Porto Bello gold — A Reader’s Guide

him so utterly, discrediting him too withal, that he was obliged to flee the province; and even his friends, the French, would have none of him--at least, aboveboard. I have always fancied he still served their interests at large; for he is at bottom a most fanatical Jacobite, and eke sincere in a queer, twisted way. Aye, there is that about him which is difficult to understand, Robert. Himself, he hath no hesitation in believing he serves high purposes of state in all he does.”

“But a pirate!” I exclaimed.

“Oh, that is nothing to him!”

“Not’ing,” agreed Peter. “He was a pirate on der landt.”

“Only a madman could lay claim to serving the State as a pirate,” I objected.

“You speak with overconfidence,” rebuked my father. “There are men alive today who can remember when Morgan and Davis and Dampier and many another brave fellow of the same kidney lived by piracy and served the King at one and the same time. Some of ’em were hung in the end, and Morgan died a knight. It can be done.”

“Consider, my boy! Murray--your great-uncle, mind you!--is a Jacobite. For our present Government he hath only hatred and contempt. Any means by which that Government was undermined would seem to him justifiable as aiding to bring about its downfall. Look to the fantastic humor of the man in naming his ship the _Royal James_!”

“If he be, indeed, the man you think he is,” I returned, none too well pleased with the thought of having a pirate for a great-uncle. My father laughed kindly, and tapped me on the knee with his free hand.

“I know how you feel, dear lad,” he said. “’Twas so identically your mother talked. Bless her heart! We were fresh married when the precious rascal sent us by one of his tarry-breeks that necklace which lies now in my strong-box--the loot of some Indian queen mayhap. Afterward--after she had died--when you were scarce breeched--he sent again; those silver plates upon the sideboard in the dining-room. Dishonestly come by, of course; but what was I to do? I could not cast them in the river, nor did I know how to return them to him. And after that again came a third messenger, this time with no more than a letter in which he condoled with me upon the loss of her whom we had both reverenced above all others!

“Then, I admit, I could have strangled him, for had he been successful in his plans he would have mated her with a Frenchman who was servant to the Foul Fiend. Yet in his way he cared for her, and he took much interest in all she did. By hook or crook he had word of us, however far he wandered. He knew when you were born. He knew when she died. And now that you have reached manhood he shows his sails outside Sandy Hook. I do not know what it means, Robert, but I like it not! I like it not!”

“But we are not at sea,” I protested. “We are in New York. There are soldiers in Fort George. Commodore Burrage will be down from Boston anon. What can a pirate ship, what can two pirate ships, effect against us? Why, the city train-bands----”

“’Tis not force I dread,” my father cut me off. “’Tis the infernal cleverness of a warped mind.”

“_Ja_,” agreed Peter.

My father thrust the stem of his pipe toward him.

“You feel it, too, old friend?” he cried then.

“If Murray is here he means no goodt,” the Dutchman answered ponderously. “No pirate comes nort’ in der coldt weather for just fun. _Neen_! Here is too much danger; no places to run andt hide.”

“Aye, you have the right of it,” assented my father. “And there have been those who claimed New York town was not so innocent of pirates as might appear upon the surface. Murray and his like must sell the goods they steal, and to that end they require connections with traders here and elsewhere. In Governor Burnet’s time we used to watch the Whale’s Head Tavern and other like hang-outs of the more desperate sort, but I am bound to admit we caught no bigger game than an occasional mutineer or deserter. Yet I know there are merchants in the town none too particular in their dealings, and not every ship that makes port is as peaceful as she seems by any means.”

“At the least, sir, we are on the alert,” I said.

My father laughed, and Corlaer’s ridiculous, simpering giggle echoed his grim mirth.

“An intelligent foe discounts so much upon launching his venture,” my father answered. “Let us hope we have a modicum of luck to aid us. Whatever plan Murray hath in trend ’twill come to us unexpected and adroit in execution. But tush. There’s the dinner-bell. A truce to foreboding!”

THE ONE-LEGGED MAN AND THE IRISH MAID

The next morning I was occupied for several hours in checking over the needs of our trading-stations with Peter Corlaer, so that it was the middle of the forenoon before I was able to leave the counting-room to go aboard Captain Farraday’s ship and concert with her people the lightering of that portion of the cargo which was destined for our warehouse.

