III
Nevertheless, though Barnaby was thus confirmed in his opinion as to
the nature of the communication he had received, he yet determined in
his own mind that he would see the business through to the end and so
be at Pratt's Ordinary, as the note demanded, upon the day and at the
time appointed therein.
Pratt's Ordinary was at that time a very fine and famous place of its
sort, with good tobacco and the best rum in the West Indies, and had a
garden behind it that, sloping down to the harbor front, was planted
pretty thick with palms and ferns, grouped into clusters with flowers
and plants. Here were a number of tables, some in little grottos, like
our Vauxhall in New York, with red and blue and white paper lanterns
hung among the foliage. Thither gentlemen and ladies used sometimes to
go of an evening to sit and drink lime-juice and sugar and water (and
sometimes a taste of something stronger), and to look out across the
water at the shipping and so to enjoy the cool of the day.
Thither, accordingly, our hero went a little before the time appointed
in the note, and, passing directly through the Ordinary and to the
garden beyond, chose a table at the lower end and close to the water's
edge, where he could not readily be seen by any one coming into the
place, and yet where he could easily view whoever should approach.
Then, ordering some rum and water and a pipe of tobacco, he composed
himself to watch for the arrival of those witty fellows whom he
suspected would presently come thither to see the end of their prank
and to enjoy his confusion.
The spot was pleasant enough, for the land breeze, blowing strong and
cool, set the leaves of the palm-tree above his head to rattling and
clattering continually against the darkness of the sky, where, the moon
then being half full, they shone every now and then like blades of
steel. The waves, also, were splashing up against the little
landing-place at the foot of the garden, sounding mightily pleasant in the
dusk of the evening, and sparkling all over the harbor where the moon
caught the edges of the water. A great many vessels were lying at anchor in
their ridings, with the dark, prodigious form of a man-of-war looming
up above them in the moonlight.
There our hero sat for the best part of an hour, smoking his pipe of
tobacco and sipping his rum and water, yet seeing nothing of those whom
he suspected might presently come thither to laugh at him.
It was not far from half after the hour when a row-boat came suddenly
out of the night and pulled up to the landing-place at the foot of the
garden, and three or four men came ashore in the darkness. They landed
very silently and walked up the garden pathway without saying a word,
and, sitting down at an adjacent table, ordered rum and water and began
drinking among themselves, speaking every now and then a word or two in
a tongue that Barnaby did not well understand, but which, from certain
phrases they let fall, he suspected to be Portuguese. Our hero paid no
great attention to them, till by-and-by he became aware that they had
fallen to whispering together and were regarding him very curiously. He
felt himself growing very uneasy under this observation, which every
moment grew more and more particular, and he was just beginning to
suspect that this interest concerning himself might have somewhat more
to do with him than mere idle curiosity, when one of the men, who was
plainly the captain of the party, suddenly says to him, "How now,
messmate; won't you come and have a drop of drink with us?"
At this address Barnaby instantly began to be aware that the affair he
had come upon was indeed no jest, as he had supposed it to be, but that
he had walked into what promised to be a very pretty adventure.
Nevertheless, not wishing to be too hasty in his conclusions, he
answered very civilly that he had drunk enough already, and that more
would only heat his blood.
"Well," says the stranger, "I may be mistook, but I believe you are Mr.
Barnaby True."
"You are right, sir, and that is my name," acknowledged Barnaby. "But
still I cannot guess how that may concern you, nor why it should be a
reason for my drinking with you." "That I will presently tell you,"
says the stranger, very composedly. "Your name concerns me because I
was sent here to tell Mr. Barnaby True that '_the Royal Sovereign is
come in_.'"
To be sure our hero's heart jumped into his throat at those words. His
pulse began beating at a tremendous rate, for here, indeed, was an
adventure suddenly opening to him such as a man may read about in a
book, but which he may hardly expect to befall him in the real
happenings of his life. Had he been a wiser and an older man he might
have declined the whole business, instead of walking blindly into that
of which he could see neither the beginning nor the ending; but being
barely one-and-twenty years of age, and possessing a sanguine temper
and an adventurous disposition that would have carried him into almost
anything that possessed a smack of uncertainty or danger, he contrived
to say, in a pretty easy tone (though God knows how it was put on for
the occasion):
"Well, if that be so, and if the _Royal Sovereign_ is indeed come in,
why, then, I'll join you, since you are so kind as to ask me."
Therewith he arose and went across to the other table, carrying his
pipe with him, and sat down and began smoking, with all the appearance
of ease he could command upon the occasion.
At this the other burst out a-laughing. "Indeed," says he, "you are a
cool blade, and a chip of the old block. But harkee, young gentleman,"
and here he fell serious again. "This is too weighty a business to
chance any mistake in a name. I believe that you are, as you say, Mr.
