Part 6

“Taking out the ship? Why, now I understand you, Mr Winter. Don’t you fret yourself on that score, sir. I got my orders from Mr Murch. And Mr Pompion” (tompion, I suppose he was thinking of) “three sheets in the wind, is he? Ah, well, my advice to you, Mr Winter, is to go and do thou likewise. There ain’t no better way for to start a v’yage, nor to continue in the same, nor to end it. Rum’s the word, mate--rum!”

His voice dying away, he continued to regard me with a broad smile, apparently under the delusion that he was still speaking. I took his advice--not that I meant to do so. But I had an easy mind, since the wonderful Murch, who forgot nothing, had provided for our safety. We drank not much, that I remember. The rest of the night I forget. The ship was moving when we awoke. We scrambled on deck into the splendid sunshine, to see the quays and houses and green hills sliding behind us as the boats towed the _Wheel of Fortune_ into mid-stream. A light air ruffled the shining water. Captain Pomfrett cocked a haggard eye aloft. The sails were furled, the yards squared by the lifts--that is, at right angles to the ship’s length. The faithful boatswain, bellowing orders from the forecastle, had the tow-rope cast off, the boats hoisted inboard, the men to their stations by the ropes, alow and aloft. Then he walked aft and reported all clear, with a solemn countenance. Captain Pomfrett stood as still as a statue, his legs wide apart, his face blue and white, his hat over one eye. There was a minute’s silence, the ship yawing slowly to the tide-rip.

Suddenly he exploded into life. “Slack away!” he shouted, arms waving. “Slack away!”

The boatswain’s whistle caught the words, the boatswain’s great voice bawled a string of commands, the yards were rounded, the sails let fall, and the ship, a tower of pearl-white canvas, began to travel with a noise of talking water. What Captain Pomfrett meant by his order, neither he nor I nor the boatswain ever knew. “It came upon me,” said Brandon, afterwards, “like an inspiration. It seemed to cover everything, and yet do no harm.”

We stood south-west until Barbadoes dropped beyond the sea-line; went about as the dark fell, and lay-to a couple of miles off-shore, with two lights on the foremast, the signal agreed upon. The moon rose beyond the black hulk of the island; and out of the shadow, down its silver pathway of light, came the boat, rowing with muffled oars.

We were rolling heavily, with much banging and creaking of tackle; but Mr Murch came briskly up the side, followed by a slim and pretty young gentleman. Slings with a chair attached were dropped into the rocking boat, and a white-haired old negress was hoisted inboard, and then the old negro without a tongue. Mr Murch took command, and we stood away again into the night.

“Gentlemen,” said Murch, as Pomfrett and I entered the lighted cabin, “let me present you to Mr Morgan Leroux, a gentleman-adventurer like yourselves.” There, indeed, was Morgan Leroux, in a fine suit of sable trimmed with scarlet, her bright black hair powdered white and tied in a queue. She leaned back in her chair and regarded Pomfrett’s solemn face with tranquil amusement.

“Mr Murch kept swearing he would have no trouble with women aboard his ship,” said she, with her customary frankness. “There can’t be any trouble now, can there?”

Before we turned in for the night Murch produced a document setting forth with all due prolixity how Brandon Pomfrett, gentleman, in respect of certain considerations, made over to Jevon Murch, gentleman, the snow _Wheel of Fortune_, and all, excepting personal effects, contained therein or properly belonging to her.

“Now,” says Murch, “you know me; anyone can under-run _my_ cable--they’ll find it sound. This is a matter of form, to be executed in case a Queen’s ship runs us aboard and looks at the ship’s papers, or some such emergency. When we fall across Dawkins, I’ll engage to get your own ship back for you. Meanwhile, put your signature to that, and we’re all square and shipshape.”

Brandon considered the instrument with a doubtful eye. “You will understand, Mr Murch, I have my owners to consider,” says he. “As a matter of form, I think I should sign this when I’ve got my ship again, and not before. Your ship represents my owners’ security.”