Darby McGraw eyed me so wistfully when I took my hat that I sent him to the kitchen to secure a bag of fresh-killed chickens and Winter greens, knowing such food would be welcome to sailors after a long voyage, and bade him carry it to the dock. He was as pleased as if he had been presented with his freedom, and skipped along whistling like a skylark.

We walked down Pearl Street to Broad Street, where the landing-basin indents the land; and I was passing on, with intent to secure a wherry from the foot of Whitehall Street to row me out to the Bristol packet, when Darby drew my attention to the soaring masts and tangled cordage of a great ship lying at anchor in the East River anchorage.

“’Tis a frigate, Master Robert!” he exclaimed.

There was no mistaking the rows of painted gun-ports and the solid bulwarks; and for a moment I fancied Commodore Burrage had anticipated our needs. Then the flag at her mizzen truck rippled out, and I beheld the red-and-gold banner of Spain.

“D’ye suppose he hath come after the pirate?” whispered Darby, all agog.

“Not he,” I answered, laughing. “’Tis a Spaniard, and he and his kidney are not hungry for pirate gore, Darby.”

“Whisht, but if he would only make to shoot off a cannon or two!” sighed Darby. “Or maybe hang a poor soul at the yardarm the while we watched. Oh, Master Robert, wouldn’t it be grand?”

“Go to,” said I, laughing again at the quaint fancies of the lad. “You are as bloodthirsty as any pirate that sails the Spanish Main.”

“I’ll warrant you I am,” returned Darby sturdily. “I’d be a grand pirate, I would--and I’d make naught of frigates, be they Spaniard or King’s ship; aye, or Frenchies. I’d take ’em all!”

“Certes, you would,” I agreed. “But look, Darby! There’s another strange vessel--beyond the frigate.”

I pointed to a battered little brig with patched and dirty sails and a spatter of white showing in her black-painted hull where a roundshot had sent the splinters flying.

“And he hath seen the pirates, or I am amiss,” I added. “His escape must have been exceeding narrow.”

Darby’s eyes waxed as large as a cat’s in the dark.

“Whurra, whurra, do but look to the shot-hole in the side of him! ’Tis he will have made a noble prayer. And now will ye mock me for saying there are pirates abroad, Master Robert?”

“Not I, Darby. Yon fellow has been closer to death than I like to think of,” I answered.

“Now there was as true a word as ever was heard spoke,” proclaimed a pleasant voice behind me. “And shows most unaccountable understanding and humanitee, so it do, seeing as there’s precious few landsmen as stop to figger out the chances a poor sailor must take and never a thankee from his owners nor aught but curses from his skipper, like as not. True as true, young gentleman. I makes you my duty, and says as how, seeing I was one of them vouchsafed a miraculous salvation, I hopes you’ll permit me to offer my most humble thanks.”

I swung around to scrutinize the owner of the voice and saw a handsome, open-faced man in the prime of life, big and strong of his body, but with only one leg. The other, the left, had been lopped off high up near the hip, and he supported himself upon a long crutch of very fine-carved hardwood--mahogany, I afterward discovered. This crutch he employed with all the dexterity of his missing limb. A thong from a hole under the armpiece was looped around his neck, so that when he chose to sit down his support could never fall out of his reach; and in its butt was set a sharp spur of steel to give it a grip upon rough ground or slippery decks.

While I looked at him and he was first speaking he hopped up beside me with a confidential air that was very flattering to a young man and impressed Darby even more than it did me.

“Are you from the brig yonder?” I asked curiously.

“Aye, aye, young gentleman, I am; and one of the miserable sinners as was saved by an inscrootable Providence as takes no account o’ men’s deserts, just or unjust, as the preachers’ sayin’ is. Out of Barbaders, I am, in the brig _Constant_. Name o’ Silver, sir--John, says my sponsors in baptism.

“But my mates most generally calls me ‘Barbecue’ ’count o’ my being held a monstrous fine cook. And there’s a tale to that, young sir. Ah, yes! This weren’t the first time I suffered at the hands o’ them pirates that scourge and ravage the seas to the despite of poor, honest sailormen.”

He lowered his voice.

“D’ye see this lopsided carcass of mine now? You do, says you. Yes, yes; there ain’t no mistakin’ a one-legged man. And how do you suppose I lost my left stick, eh? Can’t say, says you--nor it ain’t strange, seein’ as we’ve never met afore this.

