Bimshaw, The Pirate (part 2 of 6)

BIMSHAW, THE PIRATE

By A. HYATT VERRILL

Illustrated by Walt Louderbach

The American Boy, December 1918. Digitized by Doug Frizzle, May 2010.

CHAPTER IV, CONTINUED.

OFF ARECIBO we sighted a sail and soon overhauling it found her to be a felucca inward bound from Santiago de Cuba and of so little value—her cargo being naught but hides, food and live stock—that we wasted no shots upon her, and, to save their miserable lives, her crew gave information of value to our captain.

To him one reported that when at Puerta Plata they had seen a rich plate ship about to sail for Spain and that by now she should be well off the port and would fall an easy prey.

This was good news indeed, were it true, but to make him prove his words, or teach him a lesson did he lie, the captain made the fellow prisoner, to be held until the ship was taken or his tale proved false. At first he was frightened beyond words, and our men taunted him with stories of the cruelties they would wreak on him if he lied, but soon he changed his tune and, boldly declaring he had been a pirate, asked to join our ship.

He was a sweet rascal, the color of mahogany, a half-caste of some sort, and as bloodthirsty (as proved later) as even the heart of Morgan could desire. Bad as our men were, they hated him for a traitor, but he knew the seas about and spoke the Dons' tongue, and so we took him on.

Two days later we stood in to the land of Hispaniola and soon saw the sails of a great ship. At sight of us she turned about and squared away for Puerto Plata and, a stern chase being a long chase, she all but gained the port when a shot from our bow gun brought her mast by the board and we soon ran alongside.

But her passengers had taken to the boats and made escape, as had most of the crew, save a few who found not room in the boats and who fell upon their knees begging us to spare their lives. To these the pirates gave scant heed, cutting them down in sheer joy, and our brown cutthroat from the felucca led in the slaughter of those he had betrayed.

The ship now being at our mercy, much treasure and a vast store of liquors and ammunition was secured, and the prize was then fired in a score of places. As we sailed away the flames and smoke poured upward from her hull, and, long after her masts were lost to our view, the black cloud marked the spot where burned the doomed galleon.

The pirates were in high spirits and their loss of the plate ship off Porto Rico was soon forgotten, and, a puncheon of rum being broached, all celebrated their success and sang and skylarked on the decks.

To recount all our movements and to tell of prizes taken would be irksome and but a repetition and, suffice to say, that in the months that followed we cruised far and wide upon the Spanish Main and took many a ship.

But of one thing I must write, for it was that which brought about the events which made me master of this fair estate to-day and led to the many adventures I met and which I have set myself to relate.

AS FATE HAD IT the first few prizes that we took had naught but men upon them, save the galleon we lost off San Juan and her from whom the passengers escaped at Puerta Plata, and so I knew not the awful things I had yet to see. It happened that after we had taken the great booty from the ship at Puerta Plata, and had spent time at the great pirates' lair at Tortuga, that we sighted a sail and bearing towards her found her to be a Frenchman, homeward bound.

Upon her were many women, and, the men all having been butchered or driven to the sea, the pirates made prisoners of the wives and daughters of the vanquished. Even now I scarce can write of what took place, and in my dreams their screams still ring in my ears and I see their fair faces, white with terror, as they fought and struggled with the demons who tore them shrieking from their cabins.

One poor soul, her husband slain before her eyes and her babe cast writhing into the flames of the burning ship, went mad and, tearing herself free and gouging out the eyes of him who held her, plunged, shrieking like a lost soul, over the side and, did she but know it, found the hungry sharks more merciful than her tormentors.

As, powerless to help, I looked on at such fearful sights and listened to the cries and shrieks that were stifled by blows and curses, my heart grew sick indeed, and I realized why the name of Hawkins was so dreaded and accursed.

To kill my fellow men in open fight, even though 'twas to rob them, I hesitated not at all; but to put them to the torture I would not, even to force the secret of treasure from their lips as was often done. Rather than kill weak and helpless women and babes I would have gone back to slavery in the 'Bados, and yet, here was I, one of a crew that thought no more of slitting the white throat of a maiden than of splitting a fowl, and who gloried and found sport in putting them to unspeakable tortures.

Roughly the poor creatures, who had been reared in every tenderness and luxury, were placed upon a hatchway amid the brutal villains whose hands were still red with the blood of brothers and husbands, and, like bales of clothing, they were sold to the highest bidder. All that I had seen of bloodshed and of villainy was naught to this devilish work and even a life of slavery and the lash seemed better than that I should be a part of such a crowd of fiends. Throughout it all I noticed that old Grommet Legs stood apart from the rest, making as if most busily at work about his duties, and, with my soul torn at the sights I had seen, I sought him out and spoke my mind.

"Aye," he said, when he had heard me, " 'tis a sorry sight, the worst o' piratin'. Never ha' I hurted hair o' their pretty heads or laid hand on 'em 'gainst their will. Mayhap ye and me's known mother or sister, lad, and these chaps ain't; 'tis devils' work, and e'en Morgan hisself's better nor Hawkins when it comes to women, but mark ye, Bimshaw, say ye naught, 'twill serve no good and mayhap do ye harm. I'll take no hand in it myself, and ye have no call neither, and 'twill suit tothers better an' ye don't. But more than that ye cannot do, and ye can lay to that, lad."

"An' I ha' ship o' my own I'll slit the gullet o' any man lays hands on woman," I exclaimed in great heat. "An' ship o' my own, I mean to have," I added.

Grommet Legs shook with his strange, silent laughter. "Belike ye may, lad," he exclaimed. "An' ye do, count on ol' Ben Grommet Legs for mate. Aye, 'twill be right fine to touch me forelock and call ye 'Cap'n Bimshaw.' " At the very thought of it the old fellow again shook with merriment.

Little we either dreamed how soon my braggart words would come true, or how I'd keep the vow I'd uttered in my anger.

CHAPTER V.

THREE YEARS AND MORE had passed since that night on which I swam out through Carlisle Bay and gained freedom on the pirate ship.

I had met with many adventures, had sailed many leagues of the Spanish Main, and had taken part in the capture of many a prize. Many times had I landed upon Saona, Tortuga, Bon Ayre, Levantado, and other pirate strongholds, and full many a time had I walked the streets of Port Royal, St. Martins, St. Johns, St. Barts, Curacao, Statia and other islands wherein the brethren found safe refuge and a jolly welcome.

But through it all never had I taken part in the abuse of women and, strange as if may seem, with the help of old Grommet Legs I'd even won some of the rough crew to my mind.

'Twas passing hard work—aye, harder than the boarding of a prize—for at first only rude jests, loud laughs and taunts greeted me when I spoke of the matter.

"Zounds! but 'tis strange for pirate to turn preacher," guffawed one, with a vile oath.

"Aye, Bimshaw, the parson," quoth another.

"An' he has his way he'd marry we all to th' pretty things, an' be done wi' it," roared a third.

"Wi' black mammies i' the fo'c's'le, an' petticoats a-dryin' i' the riggin'," added his mate.

"An' wha' be they good for now, an' it's no for sport? Faith, they be plenty left whence they come from," declared another.

"Nay," said I, "ye be all wrong, mates. No preacher be I, nor no parson; but I hold that ye ha' naught ag'in' women and babes, an' they be helpless creatures, an' ye ha' no call to harm 'em to gain your ends. E'en brute beasts count it below 'em to mistreat their females."

"Ah, stow it," replied an old pirate. "An' ye be so faint-hearted ye canna' hear a woman screech or see a rope's end laid on their backs, you've no call to be a-piratin'. But step ashore, Bimshaw, an' take the helm o' a meetin' house. Mayhap a Bible's more suited to your hand than yon big gun o' yourn."

Greatly was I tempted to crack the heads of those who thus spoke, but well I knew that did I but keep my temper much more could I gain than by striking blows, and I strove to touch their black hearts by other means.

