Sir Henry Morgan, Buccaneer Part 24

"There is none here," answered the boatswain. "Fra Antonio--he absolved you."

"Where is he?"

"Dead, yonder."

"But I must confess."

"Confess to me," chuckled the old man in ghastly mockery. "Many a woman has done so and----"

"Art in Holy Orders, senor?" muttered the woman.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The moonlight shone full upon her face, and as he stooped over he scanned it with his one eye.]

"Holy enough for you. Say on."

"Fra Antonio, now," she continued, vacantly lapsing into semi-delirium, "he married us--'twas a secret--his rank was so great. He was rich, I poor--humble. The marriage lines--in the cross. There was a--What's that? A shot? The buccaneers. They are coming! Go not, Francisco!"

Hornigold, bending an attentive ear to these broken sentences lost not a word.

"Go not," she whispered, striving to lift an arm, "they will kill thee!

Thou shalt not leave me alone, my Francisco--The boy--in Panama----"

It was evident to the sailor that the poor woman's mind had gone back to the dreadful days of the sack of Panama. He was right then, it was she.

"The boy--save him, save him!" she cried suddenly with astonis.h.i.+ng vigor. The sound of her own voice seemed to recall her to herself. She stopped, her eyes lost their wild glare and fixed themselves upon the man above her, his own face in the shadow as hers was in the light.

"Is it Panama?" she asked. "Those screams--the shots--" She turned her head toward the city. "The flames--is it Panama?"

"Nay," answered the one-eyed fiercely. "'Tis twenty-five years since then, and more. Yonder city is La Guayra. This is the coast of Venezuela."

"Oh--the doomed town--I remember--now--I stabbed myself rather than--place the ladders. Who art thou, senor?"

"Benjamin Hornigold!" cried the man fiercely, bending his face to hers.

For a second the woman stared at him. Then, recognizing him, she screamed horribly, raising herself upon her arm.

"Hornigold!" she cried. "What have you done with the child?"

"I left him at Cuchillo, outside the walls," answered the man.

"And the cross?"

"On his breast. The Captain----"

"The marriage lines were there. You betrayed me. May G.o.d's curse--nay, I die. For Christ's sake--I forgive--Francisco, Francisco."

She fell back gasping on the sand. He tore the enclosing coif from her face. In a vain effort to hold back death's hand for another second, Hornigold s.n.a.t.c.hed a spirit flask from his belt and strove to force a drop between her lips. It was too late. She was gone. He knew the signs too well. He laid her back on the sand, exclaiming:

"Curse her! Why couldn't she have lived a moment longer? The Captain's brat--and she might have told me. Bring up the prisoners!" he cried to the guards, who had moved them out of earshot of this strange conversation.

"The cross," he muttered, "the marriage lines therein. The only clew.

And yet she cried 'Francisco.' That was the name. Who is he? If I could find that cross. I'd know it among a thousand. Hither," he called to the prisoners slowly approaching.

"The good sister?" queried Alvarado.

"Dead."

As the young soldier, with an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of pity, bent forward in the moonlight to look upon the face of the dead woman, from his torn doublet a silver crucifix suddenly swung before the eyes of the old buccaneer.

"By heaven!" he cried. "'Tis the cross."

He stepped nearer to Alvarado, seized the carven crucifix, and lifted it to the light.

"I could swear it was the same," he muttered. "Senor, your name and rank?"

"I can not conceive that either concerns a bloodthirsty ruffian like----"

"Stop! Perhaps there is more in this than thou thinkest," said Mercedes.

"Tell him, Alvarado. It can do no harm. Oh, senor, have pity on us!

Unbind me," she added, "I give you my word. I wish but to pay my respect to the woman yonder."

"She gives good counsel, soldier," answered the boatswain. "Cut her las.h.i.+ng," he said to the sailor who guarded them.

As the buccaneer did so, Mercedes sank on her knees by the side of the dead woman.

"Now, sir, your name?" asked Hornigold again.

"Alvarado."

"Where got you that name?"

"It was given me by His Excellency, the Viceroy."

"And wherefore?"

There was something so tremendous in Hornigold's interest that in spite of himself the young man felt compelled to answer.

"It was his pleasure."

"Had you not a name of your own?"

"None that I know of."

"What mean you?"

"I was found, a baby, outside the walls of Panama in a little village.

The Viceroy adopted me and brought me up. That is all."