Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 20

"And you so short-handed, Cap'n," quoth Bym.

"Sir Rupert hath 'listed thirty new men, I hear, and rogues every one I'll be sworn."

"Sir Rupert--?" says I.

"My lady's cousin, Martin, and captain of the expedition."

"Is he a sailor, Adam?"

"No, Martin, like most o' your fine gentlemen-adventurers, he knows no more of navigation than this cheese, which is just as well, Martin, aye, mighty well!"

"How so?"

"Who shall say, Martin, who shall say?" And here he took a long draught of ale. In a while, our meal being ended, Penfeather rose:

"As to arms, Martin, ha' ye aught beside your knife?"

"My staff and this pistol," says I, taking out the silver-mounted weapon my lady Brandon had thrust upon me.

"Is't loaded, Martin?" I examined charge and priming and nodded.

"Good!" says Adam, "Here's five shot betwixt us, that should suffice.

Up wi' the trap, Jo, and we'll out." Hereupon Bym lighted his lanthorn and putting aside the great settle by the hearth, stooped and raised one of the flagstones, discovering a flight of worn, stone steps, down which we followed him and so into a great cellar or vaulted crypt, where stood row upon row of barrels and casks, piled very orderly to the stone roof. Along the narrow way between strode Bym, and halting suddenly, stooped and lifted another flagstone with more steps below, down which we followed him into a pa.s.sage-way fairly paved, whence divers other pa.s.sages opened right and left. And when we had gone some distance Adam halted.

"Best bring the light no further, Jo," says he. "And hark'ee, Joel, as to this black rogue--this--y'know who I mean, Jo?"

"Aye--him, Cap'n!"

"That same, Jo. Well, keep an eye lifting and if you find out aught worth the telling, let one o' your lads ride post to Deptford, Jo."

"Aye, Cap'n. Aboard s.h.i.+p?"

"Aboard s.h.i.+p."

"Cap'n," quoth he, grasping Adam's hand, "I'm man o' few words, an'

thanks t' you I'm snug enough here wi' my wife and darter as is away till this cargo's run, but, say the word, and I'll sail along o' you come battle, murder or s.h.i.+pwreck--"

"Or a hook, Joel?" says Penfeather softly, whereat Joel clawed at his beard and blinked into the lanthorn; finally he gives a great tug to his beard and nods:

"Aye, Cap'n," says he, "for you--even that, by c.o.c.k!"

"Good lad," says Penfeather, clapping him on brawny shoulder. "Bide where you are, Jo, and Fortune with you and yours. This way, Martin."

So having taken our leave of Bym, G.o.dby and I followed Adam along the pa.s.sage, guided by the Bo's'n's lanthorn until, turning a sudden, sharp corner, we plunged into pitchy gloom wherein I groped my way until Penfeather's voice stayed me:

"Easy all!" says he, softly. "Have your pistols ready and heed how you come." Creeping cautiously I found myself amid leaves that yielded before me, and stepping through this natural screen, I stumbled into a bush and presently found myself standing in a small copse dim-lighted by a waning moon; and never a sound to be heard save the soft whisper of leaves about us and the faint, far cry of some night-bird.

"Ha!" says Adam at last, gazing away to the sinking moon, "So our journey begins, and from the look o' things, Martin, from the look o'

things here's going to be need of all your resolution and all my caution ere we can see the end. Come!"

CHAPTER XIV

HOW I CAME ABOARD THE "FAITHFUL FRIEND"

We followed a roundabout course, now across broad meadows, now treading green cart-tracks, now climbing some gra.s.sy upland, anon plunging into the shadow of lonely wood or coppice until the moon was down, until was a glimmer of dawn with low-lying mists br.i.m.m.i.n.g every gra.s.sy hollow and creeping phantom-like in leafy boskages; until in the east was a glory, warming the grey mist to pink and amber and gold, and the sun, uprising, darted his level beams athwart our way and it was day.

And now from coppice and hedgerow, near and far, was stir and flutter, a whistling and a piping that rose ever louder and swelled to a trilling ecstasy of gladness.

"Hark to 'em--O pal, hark to 'em!" quoth G.o.dby, lifting head to watch a lark that soared aloft. "Here's music, Martin, here's cure for the megrims, hope for the downcast and promise o' joys to come. O hark to 'em!"

