Adam Penfeather, Buccaneer

CHAPTER I TELLS SOMEWHAT OF A FATHER—AND A SON

The executioner adjusted his noose and spoke hoarsely in the doomed man's ear; but the eyes of this man, staring widely, gazed very wistfully at one small, pallid face low down amid the jostling, murmurous throng, an eager, yearning look wherein his every faculty was centred so that he seemed blind and deaf to all else,—therefore the executioner (a busy soul) pushed him suddenly.... The man fell, the deadly rope jerked violently, tightened, quivered....

Then from the awed and silenced crowd rose a voice in shrill, agonized scream:

"Father!"

A frantic, small figure pushed and strove desperately to win nearer that awful, quivering rope, but, finding all efforts vain, screamed once more, cast hands wildly heavenward, sank and was like to have been trampled by the gaping concourse but that a strong hand clutched and dragged him up, a powerful shoulder drove through the press, out into a corner of the market-place, along a narrow street, across a pleasant green and so to a rustic bench set about the massive bole of a shady tree. Here they paused and upon this bench the so dreadfully bereaved son cast himself face down while his rescuer, a tall, bronzed fellow with gold rings in his ears, tilted his be-feathered though somewhat shabby hat to scratch curly head, rasped fingers across jut of blue-shaven chin and finally spoke in voice unexpectedly rich and musical:

"Your father, eh, my lad,—your very own dad!"

The slim shape on the bench writhed as in agonized convulsion yet made no sound.

"Well, now, my poor orphan, I says you can scupper, sink and burn me if this an't a recious sorry business for any dutiful son, and mighty heart-breaking! So, my lad, your present need is rum forthwith—rum and plenty on't. So bowse up, lad, stand away wi' me and rum it shall be." Reaching forth powerful arm, the speaker lifted this quivering shape of horror to its feet and thus saw how this youth was something older than he had deemed, for, though small-made and slender, the face of him showed strangely arresting,—a smooth oval, pale as death, lit by wide-spaced eyes very keenly bright, with pallid lips, close-set to stay their quivering, and long, pointed chin.

"Rum's the word, messmate, with an R a U and an M writ large,—rum!"

"No, 'twould choke me."

"Ay, but 'twill hearten thee ... or stoup of ale, for, next to rum, there's nought for trouble o' mind or body, like nappy ale, 'tis a true Englishman's panacea. Ay, and there's a right classical word for ye, my lad, for though a tarry mariner something inclined for the nonce to be out at elbow, I was and am and shall be very much beside. Rouse up, messmate, and bear away along o' me."

So this tall, strange sailorman sought to comfort his small companion whose frail body was shaken violently ever and anon by violent shudderings and once, faltering in his stride, a groaning outcry broke from him:

"They've killed ... my father ... the world's an emptiness! Oh God ... the rope ... that murderous, cruel rope!"

"Courage, lad! What's done is done, and grief shall not better it. Whereof I'll now make a rhyme and pipe it to thy comfort,—hearkee!" And forthwith, setting long arm about his companion's slim, trembling form, this mariner began to sing these words in voice richly mellow:

"For thee, m'lad, I pipe this lay,

So mark and stint thy sorrow,

For since they've hanged thy dad to-day,

He can't be hanged to-morrow.

And, messmate, there's comfort, too, in this, to wit,—when a man's dead and gone aloft, he's risen 'bove all cares o' mind or plagues o' body—we hope! And now, what might your name be?"

"Adam."

"Why I've heard worse name,—though Father Adam proved snivelling tell-tale on Mother Eve anent that apple business,—howbeit Adam is goodish name, being Biblical, like mine own—mine's Absalom by reason, as I've heard tell, that I was born with uncommon long hair. Absalom Troy am I. And what name hast beside, messmate?"

Instead of answering, Adam lifted clenched hands towards heaven and said between shut teeth:

"It was ... murder! My father wrought 'gainst Papistry and cried down this Spanish marriage ... and for this ... for this they murdered him! And he was so gently kind ... so good a man ... ah God, would I had been a better son. To-day he hangs dead yonder ... his innocent blood is on me, crying for vengeance. Oh God, make me strong, a man's strength. Oh Lord!" Breathless and shaken by the wild passion of his grief, Adam would have fallen but for his companion's clutching hand.

"Avast, messmate!" quoth Absalom, with friendly shake. "Such grief's a shoal for shipwreck. So haul your wind and bear away afore it, large and free, until I can physic ye wi' rum, for hearkee:

"When sorrow and black troubles come,

Then souse 'em—drown 'em—deep in rum;

And if so be as rum do fail,

Then drown 'em deeper yet in ale.

So here's yet another song as I've contrived to thy comfort, boy! I've made the words to many a chorus and chanty, as you shall hear sung lustily all along the Spanish Main from Tortuga to Santa Catarina. Ah, many's the song I've made and sung and wrote down likewise, especially two as be now chanted right hearty aboard ships o' the Coast Brotherhood, true songs, my lad, and of real men—Black Bartlemy for one and Roger Tressady for t'other and hell-fire roarers both or strike me dumb! And there lieth our haven—in the lee o' yon trees. 'The Mariner's Joy,' kept by an old shipmate, and a snug berth for any poor sailorman."

So came they to a sequestered tavern bowered amid the green and into a small, pleasant chamber, its wide lattice open upon a sunny garden fragrant with herb and flower.

"Ho, Ben,—Ben Purdy ahoy!" cried Absalom, sitting down upon roomy settle and beckoning Adam beside him. "Ahoy, Ben, show a leg—and rum, Ben, rum and ale—and lively ho!"

"Ay, ay, sir!" came an answering hail. "Rum it is, wi' ale as ever, sir." And presently to them came a squat, trim, merry-eyed fellow who rolled in his gait yet bore well laden tray very deftly none the less.

"Where be the lads, Ben—Abnegation and lubberly Abner?"

"Abroad, sir."

"Ha. And Captain Smy?"

"He be aloft, sir, wi' his Book. Shall I pass him the word?"

"Nay leave him to his meditations, and see to it we are nowise interrupted, Ben, off with ye! And now," said Absalom, so soon as they were alone, "here's to thy consolation, my poor boy. Sluice the ivories, drink deep and drink oft—come!"

Adam drank and choked, but at earnest solicitation of his new friend, drank again; he sipped rum, he gulped ale, he quaffed both together until at last he nodded drowsily, sank back upon the settle and forgot awhile his sick horror, his grief and heartbreak in the blessedness of sleep.

He awoke to a hoarse rumble of voices at no great distance, and, sitting up, found himself very heavy and languid, his faculties dulled by the pain of his aching head; so for some while he crouched miserably, staring blindly at the opposite wall, for before the eyes of his mind was ghastly vision of a rope that jerked horridly ... quivered ... swung ... and was still. He groaned and bowed pain-racked head between clutching hands ... and now the murmur of these hoarse voices was like the vague, harsh muttering of a pushing, jostling crowd that watched a man die. But in to him through the open lattice came a soft, fragrant air that touched his hot brow like the hand of a loving friend and soothed his rising horror like the blessing of God.

At last, rising uncertainly, he came to this open window and saw that it was evening and three men rolling dice in a rosy sunset. Then he heard the door open behind him and therewith the pleasant, cheery voice of the man Absalom:

"How is it with ye, lad, how d'ye do now, I wonder?"

"My ... head ... aches!"

"Good, and 'tis no wonder, considering how I dosed thee, boy, for better head that acheth than heart that breaketh."

"It is ... broke."

"Good again, for sink and burn me but ye look all the better for it, more manly, my lad, I lay my oath ye do! There's some must needs break their hearts or ever they are men enough to mend 'em. Look at me! I broke my heart five year agone and ha' been better man ever since, ay and got me more out o' life, or damme! I changed me from dreaming young fool, sighing and puling for the impossible, into sober man and right cheery soul content to take whatsoever comes and make the best o't, a fellow bold in adversity and jibing at woe, ay so, or may I rot! So, never grieve, m' lad——"

"How should I—not?" groaned Adam.

"By other thinking. Lookee, Adam boy, I was once a mother's darling, then an Oxford scholar, next a fool-lover sick for love, but she proved false, and with my friend, so her I trounced, him I killed in fair fight, bundled me off to sea and to-day here am I a shipmaster without a ship, low in pocket yet high in heart, bold to dare Fortune and spit in the very eye of baleful Circumstance,—and what o' thee, boy, what?"

"That ... rope!" said Adam, staring on vacancy with eyes wide in horror. "You'll mind that murderous rope ... how it ... jerked ... quivered? 'Twas death. Oh, 'twas agony manifest."

"Ay, lad, but by death, agony may be transmuted into abiding joy—if the God of my good mother sits aloft indeed, so comfort thee, Adam."

"Ah but—the rope! I see it yet! I shall see it so long as I live ... so would God I die soon!"

Bowing head, Adam twisted both hands in his long hair and cast himself face down upon the floor to lie there writhing; and when Absalom stooped to lift him, cried out as in bodily agony and bade him go away, which at last the tall mariner did, shaking his curly head and muttering as he went, and so left Adam prone in his misery.

Now as he lay thus, heedless of time and all else save horror and grief, a heavy foot spurned him painfully and a harsh, jeering voice spoke above him:

"Eh, what cursed younker be you, and what doing, eh, kid, eh?" Adam neither spoke nor moved, wherefore this foot stirred him more savagely and the voice jeered him again:

"How then, are ye sick, or drunk, or only dead, eh, boy? Curse ye,—if y'ain't dead, pipe up and answer me." Still Adam made no response and was kicked till he gasped. Then was sound of other feet and a familiar voice:

"Ha, Abner, is't you, and must ye boot my messmate? Why then feel my toe and be damned t' ye, and now my fist, ye lubberly scum!" Here ensued sounds of violent movement with howl of savage pain cut short by slamming door.

More than once, through the long hours, this door opened softly, and though Adam sensed eyes watching him, yet he lay mute and still, face hidden and clutching fingers buried in his long hair.

And so at last came slumber, lulling him to forgetfulness.

His next awaking was to a dazzle of sun and the feel of a hand upon his shoulder, and though he did not look up, he knew this for the hand of a friend.

"Adam," said a voice. "Adam, my poor lad, how are ye now? Speak to me, boy, speak!"

Now in this familiar voice instead of usual jovial ring was something so much the reverse that Adam, moving cramped limbs, turned, then sat up with an effort to blink at the down-bent face of Absalom Troy.

"What now, sir?" he demanded huskily. "Why do you look on me so strangely?"

"Why, Adam, lad, 'tis because yourself is so ... ay, so mighty strange ... very marvellous strange! Something hath befallen you in the night ... and I'm wondering how ... and what. Come, lad, and see for yourself!"

So saying, he lifted Adam to his feet and pointed to a little mirror that hung on panelled wall nearby. Thither, stiff-legged, walked Adam and, looking at his reflection, started, peered close, then fell back a pace, to gaze wide-eyed, for the long, tousled hair framing lined brow and haggard face, hair that should have been glossy black—was white as snow.

"Well, Adam, well? How of it? What d'ye say?"

"Mighty well!" he answered, turning from the looking-glass with strange, mirthless smile. "My loved father was white-haired ... so this white hair honours me and shall be his memorial to bear with honour whiles I live."

CHAPTER II TELLS HOW ADAM SMOTE SAVAGERY

"And now, sir," sighed Adam, "if you'll show where I may wash me and comb my old man's hair, I'll thank you and go about my business."

"Ay, ay, lad. I'll bring thee with clean towel to pump i' the yard and thereafter shalt feed, my poor boy." Adam shook white head wearily.

"Mr. Troy, you are crassly blind to so mistake me. I alas, am no boy! A man am I these two years, and to-day am aged beyond my years, as you may see."

Tall Absalom looked down at this small, slim figure, this shape of youth crowned by hair silvery white; he looked away, rubbed his chin, shook his head and finally spoke:

"Why then, friend Adam, go along o' me and I'll pump new life and hunger into thee with sweet, fresh water."

So forth went they into a morning bright with sun and glad with song of birds, for the day was young. And presently, stripped to the waist, Adam bowed white head and slender body and was pumped upon and deluged with sparkling water until he gasped, then towelled and rubbed down by Absalom until he glowed and thrilled with new life. Now as Adam, thus half naked, turned for his garments, he chanced to catch his companion's eye, and flushed:

"Ah," said he, frowning, "Master Troy, I perceive you are considering what small, puny wretch I am, eh, sir?"

"Why now, Adam, let me die but there a'n't a vasty deal o' thee,—now is there?"

"Howbeit, sir," retorted Adam in the act of donning shirt and therefore speaking in tone a little muffled, "I have wrought and studied in divers ways and with a painful diligence to make the utmost of what there is of me. I must not be measured by my inches, sir,—or lack of them. Moreover, I——" He broke off with a gasp and ducked suddenly behind his tall companion, for a buxom woman was nodding and smiling at him from an open window nearby.

"Breakfast, Capten!" she cried in laughing tone. "And the little gen'leman needn't show so fearsome modest and coy, I've seen growed men aplenty and I be old enough to mother him, ay and you too, Cap'n Troy!"

"Why so ye do, Martha, Lord bless your handsome face, and never was younger mother or more dutiful, loving son! Messmate, you behold our hostess, commander and general mother—dame Martha Purdy."

"Not as I won't say," chuckled Mrs. Purdy, as Adam struggled desperately with his shirt, "but what your little gen'leman 'ave got the prettiest smooth skin and white as any maid's. Hows'ever, my Ben's this moment a-drawing your ale, there's gammons a-frizzling, likewise eggs, so come your ways this moment, both o' ye, and eat 'em."

And presently eat indeed they did, Adam with such appetite as was his own astonishment.

"Mr. Troy," said he, when at last his hunger was satisfied, "sir, I have very much to thank you for ... your sympathy, for this I am grateful beyond words."

"Dost reckon me thy friend, Adam?"

"Indeed, needs must I."

"Then never 'master' or 'mister' me that is thy friend, call me Absalom or, since 'tis such plaguey mouthful, make it 'Lom' as do certain others, a few ... and tell me this, have ye many friends, Adam, or relations?"

"No."

"Good! For one staunch friend is better than many, and relations, dammem, are generally a curse and plague. So then you've no ties or grapples to hold ye fast aground here in England?"

"Not one!"

"Good again! For, damme, Adam, but I'm mighty set on carrying ye off along o' me, shipmates, you and I.... The broad ocean, the clean winds, and the Main, Adam, the Spanish Main! The golden Indies, Hispaniola, Tortuga, Santa Catarina, the Isle o' Pearls. Ay, and 'twill be noble venture besides,—to save from the hell o' slavery divers goodly gentlemen, poor souls and woeful prisoners, bound for the plantations. Well, how say you, friend, will ye sail with me?"

"With you," Adam murmured thoughtfully, "yet who beside?"

"Certain lusty fellows, well chosen and prime sailor-men all, here with me lie four o' the chiefest, namely—Captain Smy Peters, Nicholas Cobb, Abnegation Mings and Matt Appleby."

"There is also," said Adam, pinching his long chin between nervous, sinewy fingers, "the man Abner."

"Ay, ay, though he's no more than mere lubberly rogue. But for the rest, they be all tried and sober men, well beknown to me and to each other.... Hast ever heard tell o' the Brotherhood o' the Coast, Adam?"

"Never."

"Ah well, 'tis a staunch company, and powerful in the Indies and along the Main, and made up of English, French, Scots, Hollanders and others, good, bad and indifferent,—like Life itself, Adam. So now, will ye 'list with us, wilt hazard thy life—first to the rescue of these doomed prisoners and thereafter dare Fortune on thine own account?"

"How so, Absalom?"

"Join the Brotherhood, as my sworn comrade."

"And what then, Absalom?"

"To live a man's life, Adam, hearty and free, or die as a man should—on his feet and in fullness o' strength, hailing Death as friend and cheerily."

"To die—suddenly," nodded Adam, "on my feet to welcome Death as kindly friend,—ay, this were better than to perish by inches—cowering in a bed! So, Absalom, I'll with thee,—to win fortune and power or six foot of earth, or say—five foot and an inch. So, when do we sail?"

"Three days hence, from Shoreham."

"Then shall be time a-plenty for that I have to do, and the sooner the better. Pray lend me weapon of some sort,—pistol, hanger or rapier, any shall serve."

"Ay, but to what end, Adam?"

"The performance of a sacred duty."

"Ay, and might a friend ask—what?"

"I go to kill my uncle."

"Madre de Dios!" murmured Absalom, opening his blue eyes wider than usual, while Adam, leaning head on hand, sighed deeply and explained:

"It was he betrayed my father, his own brother, to shameful death ... that ghastly, twitching rope...!"

"Art sure o' this, Adam?"

"Beyond all doubt."

"Then 'tis case of homicide justifiable, eh, Adam?"

"So I believe, for he is murderer beyond reach of the law, therefore I must be his death—or he mine."

"How then, you'll fight him, messmate?"

"Indeed!" nodded Adam.

"Nay, lad, I protest 'tis fool's way to deal with a murderer."

"Agreed!" answered Adam. "Yet, for my father's sake, I had rather die such fool than live and feel myself a murderer. So this guilty man shall fight for his life, and howsoever it end, I shall be content, myself now having no least fear of death."

"Why then, Adam, an thou'lt be Nemesis and slaughter thy nunks, I, like trusty friend, will——" He paused and turned sharply as the door opened to disclose a shock-headed country fellow in smock-frock who beckoned with back jerk of thumb, saying:

"Oh, Cap'n, youm wanted main bad in kitchen or bloody murder will be for sure. There be Must' Abner in kitchen, wi' loaded dag, all full o' rum and Old Nick 'e be—in kitchen along wi' Cap'n Mings an' landlord Ben and dame in kitchen, sir, and all on 'em backed rearwise into corner—in kitchen 'e be and swearin' very 'orrorsome."

Up leapt Absalom with swirl of wide coatskirts and a pistol which seemed to have leapt to his fist from the air.

"Burn him! Is he drunk again, Tom?"

"Ay, sir—leastways, fightin'-sober, I'd say—in the kitchen, Cap'n, and——"

"Devil take the sot! I'll go wing him——"

"Pray—no!" said Adam, rising very nimbly. "This Abner kicked me, yester evening, so this morning, by your leave, I'll deal with him."

"Eh—you, little master?" quoth Tom, shaking shock head. "Nay, he'd eat ye, 'e would,—bolt and swaller ye at jest one mouthful 'e would."

"Yet should I choke him—mayhap. Howbeit, friend Absalom, put up thy pistol and suffer me to try."

"Why now, messmate," said Absalom dubiously, "'tis murderous rogue very powerful and should ye fail——"

"'Twill be an end o' my grief, Absalom—come!"

A stone-flagged passage brought them to a wide, pleasant kitchen where, crouched in a corner stood two men and the buxom hostess fronting a great, brawny fellow, stripped to the waist, who pounded on broad, hairy chest with one fist and flourished a pistol in the other.

"Lookee now," cried he fiercely, "when I goes for to kiss a woman, she ain't agoin' for to deny me, no nor nobody else ain't neither, and anybody as says me different——"

"Swinish beast!" hissed Adam, in such a voice that the fellow started and turned to stare in open-jawed amazement. "Fool!" cried Adam, pointing suddenly. "Look! Look behind ye, there, fool—there!" Instinctively this man Abner glanced back across his wide shoulder and, in that moment, Adam leapt, grasped the pistol by lock and barrel, wrenched, twisted, and sprang back and with the weapon levelled at the scowling face of Abner who, blinded by rage, groped for the cutlass a-swing at his hip.

"Good!" exclaimed Adam, and gave the pistol into Absalom's ready hand saying, "Lend me a hanger, somebody." A cutlass was thrust into his grasp; he balanced the weapon, shook his head and sighed at it, then with the broad blade advanced, fronted his mighty adversary and instantly their steel rang together in vicious cut and dexterous parry; then, with these sharp, curved blades grinding together they circled one another.

"Now, fool," said Adam, gazing up at his brawny antagonist narrow-eyed, "do your utmost best or I'll blood ye—fight, numps—fight!"

Wrought thus to a very frenzy, the man Abner uttered a beast-like, inarticulate howl and smote full-armed, terrible blows that were somehow deftly turned or narrowly eluded by this small, puny creature who seemed always only just out of reach, who moved so nimbly on dancing feet and who, bobbing white head, laughed and mocked.

"One!" cried Adam, out-flashed his levelled steel—and there on Abner's brawny arm was thin trickle of blood. Abner gasped a curse and smote the wilder; but his furious, cutting strokes were avoided or turned aside and each parry was followed by instant, lightning thrust, for whereas Abner used only the edge, Adam plied the quicker point, rapier-fashion.

"Two! Three!" he cried; and presently, "Four! Five! Six! ..." And now Abner's great, bare arms and chest were flecked by small spots and scarlet runnels.

"I'm blooding ye, fool, I'm—blooding ye!" Adam panted. "Drop your ... useless steel or ... I'll cut ye into ... foul gobbets." Abner gasped hoarse curses, his attack grew feeble, he gave back and back until at last, stung beyond endurance by these ceaseless pin-pricks and cowed by the sight of his own blood, he staggered aside to the window, dashed his cutlass to the floor and clambering out through the wide casement, reeled away like a drunken man.

Then Adam laid by the weapon he had used to such purpose and turned to be gone; but to him came a sprightly man, a ruddy, smiling fellow who slapped him on the back, grasped and shook his hand, with joyful oath and question to every shake:

"I'm Mings, I am, mate! Abnegation Mings, that's me. And you can choke and let me rot if I ever see the like! Twas woundy miracle or let me drownd! And here's me to ax how 'twas done—and Abner twice the size o' ye, how, friend how?"

"It was because," answered Adam, putting his too eager questioner aside, "the man Abner is an ignorant clod and afraid to die, and I am neither." So saying he went from the kitchen, leaving clamorous amazement behind him.

Going forth into the garden, and the sun now very warm and glad all about him, he wandered here some while until he came upon a small arbour bowered in honeysuckle, and entering this pleasant shade, sat down and presently fell to troublous meditation. Bees hummed drowsily, birds chirped and piped above and around him and then, borne to him on the sunny air came a man's voice upraised in song and these the words:

"There are two at the fore,

At the main be three more,

Dead men that hang all of a row;

Here's fine, dainty meat

For the fishes to eat,

Black Bartlemy—Bartlemy ho!"

And presently forth into the sunshine came Absalom Troy to breathe deep of the fragrant air, while Adam watched him with a wistful envy,—such handsome fellow, blithe in his strength and vigorous manhood, all careless grace from curly head to spurred boot (thought Adam),—such tall, commanding figure despite shabby garments which had once been things of splendour. Now glancing from this shape of stalwart manhood to his own puny form with look of bitter dispraisal, Adam sighed very despondently. Then was a cheery hail and Absalom came striding to halt without the arbour, to fold his arms and gaze down at woeful Adam with a new interest.

"Messmate," quoth he, shaking comely head, "I protest you become my astonishment, I vow you do, or damme! For I perceive in thee a sucking Achilles, Ajax and Hector, one and indivisible. There's curst Abner bleeding like stuck pig and yourself untouched,—there's Mother Martha, Ben and Abnegation swearing 'twas spells and magic, here's myself astounded, as I say, and very fain to know the how of it."

"Here is nought for wonder," answered Adam, "the art of weapon-craft was born in me, and hath been well nurtured from my boyhood up, and by a very perfect swordmaster ... my patient tutor at each and every weapon, broadsword, backsword and rapier ... a tutor very able, very wise and kind."

"Ah," said Absalom, sitting down to set long arm about Adam's drooping form, "this was——?"

"Yes, my ... father," Adam answered, choking on the word. "By his will I had divers other famous instructors beside,—and this the reason. Upon a day, and I a schoolboy, my father found me in tears and bloody of face for I had been at fisticuffs, and I told him I wept not for my hurts but because God had made me so small and weak. Then he kissed me, saying: 'Comfort thee, my little son, for, though Nature hath cast thee in mould so small, the Lord hath blessed thee perchance in other ways, and there is a strength of soul nobler than power of body. But now because 'tis a harsh world for the weak and more especially if weakness be valiant and bold-hearted to dare the strong, I will show thee a craft, a mystery of weapons that, God aiding, shall make thee terrible as a giant, yet first promise me, little son, thou wilt be terrible only against the aggressor.' So I promised, and so was I instructed, and so ... may God rest and cherish the sweet soul of him!"

"Amen!" said a deep voice, and, glancing up, Adam beheld a lean, dark man, grim and somewhat sinister of aspect though very neat as to person and clad in garments of sober black.

"Messmate," said Absalom, gesturing towards this man, "you behold my good friend and shipmate Captain Smy Peters. Smy, here sitteth my young Achilles, Hector and Ajax called Adam. He hath mayhap another name, but no matter. Come you in, Smy, and sit likewise. So,—now here are we and presently, with somewhat to wet our whistles, we'll confer on what is to be, and the how and what o' things." Here, lifting his pleasant voice in mellifluous bellow, he hailed the house:

"'Mariner's Joy'—ahoy! Ho, Ben—ale, ahoy. Three tankards! And lively ho!"

"Young master," said Captain Smy, his harsh look softening, "sometimes,—let's say—occasionally—a good sire begetteth a good son, and thy so late sire, as I hear, was good and noble man, for Absalom telleth me he was of The Elect, a zealous servant o' the Lord. Now, by accounts, thou'rt a right lusty smiter, maugre thy size, and this should be a bond betwixt us, for I am myself a pre-destined smiter of Iniquity, and come of such Godly, hard-smiting stock that my good father, Lord love him,—had me christened Smite-Sin-With-Both-Hands, which, though original name, is yet one calling for such excess o' wind or breath that 'tis of necessity reduced and shortened to Smite, and this again to Smy. Being so named, I was so bred that smite sin I did and do when and wheresoever found, ashore or afloat. Ay verily, I've smote and been smitten right heartily ere now to the chastening o' poor, erring humanity,—in especial cursed Spanishers, Portugales, Papists and Pirates, rot 'em! Well now, I am still very zealous to 'smite the wicked in his sin and uproot the unrighteous in pride of evil', for, as saith Holy Writ,—'the soul of the transgressor shall eat violence'. Thus, friend, for thy right worthy father's sake, I humbly proffer my service to the proper and needful avenging of his innocent blood, even though I do but keep the door whiles Justice achieves."

"Sir," answered Adam, "I thank you gratefully, yet think I may better despatch alone."

"Nenny, messmate, no, no!" quoth Absalom. "For such business as this slaughter o' guilty nunks, two is better than one and three than two, and three are we. Moreover we languish in idleness very damnably, so—when shall the matter achieve, Adam?"

"To-night."

"Good! And whereaway, near or far?"

"But twelve miles or so."

"Good again! There be nags in stable, we ride to-night then, after supper. Now for thyself, Adam, what o' thy gear, clothes and so forth?"

"They lie at the 'King's Head', in Horsham, all I shall need."

"Very well. To-day, Ben or his man shall bear a writing from thee and fetch 'em away. Meanwhile since we shall be aboard ship pretty soon, 'tis but right we should tell thee—somewhat, eh, Smy?"

"With discretion, brother."

"Well then, Adam, you'll have heard tell of the Buccaneers and Pirates of the Main?"

"Yes."

"Good! Then, first and foremost—a buccaneer is no pirate."

"The Lord forbid!" quoth Smy, fervently.

"A pirate, Adam, lives for murder by murder. He is a lousy, pestilent fellow, a plague o' the seas, who will plunder and destroy any vessel weaker than his own—and of any nation. His sport is rape and slaughter of the defenceless, he is, in fine, a very bloody, vile rogue and damned rascal,—eh, Smy?"

"Ah, 'tis even so, friend Adam," nodded Smy, grimly. "He is an abomination, a rank offence whose iniquities reek to heaven."

"On the other hand, messmate, your true buccaneer hath but two enemies, to wit—himself by reason of drink and the devil, and the accursed Spaniard with his hellish slave-galleys, cruel autos da fé the which are public burnings—crowds of poor men, ay and women too,—and the most horrid torments of his Inquisition. Three good friends o' mine were tortured to death at Lima for no more than sailing those seas that the prideful Dons esteem their very own. The buccaneer, afore he rose against the Spanish tyranny, was a peaceful hunter,—beef and pigs, their flesh he dried and flavoured above a fire of spicy twigs called a 'boucan', and so cometh this name 'bucca-neer'. And of all the Buccaneer captains o' the Main, Adam, none better esteemed or more fortunate, up to a point, than Captain Smy Peters, of the Hope of Glory, thirty guns, and Absalom Troy, of the Golden Venture, twenty. And—of all pirates that foul the seas, no greater rogue or bloodier villain than Black Bartlemy, of the Ladies' Delight."

"Black Bartlemy," repeated Adam, "you were singing of him awhile ago, I think."

"'Tis like enough, messmate. I sing often without knowing. This was song I made after a voyage with him and his mate Tressady, and what I wrote, I saw. Belike I shall write other verses of him some day."

"This was of dead men, Absalom, five of them, and all a-swing."

"And they were hove aloft together, Adam, and—Englishmen all, not a cursed Spaniard among 'em."

"And you—watched this done?"

"I did, Adam, and dumb as any oyster lest I should make a sixth. And 'tis to sink, burn and destroy Bartlemy's accursed ship and make an end of him that Smy and I are pledged and sworn."

"Verily and indeed!" sighed Captain Smy. "It is my constant prayer that I may be so blest to let out his evil soul by incision of steel beneath his fifth rib, or—watch him hang, for 'tis very son of Belial."

"And yet," said Adam, "you sailed with him, Absalom!"

"Perforce, messmate. I'd been cast away on a lonely island where his ship chanced to put in for water."

"What like is this Black Bartlemy?"

"A smiling, fiendly gentleman, Adam, all niminy-piminy affectations, and, save for lace ruffles, all sable black from trucks to keelson. Yet none the less an apt rapier man and vastly proud of his skill,—a notable swordsman, eh, Smy?"

"Verily, brother. I watched him kill the famous Italian Vincenzio at St. Kitts, in masterly fashion,—a feint, a parry, two beats and—through Vincenzio's eye,—extreme neat and dexterous."

"Some day, Adam, you may see Bartlemy for yourself and find chance to take his measure, eh?"

"I should embrace the opportunity," said Adam, rising. "And now I'll go see about my few worldly possessions."