I have lived long, though I was passing young then, and have seen much of the rough side of men, and still I hold that lowindeed is he who has no love for mother, sister or sweetheart in his soul, and who holds no respect for women. Mayhap a rough and villainous life, hard knocks, or fumes of rum may wipe such thoughts from him for a time, but nevertheless they be there, like sparks under a battened hatch, and only a draught of memories is needed to fan them into flame. So, when I talked and reasoned with the crew of the Adventure, I found many who took my words to heart and who vowed they'd never maltreat women again.

But though some seemed won over, I much misdoubted how well they'd hold to their words when temptation came their way, but I had not long to wait to see.

IT HAPPENED that we took a prize, a goodly ship, and hiding in the cabin was a frightened girl, the bride of the captain of the ship. The men dragged her, screaming, to the decks, and when the loot was safe and the scuttled ship was left astern, a ring of ruffians formed about the captive, passing ribald jokes about her, until her captor, the squint-eyed lad, called out he'd put her up for sale. I stood aloof with Grommet Legs and the few we'd brought to our minds, and my heart boiled with madness as I saw the evil-faced rat tear the silk and lace from the woman's shoulders and with a cruel blow bid her stand up. Unable to speak or understand, for she was Portugese, the poor thing screamed aloud with pain and terror and flung herself on her knees, imploring mercy. But her plight only served to arouse the devil who stood over her, and, seizing a rope, he laid it across her naked back, leaving a blue and bleeding stripe where it fell.

At this I could stand no more, and, bounding through the ring of men, I drove my fist full in the mouth of the weasel-faced dog. With a stifled curse he arose, spitting blood and teeth, and like a cornered rat he sprang at me. But he was no match for me, and again I beat him down with a blow on his evil, crooked eyes. At my first blow a cry of anger had gone up from the men about, but evil and black-hearted as they were they dearly loved a fair fight, and, standing about, they watched us as we battled.

As the squint-eye struck the deck for the third time, and lay bleeding and unable to rise, I heard a murmur and a shuffling of the crowd and, turning about, found the captain close at hand.

"A pretty fight, i' truth," he exclaimed in his soft, purring voice. "A sweet pretty fight an' o'er a pretty face an' fair skin. Tut, tut, Bimshaw, methought ye proof 'gainst woman. An' ye set your heart on the wench can ye no buy her fairly 'ithout layin' your mates athwart your hawse? But she do be fair pretty, an' (that no more heads be cracked o'er her) methinks I'll take her for mine own."

The Irish fighting blood of my forefathers was aroused, I was blind with rage, and Hawkins' sneering words drove all sense from me, and, turning on him fiercely, I cried: "An ye do ye'll ha' to fight for her, cap'n or no cap'n."

A half-smothered cry of wonder and surprise arose from the men; my words were mutiny, naught else, and all expected me to be seized and swung to the yardarm. But I cared not a whit and stood there, glaring about, my fists clenched and murder in my heart.

For an instant thus we stood, the captain black as a thundercloud at my insulting words and staring at me with his fierce eyes, and then he spoke.

"Still the 'Bados cockerel, eh! Know ye not, an' I minded I'd ha' ye keelhauled and flayed alive for those words? An' mayhap 'twould serve ye well; but ye be a good gunner, Bimshaw—aye, passing good—and we can ill spare ye, an' truth to tell, I like your temper. Them be brave words lad, an' I cozzen brave men, so I'll fight ye for the wench."

So saying, he threw off his rich coat, kicked off his silver-buckled shoes and stepped within the ring of men while I, with doubled fists and tense muscles, crouched ready to meet him. Then, as he saw my attitude, he raised his hand: "Nay, Bimshaw," he said, "ye mistake me. I'll no fight wi' fisticuffs, they be weapons fit but for gutter-rats an' drunken brawls. We'll fight wi' pirates' weapons, an', mark me well, Bimshaw," and here he fairly hissed the words, "there'll be no quarter mind ye, 'tis ye or me rules the ship, an' cutlasses will settle which."

His words called me to my senses, and my heart beat fast at thought of what I had brought upon me. Hawkins was noted for his skill with the cutlass; he was far larger and stronger than I, and I felt my minutes were numbered. Even if by chance, by some lucky stroke, I won, I knew the men would fall upon me like hungry wolves; I would be cut down, and nothing would be gained. I had threatened the captain of my ship, I had mutinied, and he, by some grim humor, had selected to punish me thus instead of ordering me flogged or hung.

But I had scant time for such thoughts; two shining blades had been handed the captain, and these he held forth that I might choose my weapon. Hastily I grasped that which came nearer to my hand and stepping back I prepared to sell my life as clearly as I might.

THE NEXT SECOND the blades met and, instantly, I knew how hopeless for me would be this battle, fortunately my back was turned against the sun while Hawkins faced it, and in my mind I fixed a will to keep us thus and never to give way to left or right lest he force me about until, blinded by the light, he had me at his mercy.

The gleaming blades flashed like fire in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun; they slithered and clashed, sparks flew from their keen edges as we lunged and cut and hacked. Back and forth we surged across the heaving decks, first one and then the other giving way, while all about us ringed the fierce, wild faces; hawklike eyes watching each thrust and hairy lips drawn back across yellow fangs like snarling wolves, breaths coming hard and fast with the thrill of the struggle and never a word or sound uttered.

Once the captain had cut me deep across the shoulder; twice had I pricked him with my blade; my heart was jumping, my head throbbed and my arm ached and yet ever I kept on. Hawkins' reach was prodigious, his lank, yellow body seemed all wire and steel, he moved as lightly and as nimble as a cat, and never for an instant did he give me breathing space. But wearied as I was, he, too, I knew was tired. Sweat streamed from his forehead, his hairy chest heaved, and the great scar across his breast grew scarlet with his exertion.

Never had I hoped to stand so long before his onslaught— for always I had deemed myself scarce more than an indifferent master of the sword, and that I had not fallen gave me courage, and, wearily, steadily, I fought. Ever I saw that gaunt, yellow figure before me, and slowly my eyes became drawn and fixed upon the scar above his heart. It fascinated me; strive as I might, I could not take my gaze from off it, and over me came a horrid hatred of it, as though 'twas some loathsome reptile, and like one possessed I drove and pounced and thrust, heeding naught but to sink my blade deep in that mocking scar.

Again and again his cutlass found my flesh, cuts covered shoulders, arms and checks, blood poured over me from a dozen wounds, but I felt them not; madness had gripped me and little I cared what befell, could I but reach that livid target with my sword. But I was losing fast, each stroke I dealt was weaker than the last, each lunge less true, and Hawkins, cool, calculating and alert, felt my failing strength and only waited for weariness to overcome me that he might beat down my guard and run me through.

And then, from beyond the circle of the men, there rose an awful scream, I saw a glimpse of a woman's form as it leaped from the bulwarks, and in a flash I knew that the captive, forgotten in our duel, had loosed her bonds and sought the mercy of the waves.

But Hawkins, back to the woman, could see naught of this, and, at the shriek, he half turned and lowered his blade. 'Twas scarse for the twitch of an eyelid, yet, in that space I sprung, and, lunging with all my failing strength, felt the sword bury itself within his flesh.

As Hawkins staggered back and his cutlass fell ringing to the deck, a stream of blood gushed from the scar upon his breast; true in its center had I plunged my blade.

SCARCE HAD HE FALLEN ere steel gleamed on every side, angry voices, fierce oaths, and awful curses were shouted, and upon me closed the ring of pirates. Now surely my doom was sealed, and my end had come, but ere the foremost reached me, ere a cutlass clove the air, old Grommet Legs leaped to my side, with pistols in his hands.

