The Haunted Island

THE HAUNTED
ISLAND

A PIRATE ROMANCE

By
E. H. VISIAK

LONDON
ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET
MCMX

THE HAUNTED ISLAND

A PIRATE ROMANCE

Being the History of an Adventure to an Island in the Remote South Sea. Of a Wizard there. Of his Pirate Gang; His Treasure; His Combustible; His Skeleton Antic Lad. Of his Wisdom; Of his Poesy; His Barbarous Cruelty; His Mighty Power. Of a Volcan on the Island. And of the Ghostly Terror.

TO
MY MOTHER

CONTENTS

THE HAUNTED ISLAND

CHAPTER I.
SCAMPERING AWAY.

On Christmas Eve, 1668, I, Francis Clayton, was with my brother Dick at Clayton Manor, our father’s house. ’Tis seated on the bottom of a Bay near Wembury, on the sea coast of Devon. My brother served in quality of lieutenant on board His Majesty’s ship Tiger, and was but late returned from a cruise off the Island of Jamaica. His ship lay at anchor in the bay.

We sat over against one another on the hearth, in my little snug room. The Squire and the servants were a-bed. The great old house slept, with starting and creaking of the timbers. The fire was sunk together, burning with a clear glow; the candles were wasted to the snuff in their sockets.

My brother told a marvellous tale of the South Sea, of an island there haunted by spirits, particularly by a monstrous great ghoul, or devil.

“Many rumours,” said he, “are gotten abroad of this enchanted island. ’Tis said that he who laid up the treasure had a truck with the devil, and that a frightful fiend hath guard over it. I do certainly know ’tis there. As to the rest, I am nothing concerned with such fantastic gear. Once ashore there,” said he, “and not all the devils in hell shall keep me from the treasure! Yet, if seamen who have seen the Thing be not extremely out, ’tis a pretty wight! The head of it, say they, reaches unto the clouds, and the appearance of it is frightful out of all description.”

There came a sudden tap-tapping in the wainscoting. It was, no doubt, but a rat; but, I must confess, I shrank with fear of it: whereupon my brother clapped me boisterously on the shoulder, crying:

“Hallo, my land-captain! Did you think it was the ghosts from the Haunted Island? I’ll show you something to cheer you up.”

Hereupon, clapping hand to pocket, he plucked forth a little box, or casket. It was of gold, very cunningly wrought with the representation of a galleon; and her hull was of rubies, her sails of pearls, her flag and flowing pendants of emeralds and sapphires, and the sea of amethyst.

It was exquisite, and I said so; but my brother bade me read what was written on a piece of parchment that he took from the box and laid open before me.

“I know you like poesy,” said he, “read it. ’Tis better than a sonnet to my lady’s shoe-latchet!”

The writing was old and small, and thus it was:

Go you not nigh the island, Captain;

Go you not close abroad:

For death would ride on every side,

And hell on your steerboard.

As I was sailing the sea, Captain,

Beyond the Mexique bay,

A mickle blast the good ship cast

A monstrous long south way.

Blind ran the ship as a blind antler;

And ever her beside,

There rode a drear and hooded fear,

Till we the isle espied.

We anchored off the island, Captain;

We lay off cables four:

I swear by bell, ’twas mickle well

We went not nearer shore.

It came in the midnight hour, Captain:

As God’s eye seeth me,

I never ween’d that such a fiend

In earth or hell might be.

Praise to the Mother of God, Captain,

Be praise and gramercy:

An image stood of the blest rood

Nailed to our mainmast tree.

Here the ballad was broken off. I asked what it was; but had never answer. For, on a sudden, a summons loud and long sounded upon the Manor door.

“Hallo! What’s this?” cried I. But my brother said nothing; only got from his chair, and stepped to the casement; as I did also. He drew the shutter; and we peered without upon the avenue. ’Twas a wintry and a weird prospect: the moon shone bleak through the scantly falling snow, which was flurried about in drifts of powder on the frozen ground. The tall elms stood gauntly up, the smaller branches of them stirring in sudden movements, like hands and fingers. But at the great door there was a little fat man in the uniform of the captain of a King’s ship. He stood panting, his face fiery red; and kept pummelling with his cane upon the flagstones.

“Why, ’tis the captain of your ship!” said I. “’Tis Captain Skinton!” But, muttering in his teeth, Dick turned and hurried from the room. I followed, to find him at the end of the corridor warily withdrawing the arras. We looked through.

The Captain addressed the serving-man who had opened to him, and was beside himself with passion. He spoke in rapid and high-pitched tones, and with robustious gesticulation. We caught a tail-end: “—that I see Squire Clayton this night!”

“But he’s a-bed, your honour,” says Roger.

“Then wake him! wake him! wake him!” cried the little man; and, stamping by misadventure a gouty foot, he broke into a paroxysm of rage, just as the Squire, our father, came forth on the gallery of the stairs.

“What’s this? What’s this?” says he, looking down in his nightcap.

“What’s this, sir?” cries Skinton, his voice rising shrill, “what’s this, sir? Why, your son, sir ... a conspiracy, sir, a conspiracy aboard my ship, my ship, sir!”

“Roger,” says the Squire, “how came you to admit this neighing rascal? Show him into the stable!”

Hereupon the Captain became perfectly furious; but the Squire returned him word for word, as hot as he gave, so that there fell a very great clamour. And, in the hurly-burly, Dick stole past them into the hall, I following; and so (the door having been left open), out into the night.

We scoured down the avenue, crossed the road beyond, and, striking into the countryside, cut crisply across the frozen fields to the cliff-top; then down, helter-skelter, to the shore.

A great ship lay at an anchor close in, with her sails hauled up in brails. It was the Tiger. Her captain’s boat lay beached above the breakers; and her crew walked up and down, to keep them warm. My brother stepped to the coxswain, “’Tis I, John,” said he, as he got his breath; and, to the rest, he said: “Back to the ship, men! Our plans are at a head! All’s ready! I’ll make all your fortunes, my jolly boys!”

“Ay, ay, sir! ay, ay!” But he bade them hush, and hasten with the boat. Thereupon, turning to me, “Get you back to the Manor!” says he.

“No; I go with you,” said I.

