The buccaneer had sought the ruined temple that evening in lowness of spirit and utter despondency. The old daring spirit seemed to be departing, and supremacy over the men passing rapidly away, and he knew how they talked among themselves, consequent upon Mazzard’s teaching, of the growing weakness of their commander.

“And they’re right,” he said, bitterly. “I am losing power and strength, and growing more and more into the pitiful, weak creature they say. And yet how I have tried!”

He sprang to his feet, for at that moment there was the reflection of a flash which lit up the interior of the old temple, showing the weird figures sitting round as if watching him in his despondent mood.

It was but momentary, and then came a crash as if heaven and earth had come together, followed by a long, muttering roar as the thunder of the explosion died away.

The minute before the buccaneer had been inert, despondent and hopeless. The knowledge of what must have taken place brought back his flagging energies, and with a great dread seeming to compress his heart that evil might have befallen his prisoner, he tore out of the dark temple, and as fast as the gloom of the winding path would allow him toward the old amphitheatre.

Haste and the excitement made his breathing laboured as he strove to get on more rapidly, but only to be kept back by the maze-like paths, where he passed Humphrey and Dinny, and, gaining the open ground, dashed on to where his men were gathered.

“Bart! quick!” he cried, as soon as he was convinced that no harm could have befallen his prisoner. “Take men, and down the path to the shore. There will be an attempt to escape in the confusion, and they’ll make for the sea.”

Bart grasped the urgency of the case, called two men, and set off at a run, while Dinny was next summoned.

“Hah!” ejaculated the captain, drawing his breath between his teeth; “a traitor in the camp!”

He called for lights, and went straight to the corridor, entered and walked down it to the chamber, tenanted now by the grim idol alone, and stood for a few moments looking round.

“Well,” he muttered, “he will learn the truth of what I said. The firing of the powder must have been planned.”

He went back to where his men were waiting outside and walked through to the terrace above the old amphitheatre, to find that the magazine was completely swept away; but the darkness hid the shattered stones lying in all directions and the trees blasted and whitened and stripped of leaf and bark.

“My prisoner has escaped,” he said aloud. “I think with the man who was his attendant, the Irishman, Dennis Kelly. Capture both; but no violence to either, on your lives.”

There was a low murmur either of assent or objection, and he was turning away when Dick, the sailor, came up.

“Gone!” he said, laconically.

“Mazzard? Gone!” cried the buccaneer, excitedly.

“Yes; and the man who was on guard lying dead, crushed with a stone.”

“From the explosion?” cried the buccaneer.

“From Black Mazzard’s hands,” replied Dick, stolidly.

“Well,” said the captain, drawing in his breath hard as he thought of the possibility of the escaped prisoners coming in contact, “there will be two to capture when the day breaks. No one can get away.”

In an hour a messenger came from the sea in the shape of Bart, and he made his way to the captain’s side.

“Well?”

“You were right; they intended the sea;” and he explained about the boat.

“And yet you have come away?”

“Two men are watching,” said Bart, stolidly.

“Bah! you must be mad.”

“And two planks are rifted out of the boat. It will take a carpenter to make her float.”

“Bart, forgive me.”

“Forgive you! Ah, yes! I forgive.”

“I have need of all your aid. Captain Armstrong has escaped.”

“Not far.”

“No; but there is worse news. Mazzard has brained his keeper, and is at liberty.”

“Hah!” ejaculated Bart.

“And those two may meet.”

“Always of him,” muttered Bart, sadly. “Well, skipper, what is it to be now, when he is captured?”

“Death.”

“To Captain Armstrong?”

“Man, are you mad? Let Mazzard be taken, and that Irishman, too.”

“And – ”

“Silence, man! Let them be taken. I rule here.”

Bart drew a long breath.

“Nothing can be done till daylight, except wait.”

Chapter Thirty Four
The Safest Place

“No, no, man; make for the forest,” whispered Humphrey, just at daybreak, as Dinny began to take advantage of the coming light to seek a safe place of concealment.

“What for, sor? To get buried in threes that don’t so much as grow a cabbage, where there’s no wather and no company but monkeys and the shpotted tigers. Lave it to me, sor, and I’ll tak’ ye to a place where ye can lay shnug in hiding, and where maybe I can get spache of the darling as the bastes freckened away.”