At sight of him the men hesitated, none cared to be the first to die, and facing them the mate roared out, "Avast! 'Twas a fair fight, mates. Hawkins chose the weapons as ye heard yourselfs; an' Cap'n's dead, he's but hisself to blame. An' ye lay hand on Bimshaw here ye fight wi' me as well, and, mark me, an' ye kill Ben Grommet, who's to take ye into port or gi' ye course to steer? Aye, who's the man among ye can navigate the ship? Not one, I warrant. An' ye think 'tis sweet to hang i' chains or dance to a yardarm, come on ye dogs an' strike—an' that'll be your ends and ye can lay to that."

A sullen growl rose from the hairy throats, but no man stepped forth, and, grudgingly and with many an oath, the cutlasses were sheathed, for well the men knew the truth of what the mate had said. Without a navigator they were lost, prey to the first armed ship that sighted them, and unable to reach a friendly port or even to sail the reef-filled channels in safety.

For a space they drew off, growling among themselves like ravenous dogs, and, taking advantage of this, Grommet Legs backed away, with me beside him, until he gained the ladder to the poop up which we quickly ran, the while his pistols faced the men. But they were in no mood to follow, and, presently, one stepped forth from the crowd and spoke to us as we stood at the break of the deck.

"So be it, Grommet Legs," he said. "Ye speak true when ye say 'twas a fair fight, an' as for the cap'n, why one's good as another says I and my mates here. Hawkins was a rough lot, but he's come to port, an' if in a-doin' it he fouled a craft better nor hisself, why that's no quarrel o' ourn. Ye're a navigator, Ben, an' wi'out ye we be lost, an' we ha' naught ag'in' ye. Will ye be cap'n o' the Adventure we're askin' ye?"

"That I will not," says Grommet Legs. "Too old be I; ye need young blood an' young strength for that, lads. I'll navigate the ship an' gladly—an' ye swear ye bear no ill will to Bimshaw here—but no more will I do. Ye may choose a cap'n as ye will, but ye mark me, ye'll do well to choose the one as showed ye he's a better man nor Hawkins—an' that's Bimshaw. Mind ye what Hawkins said, 'Ye or me rules this ship.'"

I fairly reeled at the suddenness of the mate's bold suggestion, for the captain's word had passed my mind unheeded, and never for a moment had I thought that I would escape alive; and when, all unknowing, the woman who'd brought about the quarrel gave me the chance to win, I was filled with dread at thought of the men.

And yet, here was Grommet Legs calmly telling the crew to choose me, a mere stripling, to fill the place of him whose blood was still red upon my blade and whose body still sprawled as it had fallen on the deck. But Grommet Legs knew well the temper of the pirates; he took the bull by the horns, and the men, without a leader, dazed at the strange turn in their affairs, and, looking to the mate as their only safeguard, grasped at any straw. Mayhap also they looked with respect upon one who had showed himself the captain's better—Grommet Legs had counted, on that or, perchance, they could think of none among their own lot whom they could trust. Be this as it may, the mate's words caught their fancy and, scarcely believing my ears, I heard them shout my name.

"Aye, Bimshaw be the man," cried one.

"He's the lad to lay 'em athwart his hawse," shouted another.

"A pushing lad, but a good one," yelled a third.

"Hawkins met his match; Bimshaw for us," cried a chorus.

Old Grommet Legs looked on, a broad grin overspreading his rough, red face.

"Aye, lads," he cried, “I knowed ye'd see it right. Overboard wi' the corpus men, and we'll drink to the health o' the new cap'n."

As two men lifted Hawkins' limp body and pitched it over the side the mate turned and faced me. His eyes twinkled and his mouth twitched, but he kept a sober face and a steady voice, as, touching his forehead, he asked : "Beggin' your pardon, sir, shall we broach a keg o’ rum, Cap'n Bimshaw?"

CHAPTER VI.

STRANGE INDEED did it seem for me to be master within that cabin where first I'd signed in mine own blood upon the Adventure.

Long I sat there, as the past flitted through my mind and I thought on the strange events which had led me, a nameless 'Bados slave, to become the pirate captain of a ruffianly crew. And as I pondered on the ways of fate, which are past all understanding, I smiled to think of the sorry figure I must have cut as I plunged sprawling through the doorway and startled Hawkins at the table. Faith, had he but known what lay in store he'd pistoled the gawky landlubber on the spot. But Hawkins had "gone to port," as the men put it, and little I cared, for, though he'd given me my start as a pirate and had made me gunner of the ship, yet well I knew 'twas not for love or friendship, but merely that he knew none else were better for the place. 'Twas a hard, rough life, as he himself had said, and no place for aught but stout hearts, and 'twas every man for himself, and to my mind 'twere much better that Hawkins be lying at the bottom of the sea than Bimshaw.

Hawkins' things were all about, and these, being of no use to me, save chests of plunder and bales of fine cloth and sundry other loot, I heaved them out for the crew to squabble over and made myself at home. But though 'twas hard to believe that I was captain of the ship, yet such I was, and as such I meant to have a word with the men as to what was in my mind about the women. As fortune had it the bo's'n was one of those who had been won to our minds by Grommet Legs and myself, and calling him and the mate into my cabin I told them of my plan. Both shook their heads and misdoubted if the crew would bide upon the ship, were women to be left unharmed, but I was captain and they would not say me nay and so, stepping to the break of the poop, I told the bo's'n to call the men together that they might hear my words.

"Ye chose me cap'n, lads," I said, when all stood together on the decks below, "an' ye know full well how came it that Hawkins met his death—'twas brought about by vile mistreatment of a woman—an' no more o' that will I ha' upon this ship. Prizes we'll take, and in fightin' blood will be spilt a-plenty; but we ha' naught ag'in' the women or the babes, and them as falls in our hands will have safe conduct. An' we find such aboard a prize, they'll be placed into their longboats wi' men to man 'em, an' food an' water beside, that they may make their way to port or nearest land. And, mark me well,—catch I one o' my men a-layin' hands on woman or child ag'in' their will, an' I'll ha' him run to the yardarm as a warnin'. But I'll no force no man to bide wi' me lest he chooses. Those as cares not to stop, I'll set ashore i' safety i' a friendly port, an' no ill will atwixt us. Ye've heard what I say, lads; think on it an' make your minds, an' let them as is minded to bide by my ways an' cruise wi' me stand to starboard, an' them as doesn't stand to larboard."

For a space the men talked and argued in low tones, but finally their minds were made up and in a crowd they moved across the decks to the starboard rail. Only two stepped forth and slunk to larboard and these were the squint-eyed lad and his crony.

"Thank ye, men," says I. "An' as for them two yonder,"—I jerked my thumb toward Squint Eyes and his friend—"we'll set 'em ashore an' good riddance, an' then off to the Pearl Islands, mates." Turning to Grommet I asked him to set a course for the nearest pirates' lair, which being done, I ordered rum served to the men and then, the wind being light, all sail was set and we headed eastward for Saona.

ALBEIT I was captain of the ship, yet of navigation I knew naught, save what little Grommet Legs had taught me. But this I knew was a matter most easily overcome and I set myself diligently to learn all I might from the mate, for none could say when he might meet his end, and to find myself without one who could navigate would be a grievous and dangerous situation indeed.

Thus, as we sailed onward towards Saona, I spent much of my time striving to master the use of quadrant, chart and compass. But as fate had it Saona was passed by with never a stop, and that which changed our plan all but brought me to my death as well.

It happened that two days after I had been made captain I sat within my cabin at night, poring over charts upon the table and with my back turned to the open door. Suddenly something sung humming through the air, I felt a sharp sting of pain in my side and a dirk buried its point and stood quivering in the table before me. I had missed death by a hair's breadth and, leaping to my feet and seizing my pistols, I dashed to the door. Ere I reached the portal an awful yell rang out through the darkness, something fell heavily to the deck and the next instant I came upon Grommet Legs standing over Squint Eyes. The rat had thought to kill me at my table and when, seeing his knife had missed, he darted away, he'd dashed straight into the arms of the mate who'd run him through. There he lay, writhing about, kicking his long legs, thrashing with his arms and slowly spinning about the blade that held him to the deck, for all the world like some ugly beetle through which a boy had stuck a pin. He was screaming most horribly and all the ship was in an uproar at the sound, and, much as I had cause to hate and distrust him and richly as he merited his fate. I had no mind to see him suffer more and ordered Grommet Legs to put an end to him at once. This done, and his carcass thrown into the sea, greatly did I feel relieved that the ill-favored dog was gone. But now the cry went up that his crony had a hand in the plot, and, like a pack of hounds, the angry crew turned and ran yelping towards the fo'c's'le.