“Does it?” Murch returned, grimly. “You may have overlooked the fact that this ship is mine already. And what about my security for salvage money? Have I insisted on that?”

Brandon was obliged to admit that point.

“It seems to me,” Murch went on, with massive deliberation, “that neither you nor I, Mr Pomfrett, would cut a hopeful figure in a court of law. No, sir. We’re outside the law, and must just conduct business as between gentlemen of for--of honour. And you might ask yourself, in a moment of leisure, what is to prevent Captain Murch from marooning two young gentlemen of your acquaintance on the next key?”

How much deeper Brandon would have plunged I know not, for at this moment Murch was called on deck.

“Now look you here, Brandon Pomfrett,” said Morgan Leroux, angrily, “if you will persist in running your head into the noose, you’ll be hanged at last, and I can’t save you. Can’t you see--oh, but men are stupid!--can’t you see Mr Murch has you in his hand? Signing all the documents in the world won’t leave you a ha’porth the worse; and if you anger Murch, he’ll toss you overboard. Why, what stops him now?”

“God knows,” said the bewildered Brandon, staring upon the lighted eyes under the level black brows.

“Why, what but Morgan Leroux, who took you from slavery, you fool,” says she. “But there’s bounds to Morgan’s power, let me tell you. Now sign, and no more nonsense. I’ll be one witness, and Mr Winter, who can write, I daresay, if he can’t talk, will be the other. God bless me,” says Morgan, “signing away a ship that ain’t yours won’t hurt you!”

I record this trifling incident, because it showed us clearly, for the first time, in what a perilous strait we were, and how our lives depended upon the favour of this singular, plain-spoken, fiery exotic of a girl, Morgan Leroux. Pomfrett consoled himself by the reflection that, after all, Murch bore no spite against us.

“Unless you drive him to desperation with your sea-lawyer’s tongue,” I said.

“But I’ve got to think of my owners,” was Pomfrett’s eternal cry. He, the agent, was continually inspired to a sense of duty by the thought of Mrs A., the crabbed old woman with the black slave, his pompous uncle, and the whole hotch-potch of paunchy burgesses who snuffled and canted and sent poor seamen to starve at sea--a remembrance which was merely disgusting to the agent’s clerk. They had taken their chance, and lost it, in my view. And yet I, too, was uncomfortably haunted by a sense of responsibility. Once a trustee, always a trustee.

Now, from Barbadoes to Catoche Bay, in Yucatan, is fifteen days’ sailing with a fair wind, and I had anticipated, as, no doubt, had Master Pomfrett, fifteen days’ pleasant wooing of Mistress Morgan by the enamoured agent. But, somehow or other, I failed to remark the operation. From the moment when the swain clapped eyes on the lady in man’s attire, methought there was a change in his demeanour. Had Morgan not assumed protection of the agent so cavalierly, the change might have passed, but I doubt Mr Pomfrett could not stomach that improper reversal of their relations, in his helpless condition. He was bound to her by gratitude, or conceived that he was, and he sulked accordingly. Morgan forced him to run races with her round the ship, up to the cross-trees and down again, and beat him; made him compete with her in shooting at a mark, and beat him again; persuaded him to dance with her, and reviled his clumsiness with great freedom. Young Brandon began to think small beer of himself under this discipline; he lost a deal of dignity in the process, and conceived an immoderate desire to perform some exploit which should set him even with his tormentor. Yet this Morgan had nothing of the shrew, nothing of the virago. She was simply herself; she had no care, as Murch would say, to make any pretence. What she wanted to do, that she did, openly and freely; what she thought, that she said. Now this behaviour differed so extremely from the conduct of the English girls of Brandon’s acquaintance, that at first he was shocked. He thought, though he never said it, that she must be a bad woman, and this, I think, rather tempted him into her company. Be sure that Mistress Morgan knew what was in his mind. So the duel went forward between these two. I used to remark the boy’s square, guileless face beside the girl’s straight-browed, vigorous beauty, and wonder which would win.