He looked me up and down: “Tut, tut, d’ye know where we’re bound? For the South Sea, and on none of the King’s business either!”

“You’re going to steal the ship!” said I; but they were shoving off the boat, and, before ever he could answer, or I take thought, we found ourselves aboard and rolling over the waves. Soon there fell a great barking of dogs from the direction of the Manor; whereupon my brother did urge the rowers to greater effort. A few moments after we reached the ship.

We went aboard at the gang-way. There stood a big, black-bearded fellow, who passed on board in the style of the Quartermaster. My brother spoke a word in his ear, and the man nodded.

“All have joined, Ouvery?” asked Dick.

“Ay, but the master and Surgeon Burke be aboard. They went not ashore with the rest.”

“’Sdeath!” said Dick with his teeth, “where are they, then?”

“The master’s in his cabin: Burke’s in the round-house.”

“Overboard with the master! Let him swim, the preaching swab! But we’ll have need of Burke. Have up the men; I’ll speak to ’em. Haste, Ouvery!”

He made to the quarter-deck as he spoke, while the other went below. Soon was heard the boatswain’s whistle, and the mariners began to come up on deck. Meantime there came a splashing under the stern, and the master swam presently forth within sight. Having gotten his breath, he began to shout threats and imprecations at my brother. But Dick laughed, and shook his finger at him, crying:

“Nay, nay, sweet sir, be not so prodigal with your strength! I warrant you’ll need all of it anon!”

On this, with a last imprecation, the swimmer turned, and incontinently made towards the shore. But the mariners were now gotten all up on deck, and my brother prepared to speak to them.

But no speech was made by him. For a musket-shot rang out on the shore, and some half-dozen men, led by the Captain and the Squire, came forth on the cliff—the Captain shouting and gesticulating with the smoking musket that he held; but our father stood like a man sore stricken, so that it went to my heart to see him. I turned to my brother:

“Go you no further with this,” said I. “Return while yet you may.”

But he did not answer me; he stood staring to windward, and I saw his face set hard. A big ship, flying the flag of St. George, had hove in sight round a bend of the cliff.

Next moment he turned; and, bawling out, “In with the boat!” cried he, “All hands make sail! Up anchor and away!”

There fell a great ado on this, as the mariners went to work to the shrill piping whistle of the boatswain, and the word of command. Soon the cable was hove in, while the seamen sang as they strained at the capstan. Soon the ship began to move, stretching away under her spritsail and topsails to the shore-breeze.

But the other vessel had hoisted up her topgallant sails, and came on apace; and now, being but a cable’s length away, she shot off a gun.

“Come on, ye dogs!” cried Dick. “Fire away, and split!” And he hasted to the poop, where the gunners worked, charging of the stern-chasers.

“Double shot ’em, and cripple her!” said he.

“Ay, ay, sir! ay, ay!” But now the pursuer fired again, and a round-shot crashed into our round-house coach.

“Fire!” and, upon the word, the guns belched forth flame. The report shook the ship, and a cloud of cannon-smoke rolled up like a scroll.

As it cleared, our men roared out with a great cheering; for we had hit the King’s ship full in her fore rigging, split her spritsail, smashed her foreyard, and handsomely mauled the shrouds. The foremast shook with the brunt, and the topsail came clattering down.

Hereupon my brother fell to capering about like a silly schoolboy.

“Well done, master-gunner!” cried he, “well done, my brave! Give him another cheer, my jolly boys! They’ll not take us, this bout!”

CHAPTER II.
FRANCIS DREAMS A DREAM.

We now rapidly left the floundering and mazed man-of-war. But our men kept firing into the medley on her decks, plying the stern-chasers in furious haste; and, ever as he was able, the enemy did shoot at us with muskets and pistols, and once—his ship having slewed right round—gave us a thundering great broadside. But his gunners did much mistake, in that they hulled us (as the saying is), instead of aiming at our masts and tackling, whereby they might have crippled us, and, perhaps, brought us quite to a stand.

As it was, our ship took no great hurt, though the splinters flew, and six of her ports were battered in; yet many of our men were wounded after a dreadful manner, and one was killed outright. Whereupon such brutish and demoniac fury came upon the rest as transported them like very devils.

Our decks were bloody like a slaughter-house; and from the spar-deck the wounded men roared out very grievously as Surgeon Burke wrought upon them, so that their groans and shrieks did mingle with the horrid blasphemies.

Now, all this time my brother, the Captain, did frantically rage as hot as any man; yea, so far beside himself was he, that, when he found we drew out of gunshot and could no longer murder the King’s men, he was for going about and returning upon them. He had even given the order to bear up the helm; but hereupon, to my huge surprise, the Quartermaster did interpose. ’Twas no more than a look and a word, but it availed, and the order was immediately revoked.

We now lay right out of the bay; and, having set studding sails, stood off to sea, whilst the decks were cleared, the broken ports stopped, and the bolts and tackling overhauled. But I, being sick at heart, went and shut myself in the master’s cabin, which I found empty; and, a great weariness coming over me, I got me into a hammock, and presently slept.

I dreamed a fearful dream; and it seemed to me that one went before me through a gully in a terrible high cliff. And the gully became dark and darker as we went, and its sheer sides of dank rock towered higher yet; so that they were frightful to look on. Still they rose and rose, until their tops might no longer be discerned; and darkness fell, a darkness that seemed to wither my soul! Then he who went before me did turn himself about, and lo! ’twas Ouvery, the Quartermaster. His face gleamed ghastly white, but his eyes were blacker than the darkness. They seized on mine, and held them—for ever!

I woke gasping and shaking; and there were two eyes as black as jet fixed on mine! Ouvery, the Quartermaster, gazed across at me from the middle of the cabin, where he sat in close converse with my brother.

He got up from his chair; and, making a sign that I was awake, immediately went out. Hereupon my brother rose also, and stepped to my hammock.

“Well, my heart,” said he, “hast been a-voyaging to Tophet, or is’t the ghosts from the Haunted Island? Bless us! you screeched like a stuck pig.”

“Scoff away! Scoff away!” cried I. “’Twill be another tale to-morrow!”

“Ay!” said he, but I thought his countenance fallen, “pieces-of-eight, and golden bars, and jewels—jewels by the shipload—that’ll be the tale to-morrow!”