"Ay, ay, messmate, and tell Ben we shall want horses for to-night, after supper."

CHAPTER III TELLS HOW ADAM RODE TO HIS VENGEANCE AND THE MANNER OF IT

The moon was well up and very bright when they reached the top of a hill; and here Adam reins in his horse to point where, plain to see in this pale light, rose the chimneys and gables of a comfortable farm-house.

"So ho!" exclaimed Absalom. "A sizeable place. There'll be servants aplenty, womenfolk to scream and make alarm, dammem!"

"Yet this shall not let or stay the hand o' Justice," quoth Captain Smy.

"No whit, old lad, or burn me! So, Adam, to avoid such female clamours, your best course should be to lure nunky forth and do his business out o' doors—if ye be still o' the same mind, ha?"

Answered Adam, between shut teeth:

"When so I close my eyes I needs must see ... that murderous rope ... jerking ... swaying.... Follow me!"

Down the hill he led them, and by a winding lane that brought them to a place of trees and in this shadow they dismounted and tethered their horses.

"You ha' the swords, Adam?"

"Yes."

"Dogs, now?" enquired Absalom, taking out his pistols to glance at their flints and primings. "Any dogs, messmate?"

"In the rickyard at the back; however, they know me. Come!"

So through a night very close and still, they began to approach this house, all three, and very silent.

"Aha!" whispered Absalom, as they drew near. "Yon window, lad, its lattice wide open to thy purpose! Easy all now."

Being come to this open window, Adam looked into a small, arras-hung chamber where, at littered writing-table, a man sat poring over one of the many papers before him, a rosy, full-bodied personage who, starting to soft, unexpected sound, glanced up to behold a small, grim figure with pale, set face beneath close-fitting seaman's bonnet and two naked swords beneath one arm.

"Uncle," said Adam, approaching this staring man on slow, soundless feet, "they hanged my father ... yesterday morning!"

"Adam? Eh—it is nephew Adam, I think? Adam, be welcome ... eh ... but ... what is it? What would ye, boy? How are you here ... so ... so suddenly ... so unexpected. Ha! what is it, Adam ... what——?"

"Death, sir! They killed your brother and my father ... yesterday ... in the morning ... and the sun so glad and bright."

"Why this ... this I know, my poor Adam. Alas, 'tis so I've heard and——"

"Alas, uncle, 'tis so you contrived."

"I, boy? My own brother? No, no! Who says so lies! Ay, 'tis lie, 'tis most foul and wicked lie!"

"'Tis known and grievous fact, sir. Indeed 'tis truth so sure that I am here to do justice on you. Choose now one of these swords,—and make no least outcry or alarm lest I strike you dead,—choose, I say!"

"No! No! Oh God forgive thee, nephew, such basely cruel, such wicked accusation ... I am innocent! I vow ... I swear it before——" He gasped and cowered as through the casement one after another, came Absalom and Captain Smy.

"Oh, sirs ... sirs," he quavered, "what ... oh what would ye?"

"Justice!" answered Absalom.

"The Great Tribunal!" nodded Smy.

"So, Uncle," said Adam, "take now one of these swords to kill me if you can, or—die like a gentleman."

"No, no! Have mercy on me, Adam. Show pity——"

"Sir, I watched a ... twitching rope that had neither. So, Uncle—fight."

"Nay, spare me.... Oh, for God's sake, spare me.... I did but my duty to the King.... Oh, pity me!"

The wretched creature was down upon his knees, a pallid, sweating, grovelling shape of terror with arms outflung in frantic entreaty—arms that were seized by powerful hands quick to strangle all outcry, and thus to gag and pinion him in tall elbow chair.

"Bell-rope!" snarled Captain Smy; the which and instantly Absalom cut asunder, wherewith the half-swooning wretch was speedily trussed and bound to the heavy chair.

"Better so!" quoth Smy, as he tested the cunning, seaman's knots he had tied. "Better we leave him to the Lord his mercy. The Lord shall decide if such rogue murderer live or die!" So saying, he took a candle from its sconce and set fire to the many papers on the table and then to the arras on the walls that went up in instant flame; which done, he grasped Adam by the arm and led him towards the window.

"Nay, but," gasped Adam, holding back, "to die—such death?"

"Even so!" nodded Smy. "The purging, fiery torment here and the flames of Hell hereafter—except the Lord will otherwise. Come now!"

Reaching the open air, Adam paused to snatch off his seaman's bonnet and breathe deep, glancing back wide-eyed upon that place of fiery torment.

"Come," said Absalom, clapping him on shoulder, "cover that white head o' thine and let's sheer off and——"

"My ... white head..." repeated Adam, and gasped, and began to run....

Back through that open casement, back into a hell of smoke and crackling flame; choking and half blind, he cut asunder the bonds of this swooning man, to drag him towards the window through eddying smoke and the fierce leap of red fires. Blinded and failing, he struggled on ... reached the window at last and sank there groaning.... Then strong arms were lifting him.

"No!" he gasped, struggling. "Him ... first!"

So, in his turn, Adam was hauled forth of that terror of smoke and mounting flame and lay awhile on cool, dewy grass to breathe deep of the sweet night air; then a powerful arm raised him and a voice spoke above him.

"How are ye, messmate?"

"Very well ... thanks to the both of you," he answered, struggling to his feet.

"And what o'—this?"

Now glancing round, Adam saw his uncle crouched nearby upon his knees.

"Oh, Adam!" he sobbed. "Oh, Adam.... Twas you brought me out of hell ... am I to live? Ah, God of mercy ... is this life?" But, with no word, Adam turned and limped away between his two silent companions, through a darkness shot now by a red and awful glow.

CHAPTER IV CONCERNING ANTONIA THE WOMAN, AND AN OATH OF BROTHERHOOD

It was as they breathed their horses after the ascent of a steep hill that the girl came tumbling down upon them,—a wild, breathless creature who, bursting through hedge that crowned the steep grassy bank, rolled and slid into the narrow road so suddenly that their startled horses danced and Absalom slipped from saddle.

"Don't..." panted the girl, clinging to him with desperate hands, "don't ... for dear God's sake ... let them ... take me."

"Not I, or damme!" he answered, clasping ready arm about her. "But what the——" His question was forbidden by a loud, hoarse shout above:

"Hey there ... hey, you down there," cried this voice breathlessly, "hold me fast the ... bloodsome, curst ... Jezebel ... hold her!"

"I am," answered Absalom, stealing hand into deep side-pocket. "Then what?"

"Keep her so ... till us gets our claws on 'er. Hey, Jacob ... Oh, Jake, 'ere she be! Come ye now ... down this yere bank ... foller me!" Down the slope scrambled a burly fellow armed with a stout bludgeon.

"Thankee, gemmen," quoth he, "thankee for saving my legs and breath. She run like a stag, ah, like a perishin' deer, she did. So now I'll take the curst jade and——"

"Good fellow, tut-tut!" said Absalom, putting the girl behind his broad back. "Easy, my pretty cut-throat lurcher, and very gently now."

"Eh—what?" demanded the man, handling his bludgeon. "You gimme that there gallers-vixen now or 'twill be the worse for ye. I got the Law, I 'ave."

"But not the lass—yet!" said Absalom, speaking with an extreme of mildness. "First I must beg to know the wherefore and the why——"

"Oh, Jacob!" cried the man. "Come on down! Yere she be——" At this, there descended another man even burlier than his fellow.

"What's to do yere?" he growled. "Come on now, us don't want no 'by-your-leaves' nor 'ow d'ye do's, us wants the gell and we're a-goin' for to tek 'er, one way or t'other, so which is it for to be? Does you give 'er up or do we set about the lot o' ye?"

"Fie!" exclaimed Absalom, spreading his feet slightly. "Such a fearsome, violent fellow! Pray don't terrify me, speak me kind and say why you want this trembling child,—what hath she done?"

"Ho, child, d'ye say? A f'rocious vixen! And, wot's she done? Robbery, ah and—murder, that's wot she's done! So 'tis prison, 'tis rope and gallers for 'er! Now give 'er up,—we're the Law."

"Why then," quoth Absalom in his rough seaman's voice and diction, "sheer off, afore I rip out your livers,—both 'o ye! Aha, is that it?" With these words, he leapt, very suddenly, in beneath up-swung bludgeon and instantly felled his would-be assailant with down-smiting pistol-barrel, while Captain Smy seemed to fall bodily from saddle upon the second man, bearing him to earth. So, for brief space, was dust and sounds of strife.

"All fast ... messmate?" panted Absalom, at last.

"Ay, ay, brother, my rogue is peaceful awhile. Don't forget to belay and make fast their jaw tackle."

"Not I, shipmate, my fellow's fast, and dumb as a damned oyster."

"Then, brother, it's loose moorings and stand away."

Hereupon, they mounted their horses that Adam had been holding; but, being in the saddle, Absalom turned to look at the girl who stood leaning in shadow of the bank between the silenced but writhing forms of her late pursuers who lay expertly gagged and bound with their own belts and neckcloths.

"Sink me!" he exclaimed, "what o' the lass?"

"Yes," she answered, in tremulous voice yet without moving. "What shall become of me? I can run no farther. I'm ... faint with hunger and have no money——"

"Then," said Captain Smy, leaning down to her, "take these few coins, child, and may the Lord bless and be thy protection."

"And, lass, take my purse," cried Absalom. "I would 'twere heavier."

"Get you up on to my horse!" said Adam. "Come,—here before me. Give me your hand,—now your foot on my toe—up!"

Swiftly, lightly she obeyed, and with this quick-breathing, soft-trembling fugitive within his bridle-arm, Adam rode forward, his two companions following after, wide-eyed.

Now as they rode thus, said Absalom to his old shipmate:

"Well, Smy, what say ye to this?"

"Yonder I see trouble!"

"Ay, a petticoat,—and in it a young murderess!"

"Brother, since Eve ate the apple, man's chief trouble hath been woman!"

"True enough, Smy, and the sooner we are rid o' this one, the better for all concerned...."

Meanwhile, the subject of their talk was stealing side-long glances at Adam and, the moon being so very bright, caught him glancing askance at her.

"Well?" she enquired timidly and almost whispering.

"Yes, I ... I hope so!" he answered, almost as shyly.

"But," said she, emboldened by this, "you ask me no questions ... my name ... who I am ... what—I have done."

"I ... I wait to be told ... if you will."

"I struck down my master with his own sword."

"And—killed him?"

"I don't know ... the sword was sheathed. I ... oh, I for the moment ... meant to kill him. I struck him very hard because he would have whipped me ... and ... worse."

"Then," said Adam, looking on the distance, "I grieve the sword was sheathed."

"I struck so hard that he fell and hit his head—I saw blood on his face! Then I was afraid and ran away."

"And ... the things you stole?"

"These clothes that cover me. I was to pay for them out of my wages and have not. His servants came after me, but I hid in a wood."

"Were those two men his servants?"

"No, they were law officers from Horsham. They caught me once and told me I must hang on a gallows. I broke from them and ran and ran till I thought I should fall dead, and then ... I found you. But I know.... Oh I know if I'm taken they'll prison and hang me ... as they did a girl that stole five yards of lace ... only last month.... My master and mistress took me to see.... Oh it was horrible.... She screamed and cried ... just as I should! So I'm afraid for my life."

"Then you must not be taken."

"No—no! I pray merciful God! Yet is there any place in England I shall ever be safe?"

"Ay, to be sure! Never doubt it," he answered, and so confidently that she took comfort from his mere look and tone.

"Pray what is your name?" she asked him.

"Call me Adam."

"And I am Antonia Chievely—because I was found by a rich lady named Chievely in the porch of Saint Anthony's church. She adopted me, educated me but—ah, most of all she taught and learned me how to love her. Six months ago nearly, her horse ran away and killed her, and because there was no will, her nephew took everything, all her property, and they turned me away. So, to live, I became a serving maid ... and to-day I am penniless ... afraid, and very lonely."

"I am lonely too!" said Adam.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To safety, I hope."

"But where—where?"

"A tavern called 'The Mariner's Joy.'"

"A tavern!" she repeated, whispering, and glanced fearfully from the speaker's pale, strange face to the grim horsemen behind.

"What now?" Adam questioned, for he felt her shudder violently.

"I'm wondering ... wondering what is to become of me? It was to 'scape one man that I struck and fled, and now ... three!"

"However," answered Adam, "these three are men indeed, moreover, of these three, I am one."

"You!" she repeated, hopelessly. "But they are so big and you so ... young."

"And—small!" said he, bitterly. "But as for young—look at this!" And snatching off his seaman's bonnet, showed his long white hair all glistening to the moon. "How say you now—child?" he demanded, somewhat grimly.

"Sir," she answered, viewing him with very wistful, humbly-questioning eyes, "I know not how or what to say. Your face—so young and your head—so very old! Sir, indeed I cannot tell what to say."

"Well," quoth Adam, covering his hair again, "if my head be old it should be wise, and if it be wise, it should scheme how to save and keep a poor lonely child safe from all harms and dangers."

"Sir," said she, after they had gone some little way and no word, "there is something you may tell me, if you will, a thing that puzzles me ... why do you smell of fire?"

"Because," he answered, looking up at the serene night sky, "I have come through the fire of ... Great Tribulation."

It was about now that Absalom said to his solemn companion:

"Love my eyes! Smy, wilt look now at my young Adam. He's said more to his slip of a murderess in this short while than to me since I hauled him to his spindleshanks. Ay, he has so—or I'm a forked radish!"

"Absalom, I ponder how best and soonest we may dispose of the poor creature to her own safety and good. For, as the Lord knoweth, she shall find neither along of us!"

"True enough, messmate, we are no company for any young lass, so—how and when is the question. Ha, damme, she's a woman's concern and care,—we be men and bent on plaguey desperate course. And besides there's Mings and t'other wild lads. The 'Mariner's Joy' shall be no harbourage for any maid, murderess or no."

"How so be, Lom, we shall supply her with what o' money we may and thereafter leave her in care o' the Lord that hath been our protection hitherto, bringing us, thou and I, all unscathed through such stress o' tempest, shipwreck, battle and bloody strife as is my abiding wonder and cause for gratitude."

"True enough, Smy, we should ha' been bleached bones long since, otherwise.... And yonder, where the ways divide shall indeed be a parting o' the ways. Forrard, messmate!"

Thus being come to these cross-roads, Adam suddenly found his two companions beside him.

"What now?" he questioned, reining up.

"Why here," answered Absalom, "when we have bestowed what monies we may, we bid farewell and good fortune to young mistress here——"

"Leaving her," Captain Smy added, "unto the Lord, his care."

"Why very well," said Adam, looking from one to other, "ride on and leave us to go our way alone."

"Ay, but whither, Adam?"

"The 'Mariner's Joy' and Mother Martha."

"Nenny, Adam, 'tis no place for any young maid, or damme!"

"Yet, Absalom, thither she goes, or curse me!"

"Eh, lad, eh? Lord love us, wilt snap at thy messmate? I tell thee, Adam, this is impossible."

"And I tell you, Absalom, I esteem few things to be impossible."

"Oh, I'll go!" said Antonia miserably. "Loose me and I'll go——"

"Ay, let her away, messmate, 'twill be best for her and us."

"Best?" demanded Adam, in a still fury. "Best d'ye say? Man, d'ye know what you are doing? Will ye dare to leave her—the defenceless prey for any loose night-prowler,—horror o' mind and shame o' body ... will ye leave her to hazard o' this? 'Yes!' says you. 'Then damn your friendship and let's be enemies,' says I. In such case I'll fight you or any man, kill or be killed and joy in it."

"'S death!" exclaimed Absalom, peering at this small yet resolute speaker. "Sink and burn me but I believe you would."

"Sir, be very sure of it! And of this also,—to-night this child of ours shall lie secure at the 'Mariner's Joy'."

"Ours, d'ye say? Our child, Adam?"

"Indeed. Since she lieth in our care, ours she must be. So here's the reason she goeth with us. Now if this reason suffice, let us ride on, if not, we will debate the matter with steel. Perchance you shall find reason on my rapier-point."

"How,—a challenge? D'ye dare me, Adam?"

"Ay, with all my heart."

For a long moment they fronted and stared on each other, eye to eye; then Absalom's shapely lips curved, he smiled, he chuckled, he threw back his head and laughed joyously.

"Adam!" said he. "Oh Adam! I'm going to love thee some day—except thou force me to shoot or hang thee for insubordination and mutiny! Smy, how think ye of my hell-fire roaring boy?"

"That verily he is his father's son, for here is no boastful bragster, Absalom, the youth hath bowels! Mayhap the Lord hath raised him up to some purpose, and 'tis for us to abide the issue. Ride on."

So came they at last, and silent all, to the tavern; but having stabled the horses:

"Belay now!" muttered Absalom. "Easy all and softly by reason of our Martha for, though good soul, she's a woman and therefore overly apt with her tongue."

"And," sighed Captain Smy, "the tongue of woman is very disquieting member, being tipped with a viperish gall."

"Therefore," continued Absalom, glancing up at the silent house, "our best course shall be to steal us softly within doors and——"

"House!" shouted Adam, loudly as he might, "Mistress Purdy! Oh, Mother Martha!" And deaf to Absalom's commands and Smy's exhortations he continued his shouting until a lattice swung wide to let forth Mrs. Purdy's indignant face framed in a large nightcap.

"Ha!" cried she, "stint this drunken clamour ... what, is it you and—oh my soul, with—a woman! A drabbish trollop, as I'm a vartuous creetur! Pack off ... pack off ... away wi' her. Nay but I'll see into this!" The head vanished swiftly, lattice closed angrily, Absalom cursed pettishly, Captain Smy groaned, and Antonia trembled.

"Adam, fool, what i' the Fiend's name——? Damme but you've done it now!" quoth Absalom.

"I hope so!" said Adam, and taking Antonia's trembling hand he led her forward as the door opened and Martha Purdy fronted them, a fierce-eyed, night-capped figure of Judgment.

"Lord bless and save us all!" she cried angrily. "What's this wickedness. Fie shame on ye, here's no place for your naughty baggage, 'tis a good house, mine, so pack now—pack!" And she waved them off with imperious hand. But, stepping lightly forward, Adam had taken and kissed this so forbidding hand, all in a moment.

"Mrs. Purdy," said he, uncovering his white head, "dear Mother Martha, if I tell you this is my sister and she and I orphans and, for the time being, homeless, will you turn us away? Life hath not been kind to us and she is sore distressed. So, if I ask of your compassion to take her to your gentle care, to shelter her for this night at least, will you deny? Also I can pay well. See—she droops with hunger and weariness! Wilt now open thy generous heart and mother her—this little while?"

Mrs. Purdy glanced at Adam, looked at the woeful girl and instinctively reached forth her arms.

"Why now," said she. "Lord love her sweet, sad eyes, this will I! Come thy ways, my poor, pretty lamb, there—there! As for thee, young master, if I thought wrong, forgive me for 'tis naughty world and most men so wicked, 'specially"—here she rolled bright eye at Absalom, "'specially sailor-men! Come now, my sweeting, shalt eat and to bed, and—within hearing and call o' me! Now go along o' Mother Martha."

"Well!" exclaimed Absalom, so soon as they were alone. "Smy, old shipmate, my young Adam hath found his tongue and to some purpose, or I'm a shotten herring! Now let's stay for a noggin afore we turn in."

"Thank 'ee," answered Adam, "but for myself I'll to bed."

"Ay, but where, messmate?"

"Any hole or corner shall serve."

"Aloft, sir!" said landlord Ben, appearing with lighted candle. "'Tis but attic 'neath the eaves, young master, but the best us can offer. We ha' stowed your gear there, a portmantle and two saddle-bags, sir."

"Nay, there should be a sword also, a rapier with its girdle and carriages."

"All's there aloft, ay ay, sir. But there was two swords. Us took care to have away all o' your belongings from Horsham 's arternoon, young sir."

"Why then, here's for your trouble, Ben,—nay take it, man! And now pray show me up to bed."

"Though first," said Absalom, "I've somewhat to tell thee, Adam. Give me the glim, Ben, and bring that you know to Mr. Adam's attic."

So up they went to a chamber beneath the thatch which, though small, being neat and clean, Adam thought well enough. And here to them came Ben with a flask of wine and large goblet which he set forth on little table beside the bed and with salute smart and sailorly, departed.

"Messmate, sit down," said Absalom, seating himself at the table, "for I've a thing to propose. But first, Adam, How d'ye like me?"

"Why," answered Adam, viewing the comely face opposite with his shrewd yet wistful gaze, "very well and sometimes—better than I suppose."

"Hum!" quoth Absalom, rubbing square chin. "Art a non-committal soul! Is your liking deep enough to trust me with all you own in this world?"

"Yes, for this is very little."

"Then wouldst trust me with thy very life, Adam?"

"Yes, for I hold it very cheap."

"Experience perchance shall make it dearer to thee anon, Adam. However, dost esteem and trust me sufficiently well to take me henceforth as thy comrade sworn?"

"Gratefully, Absalom, for you showed me kindliness and sympathy in ... my black hour."

"Well then," said Absalom, drawing a broad-bladed knife from his belt and testing its point on his thumb, "let us together now swear the Brotherhood Oath,—do you as I shall do." So saying, he filled the goblet with wine, then taking knife snicked his wrist with the keen point and from this small wound squeezed a few drops of blood into the wine; this done, he passed the knife to Adam who followed his example.

"Now, Adam, give me thy hand, swearing this oath after me. I, Absalom Troy, do take thee, Adam, to be my blood brother. I swear on the blood to keep thy counsel faithfully, to aid thee in all things 'gainst all men soever, to cherish and comfort thee in every adversity and to be faithful to thee until death,—or may I perish everlastingly."

So, with hands locked Adam swore this oath also, whereafter they pledged each other in the wine.

"Well now," quoth Absalom, setting down the empty goblet, "henceforth thy foes and woes are mine and mine are thine.... Yet dost ask no question as to what hast pledged thyself, brother, and wherefore not?"

"Because, having only my life to lose, I care not. Sufficient unto the day,—and so good night, brother Absalom."

CHAPTER V TELLS OF TWO IN THE DAWN

Aroused by sounds of furtive, stealthy movement Adam sat up in bed, blinking in the dawn; heard a stair creak and, quick to guess what this meant, leapt from the sheets to dress speedily as he might and beside the open window. Thus, after a little while he saw Antonia come stealing out into the misty garden where no leaf stirred and no bird sang, for the sun was not yet up.

Very soon Adam was dressed and, shoes in hand, went creeping down the stair in his turn and so, very silently out of the house; then, having slipped on his shoes, he began to run and thus presently espied her going on before, a drooping, disconsolate figure in the dawn. He ran upon his toes and so silently that he was close before she heard and started about in sudden terror, but seeing him, clasped hands to resurgent bosom and closed her eyes so that he thought her about to swoon, and set his arm about her.

"Oh!" she gasped, shuddering violently. "I ... I thought 'twas ... them ... to drag me to ... the gallows! And 'tis ... only you!"

"Yes, only me," he repeated. And now she clung to him, sobbing so violently that he questioned her very anxiously:

"Why d' you weep so, poor child?"

"For ... joy that ... 'tis indeed ... only you! I was so very terrified, and now ... so marvellous glad."

"Then don't cry. Suffer me to wipe your tears,—sit down." So together down they sat and all heedless of the dew, leaning near each other in this windless, misty dawn, while Adam, doing his best with his handkerchief, proved so inept that she laughed, then gazed on him in wide-eyed amazement.

"Oh—I laughed!" she whispered. "And I do never laugh—now! But, oh Adam, why did you fright a poor body so?"

"Nay, why did you run away, Antonia?"

"Because I cannot ... dare not bide still in any place for fear they creep and ... take me ere I know ... drag me away to prison and... Ah! My master and mistress carried me to see them hang a poor serving maid not so old as I——"

"Hush! Never think on it, child!"

"I cannot help but think on it ... her dreadful weeping ... and screams ... and for five yards of lace——"

"But you are no thief."

"Yes, yes, I am! They cried me for thief ... I thought it was for my clothes, but now I know 'tis more.... Oh much, much more! Last night when I undressed I found—this!" And into his hand she thrust a man's large signet ring. "You see ... it is terribly valuable, much more than ... five yards of lace,—gold, Adam, and a great ruby stone."

"No, a garnet," said Adam, scowling at it. "And you found this?"

"Yes, in my bosom. My master must have thrust it there whiles we struggled."

"Ah?" said Adam, with show of white teeth.

"So now ... if I'm taken, they'll swear this against me, and surely hang me for thief. Oh, if I'm caught, this ring shall be ... my death!"

"No!" said Adam softly, but clenching his hand upon this ring. "Oh no, 'stead o' your death this vile thing shall perchance be his."

"How? Oh—how?"

"The liar shall swallow it. Where lives he?"

"I ... no, I shall not tell."

"Ha, why not, child, why not indeed?"

"Lest you kill him,—if I have not,—and they hang you with me."

"Yet, Antonia, I do beg you'll tell me."

"No, Adam, I never will ... never!"

"Then—here's for your lying master's false evidence!" And dropping the ring into the dewy grass, he spurned and stamped it deep from sight beneath scornful heel.

"So!" he said, hissing between clenched teeth. "I would 'twere your rogue-master's villainous face!"

"Nay now, Adam, prithee don't look so—murderous."

"Why then tell me, Antonia, where you were going?"

"Oh—anywhere! London, I think ... it doth not matter."

"Afoot, child, and without money?"

"Nay, your friends gave me money."

"And when this is gone, how then, Antonia?"

"I shall work my way ... or beg."

Adam looked at her ripe, young shapeliness, her pale though lovely face, saw the terror and despair in her wide, grey eyes, and began to tremble, even as she was trembling.

"No, by God!" said he, between grim lips, "there you shall meet death—and worse, so this you shall not do!" Then he was up and seizing her nerveless hands in masterful grasp, drew her to her feet with unexpected strength and compelled her to go beside him.

"What...?" she gasped. "Where do you take me?"

"Back to present safety. Come, I want to talk and you to listen. For if you'll trust to me, Antonia, as you must, I have a scheme shall keep you safe."

"No," said she, breathlessly. "No! I shall never be safe in England; no matter where I go there will always be a shadow behind me,—cold,—cold and dreadful, the shadow of ... a gallows."

"But see, Antonia, see—yonder cometh the kind sun to fright away shadows. Old Sol shall be an omen of happiness to come. Let us sit here and warm us in his glory. So,—now hearken to me."

Thus seated in the growing warmth and splendour of this rising sun, Adam told his scheme in few words, whereat she sprang afoot, gasping in breathless whisper:

"No,—ah no, I—dare not."

"You must, Antonia."

"'Twould be impossible."

"Not with me beside you."

"They ... I should be found out, and then——"

"Not if you are quick-witted and able as I do believe you, Antonia. Besides, I shall instruct you very fully. Do this and 'stead of fear o' death shall presently be joy of life,—and, whiles I live, no one shall anyways harm you. And this I swear on ... the white head of my dead father! So now, wilt do this, Antonia, and trust all to me and thine own mother-wit?"

"Yes! Yes!" she whispered, reaching him both hands in pretty, instinctive gesture. "Yes, I will trust you.... I do, and shall so long as you be Adam."

"Then go with me indoors before the house is astir and I'll tell you more."

"Yes, Adam. And when ... when must I..."

"Not until I give the word, nor stir abroad even then until—you hear me whistle."

"Ay, but what shall you whistle?"

"Do you know this merry song called 'Sellinger's Round'?"

"To be sure, Adam."

And presently back went they side by side through a world all bright now and glad with the piping chorus of birds; and in Antonia's grey eyes, instead of terror and despair, was the dawn-light of Hope.

CHAPTER VI HOW ADAM BECAME PENFEATHER, AND ANTONIA, ANTHONY

The three had finished breakfast and now, leaning back in his chair, Absalom glanced from one to other of his companions and propounded this question, solemn of tone yet with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Brothers and messmates both, resolve we now this troublesome question of curst, troublous subject, to wit,—what of—our child?"

"Eh—child?" repeated Captain Smy. "D'ye mean——"

"The female child, shipmate, foisted upon our fatherly care by young Adam here. I mean this nymph o' bloodshed, this dryad o' slaughter, this soft-spoke goddess o' death! What must we do with her?"

"Leave her snug here with Mistress Martha," answered Smy.

"Ay, ay," nodded Absalom, "'tis so I think. And what say you, Adam?"

"Take her with us."

Now at this, Captain Smy opened grim lips yet spake not; Absalom, starting erect, swung round to stare at the speaker, while Adam finding his pewter yet held some ale, finished it and wiped his lips daintily on snowy handkerchief.

"Smy, you heard him," said Absalom, still staring on Adam 'neath cocked eyebrows, "he's neither mad nor a fool and yet talks like both—or I'm a stockfish, damme!"

"Moreover and finally," quoth Captain Smy, at his very grimmest, "a rule o' The Brotherhood is—no women aboard-ship. And 'tis good rule and nowise to be broke."

"However," said Adam, "out of England she must go,—this England where the Law never rests, for if she remain I am persuaded she will be retaken—and then——"

"Nay, bethink you," said Smy, grimly pious, "we leave her in the good Lord's care."

"Ay," nodded Adam, "but how if the Lord hath set her in ours?" Now at this, Absalom looked from the speaker's pale, strange face with its firm mouth and bright, steady eyes, to Smy's lean visage; but, before he might speak, Adam rose and took the long rapier that dangled from his chair-back.

"Look at this!" said he, unsheathing the narrow, glittering blade. "This is my father's sword, he showed me how to use it to mine own defence and the protection of suchlike weaklings as myself. See my white hair that grief hath bestowed upon me for a memorial of this father that feared no thing under heaven save only dishonour, and who dying so shamefully, left me—only this sword and this white hair to mind me how I must be faithful and still keep his honour clean and bright. Well, sirs, how may I so do and yet leave this maid, this child, this innocent, to be hunted down ... strangled in a rope even as he was,—or perchance dragged down to shame of mind and body? I cannot and will not, for my so honoured father his noble sake. Therefore she sails with us or I bide with her in England!"

"Then," quoth Captain Smy, harshly, "bide ye must, for woman aboard-ship is death and worse."

"And what," demanded Absalom bitterly, "what o' the sacred oath ye swore, the Oath o' Brotherhood, what o' this?"