Then, from behind the water casks, two tongues of flame spat forth, and the foremost man plunged head long to the deck. Over his body poured the men behind, and, in an instant, the cowering mutineer was hacked to bits and strewn upon the waves.

And now that these two men had gone, and passing strange it was they mutinied when three days more would put them safe on land, we minded not to make Saona and shifted and bore to the southward.

No sail had we raised since I'd been captain of the ship, but no grumble came from any man aboard, for that which we would undertake promised reward far greater than a score of captured ships.

My plan was this: to sail to Margarita—the Pearl Islands—and sack the town itself as well as any ships that by chance laid within its harbour. 'Twas a hold scheme, but Harry Morgan had done more, and I held myself as good a man as he—and its very boldness promised for success, for never did the Dons dream of pirates snatching riches from their very jaws. Naught knew I of Margarita, save what old Grommet Legs had told me, but his tale was such as to lead me on and stake all upon the plan. Years agone he had been there and he knew the port and all about as well as the deck of his ship, and he also knew that at certain times the store of pearls was waiting to be sent to Spain, and such a time was now at our command.

'Twas a long sail and out of the course of many ships, but at last the two peaks of the island rose above the sea, and standing off we waited until the sun should set and night might hide us as we approached the shore.

'Twas a black night and silently we crept under the land until before us shone the lights of the town behind the palms, like glowworms in the grass. All was revelry and merry making ashore, for in the harbour was the galleon to take the store of pearls to Spain, and close beside her rode her convoy, a Spanish brig-of-war. To attack this ship we had no mind, for, even if we won, lives would be lost and damage done, and crippled, we could not hope to take the town unprepared, nor even make our escape in safety.

And so, for the time, we drew off, striving to form a plan to take both ships and town at one blow and with little loss.

"An' ye ask me," said Grommet Legs, "the Dons aboard the ships will be a-skylarkin' on the shore. Mayhap a guard's been set aboard, but I misdoubt, they be a-keepin' watch. More like they be fair dead wi' drink or sleepin' wi' the music in their ears. An' we send a boat's crew, mayhap the lads may climb aboard an' slit the gullets o' the watch afore they wake,—an' all quiet-like a' that. An' then they've but to spike the guns an' the town be at our mercy."

"A good plan," I replied, "but I've a better. An' the men take the brig let 'em not spike the guns, but turn 'em on the town, an' belike when the Dons find their own ship a-shoutin' of 'em down they'll fair lose the little wit left in their muddled brains. An' whilst they be running, like conies to their holes, we'll land to one side an' take 'em in the rear. Let the lads raise a lanthorn twice for a signal the ship be theirs, an' that they'll no fire on us, we'll burn a barrel o' tar where we land."

The mate stared at me admiringly. "Faith, Cap'n," he cried, "ye ha' a headpiece on your shoulders to be sure. Ye're fair born to be a pirate cap'n, lad. Gad! but we'll see a merry time this night."

'Twas a perilous trick to strive to take the brig and I minded not to order any man to the task, but calling them together told the plan and asked for volunteers. But 'twas such a job as suited their reckless ways, and all clamored for the work and I was sore put to choose only those I wanted.

Silently the boat was lowered and in the darkness pulled away with muffled oars, whilst we reached in close to the headland, and, with boats manned and ready, waited on the signal.

No sound came across the water from the brig, but this we knew promised well, for if the men failed shouts and cries would ring forth, but slitting the throats of drunken men makes scant noise.

Once me thought I heard a smothered cry, but none could say whether or no 'twas the call of a night bird, and little sounds were swallowed up by the noise of merry songs and music from the town.

Then at last, against the blackness where lay the brig, a bright light twinkled for a moment, went out, and flashed again. 'Twas the signal, the brig was ours, and lustily we pulled for land.

SCARCE had we passed two boat lengths when the night was split by scarlet tongues of flame and the hills echoed to the thunder of the guns as from the captured ship our men poured forth a broadside on the helpless town.

From the shore rose screams and cries of mortal terror, from buildings poured forth the crowds of maddened folk, and death, agony and destruction took the place of music, dance and song. Scarce had the roar of the last gun died away ere our keels grated on the beach, and, firing a tar barrel as agreed, and shouting like demons, our wild horde dashed into the town.

'Twas easy work. The Spaniards, roused from the gaming tables and the dancing halls by the crash of cannon and the hurtling shots, thought only of seeking safety, and fled in frenzy here and there. Some few, the sailors from the ships, strove to gain boats and put to sea. perchance to reach their vessels,—but in the glare of burning roofs and blazing tar they were most plainly seen, and well-aimed guns from the brig blew them to bits, and those not killed by ball were finished by the sharks.

From the fort upon the hill the gunners trained their pieces and fired on the captured ship, but their aim was poor, and with the long gun on the bow our men tumbled the fort about the soldiers' ears.

Pistoling those who fled before us, cutting down those who stood their ground or fell within our reach, we dashed through the narrow streets and, better to light our way and thus know friend from foe, we fired the palm-thatched hovels as we passed.

That women fell amid the men at our onslaught cannot be denied, but 'twas not to be avoided, for in the turmoil and the slaughter none could stay the flashing blades and blazing pistols, and all save such as sought safety in the jungle or cowered in hiding places fell. Once, too, I found a lusty fellow striving to tear an infant from a woman's arms, whilst beating her most cruelly, and him I pistoled with mine own hand and set the woman free. Aye, I did more, and calling one whom I could trust, I placed the frightened creature in a good stone house,—and set the man on guard without.

But though it takes full long to write it down, the battle, if 'twere worthy of the name, soon ended, and the town was ours.

Such store of treasure as we found we placed within our boats and, so great was it, that a round score of trips were made ere 'twas loaded on the Adventure under hatches. Much booty also did we take from the ship at anchor, for she had come hither from Cartagena and Puerto Cabello and was laden deep with bars of gold and silver from the mines. Full fifty thousand pounds of loot we took in bullion, beside great quantity of pearls and many stones of worth; in truth a goodly wage for one night's work. Then, having scuttled and fired the ships, we sailed away across a sea that seemed of blood, so reddened was it by the blazing ruin we left astern.

(To be continued in the January number of The American Boy.)

Bimshaw, The Pirate (part 5 of 6)

Bimshaw, The Pirate

By A. Hyatt Verrill

Illustrated by Walt Louderback

From The American Boy magazine, March 1919. Digitized by Doug Frizzle April 2010

Part 5 of 6

CHAPTER XI.

SOON OUR AWAITED GUESTS came, two in the stern sheets of their longboat, which was manned by five sailors, and at once we led them to the cabin of our ship.

The one who had threatened me declared himself the mate, the other was the bo's'n, and both ruffians told a glib tale of the captain sickening and dying at sea.

Presently, Brand stepped within the cabin as agreed, and, as the two strangers turned and glanced up at his arrival, the two whalemen and myself jerked pistols forth and placed them at the heads of our surprised guests. Ere they could rise or utter a cry, our men, hidden close at hand, had seized and bound them fast, and loudly we laughed at their struggles and their anger.

"Now, mates," quoth I, "we'll ha' the truth out o' ye. Who be ye an' why ha' ye a man shackled in yon ship? Out wi' the tale or ye go back aboard your ship wi' scuttled brain boxes."

At this he who claimed to be the mate grew purple with rage and cursed most horribly, but the bo's'n, a weasel-faced rascal, whimpered and begged for mercy, swearing he would tell all did we but spare his life.