“And a hempen cord about your neck, and iron chains to hang in, and yokel faces a-gape at you!”

On that he flamed out in a fury, snapping his fingers, swearing and cursing. But I let him rave, answering nothing, and soon he fell quiet, and throwing himself into a chair, sat still, seeming to brood in his mind.

CHAPTER III.
THE CASTAWAYS.

After these events, there fell out nothing worth remark in many days.

We had favourable winds and calm seas, and met with no King’s ships. What other craft we met withal, meddled not with us, nor we with them. Through great part of the Bay of Biscay we steered our course close under the coast of France, until we came to an anchor in a small bay thereby, to take in water and fresh provisions; thence we sailed away, standing to the open sea. We passed the Cape of Finisterre; and so onwards towards the Tropic of Cancer and the Line.

I come to a day in the fifth week of our voyage. I got up betimes, and went on deck. The ship went merrily along. There was not a sail in sight, nor any glimpse of land; but from horizon to horizon spread the dancing, shining sea, and I thought it was a gracious scene, like a world from the hands of God.

As I looked, I spied a dark blur of a thing far out upon the waters. It disappeared, but soon hove in sight again, this time quite clear. In the same moment, the look-out man bawled:

“Boat adrift on the larboard bow.”

“Lay to, then, and man the jolly-boat,” cried the Captain.

The mariners went eagerly to work, snapping greedily at the exciting chance. The jolly-boat, which was towing astern, was speedily hauled in and manned; but the coxswain was shoved from his wonted command of her by Ouvery, who put himself into the stern-sheets. I, being full of curiosity, jumped into the boat as they made ready to pull away; whereupon Ouvery did look upon me balefully, though he spoke no word, and I knew that he hated me from the bottom of his black heart!

“Pull away,” said the Quartermaster; and she began to move apace. I, keeping my eyes fixed upon the boat we steered for, at length descried a huddled heap on board of her, which was presently discovered to be the forms of two men. We drew alongside, and lay board on board together, gazing upon a dismal, dreadful sight.

For there in the boat were two gaunt and wasted forms—yea, the very death’s heads did grin in the dwindled faces of those poor castaways.

One was an Indian: a tall, well-knit figure dark copper-coloured; his face long and hard-favoured; lank black hair.

The other was an European, and, as it should seem, an Englishman. His yellow beard fell long and untrimmed, and his clothes were mean and old; yet there was that in his look made me think he was a gentleman. What, however, was remarkable: on sight of the castaways, Ouvery gave a great start and drew sharply in his breath.

“They be dead men both,” said a man, solemnly; “rest to their souls!”

But I had got into the boat; and, taking a mirror that I had about me, I held it in turn to those parted and writhen lips, and lo! it twice became clouded with breath.

“They live! they live!” cried I. But Ouvery said quickly:

“Nay, nay! You know nothing at all. Down, ye meddler, and out of the way!” And to the mariners he said:

“Overboard with them! We’ll have no truck with the dead! And keep your tongue quiet,” said he, glaring at me, “or you shall sweep with them!”

“I say that they live!” I returned passionately. “Carry them to the ship!”

On that, Ouvery raised his clenched fist to strike me down. “You barking cur,” cried he, “do you meddle with my orders? I’ll have you clapt in irons! I’ll flay you to the bone! I’ll——”

“Belike you’re captain of the ship,” said I, flouting him; “I thought my brother was captain.”

Ouvery sat still, all swollen with rage; but hereupon up spoke a seaman, saying stoutly:

“Maybe the boy’s in the right. Ho! make way here!” He climbed over into the cock-boat as he spoke, and soon had confirmed my words.

But Ouvery rose up like one possessed; and, drawing his knife, he reached forth to have stabbed me. But the boat began to rock nigh foundering; and, losing his footing, he fell, knocking his head against an oar that was outboard, and slid over into the sea. They fished him out ere he sank, and flung him like a log in the bottom of the boat, where he lay stunned.

Hereupon, having made the cock-boat fast to our stern, we returned to the ship. My brother stood at the gang-way, awaiting us; I acquainted him with what had befallen, demanding that Ouvery should be restrained. But he regarded me not at all.

They contrived a bed for the Indian in the forecastle, but the other was installed in the master’s cabin beneath the poop, where I slept, some bedding being laid for me on the floor. Tended by Surgeon Burke, and cared for by the mariners, the Indian made a quick recovery; but the other lay as one dead, being fallen into a sort of coma or trance.

The Indian came out of his swoon about sundown. Dick, Burke, and I stood beside his bed, when the poor man, on a sudden, stirred and opened his eyes. He looked from one to another of us wildly; and moved his lips as if he would speak. At this juncture, heavy and uncertain footfalls were heard without, and Ouvery came lumbering in, his face mottled red and purple. He approached; but, on sight of him, the Indian stared aghast, stretched forth an arm with a fierce, frenzied gesture, uttered a cry, and sank back beside his senses.

“Why, he knoweth him!” cried I. “He hath seen you before, Ouvery! If he could speak, I warrant you’d stand proclaimed a black villain!”

I was out of myself with passion, and I knew not what I said. But the Quartermaster was transported with fury, and, rasping out horrid oaths, he drew a pistol from his belt and let fly at me. The ball missed my head by a hair’s breadth, and was buried in the wooden wall. Ouvery made a dash towards me, reeled, and lurched forward upon the floor. There he lay stunned, having knocked his head against the table-leg.

The episode had passed in a moment, and Dick and the surgeon stood like men dumbfounded. Burke recovered himself:

“You’ve had a narrow squeak, my lad,” said he. “The man’s a maniac—look you, Captain!”

But Dick dashed his fist against the wall for mad.

CHAPTER IV.
VILLAINY.

I went on deck, to behold a night of calm and beauty. There was no moon; but the hosts of the stars burned in a clear element, upon a solemn ground, and I thought they were like gems in the mantle of God.

But, as I stood, leaning on the bulwarks, dreaming in the blue starlight, on a sudden a hand was laid on my shoulder, and a hearty voice cried:

“Wake up, young star-gazer! What are you dreaming of now? Wouldst know:

What worlds or what vast regions hold

The immortal mind that hath forsook

Her mansion in this fleshy nook?”

