Adam Penfeather, Buccaneer E-Book

John Jeffery Farnol

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

The executioner adjusted his noose and spoke hoarsely in the doomed man's ear; but the eyes of this man, staring widely, gazed very wistfully at one small, pallid face low down amid the jostling, murmurous throng, an eager, yearning look wherein his every faculty was centred so that he seemed blind and deaf to all else,—therefore the executioner (a busy soul) pushed him suddenly.... The man fell, the deadly rope jerked violently, tightened, quivered....

Leseprobe

ADAM PENFEATHER, BUCCANEER

HIS EARLY EXPLOITS

Being a curious and intimate relation of his tribulations, joys and triumphs taken from notes of his Journal and pages from his Ship's Log, and here put into complete narrative

By

JEFFERY FARNOL

  First Published in 1940

©2020 Librorium Editions

CONTENTS

BOOK ONE

CHAPTER

I.  

TELLS SOMEWHAT OF A FATHER—AND A SON

II.  

TELLS HOW ADAM SMOTE SAVAGERY

III.  

TELLS HOW ADAM RODE TO HIS VENGEANCE AND THE MANNER OF IT

IV.  

CONCERNING ANTONIA THE WOMAN, AND AN OATH OF BROTHERHOOD

V.  

TELLS OF TWO IN THE DAWN

VI.  

HOW ADAM BECAME PENFEATHER, AND ANTONIA, ANTHONY

VII.  

HOW ADAM CAME ABOARD THE STOUT SHIP "LONDON MERCHANT"

VIII.  

GIVES PARTICULARS OF A COUNCIL MUTINOUS

IX.  

TELLS HOW THE "LONDON MERCHANT" BECAME "THE ADVENTURESS"

X.  

CHIEFLY CONCERNING A KISS

XI.  

HOW ADAM DARED THE CAT-O'-NINE-TAILS, AND WHY

XII.  

HOW ADAM BEGAN TO LEARN A SHIP

XIII.  

HOW ADAM SOUGHT TO BECOME A SEAMAN

XIV.  

WHICH TELLS OF A WORDY PASSAGE OF ARMS

XV.  

WHICH DESCRIBES A PASSAGE OF ARMS WITH A DIFFERENCE

XVI.  

THE SALLEE ROVERS

XVII.  

TELLS HOW ADAM LEARNED A GRIEVOUS TRUTH

XVIII.  

TELLS HOW THEY FOUGHT

XIX.  

AFTERMATH

XX.  

OF NO PARTICULAR IMPORT

XXI.  

HOW THEY TALKED AMID GLORY OF STARS

XXII.  

WHICH INTRODUCES DIVERS PAGES OF ADAM'S JOURNAL

BOOK TWO

XXIII.  

TELLS HOW THEY RODE THE STORM

XXIV.  

TELLS HOW AND WHY ADAM MADE HIMSELF CAPTAIN

XXV.  

HERE FOLLOW DIVERS PAGES OF ADAM'S LOG CONCERNING HIS COMPANIONS AND THEIR GRIEVOUS SUFFERINGS IN THE BOAT

XXVI.  

HOW ADAM LED THEM UP OUT OF SLAVERY

XXVII.  

HOW ADAM TOOK COMMAND OF THE GREAT GALLEON

XXVIII.  

TELLS HOW ADAM SET ABOUT TRANSFORMING SLAVES INTO MEN

XXIX.  

HOW ADAM MET MUTINY—AND QUELLED IT

XXX.  

TELLS BY WHAT ARTIFICE ADAM BROUGHT THE "JOYOUS LARK" TO DESTRUCTION

XXXI.  

WHICH IS OF NO PARTICULAR IMPORT

XXXII.  

HOW ADAM BECAME PENFEATHER THE BUCCANEER

XXXIII.  

TELLS HOW THEY CAME TO JAMAICA

XXXIV.  

HOW ADAM HALTED 'TWIXT DOUBT AND CERTAINTY

XXXV.  

HOW ADAM MET BLACK BARTLEMY

XXXVI.  

TELLS OF JOY AND A GLAD REUNION

XXXVII.  

HOW ADAM MET BLACK BARTLEMY FOR THE SECOND TIME

XXXVIII.  

HOW THEY HAD TIDINGS OF ABSALOM TROY

XXXIX.  

CONCERNING ANTONIA, THE WIFE

XL.  

CHIEFLY CONCERNING ANTONIA, THE WOMAN

XLI.  

CHIEFLY CONCERNING ADAM AND ANTONIA

XLII.  

A MAN, A WOMAN, AND A SWORD

XLIII.  

HOW THEY CAME TO DEAD MAN'S KEY

XLIV.  

TELLS HOW THEY FOUND ABSALOM TROY

XLV.  

HOW ABSALOM BROUGHT THEM TO CAVE OF REFUGE

XLVI.  

WHICH IS CHAPTER OF PARTING AND FAREWELL

BOOK ONE

CHAPTER I

TELLS SOMEWHAT OF A FATHER—AND A SON

The executioner adjusted his noose and spoke hoarsely in the doomed man's ear; but the eyes of this man, staring widely, gazed very wistfully at one small, pallid face low down amid the jostling, murmurous throng, an eager, yearning look wherein his every faculty was centred so that he seemed blind and deaf to all else,—therefore the executioner (a busy soul) pushed him suddenly.... The man fell, the deadly rope jerked violently, tightened, quivered....

Then from the awed and silenced crowd rose a voice in shrill, agonized scream:

"Father!"

A frantic, small figure pushed and strove desperately to win nearer that awful, quivering rope, but, finding all efforts vain, screamed once more, cast hands wildly heavenward, sank and was like to have been trampled by the gaping concourse but that a strong hand clutched and dragged him up, a powerful shoulder drove through the press, out into a corner of the market-place, along a narrow street, across a pleasant green and so to a rustic bench set about the massive bole of a shady tree. Here they paused and upon this bench the so dreadfully bereaved son cast himself face down while his rescuer, a tall, bronzed fellow with gold rings in his ears, tilted his be-feathered though somewhat shabby hat to scratch curly head, rasped fingers across jut of blue-shaven chin and finally spoke in voice unexpectedly rich and musical:

"Your father, eh, my lad,—your very own dad!"

The slim shape on the bench writhed as in agonized convulsion yet made no sound.