All the day Penfeather led us on by lonely ways, never seeming to weary and never at a loss, silent for the most part as one in profound thought, and I speaking little as is my wont, but G.o.dby talked and sang and laughed for the three of us.

It was as we sat outside a little ale-house snugged 'mid trees, eating of bread and cheese, that Penfeather turned suddenly and gripped my arm:

"Martin," says he, "'twill be plaguy business carrying women aboard s.h.i.+p--along o' these lambs o' mine--there's scarce a rogue but cheats the gallows with his every breath!"

"Why then, tell her so, Adam, plain and to the point."

"'Twould be vain breath, Martin, I know her too well--and she is a Brandon!"

"A curse on the name!" says I, whereupon G.o.dby choked into his ale, stared in surprise and would fain have questioned me, but meeting my eye, spake no word.

"D'ye know aught of navigation, Martin?" says Adam suddenly.

"No whit, Adam, but I'll handle a boat with any man."

"Ha!" says he, and sat there pinching his chin until, our hunger being appeased and the ale all drank, we fared on again. So we tramped, and though our road was long I will here make short work of it and say that at last we came, very hot and dusty, into the village of Lewisham, where we would fain have baited awhile at the 'Lion and Lamb,' a fair inn; but this Adam would by no means permit, so, leaving the village, we presently turned aside from the main road into a lane very pleasantly shaded by tall trees and bloomy hedgerows, the which (as I do think) is called Mill Lane. In a while we reached a narrow track down which Adam turned, and now as we went I was aware of strange sounds, a confused hubbub growing ever louder until, deep amid the green, we espied a lonely tavern before which stood a short, stout man who alternately wrung his hands in lamentation, mopped at b.l.o.o.d.y pate and stamped and swore mighty vehement, in the midst of which, chancing to behold Penfeather, he uttered joyful shout and came running.

"Master Penfeather," cried he, "O Master Penfeather, here's fine doings, love my eyes! Here's your rogues a-fighting and a-murdering of each other, which is no great matter, but here's them a-wrecking o' my house, which is great matter, here's them has broke my head wi' one o'

my own pottlepots, which is greater matter, here's me dursen't set of it i' the place and my wife and maids all of a swound--O Master Penfeather, here's doings, love my limbs!"

"Ha," says Penfeather, "fighting, are they, Jerry?"

"Like devils, Captain, your rogues and the rogues as my Lord Dering 'listed and brought here yesterday--O love my liver--look at yon!" As he spoke was a crash of splintered gla.s.s and a broken chair hurtled through the wide lattice.

"So!" says Adam, striding towards the inn, and I saw a pistol in his hand. Following hard on his heels I entered the inn with him and so to the scene of the riot.

A long, low room, full of swirling dust, and amid this choking cloud a huddle of men who fought and struggled fiercely, roaring blasphemy and curses. Two or three lay twisted among overturned chairs and tables, others had crawled into corners to look to their hurts, while to and fro the battle raged the fiercer. Leaning in the doorway Penfeather surveyed the combatants with his quick keen glance, and then the hubbub was drowned by the roar of his long pistol; the thunderous report seemed to stun the combatants to silence, who, falling apart, turned one and all to glare at the intruder. And, in this moment of comparative silence while all men panted and stared, from Penfeather's grim lips there burst a string of blistering sea-oaths such as even I had scarce heard till now; for a long minute he reviled them, the smoke curling from his pistol, his black brows knit across glittering eyes, his thin nostrils a-quiver, the scar glowing on his pallid cheek, his face indeed so changed and evil that I scarce knew him.

"... ye filthy sc.u.m, ye lousy sons o' dogs!" he ended. "Ha, will ye fight agin my orders, then--mutiny is it?"

"And who a plague are you and be cursed to ye!" panted a great fellow, flouris.h.i.+ng a broken chair-leg threateningly and scowling in murderous fas.h.i.+on.

"He'll tell ye--there, behind ye, fool!" snarled Penfeather, pointing sinewy finger. The big man turned, Penfeather sprang with uplifted pistol and smote him, stunned and bleeding, to the floor, then bestriding the prostrate carca.s.s, fronted the rest with head viciously out-thrust.

"And who's next--come!" says he softly, scowling from one to other of the shrinking company. "You, Amos Penarth, and you, Richard Farnaby, aye and half a dozen others o' ye, you've sailed wi' me ere now and you know when I say a thing I mean it. And you'd fight, would ye, my last words to you being 'see to it there be no quarrelling or riot.'"