But the agent was firm. “Very well,” said Morgan, “you must even stay and be damned, if you’re so squeamish. But it’s hard on me, I’m bound to say, it’s hard on me. I never swore a silly oath to a treacherous old dog that couldn’t keep his word if he tried.”
“And what, in God’s name, does it matter who you swore to, if you did swear,” cried the wretched Pomfrett. And then they began to wrangle, and I left them to settle it between themselves. Be warned, ye bachelors, by this example; and when you ride with fortune, do not take a lady on the crupper. I think it likely that, if Morgan had persisted in her expostulations, Brandon would have yielded at last. Had she made a direct issue of the matter, and challenged him to choose between herself and Dawkins, between Morgan Leroux and his plighted word, I am sure he would have whistled his pledges down the wind and taken the lady; and I, for one, would not blame him. But Morgan never went so far; it was a temptation that must have allured her constantly, yet she never yielded. She had a good heart, this Morgan, as I always said. So we stayed, and in good time we were damned, even as Morgan had prophesied.
Dawkins and his party had been absent for three weeks; the Blessed Endeavour, all sound and seaworthy once more, had been warped off at high water, and lay out in the lagoon, moored fore and aft; and we were hoisting her heavy cargo in against Dawkins’s return, which we were hourly expecting. There was no watch kept; we were all extremely busy; and so, when there came the sudden boom of a heavy gun, fired somewhere close at hand, the echoes ringing from rock to rock, we were properly alarmed.
There, lying off the lagoon, was a great ship, the sun shining on her tower of canvas, turning her to a full-sailed ship of pearl. As we looked, the little black ball of a flag ran up the main halliards, broke free, and flew broad and black at the mast-head, flaunting its white device of the figure of death. It was the Wheel of Fortune. Murch had come at last.
XIV
Captain Murch takes Command
Those of Mr Murch’s men who were of our party set up a cheer for the Wheel of Fortune, but we ourselves were far from any such demonstration. Mr Murch was a dangerous enigma; we lay at his mercy; there was not a gunner left aboard, and there was no question of resistance. But pirates never fight for fun, and we did not anticipate bloodshed. We ran up English colours in response to their salute, and we saw them lowering a boat, which glided towards us across the intolerable glitter of the water, silent, save for the splash of oars, with Murch’s great figure sitting immobile in the stern-sheets. Morgan Leroux clasped Pomfrett’s arm. It was the first sign of dependence I had remarked in that courageous lady. The boatswain piped all hands to the side as she drew near, and Murch stepped aboard between the files of saluting men, as stately as an admiral. He greeted us with his customary solemn courtesy; his large and solemn countenance, netted all over with fine lines, betrayed no more emotion than a bronze mask; and, though he must have known of Morgan’s escape in La Modeste, yet, for all we knew to the contrary, he had supposed that the agent and his clerk were still ranging the woods by Porto-Bello. And here we were, a little family party on the quarterdeck of the Blessed Endeavour; and I leave you to imagine which of us felt the less at ease on that occasion.
“I am glad, Mr Pomfrett, to perceive you have found your ship again,” said Mr Murch, politely.
“I think,” retorted Pomfrett, “I can scarce thank you for carrying out that part of your agreement, Mr Murch.”
“You think not?” says Murch. “Well, well, I would not be too hasty, neither, sir. Youth is prone to be hasty. But we’ll talk of that, too, among other matters. I’ll have no knots in the cable—all shall be clear before we’ve done, Mr Pomfrett, be sure of that.”
I own that, for my part, my heart sank to hear the old spider closing upon us once more with his web of fine speeches, that seemed, as I fancied, to answer in some mysterious way to the net-work of hieroglyphics on his sombre countenance. We went down, then, to finish our talk in the privacy of the great cabin, which Mr Dawkins had left in a wretched disorder: books, charts, and instruments tossed pell-mell on the lockers, empty bottles rolling on the floor, and a heavy reek of tobacco.