As for Mr Jevon Murch, he left us much to ourselves, being entirely occupied in commanding the ship. If Mr Dawkins could sail a ship the way she ought to be sailed, so could Mr Murch. Yet he never took the chances that the jovial Dawkins risked so gaily. And while Dawkins cared nothing for the looks of the ship, and let the filth accumulate in heaps, Murch would have the decks like snow, the brass-work dazzling bright, the masts and yards scraped and varnished, the guns polished daily. The crew grumbled bitterly among themselves, and presently broke into open complaint. Murch had six men tied to the gratings, and gave them twelve dozen apiece. Their backs were cut to pieces. And thereafter, by a look here, a word there, now and again a blow that shook the offender for a week, Murch established discipline among that wild crew. How long they would have stood the strain I know not; for, so marvellous was Murch’s seamanship that we made Catoche Bay on the evening of the tenth day out, five whole days, or four at the least, before we were due, by all calculation. This was mysterious. But Murch kept the chart in a lockfast place, so we had no notion of where we were until he told us we were come “to our destination.” We had spoken ships almost daily, but there was never a sign of the _Blessed Endeavour_. Had she come and gone? That was the question. Murch wasted no time in solving it. It was dark when we dropped anchor; nevertheless, the captain went immediately ashore, taking with him his negro slave, twenty men, and five officers fully armed, and Mr Brandon Pomfrett. The ship was left in charge of Morgan Leroux, who had her instructions how to deal with Mr Dawkins, should he appear. The boatswain was second in command. I suppose that Murch took the officers with him to neutralize the risk of mutiny in his absence. It is of no use to steal a ship unless you can navigate her, and in his knowledge of navigation lies much of the secret of the officer’s ascendancy in the ships that sail on the private account. As for the humble compiler of these memoirs, he was left aboard as a kind of tame watch-dog.

When the day broke we found ourselves lying in a rocky bay, some two miles from the shore. I searched the coasts with a perspective glass, with intent to discover the marks described in the writing contained in Mr Dawkins’s bottle. “_At a point on nothe mainland Yucatan two leagues due south from the hed of Catoche Bay having the red rocks where the river flows out in line with the extreemest projection of cliffe on west horn of bay_.” Thus, Captain Grammont, the old buccaneer, to Captain de Graaf, his comrade. But I could see neither any red rock in particular, nor river flowing out. Here was another perplexity of this remarkable voyage.

The landing party was expected to return on the second day, but the second day passed, and the third, and still the long beach lay solitary, save for the myriad sea-birds, fishing and screaming. And the deep forest, climbing upon the tall mountains, grilled, silent and mysterious, in the sun, with no sign or sound of man. Morgan Leroux began to grow restless; her careless gaiety died away; a shadow dwelt upon her face. On the fifth day, in the morning watch, I was alone on the quarterdeck, in that still hour of the dawn, when I was aware of Morgan Leroux at my elbow. We both gazed shoreward for awhile, where the beach and the woods were whelmed in shadow and the tops of the far hills took the sunlight. Eastward, the dazzling half-circle of the sea shone clear and desolate. Still, no sign of the adventurers; stranger yet, no sign of Dawkins in the _Blessed Endeavour_.

“Mr Winter,” said Morgan, “I don’t like it. They went by a short way to the place--shorter than the river journey; they should have been back before this.”

“The river--what river?”

“Oh, I forgot,” says Morgan. “You don’t know, of course.”

“I don’t,” I said. “I’ve been looking for a river these four days, till my eyes ached. Here is Catoche Bay; where’s the river? Can you see one? I can’t.”

“Perhaps,” said Morgan, softly, “because it is not there? Come, Mr Winter,” she added, in her serious manner, “we are passable friends, are we not?”

