Commodore Junk

“Oh, all right! Say what you like, I don’t mind. Only, if it’s to be so, let him hang me out of my misery, and have done with it.”

The buccaneer turned upon him fiercely, and his lips parted to speak; but as he saw the misery and despair in Bart’s face his own softened.

“Is this my old friend and help speaking?” he said, softly. “I did not expect it, Bart, from you. Why do you speak to me like this?”

“Because you are going wrong. Because I can see how things are going to be, and it’s natural for me to speak. Think I’m blind?”

“No, Bart, old friend. I only think you exaggerate and form ideas that are not true. I know what you mean; but you forget that I am Commodore Junk, and so I shall be to the end. Now, tell me,” he continued, calmly; “this captain of the sloop asks to see me?”

“Orders you to come to him!”

“Well, he is accustomed to order, and illness has made him petulant. I will go.”

“You’ll go?”

“Yes. Perhaps he has something to say in answer to an offer I made.”

“An offer?”

“Yes, Bart, to join us, and be one of my lieutenants.”

“Join us, and be your lufftenant?” cried Bart.

“Yes, and my friend. I like him for the sake of his old generous ways, and I like him for his present manliness.”

“You – like him?”

“Yes. It is not impossible, is it, that I should like to have a friend?”

“Friend?”

“Yes!” said the captain, sternly; “another friend! Don’t stare, man, and think of the past. Mary Dell died, and lies yonder in the old temple, covered by the Union Jack, and Abel Dell still lives – Commodore Junk, seeking to take vengeance upon those who cut that young life short.”

“Look here!” said Bart, who gasped as he listened to his companion’s wild utterances; “are you going mad?”

“No, Bart, I am as sane as you.”

“But you said – ”

“What I chose to say, man. Let me believe all that if I like. Do you suppose I do not want some shield against the stings of my own thoughts? I choose to think all that, and it shall be so. You shall think it too. I am Commodore Junk, and if I wish this man to be my friend, and he consents, it shall be so!”

“And suppose some day natur says, ‘I’m stronger than you, and I’ll have my way,’ what then?”

“I’ll prove to nature, Bart, that she lies, for she shall not have her way. If at any time I feel myself the weaker, there are my pistols; there is the sea; there is the great tank with its black waters deep down below the temple.”

“And you are going there – to him!”

“I am going there to him. Can you not trust me, Bart?”

The poor fellow made a weary gesture with his hands, and then, as the captain drew himself up, looking supremely handsome in his picturesque garb, and with his face flushed and brightened eyes, Bart followed him towards Humphrey’s prison, walking at a distance, and with something of the manner of a faithful watch-dog who had been beaten heavily, but who had his duties to fulfil, and would do them till he died.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Another Duel

“Is that his step? No; its that miserable gaoler’s,” said Humphrey, as he lay back on his soft skin-covered couch with his arms beneath his head in a careless, indolent attitude.

Humphrey was beginning to feel the thrill of returning strength in his veins, and it brought with it his old independence of spirit and the memory that he had been trained to rule. His little episode with Bart that morning had roused him a little, and prepared him for his encounter with the buccaneer captain, upon whom he felt he was about to confer a favour.

A smile played about his lips as the step drew nearer, the difference between it and that of Bart being more and more marked as he listened, and then quite closed his eyes, while the heavy curtain was drawn aside, and the buccaneer entered the chamber. He took a step or two forward, which placed him in front of the stone idol, and there he stood gazing down at the handsome, manly figure of his prisoner, whose unstudied attitude formed a picture in that weird, picturesque place, which made the captain’s breath come and go a little more quickly, and a faint sensation of vertigo tempt him to turn and hurry away.

The sensation was momentary. A frown puckered his brow, and he said quietly —

“Asleep?”

“No,” said Humphrey, opening his eyes slowly; “no, my good fellow. I was only thinking.”

The buccaneer frowned a little more heavily as he listened to his prisoner’s cool, careless words, and felt the contemptuous tone in which he was addressed.

“You sent for me,” he said, harshly, and his voice sounded coarse and rough.

“Well,” said Humphrey, with insolent contempt, “how many ships have you plundered – how many throats have you cut this voyage?”

The buccaneer’s eyes seemed to flash as he took a step forward, and made an angry gesture. But he checked himself on the instant, and, with a faint smile, replied —

“Captain Armstrong is disposed to be merry. Why have you sent for me?”

“Merry!” said Humphrey, still ignoring the question; “one need be, shut up in this tomb. Well, you are back again?”

“Yes; I am back again,” said the buccaneer, smoothing his brow, and declining to be angry with his prisoner for his insulting way as he still lay back on the couch. “It is but the pecking of a prisoned bird,” he said to himself.

“And not been caught and hanged yet? I was in hope that I had seen the last of you.”

“I have heard tell before of prisoners reviling their captors,” said the buccaneer, quietly.

“Revile! Well, is it not your portion!”

“For treating you with the consideration due to a gentleman?” said the buccaneer, whose features grew more calm and whose eyes brightened as if from satisfaction at finding the prisoner so cool and daring, and in how little account he was held. “I have given orders that the prisoner should be treated well. Is there anything more I can do?”

The harsh grating voice had grown soft, deep, rich, and mellow, while the dark, flashing eyes seemed to have become dreamy as they rested upon the prisoner’s handsome, defiant face.

“Yes,” said Humphrey, bitterly; “give me my liberty.”

The buccaneer shook his head.

“Curse you! No; you profess to serve me – to treat me well – and you keep me here barred up like some wild beast whom you have caged.”

“Barred – caged!” said the buccaneer, raising his eyebrows. “You have freedom to wander where you will.”