"Master Troy, to save this innocent from gallows or viler thing, I will break a thousand such oaths and abide the consequences with good heart."

"Talking o' hearts, lad," Absalom retorted, "you aren't fallen souse in love wi' this wench, eh?"

"Now this," retorted Adam, scowling, "this is very base thought in you, Mr. Troy! No, sir, I have not. All I do for her I would do for any defenceless creature, 'tis duty, sir laid on me by memory of ... my father."

"And damme," exclaimed Absalom, "but I believe thee and so crave thy pardon,—'twas indeed unworthy thought."

"Nathless," growled Smy, "this girl must and shall not with us!"

"Ay, ay, 'tis so I say!" nodded Absalom. "For lookee, Adam, a ship is vile place for any woman, ay and most especially this ship, the London Merchant, where there is like to be some unlovely business,—except matters go better than I can hope. Of the which I had best, it seems, give thee some notice that you may——"

But at this moment in through the open casement came the rosy, smiling face of the young man Abnegation Mings.

"Ho, Cap'n Lom," quoth he, "Sir Benjamin Trigg be in the offing, standing in and bearing down on we, aboard of a black 'oss."

"Ha, d'ye say so, Abny lad? Why very well. Smy, do you go meet him, what time I warn young Adam. Ay, there he is,—hark to the bellowing jackass!" And indeed from the stable yard now rose clatter of horsehoofs and voice of a booming arrogance very loud and commanding:

"House-ho! Where's everybody? Stand by to take my horse somebody. Hell's fury, am I to be served?"

Smy scowled and went striding away while Absalom, leaning across the table, jerked head towards the sunny garden, saying:

"Yonder cometh Master Hector Peevish, in velvet and lace, a very gentlemanly hellfire roarer, Adam, a swashing blusterer, a yelping dog whose bark is worse than his bite. But, mark this, Adam,—he is our—means to an end, though little he knows it! Now mark me again,—afore any man of us may claim his share of any treasure that may bless our enterprise, his name must be writ down in Articles, so down your name must go. But, Adam, should he blast your eyes or curse your hide, you shall take it smiling cheerily, and in good part,—if not, then do your best to out-curse and down-roar him,—do anything save to stand mumchance and meek. Is 't understood?"

"Yes," answered Adam, pulling on the close-fitting seaman's bonnet Absalom had bestowed to hide his silvery hair. "Yes, I understand." So, when he had belted his father's sword about his so meagre form, he followed whither he was led. To a neighbouring room where at table beside the open lattice sat a personage bedecked in magnificence, as it were, from the crown of wide-brimmed hat with its gemmed brooch and noble sweep of feather, to spurred heels; a very modish though somewhat rotund personage, for his face, eyes, nose and form were all of a certain roundness. But, though plump, this personage was also petulant, for, at mere sight of small, pallid Adam, he recoiled violently, stamped loudly and bounced in his chair.

"'Od's m' life—what's this?" he bellowed, stabbing at Adam with the long feather of the quill pen he had been using. "'Swounds and blood, Absalom, never tell me you'd 'list this little misery, this poor atomy? 'Tis but shadow of a shade,—remove it—take it away, out o' my sight!"

"Sir Benjamin, belay now!" quoth Absalom, frowning. "You've guessed right, here stands my latest recruit and, if no giant, better than he seems and older than he looks."

"Eh—looks, d'ye say? 'S blood—he looks like small vision o' creeping death! Tush and curse it, Captain, 'tis no more than petty boy, a sickling, a lousy lad, a puling manikin not worth shiproom! I want hearty fellows, seadogs and tarry mariners, not spindle-shanked whifflers! Besides, my company's complete——"

"Not so," said Absalom, shaking his head, "your damned company will lack Captain Smy Peters, John Fenn, Nicholas Cobb, Abnegation Mings, with myself and others, except my comrade Adam be signed on."

"But 's death and blood, Captain Troy, don't I tell ye——"

"No, Sir Benjamin, 'tis I tell you,—except my brother Adam sail, neither sail we, and may you and your rogues all perish and rot——"

"Eh? Stap me vitals, your brother, Captain, your brother?"

"Sworn on the blood!" nodded Absalom.

"Then why i' the fiend's name not say so?" cried Sir Benjamin scowling and bouncing in his chair again. "If so be—be sure he sails. Hey, boy, hey, boy, with a curse,—what's your name?"

"Adam."

"Ay, ay, and what beside—what?" bellowed Sir Benjamin stabbing at Adam again with the feather of his pen, "your t'other name—pronounce!"

Now with his gaze on the feather of this quill pen Adam answered:

"Penfeather."

"So,—then down I write ye! Now come and make your mark."

"Nay, first, sir," sighed Adam, "I have to tell you that I am neither lousy nor a lad,—look at this!" And snatching off bonnet he showed thus his white hair. "Furthermore, sir, you have jibed me, jeered and belittled my littleness, and this I can by no means let pass. So——"

With one movement, as it seemed, he stepped back, whipped blade from scabbard and Sir Benjamin's magnificent hat, transfixed on darting steel, was whisked out through the window.

"Now, sir," said Adam, bowing, "let us walk after your hat and see if such mannerless man as yourself may out-man manikin such as I,—come, sir!"

Clapping hands to his round, cropped head, Sir Benjamin uttered a choking roar, he bounced to his feet and, emitting rageful clamour, stamped and strode out into the sunny garden and here, not staying to remove coat or even shoes, drew his own weapon, whirled it dexterously, brandished it fiercely and fell to his guard. Scarcely had the blades crossed than he thrust, was met by a strong parry, leapt back from lightning counter-thrust and, being out of distance, lowered his point to survey his small, so agile assailant; and his eye was bright, his peevish scowl clean gone, he skipped, he bounced, he flourished.

"'Od's body, a pretty manage!" he exclaimed. "This lad is none so lousy as methought. Come again!"

Once more the swords rang together and, joined thus, whirled in flashing arcs, parted to clash in slithering flurry, their flickering points darting, now in the high line, now in the low, until Adam's blade seemed to waver from this line, flashing wide but, in that same instant, he stepped nimbly aside and as Sir Benjamin passed in the expected lunge, Adam smote him lightly across broad back with the flat of his blade.

"There, sir," said he, turning to front his now hard-breathing antagonist, "there was time-thrust had transfixed you had I so willed. Thus, sir, I suffer you to live. Now if this prove me worthy your company let us cry enough and you shall sign me on, if not let us endeavour each other's despatch featly as possible. I await your word. Meanwhile, sir,—your hat!" And reaching this noble adornment whence it lay, Adam tendered it to its puffing owner with humble obeisance.

Sir Benjamin accepted his hat dumbly, he put it on, took it off again, bowed, flourished and made answer briefly with never an oath:

"Master Penfeather, sir, my first word is,—enough! My second,—regret! And my third,—sack!" Then seizing Adam's hand he shook it violently, drew it within his arm and strode back indoors bellowing:

"Oho, landlord,—sack! Sack and plenty on't! Sack-ho!"

And presently, seated all four with brimming glasses, they solemnly pledged one another; they drank to good-fellowship; to the stout ship London Merchant; to a prosperous voyage, success on their venture and general good fortune. They (Adam excepted) drank indeed oft and deep until the wine getting low and their voices high, Adam contrived to steal away unnoticed and so to the kitchen,—a place of quiet orderliness with its gleaming copper and pewter, its wide hearth, roomy ingle and great ceiling beams hung with smoked hams and fragrant bunches of dried herbs. Here he found Mrs. Martha, this buxom yet so capable person, who, at sight of him, laid finger on lip, then laughed, clapping her hands, and still laughing, drew him within the deep inglenook and whispered:

"Oh, Master Adam, 'tis wonderful sure-ly! She do fit your clothes to a hair, she do! And, Lord bless her pretty limbs, a more lovesome young gen'leman she do make as no eyes never see afore,—never!"

"Is she dressed correctly, good Mother Martha?"

"That she be, ay marry is she, sir! Every single stitch, innards and outards, I did on her my own self—wi' these two hands, I did. And a lovely creeter your sister be, Master Adam, white-skinned as yourself though plumper."

"And is she girt with my spare sword?"

"She be, sir. I belts it about her pretty middle wi' these same two 'ands, I did. Likewise I've been a-learning her to stride large and strut,—manlike."

"God love thee, Mother Martha,—hast been such kind friend to us,—'tis beyond my poor words to show."

"Nay, sir, nay, how should I not be—and ye two orphan waifs so young and helpless like ... and yet none so helpless neether, not yourself, Master Adam, not when it do come to murderous steel! First that toad Abner and now yon bellering fury Sir Benjamin! You be the quickest thing as I ever see on legs,—and you so small too and thin! As I says to Mistress Antonia while us watched ee fight Sir Benjamin—'tis like David and Goliath, I says."

"Pray where is she ... my sister?"

"'Bove stairs busy wi' needle and thread for me, insisted, she did,—my Sunday gownd, and so quick and clever as ever I see! Ye should do well in life, the both o' ye, I'm sure."

"Indeed I hope we may!" said Adam fervently.

"Now what o' t'other gen'lemen, sir? Be they still a-guzzlin' their sherris wine? 'Tis not like Cap'n Absalom for to fuddle like so many fool men do, specially sailormen! Ay, but 'tis proper gen'leman, Cap'n Absalom, and one o' the quality to boot, wonderful rich they was, his family,—but now all dead and gone save himself,—and the gert house little better than empty ruin! Though he weren't called Absalom in them days, nor yet Troy."

"You knew him well?"

"Ay, born were I on his father's manor. And my Ben sailed 'boardship wi' him to the Spanish Main, two voyages and come back wi' money enough for to marry—which marry him I did. And now 'tis yourself."

"Me?" exclaimed Adam, blinking.

"Ay, you, sir, and sweet sister are to sail along o' him, and may the good Lord prosper and bless ye. Which do mind me o' that wrigglesome snake Abner, hast seen aught of him since you trounced him so proper?"

"Not a glimpse."

"Ah well, take care lest he crawl and sting afore ye're aware.... And yonder be Sir Benjamin a-bellering for ee, Master Adam."

"I heard him. Pray now go summon my—sister."

"This will I, Master Adam, and I vow you shall scarce know her...."

Meanwhile in stable-yard Sir Benjamin, after one or two earnest though vain efforts, had at last contrived to get astride his somewhat mettlesome horse when to him came Adam accompanied by one—at sight of whom Captain Smy goggled while Absalom stared mumchance; for this other was a tall, slim, dark-avised young gentleman whose hair, cut long in the new mode, was tied below each shoulder in curling love-locks that framed a handsome though swarthy visage; a gentleman this who swaggered in his walk, left hand posed gracefully upon rapier-hilt, right hand waving be-feathered hat,—perceiving which Sir Benjamin instantly flourished his own, whereat his horse jibbed and was cursed, thickly though with fervid eloquence,—and when this animal had stopped capering and Sir Benjamin ceased bouncing responsive, Adam addressed him:

"Sir, I take leave to make known yet another adventurer, namely—my half-brother Anthony."

"Honoured, sir, honoured!" cried Sir Benjamin, a little indistinctly. "Brother o' thine ... brother o' mine! Brothers all 'n' hearty good flows! We meet in Shoreham t'morrow ... and there we'll crack a bottle to——" But here his impatient steed reared and set off at such pace as very soon bounced Sir Benjamin out of sight.

"So ho!" quoth Absalom, his shapely lips upcurving in quirkish smile. "Here then is your brother, eh, mess-mate?"

"Half-brother!" Adam corrected.

"Lord," exclaimed Captain Smy, piously. "May the Lord aid and bless us!"

"Gentlemen, your ... your servant!" said Mr. Anthony, bowing, and if his voice was a little uncertain his air and carriage were sufficiently masculine.

"But," said Absalom, returning this salutation, "Mr. Anthony, sir,—your present complexion astounds me, your dainty skin once so delicate, so purely white, now so fiercely tanned and sunburnt! Pray how cometh such sudden metamorphosis?"

"Walnut juice, sir!" answered Anthony with look and tone virile as possible. "Our clever Mother Martha's doing and suits me, I think." So saying, this manly-showing Mr. Anthony glanced at Adam, at goggle-eyed Captain Smy, looked at handsome, smiling Absalom and then, flushing swift and painfully beneath his quizzical gaze, turned and fled into the house with grace of movement extremely feminine.

This same evening after supper, said Absalom, yawning:

"Brother Adam, I've that to tell ye touching our venture overseas the which is but right ye should hear afore we sleep. So presently, over a noggin, I'll talk and you shall hearken."

"So be it," answered Adam, gazing pensively out through the open lattice where a full moon was filling this summer night with a pale splendour. "Meantime I'll go walk in the garden."

"Ay, ay. I'll with ye there anon."

So forth went Adam slow pacing to breathe deep of this sweet air, to gaze away at great, rising moon to see there, as his childish eyes had so often seen,—the dog, the man with his bundle of faggots—or face of that serene and gracious lady the Moon Goddess. But to-night, and for the first time in all his life, he visioned there a face he thought far lovelier, a face quick and vivid with life and framed in hair of a tawny brightness; and as he visioned thus Antonia's features, so in his ears was the sweet echo of her soft, deep voice. At rustle of leaves behind him, he checked to turn, but in that moment, moon and face and dreamful fantasies were smitten into nothingness ... he staggered, pitched headlong and lay as motionless and heedless of all things as the dewy turf that pillowed his pallid, bloodstained brow.

CHAPTER VII HOW ADAM CAME ABOARD THE STOUT SHIP "LONDON MERCHANT"

He opened his eyes to sense of pain in a creaking gloom dim lit by a lanthorn that swayed dizzily to and fro, and himself half-dressed upon narrow bed that heaved beneath him with rhythmic yet uneasy motion. Against the panelling hard by hung his coat, girdle and father's sword, and these also swung and swayed, while, with their every to and fro movement came that strange, never-ending creak and groan. And in this moment of slow awakening to pain of body and distress of mind the mere sight of this, his father's sword, its cut-steel pommel and gracefully curved quillons and counter-guards, brought him strange comfort and solace. Little by little above the persistent groan and creak that seemed to fill the very air about him, he distinguished other sounds remote and indefinable,—a vague stir and bustle above and around him, a piping wail that rose and fell, distant voices, faint and dream-like ... and then, close at hand, a real and unmistakable sniff ... a sob ... a stifled moan.

Now lifting hand to aching head he found it bandaged, but, the moan being repeated, he contrived to sit up.

"Antonia?" he murmured.

A dim curtain was pulled aside and the swaying lamp showed him the bright sheen of tawny hair. Then she was beside him on her knees.

"Yes, 'tis me, Adam!" she whispered. "Only me! And oh, thank God you are come alive again, for I am nigh dead with fear."

"Why then," he answered, venturing to touch her bright hair, "now is the time to show your boldest."

"Nay but ... this great ship ... so very many rough men ... and now a dreadful storm o' wind and monstrous waves to drown us!"

"So then ... we are at sea, Antonia?"

"And a fearsome tempest raging, Adam! Do but see ... see how everything tumbles and sways and shivers ... and the ship squeaking ... crying out in every timber as ready to break and let in the awful waves. And all this dreads me, for I ha' never been to sea."

"Neither have I," he answered, "and a very uneasy business I prove it."

"Then you will not be angry with me that I am so fearful?"

"Not I, Antonia, for there are few creatures that have not known fear at some time. And yet my ... my wise father showed me how terror should make us but the more valiant,—the which, though a paradox, is yet very truth as well I do know, for I am oft-times very fearful.... So now," said he, glancing up at the swaying sword, "if we are to drown indeed ... there are worse deaths."

"Oh, I know ... I know!" she gasped, pressing closer against him. "I know this—but if I am to live on this great ship ... so many fearsome men ... and I ... alone!"

"Nay, Antonia, I am here also. And no man shall harm thee while I live. But do thy best to show manly as possible ... and I must take all heed to name thee always Anthony. Now be thy boldest, Anthony, call on thy valiant soul and be of good heart.... Tell me, how came I on this ship?"

"Oh, Adam, now what selfish wretch am I! You were sore hurt and I do but think on and grieve for myself."

"I was struck down in the garden and, as I guess, by the man Abner."

"Indeed, he would ha' murdered thee, Adam, but looking from my window, I chanced to see, and screamed murder on him till came the Captain and Master Troy and shot him, but vainly, for he got him away."

"So have I a sore head, Antonia, and serves me right, Anthony, for being dreamy fool and unwary dolt."

"At the first we thought thee dead, Adam, and they were for leaving us behind, next day, but Master Troy would not. 'Twas he bore you before him on his horse all the way and carried you in his arms like a baby, Adam. Oh, he is very tall and strong."

"And I so small and weak, Anthony! Howbeit, I am no baby."

"No indeed, indeed no, Adam, thou'rt strong too yet in manner so ... so different."

"So it was Absalom brought me into this ship?"

"Yes, Adam. And when Captain Smy would have left poor me, Master Troy would nowise suffer I should be so deserted. He is a very kind man, Adam."

"He is indeed, Anthony."

"And yet I ... hate him!" said she, and so fiercely that Adam stared in wonder.

"Why so?" he questioned.

"For that when he looks on me and ... smiles, then and despite this manly guise, I know myself a ... a woman."

"Hum!" quoth Adam, pinching his chin and gazing up at the lanthorn very wistfully.

"Adam, why should this be, think you?"

"Mayhap because he is ... so very much a man!" Adam answered, and sighed very deeply.

"Well, I hate men! They are no more than mere beasts on two legs 'stead o' four."

"My poor child!" sighed Adam, venturing to touch her shining hair again. "Some man shall teach thee different, one day ... mayhap. Now tell me when did we sail?"

"Last night."

"And what o'clock is 't now, Anthony?"

"Late afternoon ... and oh, my poor Adam, you must be famishing! I'll go find Mr. Troy——"

"No, no!" said Adam, getting afoot, with an effort. "where is he?"

"Somewhere above-stairs, let me show you."

"No, Anthony, your poor eyes all red with tears might betray you. Pray bide here till I return."

"But ... 'tis so fearsome dark ... so close and airless."

"Ay, true enough, Anthony. This shall be amended, you shall be better lodged, and this right soon. Meanwhile wait me here ... you have my spare rapier?"

"Yes, and your pistol, I took it on the sly, Adam."

"Good! Dost know how to use it?"

"Ah no,—no indeed!"

"Good again, you can then do no great harm to yourself. I shall teach you the manage of pistol and rapier, if you will, Anthony."

"Then I will this shall be soon," cried she with a quick eagerness. "I shall feel myself so much more man-like."

"Good yet again!" he nodded. "As you know, I have taken you for my brother——"

"Half-brother!" she amended, with ghost of a smile.

"Howbeit," he continued, earnestly, "as brothers we must live on this ship ... so ... brother Anthony, let us like brothers trust one another, have faith in thyself and ... trust ever thy faithful brother Adam."

"Yes.... Oh I will, I will!" cried she, giving him both her slim hands with look and a grace so prettily feminine that he came near kissing them, but flushed at himself and shook head at her instead; whereat she drew herself up, squared her shoulders, straddled shapely legs with swaggering air and said with look and tone as much like Absalom as possible: "I'll be resolute, brother Adam, and play my part to please thee—or damme!"

"Why then," smiled Adam, "be patient awhile and bide here till I come very soon and bring you to better lodgment. Is it agreed?"

"Yes, dear brother. Yes, I'll wait unfearing. Go you now, eat and drink at leisure nor hurry for me. Come, let me aid you into your coat. So! You'll find the stairs on your right, beyond this little, narrow door. Lord ha' mercy—how dreadfully this ship sways! Be careful how you go, Adam!"

So he opened this door though with some ado, by reason of the vessel's violent lurches, and stepped into a dim spaciousness where, to right and left, loomed the grim shapes of cannon one beyond another with neat coils and hanks of rope with blocks and tackle. And presently, stumbling with his landsman's legs, he came on a steep flight of stairs up which he clambered to another deck bright with the ruddy beams of sunset and where a sweet, fresh wind buffeted him joyously.

He was blinking dazzled eyes in this welcome radiance and drinking deep of this clean, salt air when a hand clapped his shoulder, a long arm embraced him and a cheery voice greeted him.

"Adam lad! Ha, messmate, now I joy heartily to see thee or I'm a soused gurnet! Come aft to my quarters and eat whiles I talk."

"This," gasped Adam, reeling to another lurch of the deck, "this is a vastly ... unsteady ship and ... marvellous uncertain!"

"Lord love thy lubberly pins!" chuckled Absalom. "She's something lively on a bowline, I'll grant ye, and we're in mid-channel. Moreover you ha'n't your sealegs yet. Shalt soon find the trick on't."

"Not soon!" Adam sighed, staggering again. "And never in such wild storm as this."

"Storm?" laughed Absalom, folding him in long arm. "Here's no more than sweet breeze—as yet! A jolly cap-ful. Come, make fast to my girdle,—now—ease thy legs to it. Though we shall ha' more weather to-night, I reckon, and plenty on't, ay there's wind i' the offing. Now, come thy ways, brother."

Across the wide, heaving deck, through an arched doorway brave with gilding and carved work, along a dimming passage and so at last into a small cabin, very neat and orderly.

"Now lie ye down on this locker, Adam,—what, art faint, messmate? Is't thy head?"

"Somewhat!" he answered, and sinking down weakly full length, closed his eyes, half blind with the pain of his throbbing head.

"Rum!" quoth Absalom. "A noggin or say, a brace,—rum it is!" And away he strode and very soon came striding back followed by a negro bearing a large, well laden tray, an immensely tall creature with the blackest face Adam had ever seen, which face seemed suddenly split asunder by a white-toothed smile.

"This is Jimbo o' the larboard mess," said Absalom, tweaking this grinning black man by the ear; "should'st lack for aught at any time, give him a hail and he'll to thee with a run, eh, Jim?"

"Yassah, come pretty damcurse queeck, yassah!" answered the black giant, then at Absalom's nod, grinned and vanished.

"First, drink this, messmate, toss it off now!"

Submissive in his weakness Adam gulped and choked, but, revived by this potent spirit, sat up and, urged thereto by Absalom, began to eat, though with no great appetite.

"How's thy cracked sconce, shipmate, thy sore-battered nob, now? 'Twas that Abner rogue, curse his murderous soul——"

"No matter for him, Absalom, I have but my just deserts for being so fool-like unwary. Instead I would thank thee heartily for bringing us safe aboard—both of us!"

"Aha! Meaning our confounded and most confounding young female cut-throat——"

"Hush, man! You speak of my half-brother, Anthony, so pray not so loud."

"Why there's none shall hear us aft here, the crew's forrard and the rest aloft on deck."

"Then, Absalom, first and foremost, Anthony must be better lodged."

"Messmate, she shall be. I did but have her—him out o' the way below there whiles we were getting under way, d'ye see, so much foul cursing and swearing as no maid—I mean young gentleman—should hear, a right delicate thought o' mine as you must admit! And then she would by no means be parted from you, Adam, not she—or I'm a radish! For she—I mean he—must have ye in her care,—ay care's the word, Adam,—for when I brought Perks, our chirurgeon, to bleed and comfort ye, damme if she didn't withstand the two of us,—claps a pistol 'neath our noses and cries 'hands off!' Vowed you'd lost blood a-plenty, which was but truth, for you bled nobly for your size at the 'Mariner's Joy'—and there was she and Mother Martha sponging and cosseting and bandaging and yourself senseless as any poor, small corpse."

"Then God bless them!" said Adam, rising. "Now pray show me where brother Anthony may be lodged secure and in more comfort."

"Come then, Adam, 'tis aft and just forrard of the stern-chase, and, though none so large or fine as the new banquet chamber at Whitehall, it should serve! I've had all prepared, swept and garnished, a hammock slung,—ay and a looking-glass likewise,—the which is yet another delicate thought o' mine."

"A hammock?" questioned Adam.

"Ay so! If you've never slept in hammock you'll find there's no bed ashore to match it for comfort, 'specially when 'tis blowing hard and yourself bone-weary. Come and see! Easy now,—clap on to my girdle again." Thus supported, Adam stumbled a yard or so, to another narrow door whereat Absalom paused, saying:

"Here's for thy Master Anthony, confound her! And, lookee, this being the last berth to larboard no one shall need to pass this way,—except of course to fight our stern-chase pieces yonder, if needful." Then he opened this door, showing a small, trim apartment where swung the first hammock Adam had ever seen.

"Bowl ... and ewer?" he enquired, clutching at the door to steady himself against the ship's dizzy roll.

"All here, Adam, in this locker, all right and tight and shipshape. And other lockers yonder for clothes and so forth. Ay—and stout bolts to secure the door, I'll ha' ye to observe. Your pestilent brother shall be safe enough, ha?"

"Therefore," nodded Adam, "the sooner he is here, the better. Now where must I be housed?"

"Yonder, 'twixt this cabin and my own. Well, shall I go fetch your plaguey brother?"

"Half-brother, Absalom. And I'll go myself, as promised."

"Why then, Adam, take heed ye don't pitch down the companion and break neck along o' head."

So, very carefully though with many slides and stumbles, Adam made his way below and after some desperate groping, found and opened the door he sought—to have his own pistol thrust into his face and hear a voice of extraordinary harshness bid him 'Stand Back!' Then the weapon was tossed upon cushioned locker and he was clasped in eager arms while a voice now trembling between laughter and sobbing, cried:

"Oh, Adam ... you've been so long away ... and I frighted out o' my poor wits by sounds like dreadful, creeping footsteps beyond the door ... and then a great, horrid rat very monstrous and so bold he sat up and looked at me so fierce I should have screamed but for my promise to you,—so instead I pulled out sword and poked at him, very manlike though a little wild, but he fled."

Adam chuckled (to his own surprise), then gently loosing those too-feminine arms, grasped Antonia's hand and shook it, saying:

"Well done, brother Anthony! God love thee! Now shalt be lodged as valiant gentleman should be, ay—and sleep right sailorly in a hammock!"

"Nay but, Adam, what manner of thing is that?"

"Follow and see for thyself, my bold Anthony."

Together they stumbled and clutched their way out and up the companion ladder and thus at last to that passage-way where Absalom met them.

"Aha, Master Anthony," quoth he, raising hand in smiling salute, "hast come armed to the teeth, I perceive—sword and pistol now, is it?"

"Indeed, Master Troy," she answered, head aloft and shoulders squared, "also, brother Adam hath promised to show me their proper manage."

Then she turned to survey her little cabin, to exclaim in wondering surprise at the hammock, and with pleasure because of the many lockers,—but espying the mirror, she clasped her hands and uttered a sigh of such truly feminine joy that Absalom chuckled, whereat she instantly scowled on him and clapping to the door, bolted it violently.

"Faith now," he laughed, "'tis fine-spirited wen—youth!"

"And," sighed Adam, hand to aching head, "I would have you regard him, whiles on this ship, as my brother Anthony."

"Why so I must—and will, be sure, for I've seen many a boy more maid-like, or damme! Now come and sit ye, for I've divers matters to discuss."

"Nay, not—ah, not now," sighed Adam, "for I feel a marvellous discomfort within me, Absalom."

"'Tis Nature, messmate, 'tis curst frail Nature,—and none so wonderful neither, since these narrow seas, breaking short, are apt to prove troublesome at first, making the mere thought of ripe, rich, fat pork extreme disquieting, ha? Come aloft into the good wind."

So up they went into a blusterous evening shot by fiery sunset that crested every rolling billow with glory.

And thus for the first time Adam Penfeather beheld the wonder of a stout ship cleaving her trackless course through a riotous sea, rising graciously to the surge and onrush of mounting waves, to plunge forward and down in smother of hissing foam; and he felt such profound awe of these wide, ever-moving waters and this noble ship with her towering masts, mazy rigging and great spread of sail that, for the moment, he clean forgot aching head and bodily discomfort.

"A right joyous prospect, eh, messmate?" cried Absalom, glancing aloft at taut canvas and away to windward with sailorly eye.

"Glorious!" Adam answered breathlessly. "Surely 'tis a very great ship, this?"

"Middling, Adam. She's pierced for forty pieces and carries poor twenty. But she's stout and trim and sweet on her helm. Hast ever been aboardship afore?"

"Never."

"Why then, this is the quarter-deck,—below there is the waist, forrard o' that the forecastle. Aft there is the round-house or coach and above it the poop. Ha, and there ye may see Sir Benjamin, with Dodd the Master and William Sharp, our sharp-nosed, sharper-tongued, curse and damn ye fool of a captain."

"I perceive you love him not, Absalom, and wherefore?"

"For that he's no sailor,—a portentous ass too fond of himself, his own cursed importance and the bottle. He'll run foul o' trouble anon, or I'm a flounder! The only true sailormen aft here are Smy and myself. And we're due for a blusterous night by the look o' things, there's weather i' the offing. How's thy stomach, Adam?"

"So queasy I would to heaven I had not eaten."

"Better so, 'twill be the easier for thee by and by, 'tis Nature, Adam, yet once over 'tis soon forgot. And now the better to forget, come and watch me bait our Captain Numbskull Arrogance. Shalt see him very presently foam with prideful rage."

"Nay, why quarrel with the man?"

"First, for pure joy of it, and second—to very good purpose anon and hereafter. Go with me."

"No, Absalom. The unhappiness within me waxeth.... I'll to my cabin."

"Wouldst be better i' the clean air, Adam. Howbeit go thy ways and luck with thee, brother."

Adam merely groaned and went staggering and clutching his way below to shut himself into his berth and be alone with his misery.

And now ensued for him long hours he was not soon to forget; for as his trouble grew, so, as it seemed to him, the movements of the ship became ever the more violent until came one dizzy heave and sickening plunge that rolled and tumbled him to the sloping floor where he lay, a mere huddle of wretchedness, faint with nausea and racked by pain of his wounded head, outsprawled in a coma deepening at last to a merciful unconsciousness.

CHAPTER VIII GIVES PARTICULARS OF A COUNCIL MUTINOUS

"Penfeather, ahoy! Ho, Adam Penfeather!" A loud, harsh voice, with powerful fist that smote and thundered on the door, troubling him greatly.

"Adam Penfeather, ho there! Rouse out and open! Penfeather ahoy!"

Distressed by this insistent clamour, he stirred, groaned and sat up.

"Who calls me?"

"Myself—thy friend Captain Smy. Open the door!"

"No ... no.... Begone.... Go away!"

