Brand did not pause until he had reached the centre of the great hall, where he stood calmly looking around upon the swarthy groups, who crowded about in circles at a respectful distance from him; and then amid the silence he spoke up, in a frank, off-hand manner,
“Well, my men, I am glad to see you all once more around me. You have not been so successful as I hoped, but we must take the good and ill luck as it comes, and I have no fault to find with you. 81 The times, however, are bad enough; for I have certain news that our retreat here, where we have so long been hid, may be discovered”––the villains around held their breath and let their cigars lie dead in their mouths––“but,” went on their commander, “I shall do all that is prudent in the circumstances for the benefit of all of us; and when we leave here you will still have me for your leader, with my head, heart, and blade ever ready to advise or protect you.” As he stopped speaking another cheer arose:
“Viva, nuestro amigo! viva! viva! El ‘Centipede’ y el capitano! Hasta muerto! Long live the captain! We stand by you until death!”
“Thank you, my friends; I have but one more word to say. The men who have the relief at the signal-stations and the water-battery must keep sober. Now go on again with the music.”
The captain, however, did not immediately quit the hall, but, while the revel began once more with all its enthusiasm, he moved amid the crowd of its adherents and said a cheerful word to many.
“Ah! Pepe, your arm in a sling, eh! a graze of a grape-shot, eh? Why, Hans, you here! nothing can hurt you! Well, Monsieur Antoine, how well thou art looking; and that pretty sweetheart of thine at St. Lucie! Bah! never look sad, man; thou shalt see her again. What, my jolly Jack Tar! an ugly scratch, that, across your jaw––a splinter, eh? Never mind; a little plaster and half allowance of grog will put you all right again. So good-night, my friends. Adios!”