The other turned upon him in a fury and threatened death and torture did he breathe a word, but his threats were of less avail than our cocked pistols and his tongue was soon silenced by a bit of sailcloth lashed fast across his face with a turn of rope yarn. Then the bo's'n told us how the ship, a slaver bound to the colonies, had been seized and the slaves sold in Cuba and how the officers, save the mate, had been butchered, the mate being saved and compelled to navigate the vessel by threat of torture, and how the mutineers planned to turn pirates and scour the Spanish Main.

"A brave lot o' pirates ye'd be," I cried when he had done; "a fine brave lot i' very truth wi' a chained mate to navigate ye, an' yonder crew o' Wapping's gutter sweeping's for a crew. Faith, ye should be thankin' us for a-savin' ye from a worse end did we blow out your brains now, for a gibbet or the yardarm stares ye in the face an' ye fail to do our bidding. List ye well now, for gain ye fail 'twill go hard wi' ye. This dog," I kicked the gagged and bound villain who had led the mutiny, "this dog, I say, stops on this brig as hostage. But ye," I booted the bo's'n, "as ye told the truth, go back free to your ship an' when ye reach there tell your men the game's up an' to set the mate free and send him safe to us. An' mind ye, rat, no treachery. Do ye aught o' harm to yon shackled man an' this dog we hold as hostage will dance to our yardarm wi'out tongue to scream nor ears to hear. An', mark me well, an' your's sail away, there lies a sloop-o'-war wi' a company o' marines aboard; an' we see not your signal that ye surrender—a white flag at your maintop—an' see not the mate set free an' unharmed aboard this brig within the hour, then forth we sail an' bring the King's men wi' us. Do ye as we bid an' ye'll win pardon for the part ye've played, but fail an', by the bones o' Drake, ye'll swing i' chains i' Nassau within the fortnight."

Trembling with fear, the rascal promised, and, disarming him, we cast him free and saw him tumble into his boat and depart.

'Twere an even chance he'd do as we bid and save us sacrificing good lives to take his ship, for the fear of death was in him; but I misdoubted it and held other cards yet to play, did he prove false. Well we knew he dared not harm the captive mate, for without him the ship was helpless, and naught would be gained while the life of the hostage would be lost. Also well we knew the ship could not sail out of the crooked passage to the sea without a pilot, and we feared not that the mutineers would attack us, even though our numbers were less and we carried no guns. Well too we knew no ship-o'-war was near; but they knew it not, and much I trusted to mine lie and the threat of a King's ship to bring the ruffians to our terms. How well my plans fell out I will now relate.

ANXIOUSLY we waited, but no signal came from the ship whose masts and yards rose clear above the bit of land and no boat bearing the freed mate came in view. The hour passed and then the Nancy's anchors were hove up and, spreading sail, we started forth as we had promised. As we cleared the point and came in view of the ship, all was bustle aboard her, and her men ran about bringing the guns to bear upon the larboard side, by which they thought we'd pass. But the whalers had mine orders and our plans had been well laid, and, just as we approached to near gun's range, the helm was put over, the yards were smartly swung, and, turning on her heels, the Nancy bore off and slipped quickly past the ship to starboard. Ere the surprised and outwitted mutineers could shift their guns across the deck we were safe beyond their reach and had naught to fear.

Quickly we bore out of the harbour, and, turning westward, slipped out of sight and beyond the land. Scarce half a league we sailed ere we lay to and waited motionless till two hours had passed. Then, hoisting the British ensign to our masthead and trimming sail, we headed back towards the harbour, while about our rails gathered the rough and ready whalemen, each and every one decked with scarlet cloth about his shoulders to counterfeit the red coats of the King's marines.

Into the channel we sailed and straight for the ship we steered, but no sooner did the mutineers glimpse the red-clad men upon our decks and the banner at our masthead, than in a panic they threw down their arms, deserted guns, and, terror-stricken, hastened to seek refuge on the shore. Hurriedly they strove to lower their boat, but many waited not for this and leaping into the sea swam to the beach, and when we gained the ship and swarmed onto her decks, no living soul was left aboard, save the bound mate within the cabin.

Him we quickly released and then, springing to the bow gun, I trained it on the boat just as it reached the beach and sent a charge of grapeshot crashing through it. Wildly the wretches screamed for mercy and waved white rags in token of surrender, while those who had swam ashore lay helpless and exhausted upon the sands of the beach.

Arming ourselves with cutlasses and pistols and joined by the crew of the other brig, we pulled ashore and soon herded the frightened mutineers together, bound them fast, and like trussed fowls slung them up by tackles to our decks and stowed them safely below hatches. All save six were prisoners—they having been killed by the shot from the gun—the ship was in our hands and the mate was freed and not one drop of whalers' blood had been spilt and not a blow struck.

Wonderfully grateful was the rescued mate and he vowed there were no truer, braver-hearted sailors in the world than whalers, and I smiled grimly to myself to think how he would gape in wonder did he but know the one who planned and carried out the rescue was none other than Bimshaw, the pirate.

NOW THAT the mutineers were prisoners and the ship was delivered over to her mate, 'twas decided to man her with whalers from the two brigs and, in company with her, sail forth to Nassau, where the prisoners could be given unto the authorities and where also a crew for the ship could be secured.

Thus we set forth and without adventure sailed safely into the harbour of New Providence.

And then, when our story had been told and the trial of the mutineers was held, right well were we rewarded, and a goodly sum was paid to us for capturing the pirates, as well as for the salving of the ship.

But here in Nassau we learned that many had escaped at Nevis and my heart sank, for I felt that I was still a fugitive, that nowhere was I safe, that where'er I went I might be brought to book for my past deeds, and that any time I might meet one from Nevis who would recognize and denounce me.

Of this I spoke to Brand, and, truth to tell, he was much in the same way as myself, but being a lad of education and brains he had already thought of a way to end our troubles and forever put danger from our paths.

"Aye, Captain," said he, when I had spoken my mind, "I have thought much about our future. An' you are willing to put your life in my hands and trust to me, I feel sure we may once more leave the sea and settle down in peace with safety forever-more."

I shook my head doubtfully. "Nay, lad," I replied, " 'tis once a pirate, ever a pirate. I ha' striven to live peaceful and honest-like and do no man harm, but 'tis no use. My past still lives, and at any time I may be seen and denounced as Bimshaw. There be none I can trust, save ye, and I mind not to be hung in chains or cast again in cell beneath the earth. Belike 'tis but my just reward, for I ha' sent many a poor soul to death; but life's sweet yet, and though I fear not death yet I mind to die a free man. I'm no' fond o' the life of a whaler, but I see naught else save piratin', and that I ha' done wi' forever. 'Tis you I be a-thinkin' on, lad. Through me ye've come to a sorry pass, an' I grieve to think ye be lost to friends and liberty by a-bidin' along o' me."

Brand listened quietly until I'd done, and then, smiling in the winning way I loved so well, he came and placed his hands upon my shoulders.

"Nay, Captain," he said, " 'tis not the reward due you, to be hounded for deeds not of your own choosing. For what you've done you've paid full and more, and you've no need to fear either hangman or prison henceforth. List to me, Captain, and blame me not harshly if I have done wrong. To-day I saw His Excellency the Governor and throwing myself upon his mercy told our tale and pled for full pardons for us both. He is a gentleman and honorable, and pledged himself to secrecy ere I spoke, and well I know the secret will be safe with him in view of what you've done. And when he heard the tale he vowed to do his best to gain the pardons that I sought, and this eve a ship sails forth to England bearing a letter to His Majesty the King and craving a royal pardon for us both and praising your gallant deeds most gloriously."