"Well, now, my poor orphan, I says you can scupper, sink and burn me if this an't a precious sorry business for any dutiful son, and mighty heart-breaking! So, my lad, your present need is rum forthwith—rum and plenty on't. So bowse up, lad, stand away wi' me and rum it shall be." Reaching forth powerful arm, the speaker lifted this quivering shape of horror to its feet and thus saw how this youth was something older than he had deemed, for, though small-made and slender, the face of him showed strangely arresting,—a smooth oval, pale as death, lit by wide-spaced eyes very keenly bright, with pallid lips, close-set to stay their quivering, and long, pointed chin.

"Rum's the word, messmate, with an R a U and an M writ large,—rum!"

"No, 'twould choke me."

"Ay, but 'twill hearten thee ... or stoup of ale, for, next to rum, there's nought for trouble o' mind or body, like nappy ale, 'tis a true Englishman's panacea. Ay, and there's a right classical word for ye, my lad, for though a tarry mariner something inclined for the nonce to be out at elbow, I was and am and shall be very much beside. Rouse up, messmate, and bear away along o' me."

So this tall, strange sailorman sought to comfort his small companion whose frail body was shaken violently ever and anon by violent shudderings and once, faltering in his stride, a groaning outcry broke from him:

"They've killed ... my father ... the world's an emptiness! Oh God ... the rope ... that murderous, cruel rope!"

"Courage, lad! What's done is done, and grief shall not better it. Whereof I'll now make a rhyme and pipe it to thy comfort,—hearkee!" And forthwith, setting long arm about his companion's slim, trembling form, this mariner began to sing these words in voice richly mellow:

"For thee, m'lad, I pipe this lay, So mark and stint thy sorrow, For since they've hanged thy dad to-day, He can't be hanged to-morrow.

And, messmate, there's comfort, too, in this, to wit,—when a man's dead and gone aloft, he's risen 'bove all cares o' mind or plagues o' body—we hope! And now, what might your name be?"

"Adam."

"Why I've heard worse name,—though Father Adam proved snivelling tell-tale on Mother Eve anent that apple business,—howbeit Adam is goodish name, being Biblical, like mine own—mine's Absalom by reason, as I've heard tell, that I was born with uncommon long hair. Absalom Troy am I. And what name hast beside, messmate?"

Instead of answering, Adam lifted clenched hands towards heaven and said between shut teeth:

"It was ... murder! My father wrought 'gainst Papistry and cried down this Spanish marriage ... and for this ... for this they murdered him! And he was so gently kind ... so good a man ... ah God, would I had been a better son. To-day he hangs dead yonder ... his innocent blood is on me, crying for vengeance. Oh God, make me strong, a man's strength. Oh Lord!" Breathless and shaken by the wild passion of his grief, Adam would have fallen but for his companion's clutching hand.

"Avast, messmate!" quoth Absalom, with friendly shake. "Such grief's a shoal for shipwreck. So haul your wind and bear away afore it, large and free, until I can physic ye wi' rum, for hearkee:

"When sorrow and black troubles come, Then souse 'em—drown 'em—deep in rum; And if so be as rum do fail, Then drown 'em deeper yet in ale.

So here's yet another song as I've contrived to thy comfort, boy! I've made the words to many a chorus and chanty, as you shall hear sung lustily all along the Spanish Main from Tortuga to Santa Catarina. Ah, many's the song I've made and sung and wrote down likewise, especially two as be now chanted right hearty aboard ships o' the Coast Brotherhood, true songs, my lad, and of real men—Black Bartlemy for one and Roger Tressady for t'other and hell-fire roarers both or strike me dumb! And there lieth our haven—in the lee o' yon trees. 'The Mariner's Joy,' kept by an old shipmate, and a snug berth for any poor sailorman."

So came they to a sequestered tavern bowered amid the green and into a small, pleasant chamber, its wide lattice open upon a sunny garden fragrant with herb and flower.

"Ho, Ben,—Ben Purdy ahoy!" cried Absalom, sitting down upon roomy settle and beckoning Adam beside him. "Ahoy, Ben, show a leg—and rum, Ben, rum and ale—and lively ho!"

"Ay, ay, sir!" came an answering hail. "Rum it is, wi' ale as ever, sir." And presently to them came a squat, trim, merry-eyed fellow who rolled in his gait yet bore well laden tray very deftly none the less.

"Where be the lads, Ben—Abnegation and lubberly Abner?"

"Abroad, sir."

"Ha. And Captain Smy?"

"He be aloft, sir, wi' his Book. Shall I pass him the word?"

"Nay leave him to his meditations, and see to it we are nowise interrupted, Ben, off with ye! And now," said Absalom, so soon as they were alone, "here's to thy consolation, my poor boy. Sluice the ivories, drink deep and drink oft—come!"

Adam drank and choked, but at earnest solicitation of his new friend, drank again; he sipped rum, he gulped ale, he quaffed both together until at last he nodded drowsily, sank back upon the settle and forgot awhile his sick horror, his grief and heartbreak in the blessedness of sleep.

He awoke to a hoarse rumble of voices at no great distance, and, sitting up, found himself very heavy and languid, his faculties dulled by the pain of his aching head; so for some while he crouched miserably, staring blindly at the opposite wall, for before the eyes of his mind was ghastly vision of a rope that jerked horridly ... quivered ... swung ... and was still. He groaned and bowed pain-racked head between clutching hands ... and now the murmur of these hoarse voices was like the vague, harsh muttering of a pushing, jostling crowd that watched a man die. But in to him through the open lattice came a soft, fragrant air that touched his hot brow like the hand of a loving friend and soothed his rising horror like the blessing of God.

At last, rising uncertainly, he came to this open window and saw that it was evening and three men rolling dice in a rosy sunset. Then he heard the door open behind him and therewith the pleasant, cheery voice of the man Absalom:

"How is 't with ye, lad, how d'ye do now, I wonder?"

"My ... head ... aches!"

"Good, and 'tis no wonder, considering how I dosed thee, boy, for better head that acheth than heart that breaketh."

"It is ... broke."

