The time glided on, and Humphrey always knew when his captor was at sea, for the severity of his imprisonment was then most felt. The lieutenant, Mazzard, was always left in charge of the place, but Bart remained behind by the captain’s orders, and at these times Humphrey was sternly ordered to keep to his prison.

Dinny came and went, but, try him how he would, Humphrey could get nothing from him for days and days.

The tide turned at last.

“Well, sor,” said Dinny one morning, “I’ve been thinking it over a great dale. I don’t like desarting the captain, who has been like a brother to me; but there’s Misthress Greenheys, and love’s a wonderful excuse for a manny things.”

“Yes,” said Humphrey, eagerly, “go on.”

“Sure, sor, she’s compelled to be married like to a man she hates, and it hurts her falings as much as it does mine, and she wants me to get her away and make a rale marriage of it, such as a respectable woman likes; for ye see, all against her will, she’s obliged to be Misthress Mazzard now, and there hasn’t been any praste.”

“I understand,” said Humphrey. “The scoundrel!”

“Well, yes, sir, that’s what he is; but by the same token I don’t wonder at it, for if a man stood bechuckst good and avil and Misthress Greenheys was on the avil side, faix, he’d be sure to go toward the avil – at laste, he would if he was an Oirishman.”

“Then you will!”

“Yis, sor, for the lady’s sake; but I shall have to give up my share of the good things here, and behave very badly to the captain.”

“My good fellow, I will provide you for life.”

“That’s moighty kind of you, sor, and I thank ye. Yis, I’ll do it, for, ye see, though I don’t want to behave badly to the captain, Black Mazzard’s too much for me; and besides, I kape thinking that if, some day or another, I do mate wid an accident and get dancing on the toight-rope, I sha’n’t have a chance of wedding the widdy Greenheys, and that would be a terrible disappointment to the poor darlin’.”

“Yes, yes,” cried Humphrey, impatiently. “Then tell me. You will help me by getting a boat ready, and we can all go down together and put to sea!”

“Hark at him!” said Dinny, with a laugh, after going to the great curtain and peering into the corridor. “Ye spake, sor, like a gintleman coming out of his house and calling for a kyar. Lave that all to me.”

“I will, Dinny; but what do you propose doing, and when!”

“What do I propose doing, sor? Oh! it’s all settled. The darlin’ put an idee in my head, and it’s tuk root like a seed.”

“Trust a woman for ingenuity!” cried Humphrey, speaking with the authority of one who knew, though as to women’s ways he was a child.

“Ah, an’ she’s a cliver one, sor!”

“Well, what is it, Dinny?” cried Humphrey, excitedly.

“Be aisy, sor, and lave it to us. The darlin’ has set her moind on getting away from Black Mazzard, and she’s too gintle a crature to go to extremities and tuk his head off some night like the lady did in the tint, or to handle a hammer and a nail and fix his head to the ground. She don’t like to be too hard upon him, sor, so she proposed a plan to me, and it will be all right.”

“But, Dinny – ”

“Be aisy, sor, or ye’ll spoil all. Jist wait quite riddy, like, till some avening I shall come to ye all in a hurry, hold up me little finger to ye, which will mane come, and ye’ll foind it all cut and dhried for ye.”

“But, my good fellow – ”

“Faix, sor, don’t go on like that before I’ve done. I want to say that ye must be at home here riddy. If the skipper asks ye to dinner, don’t go; and if ye hear a big, powerful noise, don’t git running out to see what it is, but go on aisy like, saying to yerself, ‘Dinny’s getting riddy for me, and he may come at anny time.’”

“And are you going to keep me in the dark?”

“An’ he calls it kaping him in the dark! Ah, well, sor, I won’t do that! I’ll jist tell ye, thin. Ye know the owld chapel place?”

“Chapel!”

“Well, church, thin, sor. That’s what they say it was. The little wan wid the stone picture of the owld gintleman sitting over the door.”

“That square temple?”

“Yis, sor. It’s all the same. The haythens who lived out here didn’t know any betther, and the prastes were a bad lot, so they used to worship the owld gintleman, and give him a prisoner ivery now and then cut up aloive.”

“Nonsense! How do you know that?”

“Faix, it’s written on the stones so; and we found them althers wid places for the blood to run, and knives made out of flint-glass. It’s thrue enough.”

“But what about the temple?”

“Sure, it is the divil’s temple, sor,” said Dinny, with a twinkle of the eye; “and the skipper said it was just the place for it, so he fills it full of our divil’s dust.”

“Money?”

“An’ is it money? That’s all safe in another place, wid silver and gowld bars from the mines, as we tuk in ships, and gowld cups, sor. That’s put away safe, for it’s no use here, where there isn’t a whisky-shop to go and spend it. No, sor; divil’s dust, the black gunpowther.”

“Oh, the magazine! Well, what of that?”

“Sure, sor, the darlin’ put her pretty little lips close to my ear. ‘Och, darlin’, and loight of my ois,’ I says. ‘Sure, it’s so dark in the wood here that ye’ve made a mistake. That’s me ear, darlin’, and not me mouth. Let me show ye’ – ”

“‘No, Dinny,’ she says, ‘I’m like being another man’s wife now, and I can foind me way to yer lips whether it’s dark or light when it’s proper and dacent to do so, and we’ve been to church.’”

“Dinny, you’ll drive me mad!” cried Humphrey, impatiently.

“An’ is it dhrive ye mad, when I’m thrying to set ye right? Then I’d better not tell ye, sor.”

“Yes, yes! For goodness’ sake, man, go on.”