Barnaby True; but, nevertheless, to make perfectly sure, I must ask you
first to show me a note that you have about you and which you are
instructed to show to me."
"Very well," said Barnaby; "I have it here safe and sound, and you
shall see it." And thereupon and without more ado he drew out his
wallet, opened it, and handed the other the mysterious note which he
had kept carefully by him ever since he had received it. His
interlocutor took the paper, and drawing to him the candle, burning
there for the convenience of those who would smoke tobacco, began
immediately reading it.
This gave Barnaby True a moment or two to look at him. He was a tall,
lean man with a red handkerchief tied around his neck, with a queue of
red hair hanging down his back, and with copper buckles on his shoes,
so that Barnaby True could not but suspect that he was the very same
man who had given the note to Miss Eliza Bolles at the door of his
lodging-house.
"'Tis all right and straight and as it should be," the other said,
after he had so examined the note. "And now that the paper is read"
(suiting his action to his words), "I'll just burn it for safety's
sake."
And so he did, twisting it up and setting it to the flame of the
candle. "And now," he said, continuing his address, "I'll tell you what
I am here for. I was sent to ask if you're man enough to take your life
in your hands and to go with me in that boat down yonder at the foot of
the garden. Say 'Yes,' and we'll start away without wasting more time,
for the devil is ashore here at Jamaica--though you don't know what
that means--and if he gets ahead of us, why then we may whistle for
what we are after, for all the good 'twill do us. Say 'No,' and I go
away, and I promise you you shall never be troubled more in this sort
of a way. So now speak up plain, young gentleman, and tell us what is
your wish in this business, and whether you will adventure any further
or no."
If our hero hesitated it was not for long, and when he spoke up it was
with a voice as steady as could be.
"To be sure I'm man enough to go with you," says he; "and if you mean
me any harm I can look out for myself; and if I can't, then here is
something can look out for me." And therewith he lifted up the flap of
his pocket and showed the butt of a pistol he had fetched with him when
he had set out from his lodging-house that evening.
At this the other burst out a-laughing for a second time. "Come," says
he; "you are indeed of right mettle, and I like your spirit. All the
same, no one in all the world means you less ill than I, and so, if you
have to use that barker, 'twill not be upon us who are your friends,
but only upon one who is more wicked than the devil himself. So now if
you are prepared and have made up your mind and are determined to see
this affair through to the end, 'tis time for us to be away."
Whereupon, our hero indicating his acquiescence, his interlocutor and
the others (who had not spoken a single word for all this time), rose
together from the table, and the stranger having paid the scores of
all, they went down together to the boat that lay plainly awaiting
their coming at the bottom of the garden.
Thus coming to it, our hero could see that it was a large yawl-boat
manned by half a score of black men for rowers, and that there were two
lanterns in the stern-sheets, and three or four shovels.
The man who had conducted the conversation with Barnaby True for all
this time, and who was, as has been said, plainly the captain of the
expedition, stepped immediately down into the boat; our hero followed,
and the others followed after him; and instantly they were seated the
boat shoved off and the black men began pulling straight out into the
harbor, and so, at some distance away, around under the stern of the
man-of-war.
Not a word was spoken after they had thus left the shore, and they
might all have been so many spirits for the silence of the party.
Barnaby True was too full of his own thoughts to talk (and serious
enough thoughts they were by this time, with crimps to trepan a man at
every turn, and press-gangs to carry him off so that he might never be
heard of again). As for the others, they did not seem to choose to say
anything now that they had been fairly embarked upon their enterprise,
and so the crew pulled away for the best part of an hour, the leader of
the expedition directing the course of the boat straight across the
harbor, as though towards the mouth of the Cobra River. Indeed, this
was their destination, as Barnaby could after a while see for himself,
by the low point of land with a great, long row of cocoanut-palms
growing upon it (the appearance of which he knew very well), which
by-and-by began to loom up from the dimness of the moonlight. As they
approached the river they found the tide was running very violently, so
that it gurgled and rippled alongside the boat as the crew of black men
pulled strongly against it. Thus rowing slowly against the stream they
came around what appeared to be either a point of land or an islet
covered with a thick growth of mangrove-trees; though still no one
spoke a single word as to their destination, or what was the business
they had in hand.
The night, now that they had come close to the shore, appeared to be
full of the noises of running tide-water, and the air was heavy with
the smell of mud and marsh. And over all was the whiteness of the
moonlight, with a few stars pricking out here and there in the sky; and
everything was so strange and mysterious and so different from anything
that he had experienced before that Barnaby could not divest himself of
the feeling that it was all a dream from which at any moment he might
awaken. As for the town and the Ordinary he had quitted such a short
time before, so different were they from this present experience, it
was as though they might have concerned another life than that which he
was then enjoying.