“What, old physicker!” (for ’twas Surgeon Burke), “‘Throw physic to the dogs, I’ll none of it!’”

He laughed boisterously at the return; then bade me follow him below, saying that the English castaway was coming out of his swoon. We went quickly to the master’s cabin, where the Englishman lay stretched upon a day-bed or settee. But, instead of the stark and deadly look he had before, his breast heaved to a gentle respiration, his eyes were closed, and there was even a trace of colour in his hollow cheeks.

“When he wakes,” said Burke, “he’ll be recovered, and that will be no great while either.”

But in this point he was out; for the exhausted man continued in his babe-like sleep. At last, being perfectly tired out, I cast myself down upon the bedding on the floor, and took up my repose. Yet I could not presently sleep; for my thoughts were tumultuous and uneasy to the last degree, running continually upon those strange happenings—more especially upon the desire manifested by Ouvery to make away with the castaways and strange recognition of him by the Mosquito Indian. However, at last I slept.

It must have been upon the stroke of midnight that I woke up suddenly from an unquiet sleep, to hear the sound of stealthy footsteps in the gang-way without.

I listened, my heart beginning to thump upon my sides, my eyes upon the door. The handle turned slowly; the door was softly opened. Then, half-closing my eyes, I feigned slumber, as, vivid in moonshine cast through the port, the face of Ouvery appeared in the chink.

The Quartermaster stood peering and listening. He entered, and advanced on me; and there was a knife in his hand. Yet I continued to feign slumber, and, though near dead with terror, to make my breathing appear regular and slow.

At last he was at my side. I opened my eyes then, ready to evade a deadly thrust, and lo! the man was passed by me and moving towards the Englishman on the bed. On that my nerve came back to me; the spell was broken.

I made one leap of it half across the cabin floor; and, as the Quartermaster, his face set in savage lines, his arm drawn back to thrust, bent over the slumbering Englishman, quick as light I snatched the pistol from his belt and set it close and firm to his ear.

“Drop your blade,” said I, “or I’ll fire.”

Ouvery was no craven, but, on touch of the iron muzzle, he started and dropped his knife. He held perfectly still, muttering something that I had no care to hear; and I bawled loud and repeatedly, “Help! Help!”

It was then that the Englishman came out of his swoon; and, rising up in his bed, “Where am I?” cried he. “What is this?”

“You are on the ship Tiger,” replied I. “You were taken up from a driving boat—you with an Indian, who also is on the ship.”

“Ha! And this fellow?”

“He is the Quartermaster. He was about to murder you; I know not why.”

“O-ho!” cried he, “a mystery! I am even eager to fathom it. Turn hither, fellow, that I may look upon the majesty of your countenance. Turn hither, I say!”

But Ouvery, on a sudden, ducked his head; and, with incredible swiftness, whipped from the cabin, and was gone. Yet the other had got view of his face, and he cried:

“The pirate! ’Tis the pirate, by the Lord Harry!

“So I am fallen among thieves and murderers!” says he, turning to me with fine disdain. “Well, ’tis not the first time. You’re out on the account—heh?”

I was taken aback at this, and knew not what to answer. Yet something in his countenance told me he was a man I might trust. I resolved to tell him distinctly how it was with us; and, as briefly as possible, I did so.

He heard me out in silence, his keen eyes searching me.

“Why, here is a lad of mettle,” says he, “and—what should ever accompany this quality—of integrity. I thank you for your confidence reposed in me; it shall not miscarry. And now” (as I stood abashed by his courtly phrase) “and now for action!”

But, with the word, there came the tramp of men approaching, and the boatswain entered, having a lantern in one hand and a bare cutlash in the other; and close at his heels came my brother.

The boatswain stood still at the entry; but Dick thrust by him, and came forth into the cabin, asking what the matter was.

I left it to the Englishman to answer, and he did so.

“Look you, sir,” said he, rising on an elbow and speaking with hauteur, “I am, I suppose, beholden to you for my life. But to save a man from the sea, that he may be barbarously murdered in his bed—where is the obligation?”

“What means he?” asked Dick, turning to me.

I told him what had passed.

“Ouvery! Always Ouvery!” cried he. “What means the fellow? I begin to sicken of it! Curses on it!”

And, snapping his fingers in a passion, he rushed from the cabin.

The boatswain followed him out, muttering in his beard.

CHAPTER V.
THE ENGLISHMAN’S RELATION
(THE ISLAND).

“Close and bolt the door,” said the Englishman so soon as we were alone. “That Quartermaster, saintly soul, may be hereabout. So. And now, my lad, get you into your hammock again, and to sleep.”

But sleep was gone from me, and, when I had told him so, he proffered to relate his experiences to me, to pass the vigil. “And certainly,” added he, “they are sufficiently strange.”

You may be sure I was nothing loth; and, when I had put on some clothes, and brought a chair to his bedside and seated myself, he thus began:

“’Twas some two years ago, lad, that I had occasion to ship as passenger on a ship bound for Fort St. George.[A] We left the Downs with fair wind and weather, which continued with us till we were come into the Indian Ocean. But then arose a huge hurricane of wind, which blew us from our course. It held six days, and left us somewhere near the Island of Sumatra. Yet the ship remained whole; and we steered north to recover our course, with but a fret of wind. We scarce had got into a sailing posture, but we saw a ship, which came towards us. And, wanting something—I forget what it was—we made a wiff to her. But we got more than we wanted! For, clapping on a wind, and coming on, they began to fire at us as hot as they could, and brought our mainmast by the board.

“Well, they boarded us—as villainous a crew as ever sailed the sea; and, though we made a good fight, ’twas all one: our ship was taken. We expected to be all murdered, or at least set ashore to starve on some desolate island.” (Here I saw the door handle turn slowly and softly round, but forbore to tell the Englishman, lest he should break off in his relation.) “Yet we were reserved alive, to what strange, surprising experiences I’ll tell you.

“They set many of us down upon the ballast, of whom I was one. Penned together like cattle in that darksome and stinking place, we scarce could stir hand or foot, scarce draw breath. We knew not the day from the night. Our victuals, thrown to us as to dogs, scarce were fit for dogs. The place was full of vermin; and there were great rats. Their eyes gleamed in the darkness like points of fire; and, ever and again, as at a signal, the creatures came swarming down upon us.