AS BRAND SPOKE I stood mute, struck dumb at the lad's bravery in confessing all to the governor, for well I knew that had His Excellency seen fit we would by now be languishing within a dungeon. But though he'd dared much, and had betrayed me without my knowledge or consent, yet I could blame him not, for now 'twas done I saw that 'twere better to chance the governor's breaking his pledged word than to live the life of a hunted animal, ever in dread of my fellow-men. And when I heard that the governor had indeed asked a royal pardon for us, my heart lightened amazingly, and such hope as I had not known for many months now filled my breast.

"Lad, lad," I cried, wringing his hand, "I can not find tongue to thank ye for this day's work. And the pardon be granted, ye ha' saved me, boy. Gad! but ye be brave! I’d sooner storm Havana's Morro or face the guns o' a frigate than ha' gone before the governor wi' our tale."

"Nay, Captain," he replied, " 'tis little I have done. Twice have you saved my life, and I were a cur indeed, and an arrant coward to boot, were I not willing to risk so little in return for my life."

Then, as an afterthought and with downcast eyes he added: "But I have yet more to confess. Little bravery I needed, Captain; His Excellency is cousin to my father, and 'twas that led me to see him. 'Twould ill become a governor to have it known one of his blood was in such straits as I. And thus I knew that he would keep a silent tongue, e'en though he asked not the pardon. Nay, Captain, I fear that I be but a sorry coward after all. Had he not been relative of mine, I misdoubt but I'd have gone forth with you and died as an outcast and a criminal."

But I'd have none of this, and swore 'twas a sorry way for Brand to belittle himself, and had the governor been the most peppery old martinet in the Indies he'd have dared all on the chance of saving his blackhearted old pirate friend.

And so, the petition for the pardon on its way, we had perforce to sit idly in Nassau and await the answer. 'Twas with mixed joy and sorrow that we saw the Nancy and the Starlight sail away without us, and from Fitzwilliam Hill watched their dingy sails sink below the horizon to the northward.

Slowly the days and weeks passed by, and then, at last, a great ship sailed into the harbour from England, and our hearts beat hard as we waited for word of what news she brought. But we had not over long to wait. From the governor came messenger with word that His Excellency wished speech with us, and, with mingled hopes and fears, we hurried to his presence. As he rose and greeted us my heart leaped with joy, for in his grave yet smiling face and twinkling eyes I read good news. Within his hand he held a bulky roll, and when, after a few kindly words, he handed first to Brand and then to me the parchments bearing their great red seals, my head swam, and I reeled with the greatness of my joy. No longer was I Bimshaw, no more a pirate to be hunted like a wild beast; no more need I fear to travel or to dwell where'er I chose. Henceforth I was a free man, a faithful subject of His Majesty the King—Geoffrey Greaves. For in my hand I held the royal pardon for "all and sundry acts, crimes and deeds conspired or committed against the King, the law, or the subjects of Great Britain or her colonies overseas."

CHAPTER XII.

NOW THAT WE had naught to fear, nothing marred our happiness save the thought of Grommet Legs, and gladly would I have given all—aye, half the years of my life—could brave and steadfast old Ben have but been there with his pardon from the King. But grieving would do naught to bring Grommet Legs to us, even if he still lived; and Brand and I sailed forth to seek new homes among the islands of the Caribbees.

And so, at last, we came to this fair isle, and with the money paid us in Nassau, and that we'd earned as our shares of the oil taken by the Nancy, we bought this plantation I look forth upon as I now write.

But though we bore pardons, yet we minded not to give forth who or what we were until necessity required, for well we knew how men would look askance at those who had been pirates, even though pardon had been granted them. And so till this very hour none know our secret, and none have learned it save Brand's wife, God bless her!

Yet into our peaceful, quiet lives came a serpent, though Brand knew it not, and never until I be dead and gone and he chances on this story of my life will he know of what took place, or how I crushed the reptile ere it struck and spread its venom.

Yet from the evil that threatened us came that which brought greater happiness than I had ever known, for fate plays strange pranks, and wonderful and devious are the ways by which God moves us to His ends. Three years had we lived upon this isle and greatly had we prospered, and among all those who dwelt upon the island we were honored and respected. Not being content to deal only in sugar, rum and molasses—for my blood called ever for the sea—I bought two ships to trade among the islands and to carry our produce and that of others cross the seas.

Seldom did I sail forth in them, however, for ever in my heart there lurked a dread of meeting some mariner who had known me in the past, and yet much pleasure and greater profit did the vessels bring. Thus it came about that in the course of trade Brand sailed forth to England and the colonies of America and visited many lands, for he was a likely lad and had a great head for business and loved to travel and to learn the ways of other men and nations.

'Twas at one such time, while Brand was away upon one of our ships and I was left alone upon the estate, that the serpent of which I spoke crept forth to threaten me.

The day's work was done; from the distant slaves' quarters came the faint sound of music and of singing, and I sat upon the gallery smoking my pipe and gazing forth upon the moonlit sea. And my heart was filled with tender, peaceful thoughts, for that day had I received a letter from the lad and in it I had read that he had wed and to the isle was bringing back his wife. And the thought of gentle woman to brighten up our home—and my joy that Brand had found love and happiness—was tinged with sadness that no longer could I be all to him as in the past. Thus musing, my thoughts went back and. dwelt upon the years agone, and I wondered, had I but found woman to love and cherish, would I have not been led away from the wild, black life I'd led; and then I thought of the Donna Mercedes, and in my soul I knew that 'twas through her lovely face that a change had been wrought in me, and that 'twas she as much as Brand who'd won me from my life of pirating.

Suddenly I heard a soft rustle near, and a shadow fell athwart the patch of moonlight before me, and, turning quickly, I beheld a black figure standing at the top of the stairs.

I LEAPED TO MY FEET with a start, but ere I could utter sound the figure spoke: "Evenin', Cap'n Bimshaw," said the stranger in a low, whining voice which sounded strangely familiar; and, at the words, my heart sank, for here at my very door was one who knew me for what I was, and for the instant I forgot I held pardon from the King.

"Who be ye an' what want ye here?" I demanded. "There be no Captain Bimshaw here; 'tis Geoffrey Greaves ye be a-speakin' to."

The other laughed. "Aye, like as not," he purred, " 'tis as easy to change names as colors, an' it suits ye. Blow me, but ye be snug, and sailin' under easy canvas here, Cap'n."

My fear gave way to anger at the fellow's insolent words and I started towards him, but he stepped nimbly aside, a dirk flashed in his hand, and, as a ray of moonlight fell upon his face, I stopped short and uttered a cry of wonder and surprise. Above the fellow's grinning, ugly mouth were two great holes—'twas the noseless pirate, "Pretty" — the one-time second mate of the Adventure!

"Blood and powder!" he exclaimed. "Lay hand on me, Bimshaw, an' I'll stick ye. So ye knows me now, eh? Scuttle me, but 'tis a rum way ye have o' greetin' a old shipmate."

Dumbfounded with surprise at the rascal thus finding me, I stepped back and grasped my chair for support. "What want ye?" I found tongue to ask at last. "An' 'tis help ye need to take ye hence, 'tis yours an' welcome. Aye, I know ye now—'tis useless denying who I be—but 'tis naught to me an' ye know me; I ha' royal pardon for my misdeeds."

The noseless one laughed sneeringly. "Mayhap, mayhap," he cried. "An' 'tis true 'twill no doubt save ye from the gibbet; but think ye pardon will save ye in the eyes o' your fine friends? Let them as dwells about but know 'tis Bimshaw, the pirate, as is livin' 'mongst 'em an' 'tis little ye'll get save snarls an' curses, I'll warrant, pardon or no pardon—an' ye can lay to that."

Well I knew the truth of the fellow's words, but also I knew 'twould never do to let him know I feared his threats, and so, keeping myself well in hand, I strode towards him.

"Ye fool," I cried, "ye cannot do me harm. Know ye not an' ye try to tell that tale 'twill land ye on the gallows yourself? 'Tis idle to threaten. Even now, an' I minded, I could call my slaves an' ha' ye lugged to prison."

