I thought I recognized Fitzgibbon's handiwork in this torture; though I dare say it was originally Swope's invention. But we had seen Fitzgibbon use this same method of inflicting pain and terror, we men forward. One day, for an imagined insolence, he had trussed up Nigger to the mainmast in this very fashion, and left him there for a short half-hour. After five minutes Nigger was wild with pain. When he was cut down, his arms seemed paralyzed, and it was a full day ere the ache passed from them.
And Newman had been enduring this pain for hours. But now, I thought, he must be mercifully unconscious, for his head hung upon his breast, and he made no sign that he heard the captain's gibes.
It was sport to Swope's liking, and he was enjoying himself right royally. Aye, I could tell. The words that slid between his full lips were laden with the sensuous delight their utterance gave the speaker. I lay in my retreat waiting for the hail that would draw the beast on deck, and while I waited I listened to him, and observed his manner. Oh, Swope was having a fine time, a happy time. If the lady had not taken the revolver from me, I fear I should have shot the man despite my promise. As it was my sheath knife lay bared in my hand, and I had to fight myself to keep from leaping the barrier and confronting him. Aye, to face him, and make him eat the steel out of my hand!
Yes, Swope was in a happy mood. A rollicking, loquacious mood. He talked. Unconsciously he made me witness to his confession of black treacheries, and deeds more loathsome than I could have imagined myself.
When I reached my position behind the barrels, and was able to distinguish his words—he was boasting of and baring his secrets in a voice not meant to carry beyond Newman's ears—he was taunting Newman.
"Well, why don't you call upon God to help you?" says he. "He has helped you a lot in the past, hasn't he, Roy? And He has helped her a lot, hasn't he? Helped her to stand me. Oh, that's a joke! The just and merciful One—d'you remember how old Baintree used to rant? You approved, didn't you. You agreed with old Baintree. So did I, Roy, to his face.
"But you—why you were a damned Puritan, Roy. You wouldn't do this, you wouldn't do that, you would be clean of vice—your very words, Roy!—and you would be honest and just with men. That's the sort of thing that paid, says you.
"And didn't it pay you, though! Ho, ho; it's too rich, Roy! You would make yourself as good a man as old Baintree; you would make yourself worthy of his daughter. Remember telling me that? And didn't you, though—with my help! My help, Roy—not God's! It was Black Angus and the Devil did it!
"Well, well, I thought I would surprise you with my little tale of how I used the Twigg girl to spoil your chance with Mary. But Beasley surprised you instead. Didn't he, now? A neat trick, eh, Roy? You never guessed?
"You never guessed, either, all that I had planned for you that time. If you hadn't been in such a hurry to leave town! But then—I was just as well pleased. With Beulah out of the way as well as you—it was plain sailing with Mary, Roy.