“How long this lasted I know not. Certainly many days. All fell sick, some raved with the calenture, three died. But on a blessed morn, at daybreak, they dragged us up out of the pit to the deck. Imagine what it meant to us! You cannot—as you cannot possibly imagine that dreadful prison. And no man apprizes at their worth light and air and health and freedom, look you, until he lose them.

“Indeed the suddenness of the change was more than we could bear—so that three of our company fell down in a swoon. ’Twas strange to see, I doubt not—ay, and pitiful! But no breath of pity moved the villainous hearts. They threw all the swooning men into the sea.

“I looked around. The pirate was come to port. On one side of her lay our ship, on the other, land.

“This land was really an island, though we lay too close to perceive it. We beheld very high cliffs towering to a prodigious height above us, streaked with shining green, creeping plants, and wreathed with vines. As I looked on them, a sort of horror seized on me, a phantom foreboding....”

He paused, and lay back in his bed with closed eyes; but soon continued, saying:

“Now the pinnace of the pirate lay alongside, and the residue of our party was bidden to get into her. Nay, we were driven into the boat! For they did press upon us, punching and thrusting us in the back. As villainous a crew as ever man set eyes on! Hideous visages, blackened with sin, scarred, mutilated with old wounds. And they were dressed and tricked out, these pirates, as from the wardrobe of the world; as though it had been opened unto them, and they had taken, every man, whatsoever he listed. For one had a pair of taffety breeches, a lady’s cape, and the turban of an Arab; another the staid habit of a dignitary of Holy Church cloaked about with the robes of a Chinaman; a leering negro strutted in the finery of a courtier of the king.

“Well, a number of ’em came down into the boat with us, and a big man took command. He is your Quartermaster!”

“Ouvery!” exclaimed I. “Was he the captain of the pirate?”

“No,” said he, “he was the quartermaster, having the second place on the ship. Well, Ouvery—or ‘Blazing Sue,’ as they called him—having seated himself in the stern, ordered us to take the oars and pull to the shore. On one of us pleading weakness, he burst forth into foul oaths, adding:

“‘You shall row, though you split!’

“Then, rising in a frenzy, he snatched up a musket by the barrel, felled the poor man, and, seizing hold on the collar of his coat, slung him over into the sea; and a huge shark immediately swam up and griped him.

“For a space Ouvery sat growling and snapping with his teeth like a dog, whilst the other pirates jested among themselves; then he gave the order, ‘Pull away.’

“We laboured at the rowing as best we might, the rogues lolling at their ease. Only, when the pinnace was got three parts in, they double-banked the oars to speed her through the shore-breakers.

“Having landed, our party was ordered in single file, and so marched up the beach. Some six or seven pirates went on either side, bearing pistols; while Ouvery took the lead.

“We crossed the beach of white sand. It cast a blinding glare (the sun now being high); so that we were glad to come presently into a belt of cocoa trees, the porch of a dense wood. We passed within this wood, following a secret path.

“We had penetrated, it might be, a quarter of a mile, when there was made to us an intimation. In our path, and shining beneath a rift in the overgrowth, we spied something round and white, like a great chalk stone. We came up to it. ’Twas a human skull. It grimaced in the sun with its glistering laughter.

“But Ouvery, turning about, laughed aloud, ‘Ho! ho! my boys!’ cried he, ‘See how he grins! So shall ye grin anon!’

“He stepped to the death’s head; and, bowing with vilest mockery, ‘What cheer, comrade?’ said he, ‘and have they forgotten ye? Come, hist along to Heaven!’

“And, drawing back his great foot, he sent the death crashing into the overgrowth.

“We went a little farther, and came, as it should seem, to an impenetrable dense thicket that was faced with flowering creepers. Ouvery hereupon called a halt; and, stepping to the thicket, he thrust his hand within, and felt about amongst the stems and leaves. Next moment, that which we had taken to be a thicket shook and was broken, and a slab of iron swung forward on hinges, leaving in the midst an orifice as black as night.

“Amazed at the sight, and fearing we knew not what, we continued to gaze.

“My lad, as we thus stood, there befell a thing that lifted the hair on my scalp!”

CHAPTER VI.
THE ENGLISHMAN’S RELATION CONTINUED
(THE CELL).

“’Twas a sound, a voice—but whether of man, or beast, or worse, we knew not; and it proceeded from the chasm; a sudden, loud, weird, shrieking sound that rose and scattered until the very wood seemed full of it, and died gradually away.

“Suddenly there leaped forth a figure. From the darkness of the cavity it came, and stood confronting us. ’Twas the figure of a little lad!

“But he was gaunt as a skeleton; and the great seaman’s watch-coat that he wore, hung about him like a sack, falling almost to the ground. His legs, appearing like sticks beneath the loosely fastened coat, were bare; and so, also, were his feet. But strangest of all in the look of the lad, was his face.

“’Twere impossible to describe it. Blithe, it was miserable; majestic, it was menial; wise, it was wild and witless as the face of an antic; haggard and deadly pale, the eyes roving continually, shining with a spectral light. The face of a little child. And yet, I tell you, it gave me a scare.

“The little lad stood looking upon us; then, lifting his hand with a strange eerie gesture, he cried:

“‘Welcome, ye pilgrims! Lo! lo! the Promised Land! Milk and honey! a land flowing with milk and honey! Eat of it! drink! sing!—sing for joy of it! The sun! the sun! see, ’tis red, red as the Red Sea! Aha, Pharaoh! Where is Pharaoh now? He strives to follow thee, O sun! Down! down! there’s sea enough.’

“So he raved in his frenzy, the crazy lad; but Ouvery, lumbering forward with a curse, took him with his clenched fist a great buffet on the head, so that he fell down like one dead. And Ouvery laughed, laughed! But not for long!

“A man burst forth from the thicket behind, and felled the great pirate as if he were a figure of pasteboard!

“’Twas an Indian—that same Mosquito Indian you took up with me from the boat. He consorted with the pirates; an innocent abetter of their devilish work, a malefactor in whom was no guile. For the Mosquito Indians do love and revere the English wheresoever they meet with them, honest mariners or pirates, making no discrimination; and are, for their part, much esteemed by them for their valour, their sagacity, their dexterity in striking fish, and the like.

