Commodore Junk

“Bah! freedom!” cried Humphrey, springing up. “Curse you! why don’t I strangle you where you stand?”

At that moment there was a rustling among the leaves outside the window, and Humphrey burst into a mocking laugh.

“How brave!” he cried. “The buccaneer captain comes to see his unarmed prisoner, and his guards wait outside the doorway, while another party stop by the window, ready to spring in.”

The buccaneer’s face turned of a deep dull red – the glow of annoyance, as he strode to the window and exclaimed fiercely —

“Why are you here? Go!”

“But – ”

“Go, Bart,” said the buccaneer, more quietly. “Captain Armstrong will not injure me.”

There was a heavy rustling sound among the leaves and the buccaneer made as if to go to the great curtain; but he checked himself, turned, and smiling sadly —

“Captain Armstrong will believe me when I tell him that there is no one out there. Come, sir, you have sent for me. You have thought well upon all I said. All this has been so much angry petulance, and you are ready to take me by the hand – to become my friend. No, no; hear me. You do not think of what your life here may be.”

“That of a pirate – a murderer!” cried Humphrey, scornfully.

“No,” said the buccaneer, flushing once more. “I am rich. All that can be a something of the past. This land is mine, and here we can raise up a new nation, for my followers are devoted to me. Come! are we to be friends?”

“Friends!” cried Humphrey, scornfully – “a new nation – your people devoted! – why man, I sent for you to warn you!”

“You – to warn me?”

“Yes. One of your followers is plotting against you. He has been addressing your men; and if you don’t take care, my good sir, you will be elevated over your people in a way more lofty than pleasant to the king of a new nation.”

“I understand your sneers, sir,” said the buccaneer, quietly; and there was more sadness than anger in his tone. “They are unworthy of the brave man who has warned me of a coming danger, and they are from your lips, sir, not from the heart of the brave adversary I have vowed to make my friend.”

Humphrey winced, for the calm reproachful tone roused him, and he stood there frowning as the buccaneer went on.

“As to the plotting against me, I am always prepared for that. A man in my position makes many enemies. Even you have yours.”

“Yes – you,” cried Humphrey.

“No; I am a friend. There, I thank you for your warning. It is a proof, though you do not know it, that the gap between us grows less. Some day, Captain Armstrong, you will take my hand. We shall be friends.”

Humphrey remained silent as the buccaneer left the chamber, and, once more alone, the prisoner asked himself if this was true – that he had bidden farewell to civilisation for ever, and this was to be his home, this strange compound of savage fierceness and gentle friendliness his companion to the end?

Chapter Twenty Nine

The Assassins

Humphrey Armstrong walked on blindly farther and farther into the forest, for he was moved more deeply than ever he had been moved before. The presence of this man was hateful to him, and yet he seemed to possess an influence that was inexplicable; and his soft deep tones, which alternated with his harsher utterances, rang in his ears now he was away.

“Good heavens!” he cried at last, as he nearly struck against one of the stone images which stood out almost as grey and green as the trees around, “what an end to an officer’s career – the lieutenant of a wretched pirate king! New nation! Bah! what madness!”

“Captivity has unmanned me,” he said to himself, as he sat down upon a mossy fragment of stone in the silent forest path, and the utter silence and calm seemed refreshing.

He sat thus for some time, with his head resting upon his hand, gazing back along the narrow path, when, to his horror, just coming into view, he saw the figure of the buccaneer approaching, with head bent and arms crossed over his chest, evidently deep in thought.

Humphrey started up and backed away round a curve before turning, and walked swiftly along the path, looking eagerly for a track by which he could avoid another encounter, when for the first time he became aware of the fact that he was in the way leading to the old temple which had been formed into a mausoleum, and, unless he should be able to find another path, bound for the ancient structure.

He almost ran along the meandering path, feeling annoyed with himself the while, till the gloomy pile loomed before him, and he climbed up the doorway and looked back.

All was silent and dim as he stooped and entered, stepping cautiously on, and then, as soon as well sheltered, turning to gaze back and see if the buccaneer came in sight.