But now, being thus drowsily awake and finding the ship much steadier, Adam clambered back upon the cushioned locker and there outstretched, presently fell into a refreshing slumber—until once again came a knocking with a voice crying his name. And knowing this voice, he rose up, though feebly, and answered:

"Yes, Anthony. What is it?"

"Come you out to me, Adam. Come out."

So when he had bathed hands and face and ordered rumpled garments, he opened the door and was seized by two hands that drew him forth of foetid gloom into a life-giving air made glorious by a fugitive sunbeam that showed him Antonia's face, a pale though radiant vision.

"Oh, Adam," she cried, leading him towards the sunshine, "I feared you had died in this dreadful night!"

"And indeed," he answered, "I thought so, too."

"Such terrible storm, Adam, it broke some of the riggings and washed men overboard to die in the horror of black waters. And they've taken him away to prison and in fetters ... and he did but smile!"

"But," sighed Adam, "the tempest hath abated, thank God! And now, Anthony, pray tell me who is prisoned and in fetters?"

"Why—him,—Master Troy."

"Absalom ... in fetters! Art sure?"

"Adam, I saw him led away ... and he smiled at me."

"But ... Absalom prisoned? Why so?"

"Nay, Adam, see yonder ... a great, fierce sailorman beckons us!"

"Ay. I see him!" nodded Adam, and coming to the quarter-railing looked down on this man, a tall, young, though very hairy fellow who, standing on the deck below, knuckled an eyebrow, saying in lowered tones:

"My sarvice to ee sirs, and which of ee be Master Adam Penfeather, if ye please?"

"I am."

"Why then, sir, I be Bym. Joel Bym, gunner's mate, and I be ordered to ax ee to bear away down along o' me."

"By whose order?"

"Cap'n Absalom, sir."

"Why then, Anthony, do you wait me here. Lead on, Joel Bym." Forthwith they descended to a lower deck in which place of gloom they came upon Captain Smy sitting upon a gun with a small lanthorn in his fist, who rose and beckoning silently led them forward and down another companion ladder into the very bowels of the ship as it seemed to Adam, who now, halting suddenly in this unsavoury darkness, demanded:

"Captain Smy, pray where d'ye take me?"

"For to visit Absalom, our messmate Lom."

"But what does he down here in this foul-smelling darkness?"

"Sits in fetters and makes a song on't, eh, Joel?"

"Ay, by cock, sir,—carols 'e do, blithe as any chirping cricket."

"And the foul reek you complain of, Adam, is sweet to sailorly nose for it proves a tight ship."

"But why is Absalom so prisoned?"

"For saving the ship and kicking lubberly Captain into the scuppers, Adam. There was the Merchant—which is lubberly name for any vessel,—nigh on her beam-ends, being taken aback, and the Lizard in our lee. So Absalom takes charge, turns up all hands and, with Abel Challen and myself at the helm, cons the ship to make an offing and it's touch and go if we shall weather the point. Yet we did, by Lom his seamanship, and beat out to sea though it took us all night. Then, first thing this morning, Absalom is clapped by the heels for mutiny, and the crew mighty downcast and sullen therefore—the which last is just as well. So, yonder in the black hole lieth our messmate, yet a-singing right cheerily and as only Absalom may,—heark to him!"

And now, above the ceaseless creak and groan of the ship's labour, they heard a rich, clear, baritone voice singing very melodiously with rhythmic clash of jangling fetters, and these the words:

"Here in bilboes fast be I,

As we sail, as we sail (clash of fetters).

Here in bilboes clamped am I,

As we sail (clash and clang of fetters).

But—'stead o' me, by and by,

Cursed Sharp himself shall lie,

So now damn his eyes! say I,

As we sail" (clash of fetters).

They had reached the forward bulkhead wherein was a small, stout, grim-looking door, and now while Smy held the light, Joel Bym fitted ponderous key to lock and opening this door, showed a narrow cell where, seated cross-legged amid heap of tumbled straw, Absalom Troy blinked and smiled up at them.

"Aha, messmates," quoth he, shading his eyes against the light, "be welcome to this place o' tribulation; a martyr gives ye right hearty greeting. Sit ye down here on my throne o' straw. So! How is thy poor head and stomach now, brother Adam?"

"Better, I thank you, Absalom. But I grieve to find you thus."

"What, Smy, hast not told him then?"

"Nary word, Lom."

"Why then, Adam, Lord love thee,—never waste thy pity, for I can be out o' these irons whenso I will. For, d'ye see, ere I suffered myself to be locked into 'em, I took care to have a duplicate key in my pocket. Moreover, my present abasement is but a means to my soon exaltation. There's not a man or lad aboard but knows I saved their lives, wherefore I sit here very martyr-like for their sakes, and therefore they are all ripe to up and follow me for my sake whenso I give the word."

"Meaning—mutiny, Absalom?"

"Ay, some would so name it. Now hearkee, 'tis for talk o' this I sent for ye, having meant to speak on 't afore, yet found no chance. Well, Adam, this ship called London Merchant is bound for Hispaniola with cargo for traffic with the planters and Indians thereabout,—ha, but—among the various oddments for sale are five poor gentlemen now languishing in bonds, shut up like cattle on the orlop, and of these—one is kinsman to Sir Benjamin, one an old shipmate o' Smy, and one well beknown to me. Five are they, Adam, all political prisoners, gentlemen o' condition and haters o' Papistry who, being something too froward o' speech or act, were doomed to axe or rope by King Jamie our Scottish, Royal Sycophant o' Spain. Later, his Majesty changes his royal mind and, 'stead o' death now dooms 'em to banishment, and 'stead o' giving them to the Headsman, bestows 'em on divers of his court favourites, which languishing, pampered pets have sold 'em to our Captain Sharp who will sell 'em again at much profit overseas, and so to death as sure yet less merciful than block or gallows. So, Adam, we are here aboard this ship with intent most determined to rescue these same prisoners."

"Well and good, Absalom, but—how?"

"By taking this ship—and not to Hispaniola but to St. Kitts or Tortuga, this to be decided later."

"And this," said Adam, pinching his chin nervously, "this shall be rank piracy."

"Ay, ay, shipmate."

"And the penalty—death!"

"True enough, Adam,—execution dock, tar and irons and gibbets alongshore for warning to like rogues."

"And," said Adam, blenching, "to take such great ship you must do—murder!"

"Some small effusion o' blood, messmate, mayhap, 'tis but natural and to be expected. And because o' this, Adam, and by our brotherhood oath, I bid thee to stand neutral in this business, so that, should things go foul and our schemes a-wrack, thou at least shall be within the law and clear of its sure vengeance. Well, how say'st thou?"

"Nothing. I ponder how best this may achieve—without bloodshed."

"'Twill yet be piracy, Adam, blood or no."

"Though not murder of honest men. How stand your chances with the crew?"

"There be twenty-five stout lads all listed for this purpose by Sir Benjamin, Smy and myself, men we can trust—blow foul or fair, the rest have been sounded by Joel and Abnegation and are mostly heartily disposed towards us since Smy and I saved the ship."

"Even so," sighed Adam, "there shall be many honest among them will balk at piracy."

"Ay, like as not. Yet if we must fight, to shed blood to such good purpose is——"

"Wrong," said Adam, "and crass stupidity, since it should be needless."

"Eh? How needless? How?"

"When shall you attempt this?"

"Two nights hence i' the middle watch, two days and nights further from Old England."

"Then, Absalom, 'stead of force I would suggest method strategic."

"Oho!" exclaimed Smy, grimly sardonic. "I perceive a sucking Solomon, a youthful, prattling sage, a young Daniel to inform us! A fico, Adam lad, what know ye o' strategy—and aboard ship moreover?"

"Sir," answered Adam, pinching chin again, "no more than caution and my mother wit do teach me."

"Aha!" cried Absalom, clashing his fetters. "And what then? Speak out, Adam."

"Then Absalom, I'll answer your question with another, to wit—what is it all mariners do most fear at sea?"

"Mist and fog!" growled Smy.

"What say you, Joel Bym?"

"Why, sir, I du reckon as it be fire,—ay, by cock, I du!"

"And fire say I!" nodded Absalom. "And how then shipmate?"

"Then," continued Adam, "since fire is the terror most dreadful, let this terror work for ye instead of murderous steel. At time appointed let some trusty man, hid below here, contrive a fire shall nowise peril the ship yet make great plenty of smoke. Then let other chosen men set up mighty baloo and cry o' 'fire'! Whereat, as I nothing doubt, all on board shall haste below to save the ship and themselves from such calamity. Then you above may shut these all below by pointing cannons as to discharge down each stairway. Thus ye shall have them at your mercy to parley with them at leisure, with offer and choice of serving under you or sailing to land in such of the boats as they will—and all without shedding of blood."

Absalom glanced from Adam's small, earnest face to Smy's pensive visage, then at Joel Bym's goggling eyes—and chuckled, then laughed, clashing his fetters as in an ecstasy.

"Smy," said he, at last. "Oh, Smy, hast said it, man, hast said it, or I'm a salted codfish!"

"Eh, Lom—I? Now what a plague said I?"

"A sucking Solomon, a prattling sage, a young Daniel, for so he is, or damme! Though one of internal disquiet by his looks,—how now, Adam, is 't thy head or stomach ails thee?"

"Both!" answered Adam, faintly. "Pray get me to my cabin."

So thither he stumbled, supported by Joel's brawny arm; and there, somewhat revived by the cleanly, buffeting wind, he suffered Antonia to bathe and re-bandage his aching head, and thereafter sank to heavy slumber.

CHAPTER IX TELLS HOW THE "LONDON MERCHANT" BECAME "THE ADVENTURESS"

He awoke early next morning to new vigour, with such unwonted hunger that, making all haste to wash and get into his only other shift of garments, forth he went to seek breakfast.

But reaching the open deck he paused to shade dazzled eyes against the level beams of a sun that, new risen in fiery splendour, made a sparkling glory of the sea through which this stately vessel rode with a smooth and gracious pride.

Coming to the lee bulwark he leaned there, all else forgotten, to gaze down at radiant ocean and up at spreading sails and the multitude of ropes and cordage, marvelling now at God's vast and awful handiwork, and now at the ingenuity of Man whose brain could thus conceive and hands construct this floating miracle of wood and canvas. And in this moment Adam knew he was henceforth to love the sea, the dreadful beauty of it, and the brave ships that dared its might.

Now as he stood thus rapt in a sort of ecstasy, he was startled by a shrill, agonized scream, with a heavy fall and crash of breaking crockery, and speeding instantly towards these sounds, beheld a small urchin who lay sobbing bitterly amid a litter of splintered plates and dishes.

"Why how now?" said Adam, stooping above this small person. "Art hurt, my child?"

The boy raised a blood-smeared face, blinked away blinding tears and stared up at his questioner, then, gulping his sobs, answered manfully as possible:

"Sir, I bean't a child, ho no, sir! I be Capn's cabin boy ay, sir, and I be powder boy to number four gun starbard battery. And I only cried a bit 'cause when he kicked me I falls and cuts me,—though I don't mind blood—much! So I ain't a child, sir, if you please."

"No no," smiled Adam, raising the little fellow to his legs, "I crave pardon, my man, pray what's your name?"

"Charles, sir, but they calls me Smidge aboard ship, and I likes Smidge better nor Charles, so call me Smidge, sir, if y' please. But have you been in a war, sir,—your figure-head all lapped in a clout, so?"

"Somethin' o' the like, Smidge. Now tell me who kicked you so hard."

"Only the Cap'n, sir, him being a bit angry-like this morning."

"You show something young for the sea, Master Smidge, and don't speak like a ship's boy, I think."

"But I tries to, sir, only my ... my mother learned me to speak soft and read and write ... but when she died I ... I run away to sea, being so very lonesome-like."

At this moment a bell tinkled nearby and a harsh voice shouted, whereupon little Smidge caught up his fallen tray in shaking hands.

"Boy!" shouted the voice again.

"There be the Cap'n, sir, I must go."

"To be kicked again, Smidge?"

"I hopes not, sir, yet go I must."

"No!" said Adam, taking the tray. "I will. Bide you here." Then guided by the Captain's shouts he came to a certain door, opened it and stepped into a very spacious, handsomely furnished cabin where, at well laden table, sat Captain Elihu Sharp with James Dodd the Master and another officer. Clapping the tray beneath his arm, Adam saluted them with a bow, saying:

"Gentlemen, a very good morning to ye."

The two officers stared, Captain Sharp scowled.

"Now who the devil may you be?" he demanded.

"Adam Penfeather, sir, entirely at your service."

"So? Then serve me by sheering off. Begone, d'ye hear? Ay, and send me that cursed, snivelling little brat, and lively."

"Not I, sir!" answered Adam, approaching the table and laying the tray there. "You have kicked him so hard that I came in his stead."

"Hey—you? Now what the devil d'ye mean?"

"That you shall not vent your splenetic, foul humours on such poor, small child, sir. So now, if you must kick someone, pray kick me and you shall bleed for it."

Captain Sharp seemed to stiffen in his chair and opened his eyes as if shocked and amazed beyond speech; he gazed at Adam's puny form from spindle shanks to bandaged head, he blinked, gulped and finally spoke.

"Bleed?" he repeated disbelievingly, his ferocity tempered by breathless astonishment. "Bleed was it? Did dare ... blast your eyes ... ha, bleed me, will ye?"

"Sir, 'tis you shall decide," answered Adam, whereat the two officers looked from his lean, pale face to their passion-shaken captain, glanced at each other and averted their faces.

"Why, you ... you ..." gasped Captain Sharp, "you little, cursed, pitiful whelp, will ye dare to threaten me ... and on my own ship?"

"Nay," sighed Adam, "I venture warning. Kick me and bleed, invite me to breakfast and I shall be glad to join ye."

Uttering foul invective, Captain Sharp made to rise; taking knife from the table Adam tried its edge on his thumb, staring into his would-be assailant's glaring, blood-shot eyes the while. Suddenly, his quick ear caught a stealthy sound behind him, he swayed nimbly aside and a tall, barefooted mulatto, missing him by inches, crashed sprawling across the table, scattering plates and dishes, and all was confusion. Adam was backing towards the door when he was checked and staggered by an unseen fist, then smitten to his face; but as he lay thus helpless to be kicked and cuffed, glimpsed a pair of stout legs that skipped in familiar bouncing manner, heard an arrogant, full-throated bellow:

"Sblood and death—what's here? Ods wounds, what's doing? Hold off or I'll mischief ye! You trample friend o' mine! What a plague——?"

"Here's murder, Sir Benjamin!" cried the Captain. "'Tis mutinous rogue drew knife on me."

"Tush and ten thousand curses!" roared Sir Benjamin, his bouncing legs becoming passionate. "I tell ye this gentleman you outrage is friend o' mine."

"And, sir, I tell you 'tis murderous villain would ha' knifed me!"

"Od's my life, Captain, will ye dare me? Ha, Penfeather, you hear him?" cried Sir Benjamin. "What says't thou, Adam?"

"Sir," answered Adam, getting to unsteady legs, "you behold here the knife, but——"

"How?" cried Sir Benjamin, recoiling in dismay. "You took knife to the Captain?"

"Ay, I did,—but to mine own defence."

"Nay," cried the Captain, "'twas with most fell and bloody intent o' murder ... we be all witnesses thereto! And how then?"

Sir Benjamin sighed dismally, shook head dejectedly, his very legs (these so eloquent members) appeared to languish.

"Ha!" cried Captain Sharp. "Sir Benjamin, I perceive you are acquaint with the old rule and law o' the sea—to wit: Whoso draweth knife aboardship with murderous intent, shall lose his right hand! 'Tis good and ancient custom and shall be duly observed. Master Dodd, at the next bell, let sound trumpet with beat o' drum to muster all hands aft to see justice done and infliction o' punishment. Meantime the young, murdering villain shall be seized to the main, and the knife slung about his neck and set two armed men for guard. See to it, Mr. Sprot,—away with him!"

So Adam was haled and dragged away into the waist of the ship and here, with back to the great main-mast and arms drawn painfully about it, was tied securely and with two brawny mariners to guard him.

And now by the pain of his head and blood that was half blinding him, it seemed his wound had been re-opened in the struggle; and this blood, creeping into his eye-sockets, began to tickle and teaze him so intolerably that to be rid of it he shook his aching head, but finding this vain, groaned, and was about to ask one of his guards to wipe it away, when a hand did this mercy for him, then glancing round, he beheld the boy Smidge.

"Now," sighed Adam, quick to read the pity in this small face, "now God love thee, my Smidge man!"

"Do it hurt ee bad, sir?" whispered the boy: but at this instant one of the guards glanced round, and this a young, plumply-pallid, smiling fellow who, grasping Smidge by the hair, smote the writhing boy cruelly with the flat of his sword. Then ere he could repeat the blow, Adam spoke as he deemed Absalom might have done and using his remembered words:

"Avast, ye scum! Strike again and soon or late I tear out your vile liver, or damme!"

Loosing Smidge, who vanished instantly, the man touched his bonnet instinctively, as to familiar authority of words and tone, then recoiled slowly before the narrow-eyed, venomous look of their speaker.

"Lord, sir," he whined. "Lord love and bless your dear 'eart, never threat pore Sam so fierce. I be Smiling Sam, sir, and the Smiler be everybody's freend and only does 'is dooty as dooty so com-pels and all along o' bleed'n boy as——"

"Belay your cursed jaw-tackle!" snarled Adam, whereat the Smiler, in the act of smiling, groaned instead and turned away.

And now in his pain and shame Adam looked about for little Smidge, yearning for some friendly face or mere look of kindliness and seeing none, bowed his head again and began to think on what might soon befall; this horror imagination made so real that he felt a nervous twitching in his right hand, this good hand which must be shorn from his quivering flesh unless.... He closed his eyes and began to pray.... Presently, as if in answer, a voice cried his name, and he beheld Antonia, who would have run to him but was prevented by his guards, whereat he called on her to begone, until she turned unwillingly and sped away.

Slowly the time dragged by ... up rose the sun, high and higher ... a trumpet blared shrilly with slow solemn beat of drum, and, twisting in his bonds, Adam saw four men bearing a great block painted an ominous red, and behind this the grinning mulatto bare-armed and fondling a short-hafted, broad-bladed axe.

And now was tramp and scurry of many feet where the crew was mustering, every man and boy, to behold and take warning by his dreadful punishment. Suddenly trumpet and drum sounded again as with his officers behind him, came Elihu Sharp, the Captain, brave clad for the occasion; halting within a few paces of the block he lifted his hand, whereat trumpet and drum instantly hushed. But before he might speak,—forth before the company strode Sir Benjamin who, being for once somewhat unsure of himself, bounced and strutted, flourished and bellowed even more arrogantly than usual.

"Hold!" cried he, with flash and glitter of brandished rapier. "Hold, I say! Od's body, this shall not achieve! Death and damnation—no!"

"Silence, sir!" roared the Captain, harshly. "As commander o' this ship I bid ye stand away and suffer the law be done upon this——"

"Hell's fury!" roared Sir Benjamin. "Am I denied then?" And from somewhere about his rotundity he drew a long-barrelled pistol. "Now hearkee, Sir Captain,—I, as part owner o' this same ship and cargo, demand instant release o' your prisoner, for, knowing him gentleman and therefore honourable, I do here and now pronounce and will maintain him innocent! Am I explicit, sir?" Here, and very ostentatiously, Sir Benjamin cocked his pistol, whereat Captain Sharp recoiled, crying:

"Ho, musketeers, stand by! Handle your pieces——"

"Halt!" bellowed Sir Benjamin. "Let one so much as level at me, Captain, and I send a ball through your brisket, forthwith. Do I persuade?"

Now for a space was a hush wherein it seemed none stirred ... then, suddenly, from the deeps below, rose a wild and fearful cry:

"Fire! Fire! Oho—help! The ship's afire!"

With this awful cry and making it the more terrible, came smoke upcurling from the nearby hatchway, a thick column growing ever denser—whereat other voices took up the cry and all was clamour and wild uproar.

Now presently Adam saw the deck about him all deserted except for a few men who were busied with one of the smaller guns, heaving at and aiming it to sweep and command the companion stairs, with Captain Smy to direct them while Joel Bym stood blowing lustily on lighted match. Thus watching these warlike preparations, Adam felt a hand upon his shoulder and glancing round beheld a grimy though very cheerful Absalom who chuckled.

"Like a charm, Adam!" he nodded. "Thy smoke strategic worketh like spell o' witchcraft or I'm a pickled mackerel! The ship's good as ours."

Then Adam felt his galling bonds fall away and turning, saw Antonia beside him, grasping a knife.

"Thou'rt bleeding again!" she cried, breathlessly. "Oh, did they hurt thee? I made all haste possible."

"And now," said Absalom, glancing at the priming of a pistol that had appeared suddenly in his smoke-grimed fist, "make haste again,—off with thee, Adam, take this loving brother o' thine to tend thy hurt—away from chance o' stray shot."

"'Tis good thought, Absalom,—and here's another,—spill no life, I pray you."

"Never a one, messmate—except o' necessity. Aft there," he shouted. "Ahoy, Abnegation! Is the hatch battened down?"

"Ay, ay, sir, all 's fast!"

"Then stand by to watch lest they break through. Cock your pieces,—they'll ha' discovered our trick by now ... ay, they have! Hark to 'em!"

From the crew below rose an angry hum, hoarse murmur swelling to fierce clamour of angry voices with patter of many feet, hushed and stilled all at once by sight of that down-pointing gun-muzzle that menaced them. Now coming beside this gun, Absalom hailed them cheerily:

"Below there, my lads! Pass the word for Captain Sharp."

"I'm here, Troy, I'm here!" answered the Captain. "And demand your reason for this outrage——"

"Hearkee then, sir,—hearken to me one and all o' ye! Here stand I with twenty-five stout lads, to tell our several reasons why you behold me in command o' this ship, to wit: First, Captain Sharp, your drunkenness. Second, your lubberliness. Thirdly, and for mine own part, because I love not the sight, sound, manners or nose o' thee, in fine, sir, thou art my aversion. Wherefore and therefore it is decreed that you and such fools as will follow you, shall have one o' the boats with store of arms and victuals, and be cast loose——"

"Ha—mutiny," cried Captain Sharp. "I call on all men to witness here is rank, black mutiny!"

"Ay, ay, mutiny it is," nodded Absalom, patting the gun beside him, "whereto this is yet another witness shall bear loud and eloquent testimony whenso I will. This ship that was the London Merchant is now the Bold Adventuress to dare Fortune on the golden quest. So now, my lads, who of ye will be bold adventurers? Who'll sail with me for the Main and chance o' Spanish gold, doubloons and pieces of eight? Whoso will 'list let him step forrard."

At this was a muttering among the men, then a cheer; and cheering up they came, first by two and threes, then in a jostling, eager crowd, to be counted by Captain Smy and marshalled in orderly ranks by Abnegation Mings.

"Smy, how many do ye muster?"

"Ninety and two, sir."

"Well and good! See a boat be prepared, Smy, and then we'll heave-to and be quit o' this lubberly Sharp and his fellows forthright."

And presently, with creak of yards, rattle of blocks and flapping of canvas, the ship was brought to; Captain Elihu Sharp with four of his officers and the nine men who remained faithful to him, went over the side into the small boat prepared for them, and there, standing in the stern-sheets, he cursed Absalom Troy living and dead, with dire threats of rope and gallows, tar, irons and gibbet. The law's dreadful and inevitable vengeance. To all of which Absalom, lounging above on lofty poop, hearkened with a polite interest and acknowledged with cheery smile and gracious flourish of hat. Then, at his command, the braces were manned, sails trimmed, and the course set for the golden west.

And so, in this most fateful hour, the London Merchant now the Bold Adventuress, bore away, with fair wind and smooth sea, for those far latitudes where all were to find peril, many death, some few great fortune and success, two a wondrous happiness, and one—triumph, greatness, heartbreak and failure.

CHAPTER X CHIEFLY CONCERNING A KISS

For a week, owing to bodily hurt and affliction of mind, Adam kept his bed, with the surgeon, Tobias Perks, to doctor him, Jimbo, the black giant, to wait on him, the boy Smidge to creep on small, bare feet to steal furtive peeps at him, and Antonia to preside and rule all of them in her own serene though determined manner.

This morning, finding himself sufficiently recovered, and moreover being for the moment alone, Adam determined to get up, and looked about for his garments, and seeing them nowhere, scowled pettishly; then noting his father's sword had vanished also, fretful annoyance changed to swift anger, and he cried out in dismay—whereupon, round the jamb of narrow doorway came a shock of curly hair and the boy Smidge inched himself into view with a rag of grimy canvas in one small fist, Adam's rapier in the other.

"Oh, sir," he whispered, "I be main glad as youm well again—do ee lack for aught, sir?"

"Ay, my clothes, boy. And what do ye with that sword?"

"Nuffink, Mis' Adam, only shine it up a bit like. I've cleaned your shoes, bofe pair, sir. I've polished your belt and buckle, sir, and all your buttons."

"Thankee, my man. Now where are my clothes?"

"He's took 'em, sir—Mist' Anthony, your bruvver, Mist' Adam, sir."

"Then go fetch 'em, Smidge,—stay, where is he—my brother?"

"On deck, sir, along o' the fat gen'leman, and another on 'em named Mr. Melord——" But at this moment was jingle of crockery and in came Antonia, followed by Jimbo carrying a large, heavy-laden tray.

"I shall get up to-day," said Adam, with the utmost resolution and glancing at Antonia, "so bring me my clothes, Jimbo."

"Yessah!" answered the great negro with flash of white teeth, "I bringum dis instantannyious moment, sah!" But, instead of so doing, he too glanced enquiringly at Antonia who shook her head, saying:

"After breakfast, Adam—mayhap. Set the tray here, Jimbo, my hearty. Ahoy, Smidge, hang up that sword and bring me the stool yonder. Now—this cake for thee and run off like a good child."

"Ooh, thankee, sir, I'm sure ... only, Mist' Anthony, I ain't no child—eh, Mist' Adam, sir?"

"Nay, thourt my trusty old shipmate."

"So there's for ee, Mist' Anthony!" cried the boy, making a face at Antonia's back; then with salute, smart and sailorly, to Adam, he sped away.

"This boy worships you, Adam. He's forever hovering around,—he hath cleaned your shoes so often that I've hid them lest he rub and polish them into holes!"

"He told me you were walking with 'the fat gentleman' the which I guess will be Sir Benjamin."

"It was," said Antonia, and giggled.

"And some other gentleman he said is named Mr. Melord.'

"This," said she, laughing merrily, "was my lord Perrow, one of the rescued prisoners, Adam, and though such great gentleman very gracious and kindly but very sad too, and small wonder considering his many sufferings, poor gentleman ... and with his every tone and gesture puts me in mind of someone, though who 'tis I cannot think. Hath your fine Captain Absalom been to see you this morning?"

"No,—unless this be he," answered Adam, as came the sound of approaching footsteps.

"It is not!" quoth Antonia. "Your grand Captain goes with leisured stride scornful of haste. No, hither speeds our surgeon that hath mixed you potions that looked noisome as they smelt."

"Yet I have taken none, surely?"

"Surely not, Adam! And so be humbly thankful to thy brother Anthony."

"Good morrow t'ye, gentlemen!" cried a cheery voice, and in bustled Master Perks, the surgeon. "A day o' promise, sirs. Aurora blusheth, sly jade, i' the lap o' Neptune on our starboard beam, the hoary wag! A sweet morn, a gladsome dayspring!" Master Tobias Perks, though small of person, was great of speech and if skilful surgeon in treatment of wounds, by reason of long and much experience, knew little or nothing of medical arts, which ignorance he was wont to veil in pomposity of words and sounding phrases. All of which Antonia's womanly sense had been quick to perceive, of course.

"Well, well?" exclaimed the little surgeon, clapping plump hands softly, and beaming down at pale-faced Adam, "here is very obvious betterment, Mr. Anthony. Though our young patient, like Peter's wife's mother, hath lain sick of a fever, this is now happily reduced. Tongue, sir—ha! Pulse now—hum! You gave him the draught, Mr. Anthony?"

"No, sir!" answered Antonia, serenely.

"Eh? Not? Then—what did you?"

"Threw it out through the scuttle, sir."

"Eh, sir? Oh! The devil, sir! Most irregular! Yet no matter. He showeth none the worse."

"He is better, Master Perks."

"Much better!" quoth Adam, with vehemence.

"Ha! Good! This will be effect o' the pill, 'tis potent, sirs, 'tis remedy radical and prescription o' my own! 'Tis most rare stimulant o' the aortic nerve whereto the heart responsive induceth a more liveliness in the vital spirits, a flux, sirs, a flow o' the secretions animal. Pray, when took he the pill?"

"Sir, he did not."

"Not, sir—not? Gad's my life! Why not?"

"Sir, he showed so much better without it that, minding how wisely you said: 'Nature is nature's best physic', I withheld your pill lest Nature approve not of my so meddling therewithal."

"Hem! Ha! And yet—he is better and shall anon be well, thanks to Great Nature, to Tobias Perks—and—thine own littleness, Mr. Penfeather, thy paucity o' person and lack o' length, sir."

"And what," Adam demanded, scowling, "what hath my lack o' size to do with it?"

"Everything, sir, everything! Look at yourself, Master Adam,—regard me! Little men both, ha? But little men be usually of an amazing vitality,—and for this most especial and very cogent reason, to wit: As the blood is the life, the chiefest life member is the heart, this sponge, this pump, this most lovely organ! Now perceive me,—if the body be small o' size and trimly compact, this same pump needeth the lesser force to pump or drive blood to the extremest limits thereof. But if the body be o' dimensions grossly large, plethorically bulky,—oh, conceive then how poor heart must laborious surge, must heave and convulsive strive, and so—be weary! And when heart languisheth, body fainteth,—so cometh disease, till weary heart swooneth, stoppeth and—body dieth! So be grateful, sir, for your vital smallness o' body, your poverty of inches, as I am, good faith! In health or sickness, peace or war, better be small and sweetly compact o' person than giant, like Jimbo or great, brawny fellow like Troy."

"Speaking of him, Mr. Tobias, how go things aboardship these days, since he took command?"