“Where shall you go, then? Why not to that old temple where Mazzard made his attempt to kill the captain?”

“There, sor! Why, the captain would find us directly. You lave it to me.”

Humphrey would have taken to the forest without hesitation, but, worn-out and suffering keenly from disappointment, he was in no humour to oppose, and, signifying his willingness, he followed the Irishman by devious ways in and out of the ruins for some time, till Dinny crouched down, and motioned to Humphrey to do the same.

The place was such a chaos, and so changed by the terrific force of the explosion that Humphrey had felt as if he were journeying along quite a new portion of the forest outskirts, till, as he obeyed his companion and they crouched down among some dense herbage, he stared with astonishment at the sight before him, a couple of hundred yards away.

For there, beyond one of the piles of crumbling ruins, was a perfectly familiar pathway, out of which he saw step into the broad sunshine the picturesque figure of the buccaneer captain, who strode toward a group of waiting men.

A discussion seemed to take place, there were some sharp orders, and then the whole party disappeared.

“Why, Dinny, man, are you mad?” whispered Humphrey. “I trusted to you to take me to some place of hiding, and you’ve brought me right into the lion’s den.”

“Well, sor, and a moighty purty place too, so long as the lion’s not at home. Sure and ye just saw him go out.”

“But, Dinny – ”

“Whisht! Don’t spake so loud, sor. Sure, now, if a cannon-ball made a hole in the side of a ship, isn’t that the safest place to put your head so as not to be hurt. They niver hit the same place twice.”

“Then your hiding-place is my old lodging – my prison?”

“Av coorse it is! The skipper has been there to mak’ sure that ye really are gone; and now he knows, he’ll say to himself that this is the last place ye’d go and hide in; and troth, he’s quite roight, isn’t he?”

Humphrey hesitated for a few moments, and then, feeling how true the man’s words were, he gave way.

“Sure, sor, and it’s all roight,” whispered Dinny. “Aren’t I thrying to keep my head out of a noose, and d’ye think I’d be for coming here if it wasn’t the safest place. Come along; sure, it is a lion’s den, as ye call it, and the best spot I know.”

He whispered to Humphrey to follow cautiously, and crept on all-fours among the dense growth, and in and out among the loose stones at the very edge of the forest, till the tunnel-like pathway was reached in safety, when, after crawling a few yards out of the blinding sunshine into the shadowy gloom, Dinny rose to his feet.

“There, sor,” he said, “we can walk like Christians, now, and not like animal bastes. There isn’t a sound.”

As he spoke, there was a peculiar cry, and a gorgeously-plumaged bird flitted into sight, and perched on a piece of stone in the sunny opening of the tunnel, where its scarlet breast and dazzling golden-green plumage glittered in the sun.

“Sure and ye’re a purty fowl, and I’m much obliged to ye for the information,” said Dinny, as the bird erected its brilliant crest, stared wildly, and then flew off with its long green tail-feathers streaming out behind. “He says there’s nobody about, sor, or he wouldn’t be here. Come along.”

It seemed like a dream to Humphrey after his sleepless night, to find himself once more in the gloomy corridor with the faint light streaming in at the side-openings, instead of in a boat, dancing over the blue waters and leaving the buccaneer’s nest behind. But it was the bare reality, as Dinny went forward, drew the great curtain aside, and he passed in and on from behind the great idol to throw himself, worn-out and exhausted, upon his couch of skins.

“Sure and I wouldn’t trate it like that, sor,” cried Dinny, cheerfully. “We have eshcaped, sor, though we haven’t got away, and been obliged to come back again.”

“Don’t talk folly, man.”

“An’ is it folly ye call it! Sure an’ we have eshcaped, or else why are they all in purshuit of us? We’ve got away, and they fale it, and all that’s happened is that we did rache the boat, but had to come back here for a rest till we were riddy to go on. Sure, sor, ye’re hungry. Ate some of the tortillas and drink some of the wine, and thin, if ye won’t think it presumption, I’ll say – afther you.”

“Eat and drink, man. You must be faint. I have no appetite.”