"Good again, for sink and burn me but ye look all the better for 't, more manly, my lad, I lay my oath ye do! There's some must needs break their hearts or ever they are men enough to mend 'em. Look at me! I broke my heart five year agone and ha' been better man ever since, ay and got me more out o' life, or damme! I changed me from dreaming young fool, sighing and puling for the impossible, into sober man and right cheery soul content to take whatsoever comes and make the best o't, a fellow bold in adversity and jibing at woe, ay so, or may I rot! So, never grieve, m' lad——"

"How should I—not?" groaned Adam.

"By other thinking. Lookee, Adam boy, I was once a mother's darling, then an Oxford scholar, next a fool-lover sick for love, but she proved false, and with my friend, so her I trounced, him I killed in fair fight, bundled me off to sea and to-day here am I a shipmaster without a ship, low in pocket yet high in heart, bold to dare Fortune and spit in the very eye of baleful Circumstance,—and what o' thee, boy, what?"

"That ... rope!" said Adam, staring on vacancy with eyes wide in horror. "You'll mind that murderous rope ... how it ... jerked ... quivered? 'Twas death. Oh, 'twas agony manifest."

"Ay, lad, but by death, agony may be transmuted into abiding joy—if the God of my good mother sits aloft indeed, so comfort thee, Adam."

"Ah but—the rope! I see it yet! I shall see it so long as I live ... so would God I die soon!"

Bowing head, Adam twisted both hands in his long hair and cast himself face down upon the floor to lie there writhing; and when Absalom stooped to lift him, cried out as in bodily agony and bade him go away, which at last the tall mariner did, shaking his curly head and muttering as he went, and so left Adam prone in his misery.

Now as he lay thus, heedless of time and all else save horror and grief, a heavy foot spurned him painfully and a harsh, jeering voice spoke above him:

"Eh, what cursed younker be you, and what doing, eh, kid, eh?" Adam neither spoke nor moved, wherefore this foot stirred him more savagely and the voice jeered him again:

"How then, are ye sick, or drunk, or only dead, eh, boy? Curse ye,—if y'ain't dead, pipe up and answer me." Still Adam made no response and was kicked till he gasped. Then was sound of other feet and a familiar voice:

"Ha, Abner, is't you, and must ye boot my messmate? Why then feel my toe and be damned t' ye, and now my fist, ye lubberly scum!" Here ensued sounds of violent movement with howl of savage pain cut short by slamming door.

More than once, through the long hours, this door opened softly, and though Adam sensed eyes watching him, yet he lay mute and still, face hidden and clutching fingers buried in his long hair.

And so at last came slumber, lulling him to forgetfulness.

His next awaking was to a dazzle of sun and the feel of a hand upon his shoulder, and though he did not look up, he knew this for the hand of a friend.

"Adam," said a voice. "Adam, my poor lad, how are ye now? Speak to me, boy, speak!"

Now in this familiar voice instead of usual jovial ring was something so much the reverse that Adam, moving cramped limbs, turned, then sat up with an effort to blink at the down-bent face of Absalom Troy.

"What now, sir?" he demanded huskily. "Why do you look on me so strangely?"

"Why, Adam, lad, 'tis because yourself is so ... ay, so mighty strange ... very marvellous strange! Something hath befallen you in the night ... and I'm wondering how ... and what. Come, lad, and see for yourself!"

So saying, he lifted Adam to his feet and pointed to a little mirror that hung on panelled wall nearby. Thither, stiff-legged, walked Adam and, looking at his reflection, started, peered close, then fell back a pace, to gaze wide-eyed, for the long, tousled hair framing lined brow and haggard face, hair that should have been glossy black—was white as snow.

"Well, Adam, well? How of it? What d'ye say?"

"Mighty well!" he answered, turning from the looking-glass with strange, mirthless smile. "My loved father was white-haired ... so this white hair honours me and shall be his memorial to bear with honour whiles I live."

CHAPTER II

TELLS HOW ADAM SMOTE SAVAGERY

"And now, sir," sighed Adam, "if you'll show where I may wash me and comb my old man's hair, I'll thank you and go about my business."

"Ay, ay, lad. I'll bring thee with clean towel to pump i' the yard and thereafter shalt feed, my poor boy." Adam shook white head wearily.

"Mr. Troy, you are crassly blind to so mistake me. I alas, am no boy! A man am I these two years, and to-day am aged beyond my years, as you may see."

Tall Absalom looked down at this small, slim figure, this shape of youth crowned by hair silvery white; he looked away, rubbed his chin, shook his head and finally spoke:

"Why then, friend Adam, go along o' me and I'll pump new life and hunger into thee with sweet, fresh water."

So forth went they into a morning bright with sun and glad with song of birds, for the day was young. And presently, stripped to the waist, Adam bowed white head and slender body and was pumped upon and deluged with sparkling water until he gasped, then towelled and rubbed down by Absalom until he glowed and thrilled with new life. Now as Adam, thus half naked, turned for his garments, he chanced to catch his companion's eye, and flushed:

"Ah," said he, frowning, "Master Troy, I perceive you are considering what small, puny wretch I am, eh, sir?"

"Why now, Adam, let me die but there a'n't a vasty deal o' thee,—now is there?"

"Howbeit, sir," retorted Adam in the act of donning shirt and therefore speaking in tone a little muffled, "I have wrought and studied in divers ways and with a painful diligence to make the utmost of what there is of me. I must not be measured by my inches, sir,—or lack of them. Moreover, I——" He broke off with a gasp and ducked suddenly behind his tall companion, for a buxom woman was nodding and smiling at him from an open window nearby.

"Breakfast, Capten!" she cried in laughing tone. "And the little gen'leman needn't show so fearsome modest and coy, I've seen growed men aplenty and I be old enough to mother him, ay and you too, Cap'n Troy!"

"Why so ye do, Martha, Lord bless your handsome face, and never was younger mother or more dutiful, loving son! Messmate, you behold our hostess, commander and general mother—dame Martha Purdy."

"Not as I won't say," chuckled Mrs. Purdy, as Adam struggled desperately with his shirt, "but what your little gen'leman 'ave got the prettiest smooth skin and white as any maid's. Hows'ever, my Ben's this moment a-drawing your ale, there's gammons a-frizzling, likewise eggs, so come your ways this moment, both o' ye, and eat 'em."

And presently eat indeed they did, Adam with such appetite as was his own astonishment.

"Mr. Troy," said he, when at last his hunger was satisfied, "sir, I have very much to thank you for ... your sympathy, for this I am grateful beyond words."

"Dost reckon me thy friend, Adam?"