"Better and better, sir! 'Tis sweet ship now, ay and nobly handled and cared for. Such scouring and scrubbing, such prodigious business alow and aloft, such drilling with small arms and great, this crew o' scowling slovens are being worked and kicked and transformed into fighting men now they've a man to rule 'em. Troy knoweth men and hath with 'em a method unfailing."

"As how, pray?"

"Why, t'other morning he has all hands piped aft and tells 'em roundly that he means to drub and drill 'em into lusty fighters and seadogs all. Then offers a guinea to the first man shall reach and straddle the main-guard—and himself wins the prize. Ay, 'tis prime seaman Tory, and hearty fellow 'til crossed, and then—beware! He kicked one, Tucker, adown the poop-ladder yesterday forenoon for back-answering, and levelled Smiling Sam with his fist for kicking one o' the little rascal boys—and half-throttled Tom Tranter for fouling the new scoured deck with spittle. And so 'tis the men begin to love him and jump at his word as seamen should. Ay, a notable captain and mariner is Troy."

"Yet sounds one extreme harsh and violent!" said Antonia. "A word and a blow,—and sweareth most vilely!"

"Ay, true sir! True indeed, Master Anthony, and 'tis by such violence, instant and just, by such speech, eloquently to the point, that a man winneth the high respect and instant obedience of his fellows, more especially such fellows as these that are, or were, for the most part regular gallows-meat. Yet is Troy shaping 'em anew, trouncing and learning 'em to be sailormen and mostly by act o' fist or boot. Verily, I never saw more captainly captain since I was such fool accursed as to follow the sea, the which I've done this twenty odd years."

"And how," enquired Adam as the loquacious surgeon rose to depart, "how do the erstwhile prisoners, Mr. Perks?"

"Excellent well, sir. My potions have recovered 'em of their much suffering and late incarceration. Such cure by any other had been miraculous,—by myself 'tis but the reaction expected to my purge, bolus, vomit, and pill. Truly they bloom, sir, saving one only and he, alas, being a very long and therewith expansive gentleman and something stricken in years is beyond even my skill by reason of an over-weary heart. So, once again, Mr. Adam, be thankful for your vital shortness o' stature—as I am!" So saying, the little surgeon beamed, nodded, and bustled away.

"Some day," said Adam, speaking his thought, "I will to be such mariner as Absalom! For I love God's sea, its might and fearsome majesty, and must needs wonder and admire at the ships that brave the fury of ocean for there, methinks, God walks.... To die at sea in storm and tempest, this were surely to sink forthright into the arms of God, the Almighty Father of us all.... How say you, Antonia?"

"Why," she answered, thoughtfully, "I think this is wise thought, Adam, and brave with comfort."

"'Tis so I would pass when cometh my time ... on the deck of my own ship, dying as she dies ... in the good, clean deeps of ocean.... Someday I shall sail my own ship.... Someday I shall rule and lead men ... winning to fortune, to power and honour."

Now here, seeing how she looked on him, he sat up to glance from her intent face down at his own puny form outlined beneath the bedclothes, and frowning, said bitterly:

"You think how such dreams be all too vast for achievement by body so paltry and weak. Art thinking so? Tell me!"

"I am thinking," she answered, in the same musing tone, "how you are of mind so resolute and body so vital you shall win all this—and more! Riches, power, glory ... and what beside?"

"I'd fain have all these for mine own sake, Antonia, but for my father his sake I choose honour, for this is the one glory that fadeth not, and he—was an honourable man and now surely an angel in glory."

"You loved him greatly, Adam, your father?"

"Ay I do, I do indeed!"

"And your mother?"

"She died or ever I might know her."

"So you will make yourself a mariner?"

"Ay, with all my heart."

"And make Captain Absalom Troy your pattern?"

"I could find none better, surely."

"Howbeit, Adam, I like him less and less!"

"Yet he befriended thee, ay and me too in the past as——"

"Ay but how of the future?"

"This should bring but increase o' friendship, for——"

"True, Adam. Yet friendship may change, as changed is he since he made himself great."

"Absalom is not the man to veer with change o' fortune."

"Are you so sure?"

"I am marvellously deceived else."

"You begin to love him, Adam?"

"Ay, I believe I do. I have been lonely soul o' late and yearned for such friendship. Besides he is my blood brother, the which should——"

"And so, Adam, I ponder why your fine captain and blood brother hath scarce troubled to come anigh you this two days!"

"He hath many concerns, Anthony, the business of this great ship. And now, if you'll be so good to bring my clothes, I'll——"

"What were you in England, Adam, I mean your trade, profession?"

"A student of divinity."

"Oh! A—parson? You?"

"It was my father's wish, his hope that I might speak forth the love of God for His children and show how man should love his fellow therefore. And because 'twas so his hope, I might have become an eloquent preacher, with time to overcome my natural timidity."

"Timid? You, Adam?"

"Indeed! I was weak and timid as a child, I am so yet."

"This I can nowise believe."

"Alas, 'tis veriest truth!" he sighed. "I am of nature so extreme fearful, Antonia, that dreading lest fear prove my master, I do all I may to shame fear by a forced and furious boldness. Dost see what I mean, Anthony?"

"No!" she answered vehemently. "No, I do—not! You show so bold and fearless I must needs think you braver than others ... and most terrible with your sword, and the more so because you are so ... not big."

At this he smiled, though wistfully, and shook his head.

"I must be rarely good play-actor," he sighed, "for 'stead of murderous steel I should be clasping Bible to preach the Word, and this should ever be—Love!"

"No!" she cried, bitterly. "In such cruel, wicked world gentle love is out o' place. I have more cause for hate—as you should know."

"Yet love shall someday win this poor world to kindliness, Anthony, but as for hate—'tis wasteful passion, begetting naught better than its evil self.... And now, if you'll have the goodness to bring my clothes——"

"However," said she, sullenly, "I hate your fine Captain Troy that is forever plaguing me with his sly mockeries!"

"No, no, child! If he banter thee, now and then, this should be no reason for such anger or——"

"Then why must he jeer me? Why must he look on me with such ... such eyes?"

"Nay, Anthony, a cat may look at a king, 'tis said,—so here certes should be no just cause for hate. And, moreover——"

"Why, why must he flout me ... with every look, every word and gesture, making these so hateful manly clothes the more odious? He knows I must needs wear them ... yet why will he shame me so?"

"Anthony, I think you magnify his thoughtless raillery into more than it truly is, making it an offence where none is."

"'Magnify'?" she repeated, angrily. "'Magnify,' say you?"

"Indeed, I think you do. For truly——"

"Oh,—do I?" she cried, wildly. "Then tell me this,—why must he forever be trying to—kiss me?"

Adam's bright eyes widened suddenly, closed slowly to shining slits, and, taking his chin 'twixt finger and thumb, he sat up in bed as if lifting himself bodily thus.

"When?" he enquired, and though his voice was almost a whisper, she threw up forbidding hands and shrank away.

"Don't!" she gasped. "Don't look such ... such death on me! So cruel—fierce, don't!"

"When," he repeated, averting his head; "when was this?" And now she saw he was gazing where hung his father's sword.

"No!" she cried. "No ... I will not tell thee! I ... I meant not to speak of it, but you drove me to it with your 'magnify'!"

Now at this, Adam sank back on his pillow and smiled up at her very tenderly.

"Antonia," he murmured, "when was this? I pray you tell me or I must needs seek answer of him."

"Two nights since ... you were asleep ... I went out on deck for breath of air ... and the stars very wonderful bright.... He stole upon me ere I knew, but I broke from him and came to my cabin and locked myself in and ... and that is all, Adam."

"And—since then?"

"I have kept out of his sight."

"Ah well, well," sighed Adam sleepily and nestling deeper into his pillow, "here was none so great a matter," and having said this, he yawned.

"Are you then so—suddenly sleepy ... at last?" she murmured, though looking down on him with such eyes that he closed his own against their level, shrewdly questioning gaze.

"Indeed!" he answered, and yawned again.

"Why then, sleep well, and—pleasant dreams." And so, with scarcely a sound, she was gone.

For perhaps five minutes Adam lay perfectly still, his ears on the stretch; then, and suddenly, he was out of bed, had bolted the door and was hunting feverishly for his vanished garments. He found them at last neatly folded away in one of the many drawers and got himself into them with the same feverish haste. Then he combed back his white hair, covered it with his close-fitting bonnet and taking his sheathed rapier beneath his arm, began very cautiously to unbolt the door.

CHAPTER XI HOW ADAM DARED THE CAT-O'-NINE-TAILS, AND WHY

Slight as was the sound he made yet quick ears heard, it seemed, for in this moment came a gentle tapping and therewith the soft murmur of Antonia's hushed voice:

"Oh, Adam, pray let me in ... but a moment."

Sighing, he made haste to set back the sword, and it was towards this she looked as the door opened.

"Whither go you, Adam?"

"To take the air."

Now at this she clenched her fists as any furious, young man might have done, then stamped her foot as only an angry girl might,—a troubled girl also, for instead of the furious outburst he expected, she began to plead in almost weeping tones:

"Oh, Adam, Adam, how could you try to so deceive me? And why think me such dolt or so foolish blind to be put off by your silly make-believe? To yawn and feign sleep and the glare of battle in your eyes? I know whither you would go ... and why."

"Then," said he, making to pass her, "pray suffer me——"

"No,—no! You must not, you shall not. Oh, I was mad to tell you ... for there was no harm done ... indeed he was very gentle ... he scarce touched me."

"Anthony, let me pass."

"No, Adam! Oh, for mercy's sake do not go."

"I must."

"But I vow to God there was no evil done and none meant.... Oh, Adam, you that spoke of love for your fellows, you must not shed blood ... you cannot!"

"I vowed to protect you!" murmured Adam. "I took oath upon my father his memory! And such oath must be kept."

"Ay, but not now, Adam, so late from bed o' fever, not now. Wait ... do but wait until you be stronger and more able,—wait, I do beseech you!"

"Indeed," he nodded, "there's reason in this,—to wait until I am more able. And to gain strength I must have air and movement. Come then, Anthony, let us out and walk."

Scarcely had they reached the deck, to find a cloudless sky above and placid ocean around, than was patter of small, bare feet and Smidge came running.

"Oh ... sir," he panted, "I be that glad as youm well again, as I'me come to tell ee as they'm a-goin' for to flog Martin Frant 'crost his own gun, as be my gun too—number four, forrard, sir. So will ee go 'long o' me, if ye please, and stop 'em, 'cause you ain't afeard o' nuffink nor nobody, will ee, please?"

"But what's the man done to deserve flogging?"

"Nuffink, sir—leastways only cracking the Smiler wiv a belaying pin for going for to burn Johnny and me wiv a hot iron. So will ee come and save Martin as saved Johnny and me—please?"

Adam nodded, and following Smidge to the gun deck beheld a half-naked sailor in the act of being tied face down across one of the ordnance and beside him a bearded man in breast-plate and morion who seemed in authority.

"Who is yon gentleman, Smidge?"

"Master Danvers, sir, officer o' the deck."

"Bo'sun!" cried this officer, so soon as the victim had been secured. "Bo'sun!"

"Sir?" answered a squat, powerful fellow, stepping forward.

"The order is—twenty-five with the cat."

"Ax pardon, sir, but might I suggest the cane or rope's-end?"

"You may not."

"Ax pardon again, sir, but offence committed was doo to greatest provocation and therefore I humbly——"

"Silence and be damned t'ye! Where's the rascal Perez?"

"Yere I is, sah!" cried a jubilant voice, and from the silent ranks stepped that same mulatto fondling this time, instead of axe, the whip of many-thonged torment.

"Well, twenty-five is the order,—lay on!"

But as Perez stepped forward, eager to obey, forward also stepped Adam.

"Mr. Danvers," said he, bowing, "I crave a word."

"Oh, sir? And who may you be?"

"Adam Penfeather, at your service."

"Aha, Captain Troy's friend. I am James Danvers, sir, Master's mate. You come to see punishment properly done, sir?"

"No, Mr. Danvers, mere justice."

"Justice, sir? What talk is this? The rule o' the sea is—for strife aboardship, flogging, and aboard this ship, twenty-five lashes, and by Captain Troy's order."

"However, sir, I desire you shall hear a word on this man's behalf."

"Eh—what's this?" exclaimed Danvers, with look of indignant amazement. "You desire—you?"

"No, I demand this in the name of Justice."

"Well now rot me if I ever heard the like o' this! Who the devil are you dare so demand, sir—eh, sir?"

"A mere Englishman and therefore a lover o' justice for every man. Bo'sun, pray what is in evidence 'gainst your prisoner?"

"Sir," quoth the Bo'sun hasting to answer before his superior might frame adequate retort, "Smiling Sam were for branding a brace o' the boys with hot iron, joking like, Martin here interposes and gets hisself burned instead wherefore Sam gets hisself beat and choked somewhat by Martin, wherefore Martin is doo for twenty-five, as your honour sees."

"So," said Adam, turning to Mr. Danvers, "there's your evidence, sir. How say you now?"

"I say twenty-five lashes for the offence and five more for your cursed interference and——"

"Bo'sun," said Adam, "pray carry my respects to Captain Troy and say that here is urgent need of his presence."

"Bo'sun," roared Danvers, "bide where you are. Now, forrard, you, Perez, and——"

"Bo'sun," murmured Adam, coming swiftly beside this harassed officer, "suffer me!" And speaking, he whipped the astonished Bo'sun's sword from its scabbard. "Now," cried he, with threatening sweep of broad blade, "strike one blow, Perez, and I'll cut ye down. Master Danvers, I suggest you send for Captain Troy, forthwith, sir."

For a moment the Master's mate glared speechless, then, in voice thick with fury, gave the order.

And thus they stood waiting silent all, the men staring and gaping in their ranks, the Bo'sun goggling and fumbling at his empty scabbard, Mr. Danvers pulling at his beard, while Antonia leaned slender back against the ship's side,—every eye gazing at Adam, this small yet resolute person, who stood sword in hand looking on vacancy.

At last, and at his leisure, came Absalom smiling and debonair in new splendour of garments from belaced falling-band to resetted shoes, a very gracious gentleman though masterful, supremely assured and slightly grim.

"How now?" he demanded in his pleasant voice. "Adam, why that sword?" But before he might answer, Mr. Danvers became eloquent, wherefore Adam stood mute, his sombre gaze now on the wide prospect of sun-flecked ocean.

"So then," quoth Absalom, when Danvers had ended, "you will take sword to raise mutiny on my ship, eh, Adam?"

"No! I arm myself 'gainst injustice and to protect the helpless. Hear the evidence and judge."

"I have already pronounced judgment! No man shall brawl and make trouble whiles I command. Stand aside now and suffer justice be done."

"No!" said Adam again, looking now on the weapon in his hand. "I protest here is no justice and your sea-laws brutishly cruel."

"I am the law on this ship, Adam."

"And you doom this man to the lash?"

"Ay, I do. And what then?"

"This!" answered Adam between shut teeth and, with swift, unerring stroke of keen blade, severed the rope that held the prisoner, tossed the sword clattering at Absalom's feet, looked up at last into his astonished face, and nodded.

"So,—there's your prisoner free, Captain Troy! Now, if you must lash someone, lash me. For I, too, have broke your damned sea-laws and am therefore guilty as he."

Absalom stared from the speaker's small, pale face to the sword at his feet and spoke, almost whispering:

"Now damn you, Adam, for compelling me to this! ... Ha, Bo'sun, strip and seize him up for punishment!"

"Ay, ay, sir!" groaned the Bo'sun.

So Adam's puny form was bared and himself fast bound upon the gun and all with never a word.

"Forrard, Perez! Two shall suffice, nay I——"

"Stop!" cried Antonia, in voice that seemed to ring throughout the ship; then, drawing the hidden pistol she had been grasping all this while, she cocked and levelled it full at Absalom.

"Free him!" she commanded. "Bid them loose this valiant gentleman was once your friend, or I shall kill you this moment, Captain Troy, by God I will!"

Absalom looked at this threatening weapon, at the desperate face and wide, resolute eyes behind it and reading there his certain imminent peril, smiled.

"Lord love thee, Master Anthony, sir," quoth he, "thou art beyond my expectation and more than I bargained for, or damme! Bo'sun, cast loose the prisoner, ay—let my poor friend go free lest his so devoted young brother, or half-brother, end me so bloodily—and aboard my own ship. Now, Mr. Anthony, be pleased to uncock and put away that pistol and hereafter so often as you think on Adam's great provocation, remember Absalom's tender mercy, ay and be thou grateful to this same good, kind Absalom Troy that he hath saved thee from the vile sin o' murder." So saying, Absalom nodded, chuckled and strolled away,—while Adam, freed by many willing hands, found his own grasped between the Bo'sun's horny palms.

"Sir," said this officer, hoarsely, "here's me, Ned Bowser, vastly proud for to shake wi' such gentleman as can be such man as to stand up for Poor Jack,—ay, and here's all on us Jacks to say the same,—eh, my hearties?"

"Ay, sir, ay ay!" came a chorus of voices. "That us do and with a will!"

"Your honour," said one, "I be Martin Frant, the man as you saves, and I'm grateful. Sir, any man as dare speak up for poor Jack as dassent speak up for hisself, any gentleman as'll venter his own body to save a man, takes that man's heart out of that man and makes it his very own. Sir, I be that grateful as I can't say no more, only—ho—messmates all, a cheer now, a cheer for Master Penfeather as dare be friend to the likes o' we,—a cheer for Master Adam Penfeather!"

And with these hearty voices ringing in his ears, Adam went back aft, walking slowly like one very weary, and, under cover of this cheering, murmured:

"Antonia ... brave soul! You saved me from that I dreaded more than death."

"But ... Oh, Adam," she answered, speaking as softly, "he knew I should have killed him, he knew it ... and mocked me ... even then!"

CHAPTER XII HOW ADAM BEGAN TO LEARN A SHIP

It was in these days of fair winds and smooth seas that Adam set himself with his usual determination to the accomplishment of two purposes; and one of these was to instruct Antonia in sword-craft or, as he phrased it, 'that most delicate art of rapier play'. And this he did with the aid of two blunted foils shaped and fashioned, beneath his own eye, by Andrew Brent, the armourer, choosing for these lessons such hours of the long day as when the broad decks were deserted save for the customary watch.

His second purpose was to learn and know a ship, her every timber, spar, sail and rope, and found many able and humbly eager to instruct him. For now whenever he left the aftermost part of the vessel, sacred to officers and gentlemen, and went forward to waist, gun-deck, or forecastle, he was met by smiling looks and given respectful though hearty welcome, more especially by Ned Bowser, the Bo'sun, and his two mates, Martin Frant and William Croft; and these, experienced mariners and prime seamen all, became his chief instructors.

And because Adam was not ashamed to ask questions or affronted by advice from humblest sailor or mere boy, he questioned and listened to all, and with such unfeigned and lively interest that all men became the more eager to instruct and serve him.

Thus hourly he acquired his first knowledge of sea lore, as: that starboard (or steerboard) meant the ship's right side and larboard or port, the left; the difference of standing and running rigging; of blocks double and single and their uses; of braces and pennants for traversing the yards, and the like. It was with Martin Frant close on his heels that he first ventured to clamber aloft to the great mainyard and, perched there with Martin beside him, learned something of gaskets, bolt-ropes, cringles and bowlines: he gazed up with eyes of awed speculation at what Martin said was the lubbers' hole and puttock shrouds, with the huge topmast soaring above with its maze of cordage, guys and stays.

Thus each day he devoted all his attention to some particular part of the ship,—as, for instance, upon this morning when with steady breeze the Bold Adventuress drove westward through a gentle sea all asparkle to an early sun.

"A fair morning t' your honour!" quoth Bo'sun Ned, knuckling bristly eyebrow and rolling forward to greet him, "I've been a watching of you and gentleman brother at your foyning play yonder, which though pretty for to watch is too furrin and niminy-piminy for the likes o' me. When I fight give me good broad blade 'stead o' them narrer tucks, and downright blows, 'tis best sooted to an English fist, your honour."

"Ay, Bo'sun, the broadsword hath ever been our weapon, yet point is speedier than edge, and therefore the more deadly."

"Well, sir, I've seen some fairish deadly sword and buckler men, in my time, at Ruffian Hall, Smithfield way. There was George Silver, for one."

"Ay, Ned, and Signior Vincentio for another, his rapier out-pointed Silver's broadsword, you'll mind."

"Ah well, sir, other days, other ways. Only when it cometh to right close work—gimme a hanger, or better still, a boarding axe!"

"For close work, Ned, so say I."

"Well, now, wot'll I show your honour this morning?"

"Why," answered Adam, looking up and around with kindling eyes, "as much as possible, Ned. First the fo'c'sle there and beak-head where the anchors hang. Ay, and the spar you told me is the bolt-sprit. Nay first, this great rope that runs up the foremast here, tell me its name and use."

"'Tis called a jeer-rope, sir, and is rove through that block aloft as be seized to the top, d'ye see, and so cometh adown the mast and is rove through this other block by the deck. And its use is for to hoise up the yards so that though the ties should break yet would they hold up the mast. And yon preventers be for the like purpose. These yere be the partners as do hold fast the bolt-sprit as you see, sir, which be further supported by the fore-stay yonder."

"'Tis great and noble spar this bolt-sprit, Ned."

"Why so it be, sir, and carries the sprit-sail, sprit top-sail and jackstaff, and its length be usually the same as the foremast."

"And what are these great timbers?"

"The cathead, sir, and yonder be the cat-hook for to trice up the anchor from the hawse to top o' the fo'c'sle."

"How many anchors hath a ship?"

"Well, there be these bow anchors, first and second bowers, for her to ride by. Then there's the kedge for calm weather or to kedge up and down a narrer river lest wind or tide drive her ashore. Then there be grapples, smallest of all anchors, wi' four flooks but no stock, for a boat to ride by or to heave aboard an enemy ship in close fight, to ketch hold o' gratings, rails and such, in order for to board her. Lastly there's the sheet anchor and greatest of all, only used of necessity, 'tis the last refuge in tempest against driving to death on a lee shore."

So they walked and talked together in eager question and instant reply until to them came John Fenn, the gunner, who, obedient to Adam's gesture of welcome, now joined them.

"Be you still learning the ship, sir?" he enquired.

"Ay, I am, Master Fenn, and was about to ask Ned if he could tell me aught concerning the azimuth, what it is?"

"Somewhat about the altitude o' the sun, ain't it, Ned?"

"Ar!" nodded the Bo'sun. "'Tis con-sarned with the sun sure-ly, also arks and merry deans, but pre-zackly how I dunno. I can lay a course true enough by dead reckoning, but these yere fancy ways goes beyond me. For this, Mr. Adam, you must ax any o' the navigation officers. I can tell ee all about a ship's tackling, sails, ropes, rigging cables, anchors, flags, pendants and the like, same as John here can larn ee all about guns and shot, sponges, rammers and ladles, but navigation ain't our consarn, d'ye see?"

"Then pray, John, show and tell me of your guns, their various names and powers,—if you will?"

"I'll be honoured, sir. And I'll best do it below on the gun-deck." So thither they went, and there John Fenn patted and explained his grim monsters on this wise:

"Sir, you must know there be guns o' many and divers sorts, and the greatest the cannon royal, as shall cast you a ball o' forty-eight pounds, then the serpent, forty-two,—the demi-cannon, thirty-two,—the cannon-petro, twenty-four,—the culverin, eighteen,—the basilisk, twelve,—demi-culverin, nine,—the saker, six,—and the minion, four. There be also swivels, called murdering-pieces, mounted above on the cubbridge heads to sweep the decks fore and aft."

"And do they all shoot ball?"

"No, sir, we've shot for all occasions, as case-shot, loaded with small bullets, nails, old iron and such in a case, for sweeping crowded decks, then there's chain and cross-bar shot to cut an enemy's rigging, there's likewise trundle and round shot."

"Why are your guns tied up in these ropes?"

"These be the breechings, sir, to hold 'em agin recoil and the pitch and roll of the deck, and tackle to work 'em."

"Where do you keep the powder?"

"In the hold till wanted, then here right handy in barrels amidship."

"Is there no danger from sparks?"

"Well—not so much, for in fight, on every tub must sit a powder boy to cover it with his latter-end, sir, and cover it, com-plete!"

"How many guns does this ship carry?"

"All too few since you ask me, sir. She's pierced for forty and mounts but twenty-five, culverins and basilisks alow here, sakers and minions aloft,—but twenty-five, and in these waters!"

"What of these waters, John?"

"Sir, on our larboard beam lays Africa,—the cursed Barbary Coast."

"You mean—pirates?"

"Ay I do. Sallee rovers, bloody barbarians and right desperate fighters all, 'tis win or die with 'em, and we under-gunned. Well, thank God, we've no women aboard."

"Women!" repeated Adam, softly. "Ha, John, now should these pirates attack us ... we must be more desperate than they, we also must win or die,—I for one."

"And myself for another, sir, for I know what——" He paused suddenly and stiffened to salute as towards them with leisured stride came Absalom.

Nodding to the gunner, he looked down on Adam with somewhat ironic smile, and seeing him so grim of face, bowed, saying:

"Good friend, will you be pleased to walk with me?"

So when Adam had thanked gunner John, he went with Absalom and both silent until they had reached the upper deck and this chancing to be deserted, for it was still early, Absalom spoke:

"You keep your distance these days, you and ... your brother,—eh, Adam?"

"And each with sufficient reason!" he retorted.

"Ay, that sorry business t'other day when you forced me, for sake of discipline, to do that would have shamed us both. You'll not soon forgive me this, eh, Adam?"

"Yes, heartily, for I brought it upon myself,—also it hath served me very well."

"Ay, you are great with the men, I've seen you confabulating with 'em frequently o' late."

"Every day," nodded Adam.

"You prefer fo'c'sle to poop 'twould almost seem?"

"Ay, I do indeed."

"Well, damme, but you speak plain enough!"

"'Tis so my endeavour."

"And what a plague do you there every day. Not thinking to raise a mutiny 'gainst me, eh, Adam?"

"Captain Troy, such base suspicion shames only yourself!"

"Then what do ye there day after day?"

"Do what I may to become a seaman."

Absalom chuckled, then shook comely head.

"'Tis poor trade, Adam, mostly."

"Yet manly one always. Someday, mayhap, I shall command ship o' my own."

"Hum!" quoth Absalom, cocking an eyebrow. "And in the meantime you learn—our Tony—pretty sword tricks, ha?"

"Not tricks but an art, a craft shall prove sufficingly deadly anon."

"'Tis an apt pupil—this Tony of ours, eh, Adam?"

"Ay, truly!"

"And becoming ever more—manly, eh, Adam?"

"I am glad you observe this, and trust you to bear yourself accordingly."

"Ay ay—how should I not?"

"How indeed?"

Now at this, Absalom glanced down almost furtively at his companion's small, set visage and finding it wholly inscrutable, took him by the arm, saying:

"How say'st thou to a noggin, shipmate?"

"No, thank you," answered Adam, freeing his arm, and though he did this gently enough, Absalom scowled.

"And I'm to believe you bear no least animosity against me, am I?" he demanded.

"Yes."

"Yet you refuse to drink with me,—ay or eat with me! Why must you forsake your place in the mess and feed alone—with your beloved brother, of course, 'stead o' joining our company in the great cabin?"

"By reason that I am not at ease in company, more especially at table. I eat little and drink less, and am happier doing this alone. As for Anthony——"

"Must bide with dear brother Adam, ay ay! Ha, well, the choice is your own. Keep yourselves to yourselves and be damned to it! Ay, do as ye will, but—mind this,—when you are with your friends o' the lower deck you shall infallibly sink to their level soon or late!"

"I'll remember," nodded Adam.

"Ay, and this also, to wit: Discipline aboardship must be maintained and enforced at all times and by all means, 'tis the first law at sea,—ay, and everywhere else, for that matter."

"Well now," answered Adam, looking up into his companion's face at last and meeting his scowl with one as dark and fierce, "I quarrel with no just law, Captain Absalom, more especially such law of stern honour as can aid a man to govern and discipline himself!" With this he turned and would have gone but that Absalom stayed him with powerful hand, saying angrily:

"What mean ye by this now,—what mean ye?"

"Sir," Adam murmured, glancing from this compelling hand to the threatening face above him, "have the goodness to loose me."

"Go then!" said Absalom, in choking voice, and strode away in a fury.

Then Adam sighed, shook his head and went in quest of Antonia and breakfast.

CHAPTER XIII HOW ADAM SOUGHT TO BECOME A SEAMAN

Said Adam to his pupil, and both seated on a coil of rope in shady corner of the deck, for it was the drowsy afternoon hour:

"Now, Anthony, I will expound as best I may the true Philosophy of the Sword, more especially the rapier, this being the best, noblest and most deadly of all weapons."

"Nay but, Adam, how may any weapon be noble since 'tis but a tool for slaughter?"

Now at this heresy, Master eyes Pupil and shakes his head in shocked reproof, whereat Pupil nods hers, wholly unabashed and repeats with emphasis:

"An ugly tool, Adam, for cold and murderous slaughter!"

"Not so, Anthony, my faith—no! Your murdering tool is cowardly pistol or blundering musketoon whereby Brutish Ignorance may slaughter Learned Valour and from safe distance. But, as Mind is greater than mere Body so is the rapier greater than any other weapon, and its manage an exact science calling not only for the strict accordance of hand, eye and foot, but for an alertness o' the mind also. For, Anthony, he that would be a true sword-master must first be master of himself, then of his blade, so shall he be master of his adversary. You follow me, I hope?"

"No, Adam, you must be plainer. Tell me your Firstly first, as—how one must be master of himself?"

"By schooling himself to a reasoning calm, putting aside all fury of anger, heedless of taunts and all provocation. He must—— Are you attending, Anthony?" Here Pupil, whose bright glance has strayed from Master's small, serious visage, starts guiltily yet answers serenely:

"You may be sure I am."

"Then presently I shall describe and show the various lines, attacks and parries, though 'tis not quickness o' body shall make you a swordmaster so much as celerity o' mind,—to forethink your adversary and sense his intent and the line of his attack."

"Nay now, Adam, a mercy's sake! How shall any mere human forethink another except by spells and tricks o' magic witchcraft?"

At this, Master rises, the better to survey and admonish Pupil who instantly salutes him with graceful flourish of foil, saying:

"What then, have I shocked thee again, dear Adam?"