“So they look upon our countrymen as lords and masters, and do their bidding with the simple faith of children.... Brave, honest, kindly souls! who knows not what eminent service they have done us in our conflict with that Spanish tyrant?[B]

“This Mosquito Indian loved the lad, whom he took for dead; and, crying aloud with a bitter cry, he cast himself upon the ground at his side, fawning upon him as a dog fawns upon the body of its master. But, on a sudden, he gave another cry. He perceived that the lad lived; and, getting swiftly to his feet, he caught him up, and sped off with him into the wood.

“Ouvery lay as one dead. They plied him with rum, forcing his teeth asunder to get the liquor down; they bathed his hands and brow with water fetched from a crystal spring. But ’twas all one: he gave no sign.

“‘Blazing Sue’s gone!’ said a pirate.

“But he did mistake. For, filling his mouth with water from the spring, another of the pirates began to blow it in a fine spray in Ouvery’s eyes and ears (’Tis a thing that revives even dying men); and he began to recover his senses, and presently staggered to his feet. When he recalled what had befallen him, his rage was great. Yet he kept it under; only he cast a baleful look upon us, as he pointed to the opening in the thicket and cried:

“‘Forward into the Promised Land!’

“You may be sure, my lad, that no man was very eager to obey the command. The chasm had a fearsome look. Whither did it lead?

“The terror of the unknown lay heavy on us. Yet in our reluctance and fear was an itch of curiosity; and, though an opportunity of escape and freedom had proffered then, I, at least, would not have taken it! Moreover the pistols of the guards constrained us; so we entered the chasm and advanced in the darkness.

“We went on through a passage, as it should seem, hewed out of rock. Soon the darkness became less; and soon, in a strange, livid, ghost light, we could descry the walls and roof. The passage was excavated in the rock.

“Now the strange illumination became exceeding bright; a cold, sepulchral, white light, such as I had never known before. Nor was there any lamp, or flame of fire, to acquaint us whence it came.

“There was no door visible, yet there was a door—indeed, many doors—very cunningly concealed in the wall; and now it opened with a clang of iron. Ouvery immediately commanded us to stand; and, bidding me, who was among the foremost, to follow him, he betook himself within. Obeying, I found myself in the strangest place I had ever known.” (Here there came a sound of tramping overhead, as if the men had been called to quarters. The Englishman took due notice, but did not break off in his relation.)

“It was a little cell, like the passage, hewed out of the rock, and about the size of a ship’s round-house. There was no furniture in it, save a table and a chair. Upon the table was a medley of things: scrolls of parchment scrawled over with hieroglyphics, triangles, and the like; books, pamphlets, maps, draughts, compasses, and I know not what besides. Beneath the table, in nooks and recesses contrived in the walls, were all manner of jars and phials, holding divers materials, both liquid and solid. Also globes, retorts, crucibles, alembics, mortars. At the farther end, beneath a brass clock, stood a large furnace.

“’Twas the chamber of a scholar, the cell of an alchemist; and in a great armchair at the table sat the man himself.

“He was a very ancient man, long and large of frame, but bowed and lean. He was dressed in a scarlet robe like a cardinal’s. His face, which was shaven bare, was fierce and forbidding, and heavy and ill-shapen in the lower parts; but his forehead was high and deep, and his hair fell in long venerable locks, white like snow. His eyes were large, but deep-sunk and dull. Yet, as I was soon to see, they could kindle in anger terribly, or become sharp and piercing like points of steel. And in the whole port and aspect of the man there was power; while thought brooded continually in the majestic wrinkles of his brow.

“He spoke at once, turning to Ouvery and clutching the sleeve of the man’s coat; and his voice was small and shrill like a woman’s.

“‘So,’ said he, ‘they are come, the pilgrim band, the little pilgrim band. You have brought them to labour with us in the vineyard—is’t not so, comrade? Thereafter they will join. ’Tis well. ’Tis very well. And my acid? You have brought my acid?’

“But at the words, I saw Ouvery start and turn deadly pale; and in a quavering voice he said:

“‘Doctor, forgive! I have forgot!’

“The hand that toyed with Ouvery’s sleeve closed on it like a vice; a spasm shook the ancient man, and left him rigid; the veins stood upon his forehead gathered in knots; his eyes started in their sockets.

“For many moments he looked on the man balefully, like a serpent. Then, uttering a frightful cry, he snatched up a globe of glass and cast it full at Ouvery’s head!

“It took him upon the forehead; and well was it for him that the glass was but thin, breaking to small pieces. Even so, you could see that the man was sorely hurt. But he gave no sign of pain, and I thought that the anger of the Doctor was more fearful to him than any pain, or rather, that it kept him from feeling pain at all. Only he kept repeating:

“‘Doctor, forgive! Doctor, forgive!’

“‘Forgive you, you dog!’ cried the ancient man. ‘Where is my acid? The jars are empty! Empty! empty! empty! empty!’ He sank back in his chair, gasping, great beads upon his brow; and Ouvery would have seized the occasion to flee. He leapt to the door.

“But no farther! for the Doctor looked on him. ‘What!’ cried he, his rasping voice coming in gasps, ‘would you ... would you give me the slip?’ And then, in a horrid coaxing tone, he added:

“‘Would you leave me, my child, whom I have loved? Would you leave me, after so long a severance? Yet who am I that I should hinder ye, or deny your smallest desire? Get you gone, child of my heart, get you gone—into the morass!’

“‘Mercy!’ cried Ouvery; ‘not there! Nay, not there!’

“The Doctor pointed to the door.

“Ouvery sank down upon the floor huddled in fear; and, villain though he was, I could not but have compassion for him then. But the Doctor only laughed, and he touched a little knob of brass that stood on the wall to his hand.

“Presently a young man, having a look of suffering upon his delicately shapen, shaven countenance, and habited in black in the manner of a secretary, came swiftly and softly into the cell, and stood before the Doctor, bowing almost to the ground.

“‘Ambrose, summon Sebastian, and ...’

“He broke off, seemed to consider; and, turning to Ouvery, he asked:

“‘And if I bore with you yet again?’

“‘Try me, Doctor! Put me to the proof; Only do not ...’

