Commodore Junk

“Orders from the skipper, sir.”

“Orders from your captain!” said Humphrey, flushing.

“To say that he is waiting for your answer, sir.”

“My answer, man? I gave him my answer.”

“And that he can wait any time; but a message from you that you want to see him will bring him here.”

“There is no other answer,” said Humphrey, coldly.

“Better not say that,” said Bart, after standing gazing at the prisoner for some time.

“What do you mean?” cried Humphrey, haughtily.

“Don’t know. What am I to say to the captain?”

“I have told you. There is no answer,” said Humphrey, coldly, and he turned away, but lay listening intently, for it struck him that he had heard a rustle in the great stone corridor without, as if someone had been listening; but the thick carpet-like curtain fell, and he heard no more, only lay watching the faint rays of light which descended through the dense foliage of the trees, as some breeze waved them softly, far on high, and slightly relieved the prevailing gloom.

Bart’s visit had started a current of thought which was once more running strongly when Dinny entered with a basket of the delicious little grapes which grew wild in the sunny open parts of the mountain slopes.

“There, sor,” he said, “and all me own picking, except about half of them which Misthress Greenheys sint for ye. Will ye take a few bunches now?”

“Dinny,” said Humphrey in a low earnest voice, “have you thought of what I said to you?”

“Faix, and which? what is it ye mane, sor?”

“You know what I mean, man: about helping me to escape from here?”

“About helping ye to eshcape, sor? Oh, it’s that ye mane!”

“Yes, man; will you help me?”

“Will I help ye, sor? D’ye see these threes outside the windy yonder, which isn’t a windy bekase it has no glass in it?”

“Yes, yes, I see,” cried Humphrey with all a sick man’s petulance.

“Well, they’ve got no fruit upon ’em, sor.”

“No, of course not. They are not of a fruit-bearing kind. What of that!”

“Faix, an’ if I helped ye to eshcape, captain, darlin’, sure and one of ’em would be having fruit hanging to it before the day was out, and a moighty foine kind of pear it would be.”

Chapter Twenty Six

Under Another Rule

“You’re to keep to your prison till further orders,” said Bart one day as he entered the place.

“Who says so!” cried Humphrey, angrily.

“Lufftenant.”

“What! Mazzard?”

“Yes, sir. His orders.”

“Curse Lieutenant Mazzard!” cried Humphrey. “Where is the captain!”

No answer.

“Is this so-called lieutenant master here!”

“Tries to be,” grumbled Bart.

“The captain is away, then?”

“Orders are, not to answer questions,” said Bart, abruptly; and he left the chamber.

Humphrey was better. The whims and caprices of a sick man were giving way to the return of health, and with this he began to chafe angrily.

He laughed bitterly and seated himself by the window to gaze out at the dim arcade of forest, and wait till such time as he felt disposed to go out, and then have a good wander about the ruins, and perhaps go down that path where he had been arrested by the appearance of the captain.

He had no hope of encountering any of his crew, for, from what he could gather, fully half the survivors, sick of the prisoner’s life, had joined the buccaneer crew, while the rest had been taken to some place farther along the coast – where, he could not gather from Dinny, who had been letting his tongue run and then suddenly stopped short. But all the same he clung to the hope that in the captain’s absence he might discover something which would help him in his efforts to escape and come back, if not as commander, at all events as guide to an expedition that should root out this hornets’-nest.

Mid-day arrived, and he was looking forward to the coming of Dinny with his meal, an important matter to a man with nothing to do, and only his bitter thoughts for companions. The Irishman lightened his weary hours too, and every time he came the captive felt some little hope of winning him over to help him to escape.

“Ah, Dinny, my lad!” he said as he heard a step, and the hanging curtain was drawn aside, “what is it to-day?”

“Fish, eggs, and fruit,” said Bart, gruffly.

“Oh! it’s you!” said Humphrey, bitterly. “Dinny away with that cursed schooner!”

“Schooner’s as fine a craft as ever sailed,” growled Bart. “Orders to answer no questions.”

“You need not answer, my good fellow,” said the prisoner, haughtily. “That scoundrel of a buccaneer is away – I know that, and Dinny is with him, or you would not be doing this.”

Bart’s heavy face lightened as he saw the bitterness of the prisoner’s manner when he spoke of the captain; but it grew sombre directly after, as if he resented it; and spreading the meal upon a broad stone, covered with a white cloth – a stone in front of the great idol, and probably once used for human sacrifice – he sullenly left the place.

The prisoner sat for a few minutes by the window wondering whether Lady Jenny was thinking about him, and sighed as he told himself that she was pining for him as he pined for her. Then turning to the mid-day meal he began with capital appetite, and not at all after the fashion of a man in love, to discuss some very excellent fish, which was made more enjoyable by a flask of fine wine.

“Yes,” he said, half aloud, “I shall go just where I please.”

He stopped and listened, for a voice certainly whispered from somewhere close at hand the word “Kelly!”

“Yes! what is it? Who called?” said the prisoner, aloud.

There was a momentary silence, and then a peculiar whispering voice said —