"Indeed, needs must I."

"Then never 'master' or 'mister' me that is thy friend, call me Absalom or, since 'tis such plaguey mouthful, make it 'Lom' as do certain others, a few ... and tell me this, have ye many friends, Adam, or relations?"

"No."

"Good! For one staunch friend is better than many, and relations, dammem, are generally a curse and plague. So then you've no ties or grapples to hold ye fast aground here in England?"

"Not one!"

"Good again! For, damme, Adam, but I'm mighty set on carrying ye off along o' me, shipmates, you and I.... The broad ocean, the clean winds, and the Main, Adam, the Spanish Main! The golden Indies, Hispaniola, Tortuga, Santa Catarina, the Isle o' Pearls. Ay, and 'twill be noble venture besides,—to save from the hell o' slavery divers goodly gentlemen, poor souls and woeful prisoners, bound for the plantations. Well, how say you, friend, will ye sail with me?"

"With you," Adam murmured thoughtfully, "yet who beside?"

"Certain lusty fellows, well chosen and prime sailor-men all, here with me lie four o' the chiefest, namely—Captain Smy Peters, Nicholas Cobb, Abnegation Mings and Matt Appleby."

"There is also," said Adam, pinching his long chin between nervous, sinewy fingers, "the man Abner."

"Ay, ay, though he's no more than mere lubberly rogue. But for the rest, they be all tried and sober men, well beknown to me and to each other.... Hast ever heard tell o' the Brotherhood o' the Coast, Adam?"

"Never."

"Ah well, 'tis a staunch company, and powerful in the Indies and along the Main, and made up of English, French, Scots, Hollanders and others, good, bad and indifferent,—like Life itself, Adam. So now, will ye 'list with us, wilt hazard thy life—first to the rescue of these doomed prisoners and thereafter dare Fortune on thine own account?"

"How so, Absalom?"

"Join the Brotherhood, as my sworn comrade."

"And what then, Absalom?"

"To live a man's life, Adam, hearty and free, or die as a man should—on his feet and in fullness o' strength, hailing Death as friend and cheerily."

"To die—suddenly," nodded Adam, "on my feet to welcome Death as kindly friend,—ay, this were better than to perish by inches—cowering in a bed! So, Absalom, I'll with thee,—to win fortune and power or six foot of earth, or say—five foot and an inch. So, when do we sail?"

"Three days hence, from Shoreham."

"Then shall be time a-plenty for that I have to do, and the sooner the better. Pray lend me weapon of some sort,—pistol, hanger or rapier, any shall serve."

"Ay, but to what end, Adam?"

"The performance of a sacred duty."

"Ay, and might a friend ask—what?"

"I go to kill my uncle."

"Madre de Dios!" murmured Absalom, opening his blue eyes wider than usual, while Adam, leaning head on hand, sighed deeply and explained:

"It was he betrayed my father, his own brother, to shameful death ... that ghastly, twitching rope...!"

"Art sure o' this, Adam?"

"Beyond all doubt."

"Then 'tis case of homicide justifiable, eh, Adam?"

"So I believe, for he is murderer beyond reach of the law, therefore I must be his death—or he mine."

"How then, you'll fight him, messmate?"

"Indeed!" nodded Adam.

"Nay, lad, I protest 'tis fool's way to deal with a murderer."

"Agreed!" answered Adam. "Yet, for my father's sake, I had rather die such fool than live and feel myself a murderer. So this guilty man shall fight for his life, and howsoever it end, I shall be content, myself now having no least fear of death."

"Why then, Adam, an thou'lt be Nemesis and slaughter thy nunks, I, like trusty friend, will——" He paused and turned sharply as the door opened to disclose a shock-headed country fellow in smock-frock who beckoned with back jerk of thumb, saying:

"Oh, Cap'n, youm wanted main bad in kitchen or bloody murder will be for sure. There be Must' Abner in kitchen, wi' loaded dag, all full o' rum and Old Nick 'e be—in kitchen along wi' Cap'n Mings an' landlord Ben and dame in kitchen, sir, and all on 'em backed rearwise into corner—in kitchen 'e be and swearin' very 'orrorsome."

Up leapt Absalom with swirl of wide coatskirts and a pistol which seemed to have leapt to his fist from the air.

"Burn him! Is he drunk again, Tom?"

"Ay, sir—leastways, fightin'-sober, I'd say—in the kitchen, Cap'n, and——"

"Devil take the sot! I'll go wing him——"

"Pray—no!" said Adam, rising very nimbly. "This Abner kicked me, yester evening, so this morning, by your leave, I'll deal with him."

"Eh—you, little master?" quoth Tom, shaking shock head. "Nay, he'd eat ye, 'e would,—bolt and swaller ye at jest one mouthful 'e would."

"Yet should I choke him—mayhap. Howbeit, friend Absalom, put up thy pistol and suffer me to try."

"Why now, messmate," said Absalom dubiously, "'tis murderous rogue very powerful and should ye fail——"

"'Twill be an end o' my grief, Absalom—come!"

A stone-flagged passage brought them to a wide, pleasant kitchen where, crouched in a corner stood two men and the buxom hostess fronting a great, brawny fellow, stripped to the waist, who pounded on broad, hairy chest with one fist and flourished a pistol in the other.

"Lookee now," cried he fiercely, "when I goes for to kiss a woman, she ain't agoin' for to deny me, no nor nobody else ain't neither, and anybody as says me different——"

"Swinish beast!" hissed Adam, in such a voice that the fellow started and turned to stare in open-jawed amazement. "Fool!" cried Adam, pointing suddenly. "Look! Look behind ye, there, fool—there!" Instinctively this man Abner glanced back across his wide shoulder and, in that moment, Adam leapt, grasped the pistol by lock and barrel, wrenched, twisted, and sprang back and with the weapon levelled at the scowling face of Abner who, blinded by rage, groped for the cutlass a-swing at his hip.

"Good!" exclaimed Adam, and gave the pistol into Absalom's ready hand saying, "Lend me a hanger, somebody." A cutlass was thrust into his grasp; he balanced the weapon, shook his head and sighed at it, then with the broad blade advanced, fronted his mighty adversary and instantly their steel rang together in vicious cut and dexterous parry; then, with these sharp, curved blades grinding together they circled one another.