Meantime, the rowers bending to the oars, the boat drew slowly around
into the open water once more. As it did so the leader of the
expedition of a sudden called out in a loud, commanding voice, whereat
the black men instantly ceased rowing and lay on their oars, the boat
drifting onward into the night.
At the same moment of time our hero became aware of another boat coming
down the river towards where they lay. This other boat, approaching
thus strangely through the darkness, was full of men, some of them
armed; for even in the distance Barnaby could not but observe that the
light of the moon glimmered now and then as upon the barrels of muskets
or pistols. This threw him into a good deal of disquietude of mind, for
whether they or this boat were friends or enemies, or as to what was to
happen next, he was altogether in the dark.
Upon this point, however, he was not left very long in doubt, for the
oarsmen of the approaching boat continuing to row steadily onward till
they had come pretty close to Barnaby and his companions, a man who sat
in the stern suddenly stood up, and as they passed by shook a cane at
Barnaby's companion with a most threatening and angry gesture. At the
same moment, the moonlight shining full upon him, Barnaby could see him
as plain as daylight--a large, stout gentleman with a round red face,
and clad in a fine, laced coat of red cloth. In the stern of the boat
near by him was a box or chest about the bigness of a middle-sized
travelling-trunk, but covered all over with cakes of sand and dirt. In
the act of passing, the gentleman, still standing, pointed at this
chest with his cane--an elegant gold-headed staff--and roared out in a
loud voice: "Are you come after this, Abram Dowling? Then come and take
it." And thereat, as he sat down again, burst out a-laughing as though
what he had said was the wittiest jest conceivable.
Either because he respected the armed men in the other boat, or else
for some reason best known to himself, the Captain of our hero's
expedition did not immediately reply, but sat as still as any stone.
But at last, the other boat having drifted pretty far away, he suddenly
found words to shout out after it: "Very well, Jack Malyoe! Very well,
Jack Malyoe! You've got the better of us once more. But next time is
the third, and then it'll be our turn, even if William Brand must come
back from the grave to settle with you himself."
But to this my fine gentleman in t'other boat made no reply except to
burst out once more into a great fit of laughter.
There was, however, still another man in the stern of the enemy's
boat--a villanous, lean man with lantern-jaws, and the top of his head as
bald as an apple. He held in his hand a great pistol, which he
flourished about him, crying out to the gentleman beside him, "Do but
give me the word, your honor, and I'll put another bullet through the
son of a sea cook." But the other forbade him, and therewith the boat
presently melted away into the darkness of the night and was gone.
This happened all in a few seconds, so that before our hero understood
what was passing he found the boat in which he still sat drifting
silently in the moonlight (for no one spoke for awhile) and the oars of
the other boat sounding farther and farther away into the distance.
By-and-by says one of those in Barnaby's boat, in Spanish, "Where shall
you go now?"
At this the leader of the expedition appeared suddenly to come back to
himself and to find his tongue again. "Go?" he roared out. "Go to the
devil! Go? Go where you choose! Go? Go back again--that's where well
go!" And therewith he fell a-cursing and swearing, frothing at the lips
as though he had gone clean crazy, while the black men, bending once
more to their oars, rowed back again across the harbor as fast as ever
they could lay oars to the water.
They put Barnaby True ashore below the old custom-house, but so
bewildered and amazed by all that had happened, and by what he had
seen, and by the names he had heard spoken, that he was only half
conscious of the familiar things among which he suddenly found himself
transported. The moonlight and the night appeared to have taken upon
them a new and singular aspect, and he walked up the street towards his
lodging like one drunk or in a dream. For you must remember that "John
Malyoe" was the captain of the _Adventure_ galley--he who had shot
Barnaby's own grandfather--and "Abram Dowling," I must tell you, had
been the gunner of the _Royal Sovereign_--he who had been shot at the
same time that Captain Brand met his tragical end. And yet these names
he had heard spoken--the one from one boat, and the other from the
other, so that he could not but wonder what sort of beings they were
among whom he had fallen.
As to that box covered all over with mud, he could only offer a
conjecture as to what it contained and as to what the finding of it
signified.
But of this our hero said nothing to any one, nor did he tell any one
what he suspected, for, though he was so young in years, he possessed a
continent disposition inherited from his father (who had been one of
ten children born to a poor but worthy Presbyterian minister of
Bluefield, Connecticut), so it was that not even to his good friend Mr.
Greenfield did Barnaby say a word as to what had happened to him, going
about his business the next day as though nothing of moment had
occurred.
But he was not destined yet to be done with those beings among whom he
had fallen that night; for that which he supposed to be the ending of
the whole affair was only the beginning of further adventures that were
soon to befall him.