"Tricks?" he repeated, shaking reproachful head. "In this noble science there are nor tricks nor master-strokes though there be many ruffling knaves offer such at a price."

"Nay tell me, Adam, how do you forethink your adversary when you fight?"

"By anticipating his attack, luring it with a feint and, when it comes, meeting it with instant riposte which, as I've told you, is parry and counter-thrust in one,—or by volte, that is, turn o' body, letting it pass and take him with a time thrust to wound or end him as you will."

"On my soul now a most learned and bloodthirsty disquisition—or souse me for a gurnet!"

Glancing up, Adam beheld Absalom lolling on the carved poop-railing above.

"Damme, Adam, but thou'rt transforming this gentle, smock-faced brother o' thine into a perfect throat-slitting 'sdeath and blood bravo, a notable swashing, hell-fire, bully roarer, eh, Adam?"

"None o' these, sir!" he answered, narrowing his eyes on the speaker. "No, I do but make him so able in his own defence that none shall affront him with impunity."

"Oho! Affront, d'ye say?"

"Ay, I do!"

"As how? When? Where? By whom? Come, out with it."

Dumbly Adam turned from him, and thus finding Antonia had disappeared, tucked foil beneath his arm and hastened away down into the waist of the ship where stood Mr. Amos Perrin, the master, taking his daily observation of the sun. A lank person was Amos Perrin, mournful of aspect and dolorous of voice; just at present his woeful visage was twisted askew, one eye screwed up, the other glaring heavenward along an instrument such as Adam had never seen, wherefore he watched this with very lively attention.

"Sir," said he at last, unable to remain silent any longer, "Mr. Perrin, what do you?" The master turned, uttered sound like a groan and answered:

"Master Penfeather, oh dear me,—I take the sun his altitude."

"And what is that instrument?"

"Sir, 'tis called a—ah me—a backstaff, ay and a forestaff also."

"Pray, sir, how do you use it?"

"Master Penfeather, take and try for yourself. Ah, dearie me! Hold the flat o' the staff to corner o' your eye, let it rest on your eye-bone, sir, as near the corner o' your eye as may be, yet so it doth not hinder the sight. Now look at the upper end o' the cross for the sun and at the lower end for the horizon. Oh me! But if at the lower end you see all sky and no water, draw the cross nearer to you along staff,—if you see all water and no sky, slide the cross a little further from you till you see the centre o' the sun at the upper end o' the cross, then 'tis right for a true observation. Now look and see at what degree marked on the staff the cross rests and that will be the meridian altitude or its complement according to these words marked on the staff. Ah, dearie me!"

"And what, sir," enquired Adam, returning this instrument, "pray what means the word 'azimuth'?"

"'Tis an arc, Mr. Penfeather. The azimuth is an arc o' the horizon intercepted betwixt the meridian and the vertical circle, which passeth the centre of the sun, sir."

"Alas!" sighed Adam. "All this is far beyond my poor wit. How may I learn this science of navigation?"

"With pain, sir,—ah me—with pain o' laborious study. But if you be serious and intent to learn, I have books might instruct you."

"Then, do but show me how, and study I will," said Adam, "ay, and this right diligently. Will you be so good, sir?"

"Mr. Penfeather,—ah me,—I shall do my poor best for you, sir."

"Then, sir, I am so grateful I grieve to see you thus marvellous woeful and would fain comfort you."

"Impossible, Mr. Penfeather, I sorrow as I breathe, sir, 'tis so my nature since I was born a wailing babe into this Vale o' Sorrow. Go with me now and I'll lend you certain books and show ye how to use 'em."

And thus it was that Adam began his study of navigation, taking upon himself yet another labour, and one that was to tax all his resolution, and this mostly by night, for all day long he was pacing the decks and talking 'ship' with Captain Smy, or asking questions of Bo'sun Ben and other prime seamen. He sat for hours puzzling out the intricate craft of knotting and splicing; he clambered aloft to yards and crosstrees and more boldly now; he hauled on ropes and yo-hoed lustily with the men; he learned the use of compass and bittacle and therewith how to steer, thrilling with joy to the quiver of the great whipstaff that throbbed in his grasp like a live thing.

And thus for Adam, at least, time sped apace.

CHAPTER XIV WHICH TELLS OF A WORDY PASSAGE OF ARMS

"'Tis pitiful!" exclaimed Antonia who, with coat off and white arms bare, was busied at a large bowl washing certain of their too few garments.

"What is?" enquired Adam, glancing up from his books and papers.

"That in this great ship is not one single, solitary thimble. Do none of all these sailormen ever use needle, Adam?"

"Oh yes, but 'stead of thimble they use a piece of leather and call it a 'palm'. Which reminds me," said he, fumbling in pocket, "I got one for you from Bo'sun Ned this afternoon,—ay, here it is!"

"That!" cried Antonia, wrinkling her pretty nose at it. "How a mercy's name may one sew with such thing?"

"You slip it on your palm—thus, and push your needle, open-handed."

"How like a clumsy man!"

"And how like very woman you talk! Have a care, brother Anthony!"

"Nay, we're private here, Adam, thank God! And we've but four pair o' stockings betwixt us, and as few shirts, and most of these need mending. Indeed you are very hard on your clothes, Adam, you are forever up and about, these days. Twice I watched you climb the masts to-day—and so dangerous and bad for your clothes."

"Ah, but to-day also, Antonia, I steered this ship,—and for an hour by the glass! To-morrow I'm to hale on the tackle o' one of the biggest guns, number four!"

"They won't shoot off the hateful things, will they, Adam?"

"Nay, 'tis but to exercise the crews; 'twill be mere dumb show."

"I heard them shoot cannons at The Tower once, and 'twas like the crack of doom. How far away it all seems now. The Tower ... London. 'Tis like a new world!"

"Why, so it is indeed," said Adam, turning to look at her again. "And in this new world I pray God you shall find ... True Happiness."

"And you also!" she answered, fervently. "And yet ... what is True Happiness?"

"Here is question, Antonia, hath puzzled all the philosophers through the ages."

"Adam, can Happiness true and abiding ever be in this sad, cruel world?"

"It is my sure hope and belief, Antonia. Though none, I think, may ever find it that seek for Self alone, since True Happiness is never selfish. I believe this blessing cometh only to such as forget self in love,—ay, and service for others."

"What mean you by such love, Adam?"

But here, and before he could reply, a voice beyond the open door did this for him, chanting these words gaily:

"Nay, Tony lad, 'tis question stupid!

Whom should he mean but wanton Cupid,

Little, naked, impish boy,

Sly, tender archer, elf of joy?

Dan Cupid that with burning darts

Through steel and buff transfixeth hearts.

Ha!

Would Cupid now an arrow shoot,

Speak, and I'll hence and leave him to 't."

"In fine," chuckled Absalom, lounging in the doorway, "do I intrude? For here's scene o' domestic bliss to touch the heart o' poor, lorn sailorman and take him all aback, or I'm a buttered parsnip!"

Antonia frowned and bent again to her labour, Adam put aside his books and turned to regard the speaker between narrowed eyelids. And when they had surveyed each other thus for a long moment, Absalom nodded and smiled, though a little grimly.

"Well," he demanded, "am I welcome? Ay or no."

"This depends," sighed Adam, his gaze still intent.

"Ay ay!" chuckled Absalom, though with gathering scowl. "You bear me no malice but prefer my room to my company. Yet here am I to ... humble myself for Friendship's sake. And how then, Adam?"

"Could you ever be truly humble, Absalom?"

"Don't I say so?"

"Very easily. Howbeit, come your ways."

"Am I welcome then, shipmate? We've been something strange to each other o' late and ... I've missed thee, Adam, thy sober airs and gravity o' speech that match your old man's hair. Am I indeed welcome?"

"I had not asked you else, Absalom."

"Why then, what saith our Tony?" Antonia neither looked at him nor spoke. "Nay," said he, still halting in the doorway, "be kind to thy poor, humble Absalom. How,—still dumb? Then prithee, sweet Master Antonia, sir, have I permission of thee to enter—and despite thine arms' sweet, round nakedness, or shall their white nudity prevent?"

Antonia flushed painfully, yet still neither turned nor spoke, while Adam began to pinch his chin in that nervous way of his,—seeing which, Antonia glanced apprehensively from him to where hung his rapier, and bit her lips and closed troubled eyes; then she laughed suddenly and turning on Absalom, said with her most swaggering air:

"Sink us and burn us, Captain, never heed these bare arms o' mine! Come in, man, and sit ye, tell us o' your masts and sails and riggings and have ye been flogging any other o' your men lately, damn their eyes and be cursed to 'em!"

Adam stared speechlessly, as did Absalom for a moment, then in he came, sat down, stretched out his long legs and clapping hand to brawny thigh, laughed right joyously while Antonia, folding her arms to hide trembling hands, watched him with a curious intentness that seemed to check his merriment, then seeing him about to speak, she nodded at him, saying:

"Yes, I liked you better in your grime and shackles!"

"Eh! Now damme, but did ye so, Tony?"

"Curse me if I didn't!" she mocked.

"Aha!" he chuckled. "And why so, my pretty lad?"

"You showed more natural in them than this new finery of clothes that suit you no whit."

Absalom's chuckling laugh was choked suddenly, his bronzed cheek flushed, he blinked.

"Well now," quoth he, "let me perish if I——"

"Yes!" said she, with another fierce nod, "you may perish, burn, sink, or become a buttered parsnip and the sooner the better!"

Absalom sank back in his seat and was dumb, his so ready tongue seemed paralyzed, he made futile gestures with his hands, he shook his head.

"So?" he exclaimed, at last. "'Twould almost seem I am not wanted! Ay, and a saucy, malapert, young ruffler to tell me so! 'S death, Adam,—see now what your plaguey sword lectures ha' done! Hast transformed timid-bleating ewe lamb into roaring lion, meek-eyed, whispering coyness into this fire and fury young Bobadil! Alas, alack! And yet—these pretty arms so smoothly white show not the hairy beefiness o' true fighting man; these lovely limbs were shaped for kinder uses,—ay, by Nature formed to cling, to clasp in Nature's way some happy man by Nature shaped to——"

"Nature?" she repeated. "Nature hath much to answer for, that having formed and shaped such things as toads and worms, she must shape also Captain Absalom Troy that is indeed such form, such shape——" Antonia shuddered, closed her eyes as against some horror, and turned away, while Absalom stared at her shapely back with starting eyes; and she, her face thus hidden, smiled to hear his arrogant assurance so utterly quelled that now he was actually stammering:

"Eh... shape ... what shape? How then, what ... what mean you ... what am I then?"

"No more than that I prove you."

"Well ... what d'ye prove me?"

"Of such sort that I will begone."

"How? Wilt run away, my hero? Wilt flourish and run? And wherefore, my handsome, my sweet, bold Antonia lad?"

"Lest I yield to temptation, Captain Troy, and dowse the hateful mockery of you with this water!"

"Do!" he nodded. "Ay, do and be—kissed, Tony!"

Antonia hesitated, then drying hands and arms slowly, she took up her coat and fronting Absalom, gazed down at him with such look as checked the words on his lip.

"If ever you do," said she, scarce above a whisper, "I so detest the touch, the mere sight of you, that I shall certainly kill you for the doggish wretch I prove you!" Then, with slow nod of her bright head, she turned and walked leisurely away.

CHAPTER XV WHICH DESCRIBES A PASSAGE OF ARMS WITH A DIFFERENCE

Absalom sat staring towards the empty doorway and ruffling his curly head for some little while and never a word.

"Kill me, eh?" he muttered, at last. "Here's twice she's threatened me. 'Doggish wretch,' quo' she! Doggish, by Satan!" At the word he chuckled, though harshly, and made to rise and follow, but was checked by the voice of Adam, who had remained all this time staring down at the toe of his worn shoe.

"It is to be supposed you came here with some purpose?"

"Eh—purpose?" repeated Absalom still gazing towards the doorway until, feeling a touch, he turned to find Adam leaning forward to look on him at last.

"Ay," he nodded, "some better purpose than tormenting; one hath troubles enough and to spare."

"Tormenting, say you?"

"Indeed, with your jibes and fleers and threats of—kissing!"

Now reading the fierce scorn in the speaker's small, pale face, Absalom flushed hotly, essayed a laugh, scowled and became sullen.

"I but jested with ... with a little fool should not be here."

"No, an innocent maid that trusted to your honour, Captain Troy, and vainly it seems. I cry you shame and—-" Up leapt Absalom red with hot fury, and up rose Adam, pallid with cold rage.

"How then," cried Absalom, clenching powerful hands, "will ye dare impeach my honour so lightly—and for this—this runaway baggage, this murderous shrew? Innocent, d'ye say? A cut-throat gallows-bird, says I ... and now threatens to kill me ... and by God she would too."

"Sir," said Adam, hissing between his teeth, "it is to be hoped so!"

"How? What? My life ... for mere kiss?"

"On shipboard, yes. As for ... 'gallows-bird' ... I protest you lie most foully." Absalom's comely face grew ghastly pale, his shapely lips quivered and yet were silent; therefore Adam continued:

"You, being once a gentleman, should know better than affront so basely one so helpless, and this I will permit by no means."

"Permit?" cried Absalom, with tone and gesture so wild and threatening that Adam braced himself for the expected blow. "Now curse your prating insolence ... to flout and give me the lie ... and all for this termagent, this——"

"Be silent!" cried Adam. "Stint and curb your lewd tongue! I've named you liar,—go fetch your sword——"

"Hey?" sneered Absalom. "You'll play off your damned rapier tricks on me now, will ye?"

"Every one—if needed!" answered Adam, reaching down his father's sword. "Now begone! You shall find me on the lower deck, it should be quieter there." But instead of going, Absalom folded his long arms, he smiled, he nodded.

"So ho!" quoth he, in soft, jeering tone. "'Tis as I guessed ... this shrewish claw-cat, this blood-thirsty she-devil ... you love her, eh, my poor lad? Ay, you love her, or damme!"

And now it was Adam who stood mute with a raging fury beyond words, an anger that seemed to rob him of his poor strength, so that he sank upon the locker behind him and, feeling himself so weak and futile, covered his face in clutching hands to hide the burning tears that shamed him. Crouched thus, he heard Absalom's long legs go striding away ... and presently come striding back; heard Absalom curse bitterly and then say, in shaken tones:

"Gallows-bird ... dammit ... I retract, I take it back!" Then away he went again only to return as soon; and Adam, still crouched upon the locker, heard him curse again and say, as though against his will:

"Shrewish claw-cat and she-devil ... these also ... I retract.... And now, when you're ready, come to me in the coach and there I'll essay a sword trick or so on that little carcase o' thine!" Then away he strode for the second time.

And after some while, Adam rose and with sheathed sword beneath his arm, stepped forth of his cabin and came face to face with Antonia, and he was quick to see she had been weeping.

"Adam, don't go," she pleaded, "for sake of wretched me ... don't fight him! Oh, I know, I've been listening.... I heard every word."

"Why then you know that fight I must, so, let me pass."

"No!" she gasped, wringing her clasped hands. "He retracted all he said ... so don't ... Oh, Adam, for dear God's sake don't fight, I ... I cannot abide it."

"Antonia," he murmured, "are you so fearful for me?"

"No, ah no, for him—for him! He is so big and reckless and you are so ... so small and deadly, so cold and terribly sure!"

"Sure?" repeated Adam, beginning to tremble now even as she. "Yes, I am sure, but—only of myself. Are you ... is he ... his safety so ... so very dear to you, indeed?"

"'Tis not ... this ..." she answered, her clear gaze havering, "only I would not have you shed his blood for sake of me, Adam."

"Are you so certain I can?"

"Yes,—yes I am! For Death goes beside you, Adam, to guide your hand ... looks out from your eyes. And he ... Oh, all his size and strength shall nowise avail him, I know ... I know."

"Howbeit," sighed Adam, "comfort you now for ... he shall come to no harm."

"You promise me this, Adam?"

"Yes," he answered, sighing deeper than before.

Now as he went and slowly like one in troubled muse, there met him Sir Benjamin whom he welcomed with one of his rare smiles, saying:

"Sir, it seems long since you stood my friend 'gainst Captain Sharp and on this very spot."

"Ay, time fleets, friend Adam, time fleets, and whiles you busy yourself about the ship I shut myself up with Lord Perrow, my brother, George D'Arcy and the Devil, losing my all at cards, sir, the bones—and by each am cursed, for my luck is out, sir. But now, friend Adam, I am hoping to serve you again in your affair with Troy."

"So he told you o' this?"

"In confidence, Adam, and that I might stand thy friend i' the matter."

"Is he so wishful to fight me?"

"Indeed! Though he lays the onus on you, bidding me say he waits your retraction of certain word or your person to make it good."

"He shall have my person."

"Ha, well said!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin, bouncing with jubilant motion of his legs. "Od's my life, but I love thee, Adam, let's to 't."

So came they into that large cabin with its square windows opening upon railed gallery, this the greatest room in all the ship and called round-house or coach, where they found Absalom at table scowling blackly into the untasted wine before him. At their entrance he rose, inviting them to drink with a gesture.

"Anon, sir, anon!" answered Sir Benjamin, bowing with extreme formality. "Afterwards—perhaps." Adam merely shook his head.

"Ha, gentlemen," quoth Sir Benjamin, with a flourish, "I here venture to suggest the matter may be accommodated."

Absalom scowled and was dumb; Adam shook his head again, whereupon Sir Benjamin, his legs once more jubilant, nodded, saying:

"Then, sirs,—the sooner the better!"

Absalom caught up a silver bell from the table and rang it furiously till came Joel Bym hurrying and after him Captain Smy, more leisurely, who, looking on them sternly, groaned.

"This cometh o' breaking our rule!" quoth he, gloomily. "But if ye must to bloodshed, have at it and be done."

"Need we strip?" growled Absalom.

"'Tis more customary," answered Sir Benjamin. So off came their coats and doublets.

"Your shoes!" said Absalom, kicking off his own.

"Thank you," answered Adam. "I'll keep mine, I am a little taller so."

"Bym, my Toledo!" The weapon was brought, a fine silver-hilted rapier which Absalom slowly unsheathed, saying: "Bolt the doors, Bym!"

"Now, sir," said Sir Benjamin, baring Adam's rapier with a certain joyous officiousness, "I propose you play three veneys and let them suffice, blood or no. Is 't agreed?"

"Ay, ay!" nodded Absalom carelessly.

"As you will!" answered Adam.

"Then," said Sir Benjamin, drawing his own weapon, "after the third encounter I shall interpose. Are ye ready? On guard!"

The long, narrow blades flickered and rang together; and thus with steel grinding they fronted each other, Absalom frowning and grim, Adam's face pale and set. For a long moment they stood staring eye to eye, motionless and dumb.

"Fight!" snarled Absalom, at last.

"When you will," answered Adam, never moving. So, with stamp of shoeless foot and hissing between shut teeth, Absalom fell to sudden, swift action,—he feinted cunningly, shifted dexterously, making his glittering point a circling, darting menace until, spying an opening in Adam's guard, he flashed in a thrust and was met by a parry so unexpectedly strong that it jarred him from wrist to shoulder and, as he stepped back to recover, Adam's blade darted, ripping his shirt from elbow to throat; whereat Sir Benjamin bounced and whispered amazed oath, Smy opened grim lips that spoke not, and the hairy Joel Bym seized himself by the beard and murmured: "By cock!"

"Veney Number One!" cried Sir Benjamin, "and 'Snoggers' a pretty play, very sweet and rare to fancy." But even while he spoke the murderous steel was grinding together again in rapid exchanges,—stroke and counter-stroke, threat of flickering points at face, at throat, at body and limbs, with ceaseless clash and flurry of swift-twirling blades. At last, Adam's weapon sweeping in wide parry, seemed to leave an opening and there, as expected, Absalom instantly made his attack, which Adam as instantly avoided by supple volt, or turn of his agile body and, stepping back as Absalom drove past, lowered his point and stood thus motionless, though panting a little, until Absalom might recover his poise and guard.

"Veney Number Two!" cried Sir Benjamin. "And 's death, gentlemen all, I'm bold to aver that I——"

"Ha, damnation!" Absalom gasped. "Stint this foolery, Adam,—strike, man, strike and blood me ... if ye can ... What mockery d'ye make?"

"None," Adam answered, despondently, "except that I promised not to harm you."

"Eh—not——? You ... you promised not to harm——" Words seemed to fail Absalom, and he stared dumb with indignation and amazement, therefore Adam continued:

"Ay, I did. And indeed, Mr. Troy, your play is even more reckless than I expected, so loose and wild I might have killed you all too easily. So let's be done."

"The which," quoth Captain Smy, "is gospel true."

"Ay, body o' me," cried Sir Benjamin, "that's the verity on 't, sirs!"

Absalom stared down at the rapier in his fist, shook his head at it, strode to the table and laying it there, stood, chin on breast, as if pondering some abstruse problem; suddenly he chuckled and, seating himself on corner of the table, began to laugh, and so continued until came a thunderous knocking on the door and therewith a voice, crying hoarsely.

"Sail ho! Two sail ... bearing down on us to larboard! Pirates o' Barbary ... two galleys bearing down on us."

CHAPTER XVI THE SALLEE ROVERS

Adam saw them first as two black specks far to windward yet showing plain against a luminous horizon, while all about him,—fore and aft, below and aloft, was stir and hum of instant preparation, with a confused murmur of voices that had in it something grimly joyous, this never-ending hum pierced, now and then, by shout of command and silvery twitter of the boatswain's pipe.

Now as Adam leaned to watch this oncoming menace, he was aware of Captain Smy beside him who peered very earnestly through a spy-glass.

"Are these indeed pirates, Smy?" he questioned, anxiously.

"Ay, beyond all peradventure, Adam! Pirates o' Barbary, sons of iniquity and children o' the Devil. Try a peep at 'em through my perspective glass."

So Adam took the glass and after some trouble got sight of these vessels, long and black with sweep of lofty pointed sails.

"And—oars!" said he.

"Verily, Adam, this is why they are galleys,—they can go with no wind, d'ye see?"

"Also I can see ... steel aflicker."

"Ay, this proves 'em galleys o' war and crammed wi' rogues athirst for Christian gore, Adam. So an the wind fail us or they shoot away our spars thou shalt ha' thy bellyful o' fighting for once! And none o' your delicate rapier work or pretty foyning play,—'twill be chop of axe, push o' pike and downright stroke o' sword, for they'll lay us aboard. So I'll away to prepare me, therefore, and do thou set by that rapier and take stout broad-sword instead, for 'twill be close and bloody work should the wind drop, the which God forbid!"

And away strode Smy leaving Adam to watch these distant foes with growing apprehension. For now all his thought was of Antonia, remembering how John Fenn, the gunner, had thanked God there were no women aboard.

But as he watched these black specks, that seemed to grow upon his sight, and greatly troubled thereby, he heard a low yet very cheerful whistling nearby, and greatly wondering what man could whistle so merrily at such time, turned, and was astonished to see this was none other than Amos Perrin, the Master, this usually doleful person, who, meeting Adam's surprised glance, smiled and nodded, he also winked.

"Sir," said he, "in this sad world be yet times for joy, and this is one! For yonder come two devil craft intent on our slaughter and destruction! Death, sir, and damnation! So is my soul uplift whiles heart singeth within me."

"Nay, but why so, I pray you?"

"For that being an Englishman and therefore Christian, 'tis my assured hope this death and damnation shall be theirs and we the instruments o' Grace by means o' steel and round-shot to plunge 'em forthwith to the very deeps of hell. Friend Adam, I was captured and slave to 'em once, I with my boy, Will, and he scarce fifteen turned ... they whipped him to death, my young and only son, whiles I in my fetters watched him die. So now rejoice I that Providence shall rid the world o' yon scum and pray John Fenn's guns shall do their business right bloodily."

"But how if the wind fail and they board us?"

"Why then 'stead o' round-shot, shall be our steel, hand to hand,—ay, and so much the better. In two hours, or thereabout, we shall be hard at it and ... should I be called to join my little son, the happy despatch, sir, my books and instruments are for you. I've left a writing to this effect."

Then, before Adam might find words to thank him, Amos Perrin smiled and strode away, whistling happily as he went.

Forward in the waist of the ship Bo'sun Ned and his mates were busied aiding and directing divers of the men to clear for action, so thither went Adam.

"How think you of the wind, Bo'sun?" he enquired.

"Too light, sir!" answered brawny Ned, glancing up at the great spread of sail that flapped ever and anon. "Us needs a stiffish breeze and a smart helm for to weather they galleys, and be cursed to em! Hows'ever, us can give 'em a broadside or so afore they run us aboard—eh, John?" he enquired, turning where stood Fenn, the gunner.

"I reckon so, Ned. I've my lower tier loaded with ball, cross-bar and case as should discourage 'em somewhat. If they close and board—'twill be in guns, shut ports and us, every man and boy, aloft here with pike and cutlash."

"Ar!" nodded the Bo'sun. "And me wi' old Alf here," and from somewhere nearby he caught up a ponderous axe, its haft corded and fashioned with a loop, its great blade backed by a down-curving spike.

"But," enquired Adam, "why do you name it Alf, and wherefore is that spike?"

"Why, sir, I names him Alf arter me old dad, him being the biggest man in Alceston or any o' they Downland villages, and this being the biggest axe aboard. This here spike is for to smite into the timbers of a enemy ship whereby to climb aboard same, wherefore 'tis called a boarding axe. And when I fight I has this here lanyard rove about me wrist agin loss. And," quoth he, twirling this terrible weapon in powerful hand, "for close work there's nought may compare with a axe, 'tis very pretty, very sarten-sure. Though there's some prefers sword and others a pike, but for me ever and always—an axe. And what'll be your ch'ice, Mr. Adam, if so be youm minded for to try a stroke at they varmin?"

"A hanger, Ned, this in your belt—will you lend it to me again?"

"With j'y, sir," answered the Bo'sun, unbuckling his broad belt to gird it about Adam's slim person. "You know as it be purty sharp, ay, and so does Frant,—eh, Martin lad?"

"Ay, that do I!" answered the man Martin, saluting Adam with the stout pike he bore.

"Ha, stand by!" quoth Bo'sun Ned as a trumpet blared from the poop. "Yonder sounds the rally, and this means me," and taking the silver pipe that dangled from a lanyard upon his broad chest, he sounded thereon a long-drawn, quavering note,—whereat, up from dim gun deck where battle-lanterns now glimmered, and down from forecastle came gunners stripped to the waist and bare-armed men to be mustered aft by the Master and his mates. Then the trumpets sounded again, drums beat, and forth upon the lofty poop, a warlike figure in glittering morion and half armour, stood Absalom Troy. And his eyes were bright, his handsome face smiling and assured, his pleasant voice glad and hearty as, glancing down on the assembled company, he saluted them with flourish of sword, and spoke:

"Shipmates and Bold Adventurers all, yonder come pirate rogues to destroy us—if they can. And I would not have it other, for here's chance to prove me your mettle, to show these cursed sea-wolves that English sea-dogs can out-bite 'em. How say ye, my lads?" He was answered by a roar of cheering and the glitter of brandished steel. "Well and good, my hearties," he laughed, "yet mark this,—should they win the ship 'twill be death for all wounded and vile slavery for the rest, a slavery worse than death, or damme! So now, should they board us, let no man quail or hope for mercy, but fight as I shall fight.—to my last breath. So fight it is, my lads,—fight hard like men, fight unflinching like heroes, fight with a will and cheerily—like Englishmen." Here once again voices roared and steel flashed until Absalom's upraised hand silenced them. "Lastly, my hearties, since I would have no one of ye die fool-like, let every man lie down and take cover each in his place, and no man fire shot until I give the word. Now may the Lord o' Battles love and bless us,—and so to your stations, shipmates all, to bide the issue and quit ye every one like men of Old England."

Here for a third time the men cheered lustily, and Adam with them, in which moment he saw Absalom looking down and beckoning to him. So up to the poop went he, and so came where abaft the mizzen stood Absalom.

"Adam," said he, his face unwontedly grave, "if the wind fail, as I think it may, here shall be very desperate business, for these rogues o' Barbary fight like devils, as too well I know, for I've met 'em ere now. So it is I shall be a very busy man and no chance for further speech wi' thee until this action be decided—one way or t'other. Wherefore now I would show thee my heart that may'st know 'tis my grief to ha' given thee such just cause for quarrel, and ... my bitter shame to have so miscalled ... her, this sweet, brave soul. Indeed you see me very ... humbly contrite. Well now, how says't thou, Adam?"

"That such humility honours you, Absalom, and makes me to love you better than I thought to ever."

"I suppose," said Absalom, his keen glance now on the lazy-flapping sails and now on the approaching galleys, "indeed I'm very sure that there never were two men more dissimilar than Adam Penfeather and Absalom Troy, yet are we alike in this ... that we do both love Antonia. For, Adam, in this that may be my last hour, I do protest I love her most truly and with all that is best in me ... and because I know she hath no kindness for me I have been most bitterly jealous. But now instead I ... would fain make this love an added bond betwixt us ... so, Adam ... brother ... shall we?"

"Yea and with all my heart!" Adam answered; and thus for a moment they stood looking into each other's eyes while their hands met and clasped hard.

"What ... tears, my old Adam?"

"Of joy, Absalom. And thou'rt no better. Blink, man, blink 'em away as I do."

"Faith, Adam, I could blubber like a boy, or damme!" So they blinked, they shook their heads at one another, they laughed, and paced silently to and fro for a minute or two.

"Burn me," exclaimed Absalom, suddenly, "burn and sink me but Friendship is right good thing, Adam, and calls lustily for a noggin, yet this must wait. Meanwhile I ha' to lay a burden on thee, brother, but first, look yonder!" And he pointed towards the galleys which though still distant were now so plain that Adam's anxious eyes could glimpse the flash and flicker of their long, wet, sun-smitten oars, their huge painted sails, the surge and sparkle of steel upon their crowded decks. Now as he gazed upon these dreadful ships that seemed to be converging upon them, the air about him seemed full of a flutey piping, a sound so blythe, so shrill and unexpected that he glanced about, wondering.

"Absalom, why do our men whistle so merrily?"