"Now, fool," said Adam, gazing up at his brawny antagonist narrow-eyed, "do your utmost best or I'll blood ye—fight, numps—fight!"

Wrought thus to a very frenzy, the man Abner uttered a beast-like, inarticulate howl and smote full-armed, terrible blows that were somehow deftly turned or narrowly eluded by this small, puny creature who seemed always only just out of reach, who moved so nimbly on dancing feet and who, bobbing white head, laughed and mocked.

"One!" cried Adam, out-flashed his levelled steel—and there on Abner's brawny arm was thin trickle of blood. Abner gasped a curse and smote the wilder; but his furious, cutting strokes were avoided or turned aside and each parry was followed by instant, lightning thrust, for whereas Abner used only the edge, Adam plied the quicker point, rapier-fashion.

"Two! Three!" he cried; and presently, "Four! Five! Six! ..." And now Abner's great, bare arms and chest were flecked by small spots and scarlet runnels.

"I'm blooding ye, fool, I'm—blooding ye!" Adam panted. "Drop your ... useless steel or ... I'll cut ye into ... foul gobbets." Abner gasped hoarse curses, his attack grew feeble, he gave back and back until at last, stung beyond endurance by these ceaseless pin-pricks and cowed by the sight of his own blood, he staggered aside to the window, dashed his cutlass to the floor and clambering out through the wide casement, reeled away like a drunken man.

Then Adam laid by the weapon he had used to such purpose and turned to be gone; but to him came a sprightly man, a ruddy, smiling fellow who slapped him on the back, grasped and shook his hand, with joyful oath and question to every shake:

"I'm Mings, I am, mate! Abnegation Mings, that's me. And you can choke and let me rot if I ever see the like! Twas woundy miracle or let me drownd! And here's me to ax how 'twas done—and Abner twice the size o' ye, how, friend how?"

"It was because," answered Adam, putting his too eager questioner aside, "the man Abner is an ignorant clod and afraid to die, and I am neither." So saying he went from the kitchen, leaving clamorous amazement behind him.

Going forth into the garden, and the sun now very warm and glad all about him, he wandered here some while until he came upon a small arbour bowered in honeysuckle, and entering this pleasant shade, sat down and presently fell to troublous meditation. Bees hummed drowsily, birds chirped and piped above and around him and then, borne to him on the sunny air came a man's voice upraised in song and these the words:

"There are two at the fore, At the main be three more, Dead men that hang all of a row; Here's fine, dainty meat For the fishes to eat, Black Bartlemy—Bartlemy ho!"

And presently forth into the sunshine came Absalom Troy to breathe deep of the fragrant air, while Adam watched him with a wistful envy,—such handsome fellow, blithe in his strength and vigorous manhood, all careless grace from curly head to spurred boot (thought Adam),—such tall, commanding figure despite shabby garments which had once been things of splendour. Now glancing from this shape of stalwart manhood to his own puny form with look of bitter dispraisal, Adam sighed very despondently. Then was a cheery hail and Absalom came striding to halt without the arbour, to fold his arms and gaze down at woeful Adam with a new interest.

"Messmate," quoth he, shaking comely head, "I protest you become my astonishment, I vow you do, or damme! For I perceive in thee a sucking Achilles, Ajax and Hector, one and indivisible. There's curst Abner bleeding like stuck pig and yourself untouched,—there's Mother Martha, Ben and Abnegation swearing 'twas spells and magic, here's myself astounded, as I say, and very fain to know the how of it."

"Here is nought for wonder," answered Adam, "the art of weapon-craft was born in me, and hath been well nurtured from my boyhood up, and by a very perfect swordmaster ... my patient tutor at each and every weapon, broadsword, backsword and rapier ... a tutor very able, very wise and kind."

"Ah," said Absalom, sitting down to set long arm about Adam's drooping form, "this was——?"

"Yes, my ... father," Adam answered, choking on the word. "By his will I had divers other famous instructors beside,—and this the reason. Upon a day, and I a schoolboy, my father found me in tears and bloody of face for I had been at fisticuffs, and I told him I wept not for my hurts but because God had made me so small and weak. Then he kissed me, saying: 'Comfort thee, my little son, for, though Nature hath cast thee in mould so small, the Lord hath blessed thee perchance in other ways, and there is a strength of soul nobler than power of body. But now because 'tis a harsh world for the weak and more especially if weakness be valiant and bold-hearted to dare the strong, I will show thee a craft, a mystery of weapons that, God aiding, shall make thee terrible as a giant, yet first promise me, little son, thou wilt be terrible only against the aggressor.' So I promised, and so was I instructed, and so ... may God rest and cherish the sweet soul of him!"

"Amen!" said a deep voice, and, glancing up, Adam beheld a lean, dark man, grim and somewhat sinister of aspect though very neat as to person and clad in garments of sober black.

"Messmate," said Absalom, gesturing towards this man, "you behold my good friend and shipmate Captain Smy Peters. Smy, here sitteth my young Achilles, Hector and Ajax called Adam. He hath mayhap another name, but no matter. Come you in, Smy, and sit likewise. So,—now here are we and presently, with somewhat to wet our whistles, we'll confer on what is to be, and the how and what o' things." Here, lifting his pleasant voice in mellifluous bellow, he hailed the house:

"'Mariner's Joy'—ahoy! Ho, Ben—ale, ahoy. Three tankards! And lively ho!"

"Young master," said Captain Smy, his harsh look softening, "sometimes,—let's say—occasionally—a good sire begetteth a good son, and thy so late sire, as I hear, was good and noble man, for Absalom telleth me he was of The Elect, a zealous servant o' the Lord. Now, by accounts, thou'rt a right lusty smiter, maugre thy size, and this should be a bond betwixt us, for I am myself a pre-destined smiter of Iniquity, and come of such Godly, hard-smiting stock that my good father, Lord love him,—had me christened Smite-Sin-With-Both-Hands, which, though original name, is yet one calling for such excess o' wind or breath that 'tis of necessity reduced and shortened to Smite, and this again to Smy. Being so named, I was so bred that smite sin I did and do when and wheresoever found, ashore or afloat. Ay verily, I've smote and been smitten right heartily ere now to the chastening o' poor, erring humanity,—in especial cursed Spanishers, Portugales, Papists and Pirates, rot 'em! Well now, I am still very zealous to 'smite the wicked in his sin and uproot the unrighteous in pride of evil', for, as saith Holy Writ,—'the soul of the transgressor shall eat violence'. Thus, friend, for thy right worthy father's sake, I humbly proffer my service to the proper and needful avenging of his innocent blood, even though I do but keep the door whiles Justice achieves."