"Softly, Cap'n, softly," whined Pretty. "I no ha' mind to harm ye an' ye be reasonable. 'Tis not much I'm asking, Bimshaw, but first a bit o' grog to wet me scuppers, an' a little friendly talk. What say ye an' we step inside an' ha' a quiet drink an' a chat, where it's snug an' private like—in your cabin, as ye might say, wi' no fo'c's'le swabs about? Faith, I ha' no mind to let others know aught I ha' to say to ye."

FOR A MOMENT I hesitated and then, with a wave of my hand, I agreed. "So be it," I said. "There be no stint o' good rum, and ye be welcome to all ye can guzzle, and that's a-plenty as I know. Come within an' set ye down, and let me know what ye ha' on mind."

We entered the room and, placing rum and glasses on the table, I sat myself down to list to what my strange visitor had to say.

Smacking his lips as he finished a great glass of the liquor, he leaned back in his chair and looked at me narrowly before he spoke.

"Now look ye," he said at last, "here I be on my beam ends in a strange port, and ye a-sailin' full and by wi' a fair wind, so to say, which ain't right or proper, says I. Didn't I sail shipmate wi' ye for many a year; didn't I help ye take many a prize; and when ye was chased by the Dons acrost the Main, who ran ye safe an' all standin' to Rum Cay, I arsk ye? Why me, o' course, ye'll say—ol' Pretty, none less—an' so now here I be arter a whack o' the loot I helped ye win, Cap'n."

The fellow's effrontery maddened me; my hands itched to get at his throat, but he was armed and I was not, and while, even so, I feared not the ruffian, yet I knew full well that, did he escape, I would be no better off, and so, controlling my anger, I asked:

"An' how much want ye? I ha' no loot— what I have be mine through honest work. Ye ha' no call on me—ye ever had a share due ye; but ye were shipmate wi' me as ye say—for old times' sake I'll help ye a bit to send ye on your way."

The fellow laughed scornfully. "Scuttle me," he cried, "but ye be rare kind, Bimshaw. 'Tis no charity I be seekin'. I mind to settle down an' turn gentleman mysel'—'tis 'arf I want, full 'arf o' the loot ye've got, Cap'n, an' no more an' no less, an' ye can lay to that, matey."

"Half of what, ye dog?" I exclaimed. "I tell ye I ha' no loot, I ha' no been piratin' since last I saw your ugly face in St. Barts, and what I took afore lies safe hid, and there I 'twill stop for aught o' me. I'll ha' nought o' money won wi' blood."

He half rose from his chair and leaned towards me, his blear eyes red with anger. "Avast there," he hissed. "I'll thank ye to be no' a-callin' o' names. Ye be no more a cap'n on the quarter-deck. I be as good as ye— yea, better mayhap i' the eyes o' many—for I ne'er did aught save at others' bidding. 'Twas ye that led us to deviltry an' murder. As for the loot, 'tis as I thought. Ye ever was a savin' lad, Bimshaw, a queer fish i' very truth. I mind the ways ye had o' stoppiu' the lads from makin' free wi' the pretty gals as fell our way, and I ne'er seed ye nor Grommet Legs spendin' of a doubloon i' merry-makin'. 'Tis a tidy sum ye've hid, I'll wager. Keel haul me, but 'tis strange to hear ye speak o' honest money. Mind ye the galleon we took off Porto Bello; the plate ships ye won by Oruba; aye, an' the sackin' o' Santa Ysabel? That were a bit o' work to cheer one's heart i' truth; aye, Cap'n, a lootin' as Harry Morgan hisself might be proud on. 'Honest money'—ho, ho! Blood an' powder! I warrant ye go to church o' Sundays now. Mayhap 'twould not make a merry stir did those a-prayin' by ye know 'twas a pirate kneeled amongst 'em. Stab me, but parson an' all would run like rats from sinking ship an' they knew the truth; an'—mark me well—they'll know right soon an' ye no gi' what I'm askin'. Bimshaw a-singin' hymns an' prayin'! By the bones o' Drake, 'tis a fine rich jest. But tell me the spot where the loot be hid an' lend me a ship to gain it an' I'll ne'er trouble ye more—ye can play gentleman or parson as ye like an' none the wiser for all o' me."

I laughed in the fellow's face. "Ye fool," I cried, "think ye I be a rum-befuddled dolt like yourself to gi' ye ship that ye may murder my men an' turn pirate?"

"Nay," he answered, "ye be all aback an' drif'in' to leeward, Cap'n. I'd no mind to go a-piratin'. I no ha' head like yours, and the brethren be hunted like beasts—an honest rover can scarce find safe refuge on the Main to-day. Nay, Bimshaw, 'tis ye that be the fool. Think ye I'd go wi' ship an' men o' yours alone—ye'd likely play me false; ye'll come along o' me until the treasure's found, an' them as serves as crew 'll be men o' my own choosin'."

I HAD NO DOUBT that did I refuse the fellow's demands he would go forth and spread the truth of who I was, and, while I held pardon for my past and was safe from punishment or molestation, yet well I knew that once the tale was told I would be looked upon with hatred and contempt by all my friends and neighbors, and Brand too would suffer. But as the rascal sneered and threatened and opened old sores I thought long healed, I forgot all caution and all else save overpowering rage and loathing for the filthy reptile across the table.

"Ye ill-favored swine," I cried, " 'twould serve ye well did I slit your throat for your insolence. Get ye hence an' back to your kennel ere I call slaves to beat ye forth like the whimpering cur ye be."

At my words the ruffian's lips drew back above his yellow fangs in a savage snarl and, whipping out his dirk, he drove it into the table top before him.

"Sheer off," he roared. "An' it comes to slittin' throats 'tis a game as two can play; and, mark me well, 'tis ye will crawl to me like a whipped cur afore I be done an' ye no mind to do my bidding. By the Jolly Roger! I'll see an' ye can stand the feel o' cold steel a-flayin' ye alive. Mayhap an' I took one o' your eyes ye'd see clearer with tother. Swab me! but 'twould no' improve your looks an' I did a bit o' carvin' o' your nose, ye smug-faced, cantin' ol' murderer!"

But the fool had overreached himself— threats did ever madden me—and, leaping to my feet, I seized my chair and hurled it at him.

Quick as light he dodged, the chair crashed against the wall, and, jerking his dirk trom the table, he uttered a wolf-like growl and sprang at me with uplifted weapon.

With a bound I leaped aside, his blow missed, and the knife sank deep into the wainscoting behind me. Before he could recover, aye, ere he'd jerked his blade free, I had reached my trusty cutlass hanging on the wall, and, with a curse, whirled it above my head and brought it crashing down upon his skull.

With a dull thud, like the staving of a cask, it struck; through bone and brain it clove; the dirk slipped clanging from his grasp, and, like an empty sack, he sank lifeless to the floor.

For a moment I stood looking down upon his corpse in silence, and then, with a great sigh of relief to think that he was forever powerless to harm us, I sheathed the sword.

Now that the noseless one was dead I must needs rid myself of his body, for, were my slaves to see him, 'twould give cause for chatter, and I had no mind that questions might be asked by those in authority did they learn I'd slain a stranger.

So, fetching a piece of canvas, I rolled him in it, made it fast with line and dragged the body forth into the gallery. Then, arming myself with shovel, I shouldered the carcass and, bending under the weight—for he was heavy—I made my way to a bit of waste ground where, safe from prying eyes, I buried the carrion beneath the palm trees.

But though his body was thus safely hid, yet upon my floor there spread the deep red stain of blood, and cunningly upon this I cast ink from out the bottle on my table as if, forsooth, it had been spilt by accident, and, the better to deceive, I messed a trail of it upon the chair and table, leaving the bottle upset.

Then, the night being well spent and sleep not coming to mine eyes, I sat musing on the events of the past, which the noseless pirate's visit had once more brought unto my mind.