“Well, I’ll tell ye, sir. You ha’ a young face, and kind, and I can see you take an interest in an unfortunate sailor-man’s sorrows--aye, and this good lad wi’ ye, too--from Ireland, ain’t ye, my hearty? I knowed it, I knowed it!

“But what was I a-sayin’? Oh, yes, to be sure. I was tellin’ ye of my lost leg--and glad I am it wasn’t my flipper as went. ’Cause why, says you? ’Cause a man can set himself to makin’ good a lost leg, which ain’t no use for nothin’ except walking.

“But a hand now? Figger it out, my master! No hand, and ye can’t work, ye can’t fight, ye can’t scarcely eat. That’s why I says I’m lucky.”

The man attracted me by his originality, and I own frankly I would have pressed him for further information whether Darby had been with me or not; but ’twas Darby brought him back to the main point of interest.

“Did ye see the pirates?” panted the lad in excitement.

John Silver drew himself erect upon his crutch and frowned out at the shot-scarred brig.

“See ’em?” he repeated. “Well now, my lad, that depends. Aye, aye, it all depends.

“This last time, d’ye mean? No, I can’t conscientiously say I seen ’em this time. In the matter o’ my leg ’twas different--and the time Flint marooned me.”

“You know Flint then?” I broke in upon him.

“Know him? Oh, no, young gentleman; I don’t know no bloody villains like that. I ha’ seen ’em, yes--a sight too many of ’em, as ye might say. And suffered most terrible at their hands; but I make no doubt the Lord is decided I ha’ suffered my portion, seein’ that this last time He delivered me safe and sound out o’ the scoundrels’ hands.”

“Was it off Sandy Hook they attacked you?” I inquired.

“Off Sandy Hook?” he repeated. “Maybe ’twas so, young gentleman. We took small reckoning o’ where we were. Our one thought was to make port whole and safe.”

“But I see they hulled you?” I pressed him.

“That?” he answered. “Oh, yes; but-- May I make bold to ask, sir, ha’ other vessels been chased off New York port, do you know?”

I pointed to where Captain Farraday’s craft swung at her anchor a scant quarter-mile above the brig.

“That Bristol packet ran the notorious Captain Rip-Rap tops’ls down but yester-morning,” I told him.

His brows knit together in a frown, apparently of thought.

“Captain Rip-Rap you says it was! Blister me, young gentleman, but that’s dreadful news. Well, well, well! A fortunate escape as ever was. And ’tis good hearing that others was ekal lucky. But I dare say the King’s ships will be after him by now?”

“No, there’s none nearer than Boston,” I answered. “’Twill be a week at the least before we can hunt the scoundrels hence.”

He wagged his head dolefully.

“Blister me, but that’s ill news. Fortunate, indeed, I was to draw clear. He was after me till darkness and sheered off more in fear o’ the sands than for aught else, I dare swear.”

“So it was yesterday he chased you?” I asked.

“To be sure, young sir. Wasn’t that what I told ye? Yesterday, about the noon glass, he came a-thunderin’ up, and towards dusk he could bring his bow-chasers to bear, and was for droppin’ a spar to hinder us. But we took his shot in the hull, as ye see, and got off safe in spite of all he could do.”

One of the wherrymen was sculling toward us along the shore, and I waved to him to pull under the piling on which we stood.

“I must be off,” I said. “I congratulate you, Master Silver, on your escape. Whatever dangers you may have encountered in the past, your good luck was with you yesterday.”

He bobbed his head and pulled at his forelock.

“Thank’ee kindly, young gentleman. Here, sir, let me catch the painter. Right! Will ye ha’ the basket on the thwart by ye? And this nice lad here, doesn’t he go, too? No?

“Maybe then ye’d add a mite to your kindness and let me borry his time for a half-glass or so for to show me a couple o’ landmarks I must make in the town. I wouldn’t ask it of ye, sir, only as ye see, I’m half-crippled in a manner o’ speakin’, and this is a strange port to me, as plies usual to the West Injies.”

“Use the lad by all means,” I answered. “Darby, take Master Silver wherever he wishes to go.”

Darby’s freckled face gleamed at the prospect of more of the company of this one-legged sailorman, who talked so easily of pirate fights and flights.

“Oh, aye, Master Robert,” says he. “I’ll help him all I know.”

