Commodore Junk

“An’ is it dhrive ye mad, when I’m thrying to set ye right? Then I’d better not tell ye, sor.”

“Yes, yes! For goodness’ sake, man, go on.”

“Ah, well, thin, an’ I will! She jist puts her lips to my ear and she says, ‘Dinny, if ye lay a thrain from the powdher-magazine’ – think of that now, the darlin’! – ‘lay a thrain,’ she says, Dinny, ‘and put a slow-match, same as ye have riddy for firing the big guns, and then be sure,’ she says, ‘and get out of the way’ – as if I’d want to shtay, sor, and be sent to hiven in a hurry – ‘thin,’ she says, ‘the whole place will be blown up, and iverybody will be running to see what’s the matther and put out the fire, and they’ll be so busy wid that, they’ll forget all about the prishner, and we can go down to the say and get away.’”

“Yes,” said Humphrey, thoughtfully. “Is there much powder stored there!”

“Yis, sor, a dale. Ivery time a ship’s been tuk all the powdher has been brought ashore and put there. It’s a foin plan, sor, and all made out of the darlin’s own head.”

“Yes, Dinny, we ought to get away then.”

“Sure, an’ we will, sor. I’ll have a boat wid plenty of wather and sun-dhried mate in her, and some fruit and fishing-lines. We shall do; but the plan isn’t perfect yet.”

“Why?”

“Sure, an’ there’s no arrangement for getting Black Mazzard to come that time to count over the powdher-barrels.”

“What! and blow the scoundrel up!”

“Sure, sor, and it would be a kindness to him. He’s the wickedest divil that ever breathed, and he gets worse ivery day, so wouldn’t it be a kindness to try and send him to heaven before he gets too bad to go! But whist! I’ve stopped too long, sor. Ye understand?”

“Dinny, get me away from here, and you’re a made man!”

“Faix, I dunno, sor. Mebbe there’ll be one lot’ll want to shoot me for a desarter – though I desarted by force – and another lot’ll want to hang me for a pirate. I don’t fale at all safe; but I know I shall be tuk and done for some day if I shtop, and as the darlin’ says she’ll niver make a mistake the right way wid her lips till I’ve taken her from Black Mazzard, why, I’ll do the thrick.”

More days passed, and every stroll outside his prison had to be taken by Humphrey with Bart as close to him as his shadow.

Dinny kept away again, and the plan to escape might as well have never been uttered.

Bart always went well-armed with his prisoner, and seemed unusually suspicious, as if fearing an attempt at escape.

Dinny’s little widow came no more, and the hours grew so irksome with the confinement consequent upon the captains absence that Humphrey longed for his return.

He debated again and again all he had heard, and came to the conclusion that if he said anything it must be to the captain himself.

One morning Bart’s manner showed that something had occurred. His sour face wore a smile, and he was evidently greatly relieved of his responsibility as he said to the prisoner:

“There, you can go out.”

“Has the captain returned?”

Bart delivered himself of a short nod.

“Tell him I wish to see him. Bid him come here.”

“What! the skipper? You mean, ask him if I may take you to him, and he’ll see you.”

“I said, Tell your skipper to come here!” said Humphrey, drawing himself up and speaking as if he were on the quarterdeck. “Tell him I wish to see him at once.”

Bart drew a long breath, and wrinkled up his forehead so that it seemed as if he had an enormous weight upon his head. Then, smiling grimly, he slowly left the place.

The buccaneer, who looked anxious and dispirited, was listening to some complaint made by his lieutenant, and angry words were passing which made Bart as he heard them hasten his steps, and look sharply from one to the other as he entered.

Black Mazzard did what was a work of supererogation as he encountered Bart’s eye – he scowled, his face being villainous enough without.

“Well,” he said aloud, “I’ve warned you!” and he strode out of the old temple-chamber which formed the captain’s quarters, his heavy boots thrust down about his ankles sounding dull on the thick rugs spread over the worn stones, and then clattering loudly as he stepped outside.

“You two been quarrelling?” said Bart, sharply.

“The dog’s insolence is worse than ever!” cried the captain with flashing eyes. “Bart, I don’t want to shed the blood of the man who has been my officer, but – ”

“Let someone else bleed him,” growled Bart. “Dick would; Dinny would give anything to do it. We’re ’bout tired of him. I should like the job myself.”

“Silence!” said the captain, sternly. “No, speak: tell me, what has been going on since I’ve been away?”

“Black Mazzard?”

The captain nodded.

“Half the time – well, no: say three-quarters – he’s been drunk, t’other quarter he’s spent in the south ruins preaching to the men.”

“Preaching?”

“Yes, with you for text. Just in his old way; but I’ve been too busy with the prisoner.”

“Yes, and he?”

“It’s him who is master here. Here, get up!” The buccaneer started, threw back his head, and the dark eyes flashed as he exclaimed —

“What’s this, sir? Have you been taking a lesson from Mazzard?”

“I? No; I’m only giving you your orders!”

“What orders?”

“Master Captain Humphrey Armstrong’s. You’re to get up and go to him directly. He wants you!”

The buccaneer sprang to his feet.

“He wants me – he has sent for me?” he cried, eagerly.

“Ay! You’re to go to him. He’s master here!”

A dull lurid flush came over the captain’s swarthy face as his eyes encountered those of his henchman, and he frowned heavily.

“Of course you’ll go!” said Bart, bitterly. “I should give up everything to him now, and let him do as he likes!”

“Bart!”