"For a breeze, Adam, for a fighting breeze. The wind's failing just when most needed. And so, 'stead o' meeting yon rogues, as I would, with craft o' seamanship, outmatching their cursed oars with trick o' sail and helm, we must lie helpless, rolling like any log and they attack us at their will and pleasure, with a curse! So is like to be a very bloody chance medley, or I'm a mere forked radish! In about half-an-hour, as I judge, they will be letting fly with their fore-chase guns, heavy pieces all, Adam, cannons-petro and basilisks most like, as by experience I know. And before then, Adam, She must be secure out of harm's way—Antonia."

"Very true!" nodded Adam.

"And the only safe place is below the water-line, in the hold."

"Indeed, a very proper place!" nodded Adam again.

"So thither, my Old Adam, thither you must take her, ay, and there you must keep her prisoned. This is the labour I lay on you, and labour 'twill be, considering she's of spirit fiery and resolute,—so how you shall do this the Lord alone He knoweth."

"It shall achieve!" nodded Adam, for the third time.

"Good! Then whatsoever you hear of gun-fire and fighting tumult you shall nowise suffer her to venture forth until the business be ended."

Now at this, Adam glanced up in no little surprise.

"You mean," he questioned, "I am to remain below until the battle is over?"

"Ay, I do, Adam, I do. She is your charge to keep prisoned lest she adventure herself, as she would, God love her! She is naturally courageous and you have learned her to fight and love it,—so to cage and keep her safe becometh your bounden duty."

"And I must bide below whiles you fight, I must be idle and safe?"

"Ay, for her sake, my Old Adam. And I shall count it more heroic in thee, ay, damme, but I shall!"

"But, Absalom, I am nowise heroical, alas!"

"Ha, now what d'ye mean, Adam?"

"That I shall fight and she bide safe, ay—though I must needs tie her hand and foot."

CHAPTER XVII TELLS HOW ADAM LEARNED A GRIEVOUS TRUTH

The Bold Adventuress rolled, lazily helpless, to the languid swell of a windless sea, sails flapping idly, blocks rattling while voices muttered where the men made their last preparations for what was to be.

Now as Adam stood looking on the orderly bustle around, to him came Antonia striding very manlike, sword on hip, her bright hair covered in gleaming steel, and with her, Joel Bym bearing divers pieces of armour.

"'Tis steel o' proof, sir," quoth he, "as shall turn ye a bullet right handsome, by cock!"

"Howbeit, I want it not, Joel."

"Cap'n's orders, sir!"

"And mine, too!" cried Antonia. "Buckle them on him, Joel, my hearty." And so, willy-nilly, Adam was strapped into back and breast plates, upon his head was placed a cumbrous helmet which he instantly removed and, turning to Antonia, was about to speak when his words were checked by the boom of a cannon and something hummed through the rigging high above them.

And now all eyes gazed where, with thrashing oars and sharp prows cleaving the sullen waters to foam, the two long galleys drove down against their helpless prey.

But though the Bold Adventuress rolled thus helplessly becalmed, upon her lofty poop paced Absalom Troy, sword in fist, leisured of step, serene though watchful of eye: behind her stout bulwarks crouched desperate men who gripped ready steel, eager for battle; amidships stood their grim-faced officers glancing now at the oncoming foe and now up at that slow-pacing, glittering figure on the poop, awaiting his expected signal.

From the galleys, now rapidly approaching, came a sudden, wild clamour of voices, a ferocious howling,—upon the Bold Adventuress was no sound except the rattle of blocks and flapping of useless canvas; then the enemy's fierce hubbub was lost in the roar of their artillery followed by instant crash of splintering timbers ... a man screamed, leapt afoot, staggered blindly across the deck spattering blood and so fell, and lay dreadfully motionless and silent.

"Oh God ... of mercy!" gasped Antonia. "Is that ... death?"

"Ay, I fear so," answered Adam. "Come, let us begone."

"Oh ... but whither?"

Adam, glancing up, saw Absalom lift his sword, heard Smy's harsh voice cry "Fire!"—heard Bo'sun Ned's answering bellow.... Then from the ship's high, embattled side gushed smoke and flame with thunderous roar, shaking the stout vessel from stem to stern, and the foremost galley, smitten by this point-blank broadside, checked and broached to,—her lofty sail was swept away in flappy ruin, and as the powder-smoke blotted her out, rose a joyous, full-throated English cheer drowned in the crashing salvo of the second galley that smote the Adventuress forward and with deadly effect, for from the forecastle came screams and savage cries drowned by another rousing cheer and rattle of musketry fire.

"Come!" shouted Adam, above the increasing din. "Come, Antonia!" Seizing her hand, he urged her across quivering deck, down the wide companion and through the choking reek of dim gun-deck where by light of the battle lanthorns misted in swirling smoke, half-naked men were reloading the great pieces while little powder boys pattered to and fro. Amid all this seeming confusion Adam led the way, pausing only to snatch down one of the lanthorns, and, lighted by this flickering beam, went on—down to the orlop and thence down yet again into the comparative quiet of the great hold piled high with cargo of all sorts, lashed and battened trimly against the ship's rolling. Here, reaching a kind of small embayment amid this stowage, Adam paused to set the lanthorn very carefully in place of safety and so, to look at Antonia and she at him, while above them the battle clamoured ever louder, a tumultuous, never-ceasing uproar pierced now and then by the splintering shock of shot-riven timbers, hoarse cries, thin wailings or the deafening thunder of John Fenn's crashing broadsides. At last, leaning near, she spoke:

"Adam, shall you fight?"

"Can you doubt it, Antonia?"

"No. But why are we here?"

"I bring you to safety."

"And lose your labour, my foolish Adam, for I am no more in love with safety than are you, or ... Absalom Troy, and so will share all perils with you."

"Nay now," sighed Adam, looking on her lovely, resolute face but listening to that dreadful clamour above them, "no woman should front such dangers."

"Howbeit, my Adam, since I must needs seem a man I'll act like a man and fight."

"Not so, Antonia, you will, as I trust, remain here,—'tis Absalom's command."

"Oh! Well, now, his commands shall never bind me, for I despise the man. And besides——"

"Ay and besides, Anthony, I ask this of thee also."

"Then no to you, Adam, because you are my very dear and only friend and I had liefer die beside you to-day, since die I surely must someday, than bide here and you be killed and I left desolate. Indeed, I fear death no more than you,—for what have I to live for? I am but a poor waif of the wind to be blown hither and yon! What hath life for wretched me that I should fear to lose it?"

"Love!" he answered. "Wife and motherhood! Twas for this God made thee, Antonia, and 'tis for this you should cherish life. And 'tis for this I now beseech you from my heart to bide safe here and suffer that I now go to my duty doing my poor best, the best I may, against our enemies, leaving the hereafter to God. So now will you promise me to stay here in safety, will you on your honour pledge me this?"

"Yes," she answered in weeping tones, "yes, I promise thee, Adam. Go to thy duty and 'stead of me, I pray God shall go beside thee, dear Adam. Give me thy hand."

"My dear ... ah no ..." he gasped for, seizing his hand, she was kissing it. "Nay.... Oh, Antonia——" For now she was kissing his brow, his mouth—lips that kissed her again ... arms that, for a moment, clasped and held her close. Then he drew away, but in his bright eyes a new and very joyous brightness.

"Antonia," said he, raising her hand to his lips, "in this hour ... with death all about us, it is but honourable I should tell how that ... Absalom loves thee also."

"He?" she repeated, in strange, breathless manner, "Absalom? Oh!" And shrinking back, she covered her face between quick hands. But in this face, this murmurous cry, Adam read the very truth and stood awhile rigid and dumb.

"Now God keep you," he muttered, at last. "God bless you ... both of you!"

Then Adam turned from her and stumbled away into the darkness.

CHAPTER XVIII TELLS HOW THEY FOUGHT

Up to the battle, to baleful roar and tumult went Adam, going slowly, heavy burdened by this sudden knowledge of irreparable loss and a grief far beyond words, and one indeed that never must be spoken; and, mingled with this pain, a fierce envy of Absalom for his bodily strength and comely, all-conquering manhood.

So came Adam to the gundeck thick with smoke, to slip in blood that fouled the littered planks, to stumble over prone shapes that writhed groaning, or lay dreadfully still and mute. But presently amid the eddying smoke he glimpsed a face he knew despite blood and grime of battle, and cried aloud:

"Ho, John ... John Fenn! Canst use me, John?"

"Ay, I can, sir, I can," answered the Master Gunner, wiping sweat from his eyes. "Number Four is short-handed ... Frant's gun, forrard yonder. Martin'll show ye what to do—if he's yet alive. 'Tis pretty hot, sir, pretty hot."

Forward to Number Four went Adam, crying above the furious clamour:

"Frant.... Oh, Martin Frant, show me what I must do to help you." And a grim shape black with powder, answered cheerily:

"What, is 't you, Mast'r Adam! Lord love ee now here's a ploy. Lay on to this yere tackle, sir, and heave. My lads be all down but two, and she's a heavy piece is Number four. Heave now ... heave all and cheerily—yo—ho—ho!"

Thus Adam hove and wrought and laboured with Martin and his two remaining men at Number Four until he gasped and sweated in his heavy corselet and yearned to be rid of it, but found no time to loose and unbuckle.

"Martin, where's ... little Smidge?"

"Dunno, sir. He was hereabout, but now,—I dunno."

Smoke and thunderous roar of guns ... shivering crash and shock of shot-riven timbers ... shouts and cries ... groans and a dreadful screaming. A vision of Martin calmly altering his gun's elevation ... blowing on his match ... giving fire ... smoke and flame and thunder. A glimpse of Martin peering out and down through reeking gun-port ... turning hand at mouth to hail:

"Ahoy, Master Fenn, they'm below us, sir ... out o' range. They'm alongside. Ho, Master Fenn, they'm boarding of us!" And then John Fenn's answering hail:

"Gunners, stand by! In guns all! Close and bar all ports! Is 't done, lads?"

"Ay, ay, sir! All 's fast and snug, sir."

"Then pikes and cutlasses! Aloft to repel boarders. Follow me!"

A coughing scramble amid the smoke; a trampling of hasty feet; a surge of eager, half-naked bodies up the wide companion, up from smoke and gloom, out into blinding sunglare, to pause a moment with dazzled eyes and then to behold a dreadful sight of prone bodies trampled on blood-spattered deck by men who fought desperately, thrusting and hewing at wild figures that swarmed the bulwarks, a howling fury of attack. And into this merciless battle leapt John Fenn followed by his smoke-grimed gun crews, and with them Adam.... Cut and parry and darting thrust, blow on blow until arm wearied and breath failed.

Somewhere in the reeling press Adam heard Bo'sun Ned's hoarse bellow, and fighting thitherward, glimpsed him at last, a ghastly figure of slaughter plying great axe with terrible effect. Cut and parry and darting thrust until, loud above the raving din, rose Absalom's breathless but right jubilant cry:

"By God ... we have 'em! To it, lads ... at 'em, old seadogs, point and edge ... sa-ha!"

A breathless cheer ... clash of random steel ... a vision of Sir Benjamin's plump visage pale now and agonized ... a tall figure that choked horridly and went down.... Then Adam was hurled backwards ... was kicked, trampled, felt pain, felt sickness ... felt—nothing.

CHAPTER XIX AFTERMATH

He roused to a right pleasant coolness, a sweet refreshment and opening his eyes stared down into a bowl of bloody water whence a great hand lifted dripping clout to splash his drooping head until he gasped, and turning with an effort, looked up into the blood-spattered visage of Bo'sun Ned who instantly nodded at him, crying:

"Ahoy, Martin, he've come to."

"Yes," sighed Adam, blinking the water from his eyes. "So we ... won the fight, Ned?"

"Ay, we did, sir."

"At a price, Mast'r Adam!" added Martin Frant. "There be five o' my watch gone."

"Ay!" growled the Bo'sun, wringing the water from his clout, "yet to good purpose, Martin lad, there's them and ten more all gone aloft on the wings o' Victory, as English sailormen should ought for to go."

"Fifteen—killed?" gasped Adam.

"Ay, sir, this be the total, and two or three o' the wounded doo for to follow 'em, I reckon. This be the tally of us foremast men. As for the after guard, the officers and gen'lemen,—there's the Master, Mr. Perrin, very dead of a cannon shot. There's Mr. Danvers gone and Lord Perrow likewise, with Sir Benjamin and divers others hurted somewhat. Yet—here's you and me and Martin and Cap'n Troy right as so many trivets and nary a scrat!"

"Yet you bleed, Ned."

"Mostly furrin, sir. I've took a small cut here and theer I won't deny, but naught to matter."

"I grieve poor Amos Perrin is gone."

"But, sir, he were killed afore he knowed it. A round-shot is usually mighty quick and therefore marciful; this 'un did Mr. Perrin's business very handsome,—like a flash o' light. He's lying forrard there, along wi' the rest o' them, waiting for Job Day, the sailmaker, to perform his dooty on 'em."

"How so, Ned?"

"Roll 'em snug and sew 'em up neat in canvas, sir, all trim and shipshape. And presently wi' a round shot rove to their feet and the Cap'n and us to pay 'em our last respex, over they'll go to Davy Jones—their poor bodies to the deep, but their souls aloft—we hope."

"Why truly, Ned, into the hands of God,—and as you said, on the wings of Victory, whereto I now say—Amen! So many dead alas,—and here sit I unharmed by very miracle."

"And your steel-jack, sir!" said Martin. "Here be tidy dent in the front, lookee! A pistol ball, I guess, 'twas this dropped ee and should have ended of ee else."

"And what of the enemy?"

"Two wrecks, sir, miles a-starn of us. For, d'ye see, so soon as their business is done, comes the plaguey wind as might ha' saved us in our need and didn't. Howsomever them cursed galleys shall never make land, which is summat to be thankful for."

And now came Joel Bym, limping somewhat, who hailed Adam with cry of welcome.

"By cock, sir, I've been a-seeking of ee alow and aloft along o' your young brother as be a-looking yet—below there on the gundeck."

"Then go say I'm very well, Joel."

"Ay, ay, sir!" And away hobbled Joel, while Adam got to his legs with an effort, saying:

"Now I must find thy hanger, Ned, for I lost it when I fell."

"Nay, 'tis here, Must' Adam, and very prettily blooded ... and yonder cometh your brother something green about the gills and no wonder, for he's young and we'm all pretty gory. Us'll swab down so soon as the lads have had a spell. Me being Bo'sun and therefore ship's nurse, I'll away and tend her. Come, Martin lad!" And away rolled these hardy mariners while Adam turned to meet Antonia and seeing her so pale, spoke cheerily as he might.

"Blood!" she gasped, "Blood everywhere ... my shoes are wet with it. Oh, Adam, what cruel wickedness a battle is! Thank God you are alive! I looked for you down there among those blood-splashed guns. I sought you in the dreadful cockpit where the wounded lie in their blood, crying and groaning ... and Mr. Perks and his mates all blood to their elbows...."

"Nay, such sights are not for you. Come now and lie down a while, take your ease until——"

"My ease?" she repeated, shivering. "And men groaning in agony!"

"Ay, I know," he sighed, "I know."

"Well now, Adam, if I must not fight will you have me shrink at sight of wounds, 'stead of doing all I may to ease such poor sufferers? Can you think me so heartless to take my ease and be such craven indeed?"

"No!" he answered, gently. "Yet what can you do?"

"All that I may," she retorted, and throwing off coat and doublet, rolled up her sleeves.

"Whither go you?" he questioned, anxiously.

"Downstairs, Adam! Down and yet down into the horror of that fearful cockpit—where no clean air may come and no light is save flickering lanthorns. And such work to do! Life and death! Oh, why must they have such dreadful place so dreadfully far from God's daylight? How like silly, great, blundering men!"

"Shall I go with thee, dear Anthony?"

"No, no, you would be sick, as I was at first,—very nearly. Instead go you to little Smidge, he lies in your cabin."

"Is he hurt?"

"I was looking for you, Adam, and found him lying by a cannon, between two dead men and thought him dead also, yet found he lived. So brought him up to your cabin and made him easy as I might. A great bump on his little curly head, poor lamb! Ah, 'tis sinful shame such children should be brought to sea. Take my coat, Adam, I'm going to the galley for rum and plenty of it to dose these poor sufferers!" And away she sped.

So Adam went to his cabin and beheld there outstretched a very pale little Smidge who, looking up at him with large, wistful eyes, raised hand to brow in fumbling salute.

"Ax your kind pardon, sir," said he, a little faintly, "'twas your bruvver brings and lays me yere, but if you wants to lay down I'll sheer off, sir."

Adam shook his head and blinked but answered cheerily:

"No, no. How's thy old nob, shipmate?"

"Aches me a bit, sir, it do, but I'm a fighting English seadog now, Mr. Adam, so I don't mind nor yet notice it nohow. 'Cos when Tom Benson was killed I took his cutlash and used it agin them pirits right hearty I did till I gets this yere clout o' my figurehead and couldn't do no more. So then I went asleep and dreamed as my mother was a-kissing of me and wakes up and finds as 'twas your bruvver, Mist' Anthony ... and I was that ashamed I closes my peepers again and so he carries me up yere, though I dessay as I could ha' walked, then he lays me yere and ... kisses me again—ay, and calls me 'poor child', 'e did, though I tells him I ain't! So please, Mist' Adam, don't let him kiss me no more, and if he calls me 'child' you tell him as I'm a seadog as poked them pirits proper,—will ye, sir, if you please?"

"Ay, ay, shipmate, I will so,—but only on condition you close your peepers now and try to get some sleep like the bold seadog you are."

"Then you don't mind me a-laying yere, sir?"

"No, Smidge, not if you sleep and obey orders as a seaman should."

"Why then I will, sir, and thankee kindly ... for I be ... main weary." And to prove his words, the little fellow was presently fast asleep.

Then, soft-treading, forth went Adam to see what harm the Bold Adventuress had suffered in the fight, and was surprised to find this so much less than he had feared.

Bo'sun Ned, this so capable man and dutiful ship's nurse, himself taut and trim as ever, was already on duty to oversee the swabbing of decks and repair of damaged rigging, while the carpenter and his mates were hard at work to mend riven timbers and plug shot-holes, and all greatly to Adam's expressed admiration, so that the men grinned and the work went the more merrily. But after some while Joel Bym came limping to say, knuckling an eyebrow:

"Cap'n's sarvice, Must' Adam, and will ee step into the roundhouse, sir?"

"Ay, but art hurt, Joel,—thy leg?"

"My starboard spar, sir, a bit of a cut though irksome, by cock."

Absalom, his armour laid by, was sitting alone with papers on the table before him and a wide belt of soft leather wherein showed many small pockets. He beckoned Adam to the chair beside him and so soon as Joel had departed closing the door, he turned with the question:

"What of ... her?"

"Safe, Absalom, and now below in the cockpit to aid Perks and his mates."

"She should not be there, Adam, 'tis ghastly place!"

"This is why she went."

"Lord!" murmured Absalom. "Now God love her! Adam, 'tis very angel o' mercy."

"Yet a woman, Absalom, to cherish and honour."

"And ... love, Adam!"

"Ay verily."

"Adam, hast spoke aught of ... of thy love?"

"No."

"Hast ever loved afore, Adam?"

"Never."

"I have, alas! And so often, the memory shames now, for I am wiser. She hath learned me how love is no idle toy, no mere pastime but a very ... holy thing, ay, so purely sacred that I know myself all unworthy."

"Since when, Absalom?"

"That moment she looked on me with her clean maid's eyes and vowed to kill me. Which is marvellous strange yet true as death, Adam. So, I know I have never loved afore in all my days, and, loving now, shall never love any other ... for in all this world can be no other for me. And though she despise me I honour her therefor, since I do so truly merit her disdain."

"And art so very sure that she despiseth thee?"

"Ay, I am ... she hath made it very sufficiently evident. And no wonder, for blind fool that I was, I have shown her ever the worst of me,—almost! But, Adam, I never believed such love could be and ... when it came ... I was ashamed and hid it 'neath a galliard lightness, fool talk and smirking gallantries ... yet all the while True Love crying shame on me—even as you did, Adam. And when we fought, though meaning not to kill thee, I did my best to shed thy blood because I knew she loved thee."

"And now, Absalom?"

"Why now.... Love hath so changed me thou'rt dearer to me for her sake ... so her choice o' thee is mine also. And this bringeth us to the matter in hand, to wit,—this treasure belt and these papers which were the property of Lord Perrow who was killed fighting beside me. Now hidden in this belt, Adam, is treasure of jewels, all that is left of the great Perrow heritage, being family heirlooms, the half of which I shall give to thee for——"

"To me?" exclaimed Adam, in stammering amazement. "But how ... how can you...?"

"Ay, to be sure," sighed Absalom. "I should ha' told thee ... Lord Perrow was my only brother."

"Your ... brother?" Adam repeated.

"Here are these papers to prove it."

"Then you ...you are now ... Lord Perrow!"

"Ay, verily, Adam,—lord of an acre or so and old, ruined house in Sussex, all the rest was confiscate in my father's time. We were family of power and great wealth ... all gone like vanished dream, save for these jewels that, according to my brother's papers, are valued in London at fifty odd thousand pounds, and this now mine. For by law I am Jocelyn, Lord Perrow, but by choice I shall remain to the end o' my days Absalom Troy, mariner."

"I pray you why?"

"A title, Adam, must be lived up to, so I'll none of it. And I've even less love for my family name than I had for my poor brother, God forgive me. But you must know that my brother Eustace lived up to his title, ay and beyond it, and being some years my elder, lorded it over me all my days until at last, our mother being dead, I went to sea as gentleman adventurer and left him to lord it over others,—the which he did to such effect that he drew on him King Jamie's disfavour, though for this I nothing blame him,—was attained with other gentlemen and doomed to banishment, as you know. But girt about him was this our treasure o' family jewels, the half of which, as I say, I shall bestow on you, my Old Adam."

"But why should you give me so great a fortune?"

"Adam, thou'rt my friend ... and she loves thee. This money shall make thee bold to woo and wed, so shall it be my wedding gift. Well now are you answered?"

"So well, Absalom, that I must as truly answer thee. For indeed, though most truly grateful, I can nowise accept this gift ... having no least need of it by reason that I shall never ... be so blest ... to have a ... wedding."

With the word he arose, and when Absalom would have questioned him further, he but smiled and shook his head. So presently back went Adam to his cabin and there, seated before his books and charts, saw instead of these, the haunting beauty of Antonia's face and this gradually misted by slow-gathering, painful tears.

CHAPTER XX OF NO PARTICULAR IMPORT

Blazing sun, tempered by a gentle following wind that urged the Bold Adventuress through calm seas of colour so deep and wonderfully blue that yet seemed daily to become more beautiful, a very joy to the eyes and one that Adam never wearied of beholding, as he was doing in this warm and slumberous afternoon from shady corner, the decks all deserted save for the customary watch; thus solitary stood Adam, and so lost in meditation that at sound of Antonia's voice and light footstep he started, almost guiltily, for it was of her he was thinking,—tormenting himself with such dream as went beyond all hope of realization, and therefore ineffably dear. Thus, as he watched her coming towards him, what wonder if his heart leapt painfully because of her warm and vivid beauty. For these weeks of sea air, of brine and glowing sunshine have deepened the colour in cheek and lip, her step is quick and firm, her every movement instinct with vigorous, new life and the pure joy of it.

"Goodness me, Adam!" she exclaimed, leaning beside him, "Each day seems hotter than the last."

"And will be," he answered, "for soon we shall be crossing the Line."

"Oh! What line?"

"The equinoctial."

"Why, whatever is that?"

"An imaginary circle in the heavens running with and above the earth's equator, and called the equinox because when the sun crosses it, days and nights are equal."

"And both equally hot!" she sighed.

"Indeed!" he nodded. "I wonder you are not sleeping like the rest o' the folk."

"I tried, yet could not, so instead went a-visiting my school."

"Eh, school?"

"The gunroom, Adam, where now my schoolboys lie, the wounded men. 'Tis well for them you got the man Troy to suffer they should be brought there, I think they'd have died else. I call them my scholars because I read to them every day then question 'em to know how much they remember. And they are all my children because all men are always children, and very babies when they're sick. And a marvellous strict parent I am ... though in their weakness I love them all. And they are so patient, Adam, so very grateful for what little I can do ... smiling on me through their pain, so that sometimes I could weep, but then it is that I grow stern, very bluff and gruff and swear my best at 'em ... yet with tears o' pity in my heart. And, for their comfort, a flask of rum in my pocket to temper Mr. Perks' bitter nostrums, the biggest nip for my brightest scholar! Oh, and here's a wonder,—the man Troy can trouble his proud magnificence to visit them, and frequently o' late! He came again to-day while I was reading to them, and sat there meek as a mouse, the odious wretch!"

"Are you so angry yet against——"

"More so, Adam. For now when I chance to meet him, which is seldom as possible, he affects the most nauseous humility. But no more of him,—talk we instead of ourselves, and first of myself for, Adam, I am becoming my own trouble."

"How so, Anthony?"

"By—growing! Look at me! Since leaving England I've grown—inches! And, as I say, this troubles me. Look now, don't you mark any change? Look at me, Adam!"

Obediently he glanced at her then, looking down at the sea again, answered:

"Yes, you are—browner."

"Brown as a berry, Adam. I've no more need for Mother Martha's walnut juice. But besides this I'm growing, so that it makes me anxious lest I begin to show ... to seem too much ... unlike a man. Adam, look at me ... look hard!"

Again he glanced at her, murmured a negative, and then gazed down at the sea once more, lest his eyes should betray him. At this she frowned, sighed and slipping hand within his arm, murmured:

"Have I anyways angered thee, dear Adam?"

"No," he answered, cheerfully as he might. "Lord love thee, no!"

"Yet I prove you a little ... strange of late."

"Ay, truly, I believe I am, and no wonder—for my poor head is all a-buzz with meridians and parallels, degrees and latitudes. As, for instance, how to find the longitude of any place by the satellites of Jupiter. And 'tis to be done on this wise——"

"Nay, a-mercy's sake, Adam."

"Yet, hearken." And drawing small book from pocket, he read forth: "'By a clock or watch observe the time of the immersion or emersion of any of the said satellites which being compared with the time of immersion or emersion of the same satellites at the first meridian, the difference of time reduced into degrees gives the longitude sought.' And what say you to this, now?"

"My poor Adam, why trouble your head with such?"

"To make myself a true and worthy seaman."

"Well now, look down with me into the wonder of this ocean that groweth ever bluer and almost too beautiful for belief ... like those islands we stayed at days agone, where was the mountain that flamed by night——"

"The Cape de Verd and that island with the volcano is called Fuoco."

"Yes, Adam,—but whither are these beautiful waters bearing us?"

"To happiness, I pray God, and a useful life."

"I pray so too, Adam. And yet sometimes I grow very fearful.... Have you no fear of the future?"

"No!" he answered, gently. "Since death I nowise fear and life can bring me no grief more bitter than I have known, I am resolute to meet whatso of tribulation may wait me ... and with no repining."

"Oh, Adam, I would I were brave as thou!"

"Alas, I am not brave!" he sighed. "'Tis only that I have faith in this better part of me the which is of God, this immortal soul that is so strong to endure all things and so mighty to achieve, that all things may be possible, despite frailty o' body, since our souls, I do believe, are very part of God, living forever. See you what I mean, Antonia, see you?"

"Yes, Adam, yes, and it makes me less fearful."

"Well now, since this great, glorious ocean is also of God, His own marvellous handiwork, and is now bearing us to His purposes, let us take heart and be joyful, therefore, nor anyway dread whatso the future may hold. Is it agreed, brother Anthony?"

"Yes, Adam, with all my heart, so long as I can see this dear, white head somewhere near me I shall be bold as any lion—or very nearly."

"And now, pray you, let us talk of ... of Absalom."

"But wherefore of this base creature?"

"He is my dear and honoured friend."

"Honoured, say you, Adam?"

"Ay I do! For indeed I know him a clean-souled, great-hearted gentleman and——"

"Yet I prove him a cruel wretch, with vile, bitter tongue."

"No, no."

"Yes, yes! And someday you shall hear me curse him to his hateful, mocking face and damn him the best I may."

"You swear very trippingly these days," sighed Adam, "and more frequently."

"Ay, I do indeed! I swagger and curse most hatefully—all to the one purpose, as you should know very well."

"Yet tell me, Antonia."

"Well," she answered, leaning closer to sigh in his ear so that her fragrant breath seemed all about him, "of late my womanhood grows upon me and ... the more womanly I feel the harder I swear. Oh, I curse and swear amain to shame and shock my womanhood, and seem the manlier and more brutally male. Yet I abominate swearing—except when I think on him—your Absalom, this Troy,—this brute-man that could name me 'gallows-bird' and 'claw-cat'! Oh, I could swear and curse at him with purest joy, as I shall yet,—damn him and burn his eyes!"

"Can you not forgive?"

"Never! No—except he kneel and plead my pardon, woo and sue and supplicate forgiveness on his odious knees."

"Forgiveness is a blessedness——"

"But one that should be earned, Adam, and sought with diligent humility." Here she paused and turned, as, with quick patter of small bare feet, came little Smidge to make a leg and pull forelock at them smartly as any hardy seadog aboard.

"Ax your pardins, sirs," he piped, "but Mr. Anthony, sir, if you please, sir, Joe Brent says as I'm to tell ye as he be took main bad again, so will ee come please for to shift his bandage?"

"Ha—rum!" quoth Antonia, at her manliest. "Shiver and sink Joe for sly rogue, 'tis more rum he's after! Tell him no, Smidge, no is the word, not another drop or burn my neck! Nay, I'll go tell him this myself."

Now scarce was she gone, striding very man-like, and Smidge's little legs trotting to keep pace, than hasty feet descended the poop nearby, a long arm clasped Adam's drooping shoulders.

"Now Lord love thee," exclaimed Absalom. "Lord love thee for trusty friend, my Old Adam.... I heard thee plead my cause,—ay, I've been listening, eavesdropping right shamelessly! I heard her curse me, bless her! 'Damn me and burn my eyes,' quo' she, and ears never heard swearing so sweetly pretty! Oh, Adam, what bride for a sailorman, what wife for a buccaneer! ... And on my knees! Ay, faith, at the first chance—down on my knees I'll go to plead her pardon even as she said; I'll woo and sue and supplicate ... even though she flout and deny me forgiveness, eh, brother, how say'st thou, Adam?"

"Yes," he answered, with sombre gaze on the distance, "speak from your heart and ... I don't think ... she'll deny you."