CHAPTER XIII.

TILL NOW I'd sought to forget the wild and bloody days of my pirate life and, while oft in my dreams I lived again the scenes of strife and slaughter in which I'd taken part, yet ever I had busied my waking mind with the present and strove to put such memories from me.

But the pirate's visit had swept me back to days long gone, for out of the past he had come into my peaceful life, only to die like the dog he was by that same blade which had won me fame and fortune 'neath the Jolly Roger.

As a stone cast into clear water stirs up the mud upon the bottom and clouds the whole, so his presence had stirred the long settled love of fighting within me and, as I'd struck him down, the fire of my pirate days had leaped from the spark buried in my soul and my blood had surged hot with the old thrill at feel of swinging blade and deadly peril.

And now 'twas over and done and I was once more calm; yet, strive as I might, I could think of naught save those matters the noseless one had brought to my mind.

Never for many years had I given heed to the treasures I had hid, for in my desire to lead all honest life I'd vowed to have naught of blood-stained wealth to link me with my deeds of piracy. But now, as I mused and pondered on the matter, I thought how foolish I had been.

The loot was worthless where it lay, serving no one; and, even had I wished, 'twould have been hopeless to try to give it back unto those from whom it had been wrested. And if left thus 'twould some time fall to hands who had no claim upon it, or perchance to those to whom it spelled naught but revelry or devilment, while, did I but have it, to some worthy cause it might be put.

Much I wished that Brand were there to talk the matter over and then, as I thought of him, an idea came unto me. What more fitting for a wedding gift than the limpid pearls of Margarita and the flashing gems and golden baubles from many a Spanish treasure ship—a present worthy of a queen? Aye, and the loot of Santa Ysabel—the jewels of Mercedes. I'd vowed they would ne'er serve aught but worthy purpose; could there be aught more worthy than to grace her whom Brand had taken for his bride? I slapped my knee and chuckled at the thought of how Brand would gape and stare, and his lady would flush and cry aloud in wonder at the wealth I'd spread before them. Faith, with my treasure would they be the richest of all among the islands; aye, and I'd put aside a portion for the little ones to come. By the bones of Drake! Come what might, Brand and his would never want, and my black old heart warmed at the thought.

‘Twould be months ere he returned; the crops were harvested and the plantation needed me not; I had ship lying ready to my hand and so, well content with my plans, I got me to my bed to win a few hours' sleep ere setting about my preparations.

When I awoke 'twas well past dawn and, as the sunlight streamed through the jalousies and the birds sang and twittered in the jasmine and hibiscus, I could scarce believe the events of the night were not all some ugly dream. But the splotch of ink upon the floor and the shattered chair were there to prove the truth and well I knew that 'neath the palms lay he who'd sought to ruin all our lives.

ERE NIGHT FELL again the ship was ready, and before a fair wind we stood forth from the harbour towards the setting sun. Strange indeed it seemed to once more tread the quarter-deck and feel the heave of a ship's hull beneath my feet, and my heart felt light and years were lifted from me as the men flew to do my bidding and I scanned the bellying sails and watched the land grow faint astern, while, before our plunging bow, stretched the broad blue Spanish Main.

Onward through the night we sailed, and when dawn broke the little isle of Aves gleamed clear against the sea scarce a league distant. Here in the lee we cast anchor and pulling ashore in the longboat we landed and, as the countless sea birds wheeled and screeched about us, we dug from the resting place a goodly chest of bullion. Then, with this treasure safely stored, we hoisted anchor and trimming sails steered westward for Saona.

But here others had been before us. Naught but an empty hole we found where years agone I'd hid my store of gold, and never a doubloon did we find. The loss troubled me not, however—there was plenty yet hid on many an isle and key—and through the Mona Passage we sailed to Trade Wind Cay, where, in a secret cave, the loot from two great galleons had been buried. Naught had disturbed it and many a bale of silk, many a cask of wine, and many a chest of doubloons and of golden onzas were added to our cargo.

Then, once more hoisting sails unto the breeze, we left the cay behind, and, rounding the cape of Samana, with Hispaniola on our lea, set course for a little isle hard by Gonaives.

Three weeks we'd been at sea and never a pirate sail had lifted above the rim of the sea. Ships we'd seen; some Dutch, some Dons and some with the triple cross of England flying from their mastheads, but never the Jolly Roger with its grinning skull, for Don and Briton were at peace and all had joined to hunt the corsairs from these waters. But now, as we skirted round the isle, we heard the sound of shots, and, ever mindful of danger—for buccaneers still lurked in many a hidden lair—I called my men to quarters and loaded all our guns in readiness for aught that might befall. Then, as we rounded a wooded point and came in view of the roadstead, we saw a strange ship anchored near the shore. Upon her decks were hurrying men, and from their guns and muskets belched fire and smoke; while from the woods upon the isle, and from a longboat on the beach, came answering shots.

Whether those upon the ship beset them upon the shore or those upon the isle attacked the ship, I knew not, and while I greatly longed to help to win the fight for those in the right yet I hesitated, knowing not with which to cast my lot. But I had not long to wait, for no sooner did those upon the ship catch sight of us than a cry arose, a tongue of flame sprang from the vessel's larboard quarter and a round shot tore through our mainsail.

Loudly barked our cannon in reply and though many of our shots fell short and plunged harmlessly within the sea—for my crew were peaceful merchantmen and knew little of gunnery—yet some found their mark and splinters flew and men fell upon the decks. Then over me came the lust of battle once again, and from the poop I dashed, and with mine own hand trained a gun and, squinting along the barrel, brought it to bear upon the gun crew of the enemy and sent a charge of grape amongst them. Naught had I lost of cunning in handling of a gun, and again and again I trained the cannons, rushing like a madman hither and thither, shouting and cursing, and with the wild thrill of old days upon me, while all about screamed and crashed the shot, and splinters flew and rigging snapped.

But little damage did they do us, for they still had those upon the shore to light, and soon their shots grew less and tip their shrouds a man climbed, waving a white rag in token of surrender.

And as we silenced our pieces and drew alongside and boarded her we found her decks in truth a very shambles and strewn with dead, while those few left alive cast down their arms and begged for quarter.

Meantime those upon the isle had put forth and pulled alongside our ship, and, as I turned from the taking of our prisoners, I stood with staring eyes and gaping mouth, speechless with wonder at sight of one who scrambled across our bulwarks and sprang upon the deck.

(To be concluded in the April number of The American Boy.)

Earlier Adventures of Bimshaw

SINCE BIMSHAW became a pirate through a whim of fortune rather than from choice, he has always had a horror of some of the things which his work forces upon him. Therefore when Brand, whom he has rescued from an open boat after a shipwreck, urges him to abandon this life and become a planter, he and his old mate, Grommet Legs, decide to scuttle their ship when all hands are ashore in port and to sail to Nevis, Brand's home town. There the two live happily and contentedly until one day Brand arrives breathlessly to tell them that they have been identified as pirates and that the King's troopers are on their way to arrest them. Aided by Brand they fight off the troopers but are finally overpowered and Bimshaw is knocked unconscious. He comes to to find that he is in a subterranean dungeon, but an earthquake and tidal wave release him from his prison and he finds himself adrift at sea. Here he is rejoined by Brand, while clinging to wreckage; they make there way to a drifting boat and finally are picked up by a whaling vessel. They offer to stay aboard until a cargo is secured, instead of being set ashore at some strange port, and Bimshaw, proving his skill as a navigator, is made mate of the ship. While in a bay to secure fresh water, along with another whaler, a strange ship appears and asks the loan of a pilot to enter the harbor. Bimshaw goes to the ship, but discovers a ship's officer bound and gagged and concludes the ship is in the hands of mutineers. He pleads that the ship draws too much water to go into the harbor, and feigning cordiality asks the commanding mutineer and his mate to dine aboard the whaler. Then he returns to his ship, where the men await the guests with loaded pistols at their belts.