“O’ course he will,” spoke up Silver. “I never seed a boy wi’ a kinder face. A kind face means a kind heart, I always says, young gentleman.”

My wherryman was on the point of laying to his oars when a sudden thought caused me to check him.

“By the way, Master Silver,” I called, “it occurs to me that perhaps Darby may be unable to serve you in all that you wish. Do you seek any one in especial?”

He hesitated for just the fraction of a minute.

“Why, not especially in particklar, sir,” he answered at last. “I am for the Whale’s Head Tavern, if ye happen to know o’ such a place.”

“’Tis in the East Ward close by. Darby can show you.”

He shouted renewed thanks and stumped off agilely on his crutch, Darby strutting beside him with a comical pride.

Aboard the _Anne_ I found all in confusion. Captain Farraday, as I had expected, had not returned since he landed the preceding afternoon and undoubtedly was sleeping off an accumulation of divers liquors in the George Tavern. The mate had gone ashore that morning to search for him, and would probably take advantage of the opportunity to emulate his skipper’s example. Master Jenkins, who had missed drowning at the red hands of the redoubtable Rip-Rap and Flint, was in charge of the ship. He was a melancholy, sour-visaged East-countryman, who moved with a deliberation as pronounced as Peter Corlaer’s, and inspecting the manifests with him was a tedious business. I accepted an invitation to share his midday meal, and the afternoon was gone when we concluded our work, agreed upon the time of arrival of the lighters on the morrow and returned to the deck.

My wherry had been dismissed long ago, and he bade the bosun muster a crew to row me ashore. Standing by the gangway, I commented idly upon the two ships which had come in since morning.

“The brig had a close go of it with your friend Rip-Rap,” I remarked.

“Aye,” returned Jenkins glumly. “’Tis passing queer a Barbadan should be fetching sugar and rum to New York. They leave that mostly to the Yankees.”

“True,” I admitted; “yet there’s an exception to every rule.”

A silvery whistle-blast sounded on the deck of the Spanish frigate up-stream.

“Too bad that’s not one of ours now,” I commented. “Rip-Rap should have a dose of his own medicine.”

Master Jenkins expressed utter disapprobation without a wrinkle on his features.

“They Spaniards!” he snorted. “What are they a-doin’ here anyway, I’d like to know?”

“He may have been blown north on his crossing,” I hazarded.

Master Jenkins snorted a second time.

“He hasn’t started a rope. Mischief they’re up to. Never knowed it to fail.”

“What kind of mischief?” I inquired.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Not knowin’, can’t say. But no good ever came from they Spaniards, Master Ormerod, and ye may lay to that.”

Before I could answer him the bosun reported the small boat all clear and lying at the ladder-foot, and I bade Master Jenkins a hasty good evening, for his stolid pessimism became mighty irksome upon close acquaintance.

As my boat straightened away from the Bristol packet’s side a barge shot around the hull of the Spaniard and pulled after us, a dozen brawny fellows tugging at the oars. A single cloaked figure sat in the stern sheets beside the officer in command. The two boats made the Broad Street slip almost together, and I leaped ashore, tossed several coins to the sailors who had rowed me and started to walk off, bent upon reporting to my father, who, I knew, would be provoked by the length of time my errand had consumed. But I had not walked far when a man called after me from the wharf-head.

“_Señor_! Sirr-rr-rah!”

I turned to face the coxswain of the frigate’s barge and a farrago of Spanish gibberish of which I understood not a word. And upon my saying as much, a second person stepped forward into the yellow glow of an oil lanthorn which hung from a bracket upon a warehouse wall hard by. ’Twas the cloaked figure of the barge, and instead of a midshipman or under-officer the scanty light revealed a young woman whose lissome grace was vibrant through the cumbersome folds of her wrap. A single ejaculation of sibilant Spanish, and the coxswain was hushed.

“Sir,” said she then in English as good as my own, “can you direct me to the Whale’s Head Tavern?”

I could bring forth no better than a stammer in answer. She was the second stranger that day to ask for the Whale’s Head, which my father had remarked the previous evening for a noted resort of bad characters; and certes, she appeared to be the last sort of woman who might be expected to have anything to do with the kind of roistering wickedness which went on there. Also, I could not forbear asking myself how came so fair a maid aboard a Spanish frigate.