“Surely.”

“Ah, well, you don’t like me--which matters little, Mr Harry Winter, save to yourself--but you don’t trust me neither, and that matters much, because,” says Morgan, “I am one to be trusted, did you but know it. And in this posture of affairs, do you know, friend Harry, I think you and me are to have dealings together, lest worse befall.”

I had not thought of it before--it was true. I neither liked her overmuch, nor trusted her. But, so curious a thing is man, I began to desire to do both, from that moment. Morgan looked at me and smiled pleasantly.

“Come,” says she, “I am going to tell you a story.”

VIII

THE STORY OF THE INCOMPARABLE LADY AND THE ADMIRAL OF BUCCANEERS

This was the story told me by Morgan Leroux, as we leaned on the taffrail of the _Wheel of Fortune_, in the still splendour of the dawn.

“Sir Henry Morgan was, as you know, my grandfather. He rose to be Admiral of Buccaneers and Governor of Jamaica, from very low beginnings. He shipped from Bristol in his youth, and as soon as he came to the Indies he was sold as a slave--a thing,” says Morgan, “which might happen to any gentleman. But he served his time, and when it was out he joined the Brotherhood of the Sea. Jevon Murch was ship’s boy in Mr Morgan’s ship, and he followed Mr Morgan all through. He was at the capture of El Puerto del Principe, and the taking of Porto-Bello. I have often heard him tell of the Spanish governor’s stout resistance, and how he refused quarter--which was great foolishness--and fought to the last, his wife and child clinging about his knees.

“Murch was with Captain Morgan when he took Saint Catherine’s Isle by stratagem, and so acquitted himself in the storming of the Castle of Chagre that Morgan gave him a billet which kept him about his person. So they went to the sack of Maracaibo, where they fought and quite destroyed the Spanish fleet, and Murch was Morgan’s lieutenant at the taking of Panama. I have heard the story of the burning of Panama from Mr Murch, for my grandfather never spoke of his life. Some drunken fool, it seems, set light to a house, and not the whole army of the pirates could extinguish the conflagration. The houses were chiefly of cedar-wood, and the fire burned for a month, with a stifling smell and a great smoke rolling out to sea.

“Meanwhile, Morgan neglected nothing that might gain him sixpence. That was his energetic way. The pirates raked and dug in the ruins and searched the wells and cisterns for booty; search-parties ranged the woods to fetch thence those who had fled, and brought them to be tortured until they gave up their riches; and boats were despatched to the near islands of Tavoga and Tavogilla to bring back others who had fled thither on the first alarm.

“Now, I must tell you that Captain Morgan’s custom was--as Mr Murch hath often described to me--his custom was, when the women were brought in, to have them passed in review before him. He sat in his chair in his lodging, which was the finest house he could find, as grand as the Great Mogul. Now, upon a day, there came in one of the boats, among the other women, a certain Spanish lady, wife to a wealthy merchant of Panama. The merchant had gone to Peru, whereby, no doubt, he saved his head, whatever else he lost. Well, this lady came before Captain Morgan with her old tire-woman, a silly person. ‘Why, Jesus bless me!’ says the duenna, looking at Admiral Morgan, ‘these thieves are like us Spaniards. They told us they had beasts’ faces, and oh, good little Jesus,’ she cries out, shaking, ‘what have I said!’ But my grandfather never marked her. He was looking at the Incomparable Lady--so they called her, not only, Murch says, because of her beauty but, because none other ever held Morgan at siege so long as she. The poor lady began to beseech him with tears to let her go, offering him ransom. ‘Ransom?’ says Morgan. ‘’Tis for me to offer ransom, I think.’ And he gave orders to lodge the lady with her woman in all sumptuousness, and to set a guard upon them. ‘And as for the rest,’ says he, ‘you can take it away. What have I to do with a gallimaufrey of kitchen grease?’ Well, Mr Murch was in charge of the guard that kept the Incomparable Lady. ‘And I saw,’ says Murch to me, ‘I saw Morgan the Welsh werewolf trapped and tamed.’