"By heaven, I will! At the least she shall see me humble and know me contrite.... And now, my Old Adam, go with me for a noggin,—ay and shalt help me plot our position on the chart."

CHAPTER XXI HOW THEY TALKED AMID GLORY OF STARS

It was night very hot, very still, and Adam, the lanthorn drawn near, sat crouched above his books deeply intent and fiercely resolved to master the abstruse problem in navigation that engaged him.... But after some while, the ship being so silent, he became aware of a vague sound nearby, and raised his head to listen, then rose in sudden perturbation for Antonia was weeping very bitterly.

He stood a moment or so debating what he should do, then going to the door of her cabin, knocked gently.

"Who ... who's there?" she questioned, breathlessly.

"Adam!" he murmured.

"What ... do you ... want?"

"Why do you weep?"

"Because I ... I'm so minded."

"Oh!"

"Yes!"

"Then I grieve to have troubled you."

"Oh ... go away!"

"Good night!" he answered softly, and went.

Yet scarcely had he settled to his studies again than came a tapping on his door; rising he opened it to see Antonia looking at him through her tears and, to his great relief, completely dressed.

"Adam.... Oh, Adam," she sobbed, "I am so very miserable. I do so hate myself, and this great, vile ship and everyone on it and ... 'specially ... one! I would I were dead, or back in England ... our dear England ... even though they ... swung me on a ... gallows!"

"Ah no!" he murmured. "No!"

"I do!" she retorted. "Yes I do, and all your fault. Oh, you meant me well I know, but see now what you have led me into ... and I have made myself such ... failure! I've tried so hard to seem a man ... you've learned me to fight ... I've made myself seem bold, a braggart and swearer, but ... God made me a woman and ... Oh, I do yearn ... for my petticoats!"

"Now God love and bless thee!" murmured Adam, then laughed a little shakily, whereupon she began to laugh also, even while she wept, and to his dismay.

"Hush!" he whispered, taking her two hands in his quick clasp that could be so unexpectedly strong. "Come out with me and find comfort in the glory and wonder of God's stars."

So, hand in hand, soft-treading, forth they went to such starry splendour as may only be seen in those latitudes.

"See now, Antonia,—yonder, up from dark ocean riseth Venus in radiant majesty."

"And like a little moon, to make a glory on the sea, Adam."

"Ay, and, yonder again, hangeth the Southern Cross! And there above our mast-heads, sprawled across the firmament, is the Scorpion. So here stand we, two children o' God, amid the glory of His creation. Above us the everlasting wonder of His heaven, below us the abiding mystery of His ocean,—and this great ship no more than merest atom afloat between these His immensities."

"Yes," she murmured, "all this speaks forth the awful majesty of God ... and He is so mighty and so remote from poor me!"

"And yet so near us, Antonia, that the griefs we suffer, the harms we do, all these are known to Him that heedeth the fall of a sparrow. For this eternal so mighty God is also our all merciful Father."

Thus Adam talked for her comfort, and his own, until up from dark ocean rose the great, tropic moon to pale the myriad stars and show him all things touched with a new beauty,—towering sails, broad, white decks and—the loveliness of her who leaned beside him so near and yet so remote, her dreamful gaze upon the glittering, ever restless sea. Thus for a while they were silent and the night about them full of sounds grown familiar,—the sighing hiss of placid waters, murmur of wind in rigging, hoarse mutter of voices from the lookout forward and slow-pacing step where the officer of the watch kept his lonely vigil on lofty poop above them.

At last, deep-sighing, Antonia leaned nearer and spoke.

"Adam, you have called me your brother and oh, my dear, as a brother I love you, and as a man I honour you most truly. And now because you are so wise I must tell you that which troubles and greatly surprises me. This evening while you were sitting with Sir Benjamin I went into your cabin to order it and set out your books as is my custom, and found ... him there."

"Absalom?"

"Yes. But no sooner did he see me than ... oh, Adam ... he knelt to me! Yes, on his knees ... at my feet ... and in his look no least sign of mockery. And while I stood there amazed beyond words, he ... pleaded my forgiveness ... stammering ... his voice broke ... then he leapt afoot and was gone, yet oh ... not before I had seen ... tears in his eyes,—yes, tears, Adam, tears! And he a man so proud and hard! What shall this mean now?"

"Truly, that he is neither."

"Then what is the miracle hath so changed him?"

"Ah, child, doth not ... thine own heart tell thee this?"

"Nay," she whispered, "my poor heart tells me only what I would so fain believe ... yet dare not."

"So then," said Adam, keeping his face averted, "I am to know ... you love him ... very greatly."

"Yes, Adam, yes ... from the first moment he looked on me in that English lane! Yes, I love him despite myself ... and very grievously because I know it is all ... so hopeless!"

"Hopeless?" repeated Adam, angrily amazed. "Now in the Lord's name, why?"

"Because I am a nameless waif ... a poor foundling and ... oh ... a fugitive from the Law. Ah, how could he ... a man so great and splendid ... ever love ... only me?"

"Because you are indeed merely yourself ... the Only Antonia in all this world. Never disparage thyself, for thou art one with this great glory of stars and ocean since thou, too, art God's handiwork. He made thee woman, and hath endowed thee with noble valiance of soul and sweet loveliness of body. Well, respect thyself therefore, and know thyself worthy all honour and ... and worship and a glory to the man shall win thee. And remember this,—Beauty is a power—one of the mightiest in life, for thereby a woman may ennoble or debase a man. Beauty is either shame or a crowning glory. Oh, indeed, to be a woman and beautiful is vast responsibility!"

"Am I then ... so beautiful, Adam?"

"Yes."

"And doth ... he ... think so, think you?"

"This he shall tell you himself anon."

"Oh!" said she, breathlessly. "Will he? Are you sure, dear Adam?"

"Very sure!" he answered, between shut teeth.

Now after this they were silent some while, and when at last she spoke again, it was in voice very soft with tenderness:

"Oh, Adam ... dear, loved brother, now I pray God bless the clean, brave soul of thee ever and always ... and so, good night!" Then, swiftly, lightly, she kissed his silvery hair and was gone, flitting silent as a ghost.

For some while Adam stood motionless, staring down into that dark mystery of ever-moving waters and when at last he looked up it was to see the stars all dimmed through a blur of scalding tears. For as she had left him now, so she would leave him very soon to solitude and great desolation; and from the loneliness of his stricken heart he cried speechlessly to that God his so loved father had taught him was, and ever would be, his stay, his consolation and ultimate salvation so long as he kept faith.

So Adam watched the night through until the stars paled their fires and, to end his lonely vigil, came the dawn making a radiance of sky and ocean. And standing in the light of this new day, he found strength to implore a blessing on these two whose love was to make him a loveless, solitary man all his days.

CHAPTER XXII WHICH INTRODUCES DIVERS PAGES OF ADAM'S JOURNAL

Among the personal effects Amos Perrin had bequeathed to Adam was a journal, a small, stout, handy volume of many pages as yet untouched by quill, and in this book it now became Adam's custom to note down in his small, neat script the minor happenings of each day, together with such thoughts and self-communings as his lips might never utter. And since this may show him forth better than any bald statement of fact, it is deemed well to include divers pages thereof from time to time in this narrative and record of his early adventures, grievous sufferings, few joys and many triumphs, beginning on this wise:

June 2

I begin this my Journal in the dawn and with marvellous heaviness of spirit, for now I am assured beyond doubt how my hopes are all vain, and in my bitter loss can but say her will be done. And in this black hour thankful to assure myself that by no look or word have I betrayed to her that her choice and Absalom's coming happiness are my despair and abiding grief. For I, that never had woman to love, no not even my own mother that died too soon, do now love this woman so greatly that in all my life can be no other. May Absalom, that hath, as confessed, loved so many, now love this one with fervour as deep and abiding, to the assured and lasting happiness of them both, I pray God. Amen. I pray also for strength to bear myself towards them both with a cheerful amity, and that my jealousy of Ab. and envy for his happiness may nowise lead me to any word or act unbecoming the son of my Father whose sign, this grief-stricken white head, I bear upon me like his Blessing and Memorial to remind me how I must live in honour and die unfearing—even as did he.

And now since I must needs be lonely man henceforth, I am resolved to live and die (I hope) at sea, this infinite mystery where (as I do think) in day and night, calm and tempest, God is so manifest. I shall therefore devote myself more than ever to fitting myself for sea life by study of books, of ships and the men who sail therein, and thus become one of the great Sea Brotherhood. These sailormen, for the most part, I prove to be woefully ignorant and therefore rough and suspicious, and yet therewith kindly and simple-hearted, and naught wanting to win their faith and love but justice, sympathy and belief in their manhood.

June 4

To-day for the first time Anthony and I took our places at table in the great cabin called 'coach', with Absalom, his chiefest officers and the five rescued prisoners, namely: Sir Oliver Kent, Mr. Ames, Sir George D'Arcy, Mr. Falcon and Mr. Temple, which last is kinsman to Sir Benjamin, a young, sad gentleman and silent. With these during the meal we became more familiar, and found them kindly gentlemen all, and more especially Sir George. And myself very happy to see Antonia bear herself as any young gentleman should. The meal ended, we, Anthony and I, out upon deck leaving the others to their cards and wine, and she very full of talk anent these same gentlemen who, so long familiar to us by sight and word, were now so much better known and esteemed, especially Sir George D'Arcy. After this, to my cabin, and there much talk of ourselves or rather, of her. For since telling me of her love for Ab. she will now speak much of him and of her own hopes and fears, making of him now a hero as much too perfect and beyond her hopes, as before she had vowed him a wretch beneath contempt. And in thus confiding in me she but makes herself the more inexpressibly dear, so that the thought of our soon parting becomes a pain hard to bear.

This night I worked late at my Navigation studies, and yet, when I got me to bed, was haunted by this one dismal thought that followed me even into my dreams.

June 6

This morning, Sir Benj. hobbling on my arm, he begins to peeve and fret and on my asking the reason falls to great fury of vain oaths and fetching breath thereafter:

"Look, Adam," says he, "here's me with nigh all my poor fortune in this ship and cargo and no least idea whither we are bound, for when I question Absalom, as is my right, he puts me off with side answers, laughing mockery and evasions, so that I begin to lose all faith in him and conceive myself mortally affronted to boot."

I told him that I hoped not.

"Ay, but I do," says he with more ferocity of oaths; "he shall account to me or debate the matter wi' steel as gentleman should, so soon as I'm healed o' this plaguey wound, a three ounce ball through my nether man,—though precisely how any rogue-pirate could have aimed to hit me there, is my astonishment. Howbeit, so soon as I am able, Troy shall answer me one way or t'other." At this I counselled him patience, very earnestly, also reminding him how we had sailed for the rescue of his kinsman and other gentlemen.

"True enough, Adam," says he, "but this done, we were to open trade with my goods along the Guinea Coast and Gambia River which, as you should know, lie now far astern of us. And thus am I choused! And by Troy, this man I trusted, for, mark me,—'tis my certain belief he is minded to sail on his own account, ay and to turn rogue-pirate, Adam, and make us like rogues!" At this I protested with vehemence, and indeed no little heat, vowing he did Absalom great wrong and injustice. In the midst of which Sir Benj. stayed me with furtive gripe on my arm, and, glancing up, I saw Absalom regarding us from the poop nearby.

"What," laughs he, "at thy old plaints, Ben? Ay, faith, thy so fiery visage proclaims it. Then at the next bell come ye both to me in the coach and shalt hear that shall make thee pipe like carolling lark."

So at the turning of the next glass and stroke of bell that marks change of watch, to the great cabin we went, and found Absalom there seated with Smy and every of his officers including gunner, boatswain and carpenter and with chairs beside him for us. Scarce are we seated than he speaks, and so far as I remember, these his words.

Sirs, by the recent death of my brother, Lord Perrow, I am transmuted from poor adventurer into person of some wealth. Yet seaman I am and adventurer I shall ever remain, being so by nature. Thus Captain Absalom Troy keeping faith with himself and with you, shall more than fulfil his pledges by leading ye to such riches as goeth beyond our present hopes. And this the manner on't, to wit: We sail for Port Royal, Jamaica, there to refit and better arm our ship what time we market our cargo. This done, we bear away for an island, known only to Captain Smy and myself, called Black Bartlemy's Key, there to make sure end of this black rogue,—which good work happily accompt, we repay ourselves by plunder of his secret hoard, this great treasure of jewels and gold that is become a bye-word along the Main, for there is no man hath sailed those seas but shall hear tell of Black Bartlemy's Treasure.

"I have, for one!" cries John Weir, the first Officer. "And I also!" says Roger Challen that is now master in the room of poor Amos Perrin. And now I spoke, saying that if this treasure be so great it will certainly be well hid and hard to come by.

"Ay, to be sure," nods Absalom, "very true, Adam, for, besides Black Bartlemy there were but four men knew of this secret, and two of these are dead, therefore, whiles other two escaped so hardly with their lives that to-day Bartlemy believes them dead also,—yet are they very much alive as ye may see, for one of these men is Captain Smy and t'other—myself.

"This then is our true venture, and one to make us, each one, rich all our lives. The treasure to be shared proportionate to rank by articles to be drawn up anon and duly signed. And now I think a noggin to drink success upon us every man jack." So presently we all drink right heartily, and every man now mightily uplift and eager, indeed, as any band of school urchins. And yet, thinks I, this treasure is yet to find.

June 7

This morning on deck with her, and though so early, the sun extreme fierce, and the sea alive with great shoals of flying fish that do go with a small, dry, whispering sound. And some of these at last falling on board, we saw their wings no more indeed than large fins. And these fish will only leap into flight when pursued by an enemy below and, thus flying, are often attacked by birds in the air, so that these poor, hunted creatures have but short and anxious life. Towards noon Absalom comes to me and I wonder to see him girt with his sword and crowned with brave, feathered hat, very stately.

"Ay," says he, on my remarking this, "I'm to oversee punishment,—a blasphemous, murderous fellow and proven thief named Jenks, wilt go with me, Adam? There sound the drums! Wilt along?" But, instead, I went and shut myself into my cabin, maugre the heat, not to hear or see aught of this miserable wretch, for I cannot abide this methodical beating of a man whose writhing body is bound helpless to the cruel lash. I was hard at work with my books when to me cometh Antonia, breathless and very pale.

"Oh, Adam," says she, gasping, "they are beating a poor man so cruelly I could hear his raving outcries loud above the awful drum-beats! And ... he is there ... watching it done ... and no least sign of pity! So cold ... so merciless! Oh, he must be a very hatefully, blood-thirsty beast, at heart. I wonder how any woman creature may ever ... love such a man."

"Yet love him you do!" says I. "Very dearly ... with all your heart."

"Yes," she sighed. "Yes, I ... it seems, I cannot help myself. Yet there be times I fain would hate him ... if I but could, as I so tried and all in vain. For he is hard and proud and cruel, not like you, Adam, that are so kindly gentle." Here I must needs remind her how she had vowed me cold and terrible ere now.

"Ay," says she, "you can be so, and yet merciful too. But this Absalom wretch hath no mercy in him." Now when I chid her for so misjudging him and showed how the captain of a great ship, being one to rule the many, must therefore be a solitary man, and stern, yea even to a pitiless harshness if need be, she flares out on me naming me 'turncoat', for: "Lord, Adam," cries she, "you that withstood him so boldly once in like cruelty do now excuse him. Here's strange and mighty change in you!" To the which I agreed, saying 'all things were changed'—whereat she left me in a pet. But presently back she comes and lays hand on my shoulder, like a caress. "Adam," says she, "how are all things changed, what mean you ... my dear?" Now to this I had no answer, and not daring to look on her, bowed head over the open book afore me yet saw it not,—for in this moment her arms crept about me and with her soft cheek to mine, she whispered: "Oh, my dear, break not your heart or mine will break with it. Such grief in your face yet never one word. Oh, I am not blind ... I know your sorrow, I have seen love in your every look, heard it in your voice, such noble, such unselfish love as makes me very humble and ... Oh I would die to spare you pain...and yet——" She said no more, but presently left me and my face wet with the sweet tears of her compassion. And all this, with her very words, I now set down here that I may read in days to come, and so reading, feel again her caressing touch and hear her broken words of pity and be blessed again by the mercy of her tears, when she is far removed. But in my mind shall ever be the sacred memory of this hour.

June 9

This morning early comes Antonia to me on deck with the foils and will have me to fence with her. So off come our coats and to it we go. And truly I find her more proficient than methought, being instant in attack, quick in recovery and feinting with such craft that twice she all-but touched me in the first rally, to my expressed admiration.

"Do I improve then, Adam?" cries she, "Do I?"

"Beyond expectation!" says I. "Your sword becomes a menace few may cope with, and your defence well nigh impregnable." Our fencing done, we walked a while, and she marvelling at this sweet gentle wind, how steadily it blows all day and every day, I told her it is named the 'Trade Wind', and great blessing to all shipmen. After this we stood to watch the wondrous blue of the sea, with the flying fish that darted above its gentle surge, and both of us leaning across this stout bulwark had so lately been red with blood and yet bore scars of steel and musket-ball.

Now presently as we stood thus, shoulder to shoulder silent, though as it were in communion, I felt her begin to tremble, and wondered therefore until, glancing round, I beheld Absalom coming towards us, who gave us Good-morrow, yet with no cheeriness of voice or look.

"In but few days, Adam," says he to me, the while he gazed on Antonia, and very doleful since she seemed to heed him no whit, "in some few days," says he, fetching a deep sigh, "we should be off the Abrollos Shoal that lieth ninety odd leagues east of Brazil, if the wind hold fair, for these are the latitudes of plaguey calms and roaring tornadoes. Treacherous seas, Adam, and veering winds very unstable and feminine, ay mighty like a woman!" So saying, he goes wandering away mighty gloomy, and Antonia staring down at the sea quick-breathing and her cheeks aglow. And presently she, too, heaves a deep sigh and with no word for me or look for Ab. away she goes in opposite direction. Whereby I judge their love is very sharp upon them both and they yet at painful loggerheads, so that the sooner 'tis spoke and they agreed, the better for both, thinks I, and straightway begin to scheme how I may contrive this to their content and happiness. The which came about with no aid of mine and in the following unexpected and tragical manner, viz.: It was in the late forenoon and few on deck, the sun being extreme hot, when out upon the quarterdeck stepped Absalom, but scarce had he appeared than from some lurking-place a man sprang upon him with flash of vicious-stabbing knife. I saw Ab. reel from the stroke, steady himself and grapple his assailant. Then even as I ran thither, I beheld Absalom, all bleeding as he was, whirl his would-be murderer aloft and heave him overboard. Now at this I checked and stood aghast, but seeing Ab. so pale and how fast he bled, I set my arm about him and so to my cabin. But in the door-way there met us Antonia who seeing him thus hurt and bloody, gives such tender cry as only loving woman's lips might utter, and runs to clasp him in the fond comfort of her arms, this Earthly Heaven. Then Absalom sweeps her up in his embrace and with her thus upon his heart and no eyes save for her, yet cried out to me, saying: "Oh, Adam, see now what wonder of joy is come upon me!"

Now as he stooped to meet her kiss, I saw her lovely face all dabbled with his blood. And so presently I turned and left them to each other, alone with their happiness.

On this same day towards evening Absalom comes to me on deck, his wounded arm trimly bandaged and slung, and leans him beside me and for some while both of us mute.

"Well, brother Adam," says he, at last, "of what think you?" and forthright I answered:

"Of the man you drowned to-day." At this he frowns, saying: "The rogue deserved it, and 'twas better death than hanging. So enough of him. Talk we o' better thing."

"Why then," says I, "how is your wound?"

"Throbs and itches very damnably!" says he. "But this shall abate anon for I heal quickly. But I ... I would ask favour o' thee, Adam." I asked him precisely what, being of a cautious nature, whereat he hum's and ha's some while. Then, clasping sound arm about me, "Adam," says he, almost whispering, "I desire you to speak ... to persuade Antonia that she wed me, and before we reach Jamaica." Now, greatly wondering, I demanded how this could possibly be, and where.

"Why here!" says he, stamping on the deck, "Aboard-ship. To-night! Smy shall marry us if only she will." Here, seeing my astonishment, he nods, saying, "Indeed, Adam, Smy, being a captain and we in mid ocean, he hath the power in law thereto, such marriages are therefore legal and binding, the world over. But she, God love her,—though my promised wife, will have us wait for Jamaica and parson. Yet I think, nay I know, a word from you shall win her to agreement. So, brother Adam, how say you?"

"No!" I answered, and instantly. "I will never try to persuade her against herself and woman's judgment, no, not I."

"Ha!" says he, eyeing me askance. "And wherefore not?" I hesitated, being much concerned and troubled, and before I might answer, Absalom starts, turns, and goes hasting to meet Antonia where she comes, though I had heard no sound of her. "Absalom," says she, leading him back to me, "have you thanked him? Have you prayed blessings on our Adam, as I do now? Can we ever thank him enough? But for Adam I should have been left behind in England with death's shadow on me! But for Adam I should not be here,—this radiance of happiness would not be around us, but for our dear Adam."

"Ha, true enough!" says Absalom, looking down on me and his eyes very bright. "But for my wise brother Adam I should ha' left thee ... never to have known the joy and wonder of thee. So, 'tis Adam gives thee to my love ... and so do I now thank God for thee, Adam."

"And oh," sighs she, "have you told him of your promise to me? If not speak it now that I may hear it again."

"Why then, Adam," says he, slipping hand within my arm, "when we're wed I'll go no more adventuring. I'll be done with the sea. Instead I'll buy me a plantation and slaves, raise tobacco and sugar cane, and bide with my sweet wife. And by Heavens,—should we be blessed with a son, his name shall be Adam." Now after this we were silent all, my poor heart being too full for speech and they regarding one another in a communion that went beyond need of words.

"A home!" says Ab. "What blessing to find home at last!"

"Home!" she whispered. "Oh, it will be so very nigh to heaven it frights me lest aught of earth prevent."

"And this," says he, "is why I would have our marriage soon ... to-night ... this very hour. I have spoke to Smy and——"

"No!" says she, with a catch in her dear voice. "This would seem no marriage."

"Yet," says he, very plaintive—humble, "true and lawful indeed, by the ancient law o' the sea and——"

"No!" says she again, and mighty resolute, "I love not your sea-laws."

"But, oh, my Antonia," says he, very heedful to whisper this beloved name, yet mighty ardent.

"Nay, Absalom," she answered, whispering also, and with note of such sweet pleading that I stole away and they all unaware, so lost were they to all in this world save each other.

June 13

Coming on deck very early I find Smy gazing heavenwards like one in an ecstasy, whereupon I looked up also but seeing no more than cloudless blue, asked what he so gazed at.

"Well," says he, shaking grim head at the universe, "I watch for that which is not yet and yet shall be, or curse me for papistical Spaniard! 'Tis well you've your sea legs, Adam, for my nose warns me of a change. I smell weather in the offing." I asked if he meant a storm.

"Worse!" says he. "Somewhen, soon or late, over to wind'ard yonder you shall see 'the ox's eye'." I asked what this might be. "Tempest," he answered, "that shows first much like the eye of an ox and not much bigger, yet cometh down swiftly and with such fury o' wind as shall blow a ship's canvas to rags all in a moment, dismast or drive her bows under—down to Davy Jones. I've seen many a stout ship served so ere now." I now asked him whereabouts we were by his estimation. "Why," says he, "yonder to looard bearing sou'-westerly lieth the Island Grande wi' Santa Catalina and coast o' Brazil beyond, and these be stormy regions at this season. Howbeit, Adam, I smell tempest, and for that matter so doth Lom. You shall see us scudding under bare poles afore long." The which dismal prophecy was fulfilled and sooner than I expected. For as I sat at my studies after day of stifling heat, I was conscious of a strange, chill air and a growing darkness, riven suddenly by vivid lightning flash followed immediately by such tremendous, stunning thunderclap as I had never heard, and this merged in odd, whistling roar that appalled me. I felt the ship quake, then plunge so sheer and dizzily it seemed she must be diving headlong to the veriest deeps of ocean. And lying where this so violent movement had flung me, I waited the stifling inrush that was to drown me. But somehow this brave ship righted herself and for a moment was a lull, a strange hush wherein I heard the voice of Absalom in loud command answered by other voices and the shrill summons of Bo'sun Ned's pipe. So up I stumbled and out to a swaying deck where wet, wind-blown figures moved amid the hissing spray of monstrous waves that raved all about us and a dreadful blur of cloudy blackness above our reeling mastheads. Even as I looked, the wind smote us again, lifting the seas to engulf us,—a great, foaming wave broke inboard, filling the waist and sweeping the quarterdeck with white water so that I thought we must surely founder. But once again this noble ship freed herself and rose defiant to this raging tempest. All night long Absalom kept the deck and I with him, since no chance had any man for sleep in this fierce turbulence. And in these terrible hours I loved Absalom for his bold heart and cheery spirit where he stood by the four steersmen, conning the ship to keep her before this howling fury of wind. Came dawn at last and the tempest increasing upon us so that looking from sheltered corner upon the terror of this raging sea all lashed to foam and flattened by this great ferocity of wind, I could not think how any ship might live therein, and yet by God His mercy we do. May He have us yet in His care and in especial Antonia.

June 16

For three days we have driven before this storm and no glimpse of sun or star, so that whither we are being carried none knoweth. The poor ship's labour so violent that no man may go save by life lines rigged fore and aft, or sit or lie but must hold on against her violent rolling. And I no chance to write these days.

June 17

This day in early forenoon with Ab. on the poop, and both nigh spent for lack of sleep, when comes such blast of wind as hurled me to the lee rail there to cling for my life. In which moment, and above even this raving tumult, I heard a rending crash and beheld our foremast beat overboard, followed a moment later by the main. So lay our poor brave ship rolling helpless, buffeted by merciless seas and now battered cruelly by the shackled wreckage of her masts that smote her amain, threatening to stove her with every rushing billow. And in this dreadful calamity I prepared myself for that sharp, brief struggle in these choking waters where life must change to death and this again (as I do believe) to more glorious life. Thus I gave up all hope for the ship, but not so Ab. In this dire peril he became to me and all men the inspiration to battle still 'gainst destruction. For clapping speaking trumpet to lip, he roared above the gale: "Forrard there! Stand by, my lads, I'm with ye!" And down swaying poop-ladder went he to haul himself forward by the life-lines along foam-swept decks, and after him went I. And now he cries for knives and axes to cut the wreckage adrift ere the thunderous blows of our drifting masts breach and sink us. So to work we went, blinded by spray, staggered by rolling deck, choked and half-drowned by the waves that broke over us, we yet wrought amain to hack and hew asunder the tangle of ropes and twisted cordage. Once a great sea nigh beat me overboard but a powerful arm stayed me and Bo'sun Ned's gasping voice cheered me. And so at last we cut ourselves free of these tossing masts that were pounding our poor ship so cruelly. Thus was this peril at least averted.

June 18

To-day, thank God, the wind abating, but seas still high and ship violent as ever. This morning as Antonia, Ab., divers others and myself were in the great cabin, making shift to eat and hold on the while against the ship's violent lurches, and she making this and our consequent awkwardness reason for merriment (like the valiant soul she is) to us cometh Smy with Bo'sun Ned and the carpenter to say the ship in rolling had opened all her upper-works and seams and started the butt-ends of her planking below the waterline, and was so leaking they doubted the pumps might ever free her. At this ill news away goes Ab. to set all pumps agoing and do all that skill and determination might for the saving of our brave, sore-wounded ship.

June 19

Sea and wind falling, but alas—too late for our benefit, it seems, for despite all efforts the leak gains upon us. All this day, off and on, I have taken my turn at the pumps, though we all know this wearisome labour vain and but a means to delay the inevitable. For the Bold Adventuress is doomed. I write this with grief and therewith pain of body, my hands being sore blistered from the pumps. And our ill-fated ship quite steady now save for long, sleepy roll ever and anon that proves her waterlogged and soon or late must sink.

Moved by this sad thought I went forth to look on her, and great my sorrow to behold this once proud and stately vessel no more than woeful hulk and storm-beaten ruin. Now as I stood thus grieving, to me comes Antonia to slip her hand within my arm (with never a word) and lead me to my own cabin where sat Smy with open book afore him, this New Testament of King James, and with Absalom standing beside him. Now seeing what was to do, a faintness came on me and for a moment all things dimmed, perchance because of my much late exertions. So, there in my cabin, while the doomed ship was slowly sinking beneath us, these two were wed. Scarce was this done and I wished them every happiness, speaking from my very heart, than I went forth on deck and there met Sir Benjamin with Sir G. D'Arcy, they watching where men were busied casting loose the boats, pinnace, long-boat, yawl, etc.

"Thank God," says Sir George, "the boats took no damage; these shall now be our deliverance except we have another storm."

"Ay," groans Sir Benj, "or we perish by famine or thirst, or be taken to slave for damned Portugals or cursed Spaniards, or are whipped to death aboard their foul galleys, or tortured in the vile Inquisition, or slain by Indians, or——"

"Hold there, Ben, God ha' mercy, hold!" cries Sir George. "Pluck up heart now, let our late salvation be assurance of our future safety. How say you, Mr. Adam?"

"Ay, truly," I answered him, "if death come what matter the how of it so it be sure?"

Then down went I to help with the boats, and here found Smy with the Bo'sun, and both scowling to windward, and on my asking the reason for their gloom, Smy growled:

"The sooner we're away the better, Adam, for I like not the look o' things, eh, Bo'sun?"

"No, sir," answers Ned, "nor me neether. There be more foul weather acoming, or I'm a lubberly Dutchman, which I ain't!" So presently back went I to collect my papers with the books and instruments given me by poor Amos Perrin and (most especially) for my father's sword. Being here and alone I opened my Journal to set down these that are, I think, the last words I shall ever write herein. The Future is very dark and with perils abounding and whether I am to live or die is now all one to me since life hath so little to offer and death indeed may give back to me my long-lost mother and noble father. So if I go now to my death, my last prayer on this ship shall be—Lord God let Antonia be happy in this life and hereafter. Amen. And now is great ado and commotion on deck, so will

Here endeth the Journal of Adam Penfeather writ aboard the Bold Adventuress lost at sea, June 19, 1638.

And here also ends the First Book of this Narration.