"Sir," answered Adam, "I thank you gratefully, yet think I may better despatch alone."

"Nenny, messmate, no, no!" quoth Absalom. "For such business as this slaughter o' guilty nunks, two is better than one and three than two, and three are we. Moreover we languish in idleness very damnably, so—when shall the matter achieve, Adam?"

"To-night."

"Good! And whereaway, near or far?"

"But twelve miles or so."

"Good again! There be nags in stable, we ride to-night then, after supper. Now for thyself, Adam, what o' thy gear, clothes and so forth?"

"They lie at the 'King's Head', in Horsham, all I shall need."

"Very well. To-day, Ben or his man shall bear a writing from thee and fetch 'em away. Meanwhile since we shall be aboard ship pretty soon, 'tis but right we should tell thee—somewhat, eh, Smy?"

"With discretion, brother."

"Well then, Adam, you'll have heard tell of the Buccaneers and Pirates of the Main?"

"Yes."

"Good! Then, first and foremost—a buccaneer is no pirate."

"The Lord forbid!" quoth Smy, fervently.

"A pirate, Adam, lives for murder by murder. He is a lousy, pestilent fellow, a plague o' the seas, who will plunder and destroy any vessel weaker than his own—and of any nation. His sport is rape and slaughter of the defenceless, he is, in fine, a very bloody, vile rogue and damned rascal,—eh, Smy?"

"Ah, 'tis even so, friend Adam," nodded Smy, grimly. "He is an abomination, a rank offence whose iniquities reek to heaven."

"On the other hand, messmate, your true buccaneer hath but two enemies, to wit—himself by reason of drink and the devil, and the accursed Spaniard with his hellish slave-galleys, cruel autos da fé the which are public burnings—crowds of poor men, ay and women too,—and the most horrid torments of his Inquisition. Three good friends o' mine were tortured to death at Lima for no more than sailing those seas that the prideful Dons esteem their very own. The buccaneer, afore he rose against the Spanish tyranny, was a peaceful hunter,—beef and pigs, their flesh he dried and flavoured above a fire of spicy twigs called a 'boucan', and so cometh this name 'bucca-neer'. And of all the Buccaneer captains o' the Main, Adam, none better esteemed or more fortunate, up to a point, than Captain Smy Peters, of the Hope of Glory, thirty guns, and Absalom Troy, of the Golden Venture, twenty. And—of all pirates that foul the seas, no greater rogue or bloodier villain than Black Bartlemy, of the Ladies' Delight."

"Black Bartlemy," repeated Adam, "you were singing of him awhile ago, I think."

"'Tis like enough, messmate. I sing often without knowing. This was song I made after a voyage with him and his mate Tressady, and what I wrote, I saw. Belike I shall write other verses of him some day."

"This was of dead men, Absalom, five of them, and all a-swing."

"And they were hove aloft together, Adam, and—Englishmen all, not a cursed Spaniard among 'em."

"And you—watched this done?"

"I did, Adam, and dumb as any oyster lest I should make a sixth. And 'tis to sink, burn and destroy Bartlemy's accursed ship and make an end of him that Smy and I are pledged and sworn."

"Verily and indeed!" sighed Captain Smy. "It is my constant prayer that I may be so blest to let out his evil soul by incision of steel beneath his fifth rib, or—watch him hang, for 'tis very son of Belial."

"And yet," said Adam, "you sailed with him, Absalom!"

"Perforce, messmate. I'd been cast away on a lonely island where his ship chanced to put in for water."

"What like is this Black Bartlemy?"

"A smiling, fiendly gentleman, Adam, all niminy-piminy affectations, and, save for lace ruffles, all sable black from trucks to keelson. Yet none the less an apt rapier man and vastly proud of his skill,—a notable swordsman, eh, Smy?"

"Verily, brother. I watched him kill the famous Italian Vincenzio at St. Kitts, in masterly fashion,—a feint, a parry, two beats and—through Vincenzio's eye,—extreme neat and dexterous."

"Some day, Adam, you may see Bartlemy for yourself and find chance to take his measure, eh?"

"I should embrace the opportunity," said Adam, rising. "And now I'll go see about my few worldly possessions."

"Ay, ay, messmate, and tell Ben we shall want horses for to-night, after supper."

CHAPTER III

TELLS HOW ADAM RODE TO HIS VENGEANCE AND THE MANNER OF IT

The moon was well up and very bright when they reached the top of a hill; and here Adam reins in his horse to point where, plain to see in this pale light, rose the chimneys and gables of a comfortable farm-house.

"So ho!" exclaimed Absalom. "A sizeable place. There'll be servants aplenty, womenfolk to scream and make alarm, dammem!"

"Yet this shall not let or stay the hand o' Justice," quoth Captain Smy.

"No whit, old lad, or burn me! So, Adam, to avoid such female clamours, your best course should be to lure nunky forth and do his business out o' doors—if ye be still o' the same mind, ha?"

Answered Adam, between shut teeth:

"When so I close my eyes I needs must see ... that murderous rope ... jerking ... swaying.... Follow me!"

Down the hill he led them, and by a winding lane that brought them to a place of trees and in this shadow they dismounted and tethered their horses.

"You ha' the swords, Adam?"

"Yes."

"Dogs, now?" enquired Absalom, taking out his pistols to glance at their flints and primings. "Any dogs, messmate?"

"In the rickyard at the back; however, they know me. Come!"

So through a night very close and still, they began to approach this house, all three, and very silent.

"Aha!" whispered Absalom, as they drew near. "Yon window, lad, its lattice wide open to thy purpose! Easy all now."

Being come to this open window, Adam looked into a small, arras-hung chamber where, at littered writing-table, a man sat poring over one of the many papers before him, a rosy, full-bodied personage who, starting to soft, unexpected sound, glanced up to behold a small, grim figure with pale, set face beneath close-fitting seaman's bonnet and two naked swords beneath one arm.

"Uncle," said Adam, approaching this staring man on slow, soundless feet, "they hanged my father ... yesterday morning!"