“I’ll make no pretence of delicacy in talking of my grandfather the admiral. A wolf he was in his youth, bloody and treacherous. Murch says he would never have believed his subjugation possible, but that ’twas the same with all the men. They feared their admiral more than the devil, yet had he offered the least indignity to the Incomparable Lady, there were plenty would have tried to run him through. Morgan visited the Incomparable Lady every day, suing with great gifts of pearl and plate and jewels--suing in vain. Then came the time when Panama was squeezed dry, and the pirates marched away across the Isthmus with a huge booty, driving the prisoners, men, women, and children, like a herd of cattle. The Incomparable Lady was carried in a litter by herself, guarded by Mr Murch and his men. Captain Morgan would walk for miles with his hand on the side of the litter, hoping she would speak kindly to him, if but a single word.

“Now, it was, as we must believe, that Morgan the buccaneer made up his mind there was one thing in the world for him, and that was the love of the Incomparable Lady. Herself he might easily possess; it was her love he wanted. He would never stick at the price. Never in his life had he counted the cost of what he desired; never yet had he failed to get it, soon or late. Her husband was alive? Then would Morgan kill him, or wait until God took the worthy merchant. She would not deign to look on a pirate? Then he would leave off that way of life. But to do that he must have money. You cannot live ashore on nothing; none was less likely to try than Morgan. Very well, money he would get. Did you never hear how Captain Morgan was accused of embezzlement at the dividend of booty, which was held beside the river of Chagre? The charge was true. He took his own proper share; he took much more, and brought it away; and he took more than that, and hid it by the river of Chagre.”

Mistress Morgan paused. A dim notion of what was coming was beginning to dawn upon me.

“You’ll see, Harry Winter, that I trust you,” Morgan went on. “Now listen. There are three persons alive who know where that treasure is hid. The first,” said she, speaking very deliberately, “is Mr Murch, because Sir Henry Morgan told him; the second is the old negro, our servant, whom you know. You may have observed that he’s lost his tongue. The third--now, who’s the third, Mr Winter?”

“Dawkins!” I said. “Dawkins, for a ducat!”

“Right,” said she. “How quick you are, to be sure! Dawkins was young then, younger than Murch, rated ship’s boy at the time. He and the negro, Morgan’s servant, helped Morgan to carry away the treasure secretly from the camp by night. The guards were removed by drink, or some other pretext, and Morgan took what he wanted. Afterwards, he would have killed Dawkins for safety’s sake, but the child was wary, and escaped. Morgan never saw him again. As for the negro, he cut his tongue out. I have never quite understood,” says Morgan, “why my grandfather kept him alive. But the man was a good servant, and it may be that the Incomparable Lady had softened Mr Morgan. Dawkins, Murch says, was a mutinous little thief, and deserved hanging twice over.

“Well, when the dividend was declared, on the morrow, Morgan had everyone searched, he was so zealous to be just in his dealings! He commanded them to search himself; and searched he was, to his boot-soles, the men handling him, according to Mr Murch, like a powder-barrel with the fuse burning, for he was easily ruffled. As the dividend came out, Morgan was entitled to a good sum, besides what he had hidden, yet the reckoning seemed fair enough. The rest got two hundred pieces of eight each. Two hundred little pieces of eight, out of all Panama! Small wonder the admiral was accused of embezzlement. The men turned mutinous, but he kept them under till he came to the coast, so great was his power over them. Then he sailed away without so much as calling a council. And he gave the Incomparable Lady her liberty, saying that his time would come, and he could wait. While he was waiting, he bought a plantation in Jamaica, and became Lieutenant-Governor, and afterwards Governor. Mr Murch bought a plantation in Jamaica, also. He was Morgan’s man to the end. I believe they had sworn blood-brotherhood, but of this I am not certain.