“‘Peace, fool! Ambrose, begone!’ (the young man instantly withdrew) ‘Ouvery, on the morrow you shall sail for England—but of that anon. Get you gone, and bring our new-come comrades to the slave Davies, charging him to see to it, that not a jot of care or tendance be omitted unto them. And tell him, moreover, that if the South Bulwark be not finished by the third day following, he shall pass through that door which I with all my knowledge and wit never have been able to unlock!’

“But Ouvery stood gazing on him after a vacant manner; and, rising from his chair in fury, the Doctor cried:

“‘Clod of earth, lacking understanding!—ah! take your cow’s eyes from me! Ambrose!’

“He touched the knob again, and, when the young man returned, ‘Expound to this clodpole,’ said the Doctor, ‘my saying, the door that hath no key!’

“Thereupon Ambrose turned to Ouvery; and, like one reciting a task, he said:

“‘No man is able to open it, but the dead pass through there. ’Tis the door of fate.’

“‘Good words, Ambrose,’ said the Doctor. ‘No man, indeed, is able to open that door. I myself have essayed, even to weariness, but I found no key.

“‘The secrets of the earth lie open to me; but the invisible——Ha! I saw a goodly vine; I ate of the fruit of it—knowledge, domination, gold—and it hath turned to ashes in my mouth! My heart was empty, and I sought to satisfy it—with hate; and the void is but increased!

“‘What, then, is hate? Is’t a mere nullity? the walling-in of the soul?

“‘Behold, now, this cell, a place walled off; I banish the light of it. So.’ (He touched a knob upon the wall, and instantly there was thick darkness.)

“‘Without is light—light of the sun; but not a ray thereof can enter here. No; but, if it be dark without, and I throw up walls, and roof them about, and stop up every nook and cranny, can I keep out the darkness, as now I do the light? No; for darkness is nothing. It cannot be shut out: only I make it to vanish with light. So.’ (And, on a sudden, the cell was flooded with bright light.)

“‘And as with light and darkness, is’t not so, also, with good and evil, love and hate? Ha! I see it! I see it! I know thy efficacy, Almighty Good! thou only real power, substance, and principle, Spirit, the One Spirit! With my intellect, in which the truth is dawning, I see it.... But thou comest not into this heart——’”

At this juncture, the Englishman’s relation was interrupted; a great gun was shot off on the poop overhead; and, while the ship yet shook with the reverberation, there came a great shout of cheering thrice repeated.

I sprang to my feet, and, on a nod from the Englishman, went from the cabin to find out what this might mean.

CHAPTER VII.
A HORRIBLE VILLAIN.

I stayed not long in doubt. The steel-grey light of dawn shone upon the sea; and there, within half a mile astern of us, was a great ship flying the flag of St. George.

She was out after us; a consort belike of the vessel we had crippled in our scampering away. A very swift sailer she must have been, considering the speedy sailing we had made all along. But there was small gratulation on that score for the King’s ship now. For her foremast had gone by the board, shot away by our stern-chasers; and, having slewed right round, she lay wallowing in the troughs of the sea.

I climbed the poop-ladder, and stepped to the place where my brother stood with the gunners patting caressingly the nozzle of the piece that had served his turn so bravely. Wallis, the master-gunner, stood looking earnestly to leeward, where a wall of mist held down upon the sea. He spoke a word to my brother and pointed that way. Dick had a spyglass in his hand, and immediately he set it to his eye, bringing it to bear. As I drew near, I heard him say he descried seven great ships which stood close-hauled towards us. Hereupon he gave the glass to the master-gunner; who, having looked awhile, said he took those ships for pirates. “And you’ll leave ’em the King’s ship to grind their teeth on, Captain,” said he, laughing.

But Dick shook his head, “No, no,” said he, “that sort of people don’t meddle with King’s ships. You get no dew of heaven in them. They’re going for some Spanish port, to sack a city, belike.”

“Well, ’tis a pity,” said Wallis. But indignation seized on me, and I said hotly:

“How is’t a pity? Do you wish to see your own people barbarously murdered, you base traitor!”

The man hung his head, grinning sourly, and looking sideways up at my brother; who told me to be off with my theatricals, as he called it. Whereupon the gunner laughed. I had returned upon him; but, from the cabin beneath, there came the dull report of a pistol-shot.

I knew what it was. Ouvery had seized on the occasion of my absence to enter the master’s cabin, had fired at the poor invalid, and, no doubt, murdered him.

And so it proved; for, on making haste to the cabin, I saw the Englishman lay dead in his bed, being shot through the skull into the brain. Yea, I did very narrowly escape a like fate myself; for that enormous and infernal villain, Ouvery, stood crouching in shadow behind the alley-way door, and, as I stepped by him, he let fly at me with a second pistol that he had. However, I had caught a shuffling motion he made before he fired at me, and, by an instinct, I turned my head in the nick of time. The bullet missed me.

I immediately drew my rapier, and made a pass upon him even as he leaped on me. But he came a little sideways, so that my point took him on the shoulder. He gave a yelping cry, and would have closed with me; but, quick as a flash, I dropped, casting myself with such force at his booted ankles, which I clutched, as handsomely tripped him, so that he fell all his length forward on the cabin floor. Thereupon, before ever he could recover himself, I sprang on top of him, and held him so that he could not anyways stir or lift himself up. I was mad with passion against this horrible wretch, and if I had had a pistol in my hand, I would have made no more to have set it to his head and murdered him, than to have killed a rat!

Now, the entire affair had passed in the space of a few moments, and the Captain had just entered the cabin. He stepped forward, and, in a voice that trembled, bade me stand up and let the Quartermaster alone. But this was an order I flatly denied to obey.

“Let him alone!” said I. “Why, he hath just endeavoured as much as possibly he could to murder me; and look you his bloody work there on the bed!”

“Stop your mouth, and get up!” said he.

“I’ll get up,” said I, “if you’ll undertake that he shall immediately hang at the mainmast!”

“That’s my business,” said the Captain. “Up with you, or you shall hang there yourself!”

Now, Surgeon Burke was come hither, standing at the entry of the cabin, and it came into my thoughts to appeal from my brother unto him. However, I perceived the foolishness of this. “Well, have it as you will,” said I, and got to my feet.