"Adam? Eh—it is nephew Adam, I think? Adam, be welcome ... eh ... but ... what is it? What would ye, boy? How are you here ... so ... so suddenly ... so unexpected. Ha! what is 't, Adam ... what——?"

"Death, sir! They killed your brother and my father ... yesterday ... in the morning ... and the sun so glad and bright."

"Why this ... this I know, my poor Adam. Alas, 'tis so I've heard and——"

"Alas, uncle, 'tis so you contrived."

"I, boy? My own brother? No, no! Who says so lies! Ay, 'tis lie, 'tis most foul and wicked lie!"

"'Tis known and grievous fact, sir. Indeed 'tis truth so sure that I am here to do justice on you. Choose now one of these swords,—and make no least outcry or alarm lest I strike you dead,—choose, I say!"

"No! No! Oh God forgive thee, nephew, such basely cruel, such wicked accusation ... I am innocent! I vow ... I swear it before——" He gasped and cowered as through the casement one after another, came Absalom and Captain Smy.

"Oh, sirs ... sirs," he quavered, "what ... oh what would ye?"

"Justice!" answered Absalom.

"The Great Tribunal!" nodded Smy.

"So, Uncle," said Adam, "take now one of these swords to kill me if you can, or—die like a gentleman."

"No, no! Have mercy on me, Adam. Show pity——"

"Sir, I watched a ... twitching rope that had neither. So, Uncle—fight."

"Nay, spare me.... Oh, for God's sake, spare me.... I did but my duty to the King.... Oh, pity me!"

The wretched creature was down upon his knees, a pallid, sweating, grovelling shape of terror with arms outflung in frantic entreaty—arms that were seized by powerful hands quick to strangle all outcry, and thus to gag and pinion him in tall elbow chair.

"Bell-rope!" snarled Captain Smy; the which and instantly Absalom cut asunder, wherewith the half-swooning wretch was speedily trussed and bound to the heavy chair.

"Better so!" quoth Smy, as he tested the cunning, seaman's knots he had tied. "Better we leave him to the Lord his mercy. The Lord shall decide if such rogue murderer live or die!" So saying, he took a candle from its sconce and set fire to the many papers on the table and then to the arras on the walls that went up in instant flame; which done, he grasped Adam by the arm and led him towards the window.

"Nay, but," gasped Adam, holding back, "to die—such death?"

"Even so!" nodded Smy. "The purging, fiery torment here and the flames of Hell hereafter—except the Lord will otherwise. Come now!"

Reaching the open air, Adam paused to snatch off his seaman's bonnet and breathe deep, glancing back wide-eyed upon that place of fiery torment.

"Come," said Absalom, clapping him on shoulder, "cover that white head o' thine and let's sheer off and——"

"My ... white head..." repeated Adam, and gasped, and began to run....

Back through that open casement, back into a hell of smoke and crackling flame; choking and half blind, he cut asunder the bonds of this swooning man, to drag him towards the window through eddying smoke and the fierce leap of red fires. Blinded and failing, he struggled on ... reached the window at last and sank there groaning.... Then strong arms were lifting him.

"No!" he gasped, struggling. "Him ... first!"

So, in his turn, Adam was hauled forth of that terror of smoke and mounting flame and lay awhile on cool, dewy grass to breathe deep of the sweet night air; then a powerful arm raised him and a voice spoke above him.

"How are ye, messmate?"

"Very well ... thanks to the both of you," he answered, struggling to his feet.

"And what o'—this?"

Now glancing round, Adam saw his uncle crouched nearby upon his knees.

"Oh, Adam!" he sobbed. "Oh, Adam.... Twas you brought me out of hell ... am I to live? Ah, God of mercy ... is this life?" But, with no word, Adam turned and limped away between his two silent companions, through a darkness shot now by a red and awful glow.

CHAPTER IV

CONCERNING ANTONIA THE WOMAN, AND AN OATH OF BROTHERHOOD

It was as they breathed their horses after the ascent of a steep hill that the girl came tumbling down upon them,—a wild, breathless creature who, bursting through hedge that crowned the steep grassy bank, rolled and slid into the narrow road so suddenly that their startled horses danced and Absalom slipped from saddle.

"Don't..." panted the girl, clinging to him with desperate hands, "don't ... for dear God's sake ... let them ... take me."

"Not I, or damme!" he answered, clasping ready arm about her. "But what the——" His question was forbidden by a loud, hoarse shout above:

"Hey there ... hey, you down there," cried this voice breathlessly, "hold me fast the ... bloodsome, curst ... Jezebel ... hold her!"

"I am," answered Absalom, stealing hand into deep side-pocket. "Then what?"

"Keep her so ... till us gets our claws on 'er. Hey, Jacob ... Oh, Jake, 'ere she be! Come ye now ... down this yere bank ... foller me!" Down the slope scrambled a burly fellow armed with a stout bludgeon.

"Thankee, gemmen," quoth he, "thankee for saving my legs and breath. She run like a stag, ah, like a perishin' deer, she did. So now I'll take the curst jade and——"

"Good fellow, tut-tut!" said Absalom, putting the girl behind his broad back. "Easy, my pretty cut-throat lurcher, and very gently now."

"Eh—what?" demanded the man, handling his bludgeon. "You gimme that there gallers-vixen now or 'twill be the worse for ye. I got the Law, I 'ave."

"But not the lass—yet!" said Absalom, speaking with an extreme of mildness. "First I must beg to know the wherefore and the why——"

"Oh, Jacob!" cried the man. "Come on down! Yere she be——" At this, there descended another man even burlier than his fellow.

"What's to do yere?" he growled. "Come on now, us don't want no 'by-your-leaves' nor 'ow d'ye do's, us wants the gell and we're a-goin' for to tek 'er, one way or t'other, so which is it for to be? Does you give 'er up or do we set about the lot o' ye?"

"Fie!" exclaimed Absalom, spreading his feet slightly. "Such a fearsome, violent fellow! Pray don't terrify me, speak me kind and say why you want this trembling child,—what hath she done?"

"Ho, child, d'ye say? A f'rocious vixen! And, wot's she done? Robbery, ah and—murder, that's wot she's done! So 'tis prison, 'tis rope and gallers for 'er! Now give 'er up,—we're the Law."