The place struck chill and damp; there was a mysterious feeling of awe to oppress him as he recalled the chamber behind him, or rather, as he stood, upon his left; and its use, and the strange figures he had seen seated about, all added to the sense of awe and mystery by which he was surrounded; while the feeling of annoyance that he should have shrunk from meeting this man increased.

Just then there was the faint drip of water as he had heard it before, followed by the whispering echoes; and, moved by the desire to know how near he was to what must be a deep well-like chasm, he stooped, felt about him, and his hand encountered a good-sized fragment of the stone carving which had mouldered and been thrust by the root of some growing plant from the roof.

He did not pause to think, but threw it from him, to hear it strike against stone.

It had evidently missed what he intended, and he had turned to gaze again at the path, when he found that it had struck somewhere and rebounded, to fall with a hideous hollow echoing plash far below.

Humphrey’s brow grew damp as he listened to the strange whispers of the water; and then he looked once more at the path, wondering whether the horrible noise had been heard, for just then the buccaneer came into sight and walked slowly toward the old temple.

But the echoes of that plash were too much shut up in the vast hollow below, and the buccaneer, still with his arms folded and chin resting upon his chest, walked on, evidently to enter the old building.

Humphrey hesitated for a moment, half intending to boldly meet his captor; but he shrank from the encounter, and weakly backed away farther into the darkness, till he was in the dim chamber where the coffin lay draped as before, and the strange figures of the old idols sat around.

There was no time for further hesitation. He must either boldly meet the buccaneer or hide.

He chose the latter course, glancing round for a moment, and then stepping cautiously into one of the recesses behind a sitting figure, where he could stand in complete darkness and wait till the buccaneer had gone.

The latter entered the next moment, and Humphrey felt half mad with himself at his spy-like conduct, for as he saw dimly the figure enter, he heard a low piteous moan, and saw him throw himself upon his knees beside the draped coffin, his hands clasped, and his frame bending with emotion, as in a broken voice he prayed aloud.

His words were incoherent, and but few of the utterances reached the listening man’s ears, as he bit his lips with anger, and then listened with wonder at what seemed a strange revelation of character.

“Oh, give me strength!” he murmured. “I swore revenge – on all – for the wrongs for the death – loved – strength to fight down the weakness – to be – self – for strength – for strength – to live – revenge – death.”

The last word of these agonised utterances was still quivering upon the air as if it had been torn from the speaker’s breast, when the dimly-seen doorway was suddenly darkened, and there was a quick movement.

Humphrey Armstrong’s position was one which enabled him, faint as was the light, to see everything – the draped coffin, the kneeling figure bent over it prostrate in agony of spirit, and a great crouching form stealing softly behind as if gathering for a spring.

Was it Bart? No; and the doorway was again darkened, and he saw that two more men were there.

Friends? Attendants? No. There was the dull gleam of steel uplifted by the figure bending over the buccaneer.

Assassination without doubt. The moment of peril had come, lightly as it had been treated, and, stirred to the heart by the treachery and horror of the deed intended, Humphrey sprang from his place of concealment, struck the buccaneer’s assailant full in the chest, and they rolled out together on the temple floor.

“Quick, lads, help!” shouted the man whom Humphrey had seized, and his companions rushed in, for a general mêlée to ensue at terrible disadvantage, for the assailants were armed with knives, and those they assailed defenceless as to weapons other than those nature had supplied.

Humphrey knew this to his cost in the quick struggle which ensued. He had writhed round as he struggled with the would-be murderer, and contrived to get uppermost, when a keen sense of pain, as of a red-hot wire passing through one of his arms, made him loosen his hold for a moment, and the next he was dashed back.

He sprang up, though, to seize his assailant, stung by the pain into a fit of savage rage, when, as he clasped an enemy, he found that it was not his first antagonist, but a lesser man, with whom he closed fiercely just as the fellow was striving to get out of the doorway – a purpose he effected, dragging Humphrey with him.

The passage was darker than the inner temple, where hoarse panting and the sounds of contention were still going on, oaths, curses, and commands uttered in a savage voice to “Give it him now!” – “Now strike, you fool!” – “Curse him, he’s like an eel!” – and the like came confusedly through the doorway, as, smarting with pain and grinding his teeth with rage, Humphrey struggled on in the passage, savagely determined to retain this one a prisoner, as he fought to get the mastery of the knife.