Ouvery lay some moments where he was, gnawing the mat upon the floor with his teeth, and growling like a dog. Thereupon he stirred, slowly turned over on his back, and so lay lumpish and dazed and retching after a disgusting manner. This horrible villain did reek of rum, so that the cabin was full of the stench of it; and, becoming faint, I was fain to get forth to the open air.

As I passed out of the cabin, Surgeon Burke winked his eye to me, and said in my ear:

“Never you mind, my boy! I’ll take him in hand. I’ll bleed him, to the last drop!”

CHAPTER VIII.
THALASS.

Coming forth upon the poop, I desponded in my mind, thinking of home and England; and the sea, with all the beauty of its clear and flashing blue waters, was hateful to me; yea, it cruelly smiled on me with its shining face.

For I suffered loneliness, such loneliness as exiles know; than which, to sensible men, there is not on the earth a more cruel affliction. Here, indeed, on this populous King’s ship, of which my very brother was in command, I did find myself alone with a desolation very far greater than solitude of place. Doubtless there was something of God in the villainous men, deep in the hearts of them, as there is something of God in all things; and the rest (to speak truly) is but distortion and shadow and absence and darkness. But I did not understand it so, and looked but on the appearance, loathing them for their villainous demeanour, and filthy discourse.

A woful suffering it was; a stifling of the heart; a hand upon the brain, goading it to madness; an upheaval of the deeps, breaking up the standing surface-mould. But, amid the stress of it all, and as with a flash of seismic fire, there was made to me a revelation. All loneliness and loss were delusions; for the hearts of all are knit together in the heart of God.

So the affliction departed from me, and I came to myself. Yet it left me sore distraught, so that I shook with cold like one in an ague; and I made to go to the galley, where was a fire.

I descended the weather-ladder; but, coming under the break of the poop, I caught a curious sound of singing that proceeded from within the alley-way.

I passed in, and the sound led me towards the master’s cabin. Therein I beheld the Mosquito Indian. He was alone with the dead Englishman, pacing up and down before the body; and, ever as he went, he kept crooning and chanting a wild music, and swayed his body from side to side, and moved his hands and arms in strange mystic passes and convolutions.

Wild and inarticulate was the dirge, and the motions, I doubt not, were but the ceremonies of a savage fetish; but I watched and hearkened entranced. How much of what followed is accountable to the woful strain that recent trials—and especially that last great trial—had put upon me, I know not; but I think that there was nothing earthly in that chant, or rune (whatever it was), nothing of human artifice, and that it proceeded from the occult heart of things.

I saw a vision of a boundless expanse: the heavens loaden with masses of cloud ebon black, the firmament illumined with a spectral light, and, beneath it all, the deep! That was black as the clouds above, and surging in billows (though without foam) so stupendous, that the tops of them might not be descried, and sweeping together with a shock and tumult such as no man could imagine. But that which held my gaze—yea, and nigh unseated my reason!—was the Thing, whether brute or demon, that seemed to be the sole denizen of the waters, swimming and wallowing there. Merciful God! may I never look upon the like of it again.

Slowly the mood and measure of the singing changed; and now I beheld other scenes, and other images, which concerned the mid-period of things.

Again the measure changed; and, now, indeed, I saw god-like forms and god-like deeds: and there appeared before me (but oh, how transfigured, how glorified!) the similitudes of those whom I had known and loved: my mother, who was dead, my friends and playmates as a child, and my father, the Squire. They smiled on me; and so near they seemed, that I stretched forth my hand to have touched them, and would have spoken to them, when lo! they were gone. The Mosquito Indian had ceased from his singing, and stood silent and motionless, with bowed head.

I sprang to my feet. “Now, what manner of man are you?” cried I. “What was it that you sang?”

But he turned, and looked on me so friendly, and yet withal so manly, grave and majestic, that I was drawn to him. He saluted me; solemnly we shook hands, in testimony of friendship, a friendship that endured to the end—yea, to the end!

The Mosquito Indian was sufficiently acquainted with the English tongue, though he did patter it but queerly. He told me the name he went by amongst the English, and was very proud of it, knowing no better. For ’twas but a ridiculous name, given him by some buffoon. So I called him Thalassios (afterwards shortened to Thalass), because it was a high-sounding word to please him, and because he had been taken up from the sea.

Soon after came two seamen to bear away the dead body of the Englishman. I followed them forth to where my brother stood awaiting them under the break of the poop. He immediately bade them to throw the body into the sea.

On this, however, the boatswain, who stood near, putting off his cap to the Captain, begged leave to ask whether he would not give the body a volley for ceremony, or, at any rate, cause it to be sewn up in a sheet or an old topsail, and a weight fastened to it to sink it in the sea. “For,” said he, “if you throw him in as he be, I doubt he’ll rise and haunt us, Cap’n.”

But the Captain, being in a very ill-temper, took this in dudgeon, and roughly bid the boatswain to keep his tongue quiet, and the mariners to act their part without more ado. This they did—albeit but unwillingly for what the boatswain had said about the spirit haunting the ship—and, as the body splashed into the sea, they looked one on another very glumly; and, after the Captain’s back was turned, they began to murmur against him, saying he had put a curse upon them, and that henceforward we should meet with no luck in our voyage, and that, in all likelihood, the ship would be quite lost.

Towards evening the wind freshened very much, so that they said evil already began to fall upon us. But, on this coming to my brother’s ears, he went and spoke to them, and appeased their minds; for he showed them that the wind was favourable to our course, and that it did but speed them the faster to the island whither they were bound and where they would all make their fortunes.

When dark came, we had a great rippling sea, and a high wind, which sometimes came in pushes, forcing us to hand our topsails often. It increased to a gale, and came so furious at last, that we scudded under a mainsail.

This gave the men work enough all night.

CHAPTER IX.
OUVERY DELIVERS UP THE CHART.

On the next day following, I got up betimes and went on deck.

The ship lurched and pitched so that I had much ado to keep my feet. We ran before the wind under our topsails only, driven ever onwards with the rolling long waves of the sea and the flying white scud-rack overhead. This all-moving prospect put strange thoughts and whimsies in my head, insomuch that I found I could not endure to look upon it for long together, and I presently returned into my cabin, and read in a book until breakfast-time.