“Ah, well, thin, an’ I will! She jist puts her lips to my ear and she says, ‘Dinny, if ye lay a thrain from the powdher-magazine’ – think of that now, the darlin’! – ‘lay a thrain,’ she says, Dinny, ‘and put a slow-match, same as ye have riddy for firing the big guns, and then be sure,’ she says, ‘and get out of the way’ – as if I’d want to shtay, sor, and be sent to hiven in a hurry – ‘thin,’ she says, ‘the whole place will be blown up, and iverybody will be running to see what’s the matther and put out the fire, and they’ll be so busy wid that, they’ll forget all about the prishner, and we can go down to the say and get away.’”

“Yes,” said Humphrey, thoughtfully. “Is there much powder stored there!”

“Yis, sor, a dale. Ivery time a ship’s been tuk all the powdher has been brought ashore and put there. It’s a foin plan, sor, and all made out of the darlin’s own head.”

“Yes, Dinny, we ought to get away then.”

“Sure, an’ we will, sor. I’ll have a boat wid plenty of wather and sun-dhried mate in her, and some fruit and fishing-lines. We shall do; but the plan isn’t perfect yet.”

“Why?”

“Sure, an’ there’s no arrangement for getting Black Mazzard to come that time to count over the powdher-barrels.”

“What! and blow the scoundrel up!”

“Sure, sor, and it would be a kindness to him. He’s the wickedest divil that ever breathed, and he gets worse ivery day, so wouldn’t it be a kindness to try and send him to heaven before he gets too bad to go! But whist! I’ve stopped too long, sor. Ye understand?”

“Dinny, get me away from here, and you’re a made man!”

“Faix, I dunno, sor. Mebbe there’ll be one lot’ll want to shoot me for a desarter – though I desarted by force – and another lot’ll want to hang me for a pirate. I don’t fale at all safe; but I know I shall be tuk and done for some day if I shtop, and as the darlin’ says she’ll niver make a mistake the right way wid her lips till I’ve taken her from Black Mazzard, why, I’ll do the thrick.”

More days passed, and every stroll outside his prison had to be taken by Humphrey with Bart as close to him as his shadow.

Dinny kept away again, and the plan to escape might as well have never been uttered.

Bart always went well-armed with his prisoner, and seemed unusually suspicious, as if fearing an attempt at escape.

Dinny’s little widow came no more, and the hours grew so irksome with the confinement consequent upon the captains absence that Humphrey longed for his return.

He debated again and again all he had heard, and came to the conclusion that if he said anything it must be to the captain himself.

One morning Bart’s manner showed that something had occurred. His sour face wore a smile, and he was evidently greatly relieved of his responsibility as he said to the prisoner:

“There, you can go out.”

“Has the captain returned?”

Bart delivered himself of a short nod.

“Tell him I wish to see him. Bid him come here.”

“What! the skipper? You mean, ask him if I may take you to him, and he’ll see you.”

“I said, Tell your skipper to come here!” said Humphrey, drawing himself up and speaking as if he were on the quarterdeck. “Tell him I wish to see him at once.”

Bart drew a long breath, and wrinkled up his forehead so that it seemed as if he had an enormous weight upon his head. Then, smiling grimly, he slowly left the place.

The buccaneer, who looked anxious and dispirited, was listening to some complaint made by his lieutenant, and angry words were passing which made Bart as he heard them hasten his steps, and look sharply from one to the other as he entered.

Black Mazzard did what was a work of supererogation as he encountered Bart’s eye – he scowled, his face being villainous enough without.

“Well,” he said aloud, “I’ve warned you!” and he strode out of the old temple-chamber which formed the captain’s quarters, his heavy boots thrust down about his ankles sounding dull on the thick rugs spread over the worn stones, and then clattering loudly as he stepped outside.

“You two been quarrelling?” said Bart, sharply.

“The dog’s insolence is worse than ever!” cried the captain with flashing eyes. “Bart, I don’t want to shed the blood of the man who has been my officer, but – ”

“Let someone else bleed him,” growled Bart. “Dick would; Dinny would give anything to do it. We’re ’bout tired of him. I should like the job myself.”

“Silence!” said the captain, sternly. “No, speak: tell me, what has been going on since I’ve been away?”

“Black Mazzard?”

The captain nodded.

“Half the time – well, no: say three-quarters – he’s been drunk, t’other quarter he’s spent in the south ruins preaching to the men.”

“Preaching?”

“Yes, with you for text. Just in his old way; but I’ve been too busy with the prisoner.”

“Yes, and he?”

“It’s him who is master here. Here, get up!” The buccaneer started, threw back his head, and the dark eyes flashed as he exclaimed —

“What’s this, sir? Have you been taking a lesson from Mazzard?”

“I? No; I’m only giving you your orders!”

“What orders?”

“Master Captain Humphrey Armstrong’s. You’re to get up and go to him directly. He wants you!”

The buccaneer sprang to his feet.

“He wants me – he has sent for me?” he cried, eagerly.

“Ay! You’re to go to him. He’s master here!”

A dull lurid flush came over the captain’s swarthy face as his eyes encountered those of his henchman, and he frowned heavily.

“Of course you’ll go!” said Bart, bitterly. “I should give up everything to him now, and let him do as he likes!”

“Bart!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Orders you to come to him!”

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

“You’ll go?”

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

“An offer?”

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

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

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

“You – like him?”

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

“Friend?”

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

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

“No, Bart, I am as sane as you.”

“But you said – ”

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

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

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

“And you are going there – to him!”

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

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

Chapter Twenty Eight
Another Duel

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

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

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

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

“Asleep?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The buccaneer shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you here? Go!”

“But – ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You – to warn me?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes – you,” cried Humphrey.

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

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