"Why then," quoth Absalom in his rough seaman's voice and diction, "sheer off, afore I rip out your livers,—both 'o ye! Aha, is that it?" With these words, he leapt, very suddenly, in beneath up-swung bludgeon and instantly felled his would-be assailant with down-smiting pistol-barrel, while Captain Smy seemed to fall bodily from saddle upon the second man, bearing him to earth. So, for brief space, was dust and sounds of strife.

"All fast ... messmate?" panted Absalom, at last.

"Ay, ay, brother, my rogue is peaceful awhile. Don't forget to belay and make fast their jaw tackle."

"Not I, shipmate, my fellow's fast, and dumb as a damned oyster."

"Then, brother, it's loose moorings and stand away."

Hereupon, they mounted their horses that Adam had been holding; but, being in the saddle, Absalom turned to look at the girl who stood leaning in shadow of the bank between the silenced but writhing forms of her late pursuers who lay expertly gagged and bound with their own belts and neckcloths.

"Sink me!" he exclaimed, "what o' the lass?"

"Yes," she answered, in tremulous voice yet without moving. "What shall become of me? I can run no farther. I'm ... faint with hunger and have no money——"

"Then," said Captain Smy, leaning down to her, "take these few coins, child, and may the Lord bless and be thy protection."

"And, lass, take my purse," cried Absalom. "I would 'twere heavier."

"Get you up on to my horse!" said Adam. "Come,—here before me. Give me your hand,—now your foot on my toe—up!"

Swiftly, lightly she obeyed, and with this quick-breathing, soft-trembling fugitive within his bridle-arm, Adam rode forward, his two companions following after, wide-eyed.

Now as they rode thus, said Absalom to his old shipmate:

"Well, Smy, what say ye to this?"

"Yonder I see trouble!"

"Ay, a petticoat,—and in it a young murderess!"

"Brother, since Eve ate the apple, man's chief trouble hath been woman!"

"True enough, Smy, and the sooner we are rid o' this one, the better for all concerned...."

Meanwhile, the subject of their talk was stealing side-long glances at Adam and, the moon being so very bright, caught him glancing askance at her.

"Well?" she enquired timidly and almost whispering.

"Yes, I ... I hope so!" he answered, almost as shyly.

"But," said she, emboldened by this, "you ask me no questions ... my name ... who I am ... what—I have done."

"I ... I wait to be told ... if you will."

"I struck down my master with his own sword."

"And—killed him?"

"I don't know ... the sword was sheathed. I ... oh, I for the moment ... meant to kill him. I struck him very hard because he would have whipped me ... and ... worse."

"Then," said Adam, looking on the distance, "I grieve the sword was sheathed."

"I struck so hard that he fell and hit his head—I saw blood on his face! Then I was afraid and ran away."

"And ... the things you stole?"

"These clothes that cover me. I was to pay for them out of my wages and have not. His servants came after me, but I hid in a wood."

"Were those two men his servants?"

"No, they were law officers from Horsham. They caught me once and told me I must hang on a gallows. I broke from them and ran and ran till I thought I should fall dead, and then ... I found you. But I know.... Oh I know if I'm taken they'll prison and hang me ... as they did a girl that stole five yards of lace ... only last month.... My master and mistress took me to see.... Oh it was horrible.... She screamed and cried ... just as I should! So I'm afraid for my life."

"Then you must not be taken."

"No—no! I pray merciful God! Yet is there any place in England I shall ever be safe?"

"Ay, to be sure! Never doubt it," he answered, and so confidently that she took comfort from his mere look and tone.

"Pray what is your name?" she asked him.

"Call me Adam."

"And I am Antonia Chievely—because I was found by a rich lady named Chievely in the porch of Saint Anthony's church. She adopted me, educated me but—ah, most of all she taught and learned me how to love her. Six months ago nearly, her horse ran away and killed her, and because there was no will, her nephew took everything, all her property, and they turned me away. So, to live, I became a serving maid ... and to-day I am penniless ... afraid, and very lonely."

"I am lonely too!" said Adam.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To safety, I hope."

"But where—where?"

"A tavern called 'The Mariner's Joy.'"

"A tavern!" she repeated, whispering, and glanced fearfully from the speaker's pale, strange face to the grim horsemen behind.

"What now?" Adam questioned, for he felt her shudder violently.

"I'm wondering ... wondering what is to become of me? It was to 'scape one man that I struck and fled, and now ... three!"

"However," answered Adam, "these three are men indeed, moreover, of these three, I am one."

"You!" she repeated, hopelessly. "But they are so big and you so ... young."

"And—small!" said he, bitterly. "But as for young—look at this!" And snatching off his seaman's bonnet, showed his long white hair all glistening to the moon. "How say you now—child?" he demanded, somewhat grimly.

"Sir," she answered, viewing him with very wistful, humbly-questioning eyes, "I know not how or what to say. Your face—so young and your head—so very old! Sir, indeed I cannot tell what to say."

"Well," quoth Adam, covering his hair again, "if my head be old it should be wise, and if it be wise, it should scheme how to save and keep a poor lonely child safe from all harms and dangers."

"Sir," said she, after they had gone some little way and no word, "there is something you may tell me, if you will, a thing that puzzles me ... why do you smell of fire?"

"Because," he answered, looking up at the serene night sky, "I have come through the fire of ... Great Tribulation."

It was about now that Absalom said to his solemn companion:

"Love my eyes! Smy, wilt look now at my young Adam. He's said more to his slip of a murderess in this short while than to me since I hauled him to his spindleshanks. Ay, he has so—or I'm a forked radish!"

"Absalom, I ponder how best and soonest we may dispose of the poor creature to her own safety and good. For, as the Lord knoweth, she shall find neither along of us!"

"True enough, messmate, we are no company for any young lass, so—how and when is the question. Ha, damme, she's a woman's concern and care,—we be men and bent on plaguey desperate course. And besides there's Mings and t'other wild lads. The 'Mariner's Joy' shall be no harbourage for any maid, murderess or no."

"How so be, Lom, we shall supply her with what o' money we may and thereafter leave her in care o' the Lord that hath been our protection hitherto, bringing us, thou and I, all unscathed through such stress o' tempest, shipwreck, battle and bloody strife as is my abiding wonder and cause for gratitude."

"True enough, Smy, we should ha' been bleached bones long since, otherwise.... And yonder, where the ways divide shall indeed be a parting o' the ways. Forrard, messmate!"