“Ah!” ejaculated Dinny, after a pause of about a quarter of an hour, which he had bravely employed, “there’s nothing like food and dhrink, if it’s only potaties and butthermilk. Sure I’m ready for annything now, and so will ye be, sor, as soon as the wine begins to work.”

“Dinny, I’m ready for anything, now; but we cannot stay here.”

“Git up, sor, if ye wouldn’t moind,” said Dinny.

Humphrey obeyed dejectedly as the man advanced.

“Sure, sor, and it’s a wondherful owld place this, and there must have been some strange games carried on. Now, sor, in all the months ye’ve been here, did ye iver look under the bed?”

“Under the bed, man?” cried Humphrey. “Why, it is a huge block of stone.”

“Is it, now, sor? Sure and didn’t I help fit up the place for ye when ye first came, an’ by the captain’s orders? Sure and I know all about it. ‘Dinny, me boy,’ me mother used to say to me, ‘ye haven’t got a watch and ye’ve got no money, but ye may have both some day, so beware of thayves and robbers; and whiniver ye go to slape in a sthrange place, be sure ye look under the bed.’ An’ yer mother niver gave you that advice, sor?”

He walked to the couch and threw up the skins which covered it, revealing what seemed to be a low, square bench of stone, whose top was one enormous slab.

“Now, sor,” said Dinny, “would ye moind thrying to lift that?”

Humphrey stepped quickly to his side, bent down, seized the projecting slab, tried to raise it, and then straightened himself and shook his head.

“A dozen men could not raise it, Dinny,” he said.

“No, sor, but a Kelly can. Look here.”

He bent down, placed his shoulder to one corner, gave a thrust, and the whole top glided round as if on a pivot, and revealed an opening dimly lit apparently from below.

“There, sor,” he said, “I dishcovered that by accident when I was here alone wan day. I pushed a big stone against that corner and it gave way, and when I pushed the whole place opened, and down there’s as good a hiding-place as a man need have.”

“Dinny,” cried Humphrey, excitedly, “and doesn’t the captain know of this?”

“Sure and I think the last man who knew of it died before the flood, sor, and it hasn’t been opened since.”

“And these rough stairs – where do they lead?”

“Down into the cabin, sor, where there’s a little door out into the forest. Sure and the artful baste who made it little thought he was going to find us as purty a hiding-place as was ever made. There it is, sor, all ready for us if we hear annyone coming. If we do, down we go and twirl the lid of the pot back over our heads, and then we can either go or shtay.”

“Can you move the cover when you are down?”

“Aisily, sor. I’ve thried it. Now, then, what do ye say to that?”

Humphrey’s answer was to hold out his hand and wring that of his companion.

There was an ample supply of food in the place for a week, and water and wine. Dinny’s ideas respecting their safety seemed to be quite correct, for though voices were heard at a distance, no one approached the place. They had the hidden subterranean tomb-like chamber into which they could retreat; and on the second night, while Dinny was watching and Humphrey, utterly worn-out, was sleeping feverishly and trying to forget the troubles and disappointments of his failure, there was a faint rustling noise heard, and directly after his name was whispered softly from above.

“Murther!” cried Dinny, unable to contain himself as he sprang up.

His exclamation and the noise he made brought Humphrey from his couch, alert, and ready for any struggle.

“What is it?” he said.

“Sure, sor, something freckened me. A mouse, I think.”

“Dinny!” came in a reproachful voice from above.

“Mistress Greenheys!” cried Humphrey. “You there?”

“Yes. I cam’ to try and learn tidings of you. I did not know you were both prisoners.”

“Sure an’ we’re not, darlin’,” said Dinny. “We only tuk refuge here, so as to be near you. An’ where have you been?”

“I crept back to my place,” said the woman, “and reached it without having been missed.”

“Then ye’re quite free to come and go?”

“Yes – quite.”

“Erin-go-bragh!” cried Dinny, excitedly. “Then what ye’ve got to do, darling, is to go back and come again as soon as ye can wid something to ate, for we shall soon be starved.”

“Yes, Dinny; I’ll come again to-night.”

“There’s a darlin’ for ye, sor. But tell us. What are they doing?”

“Searching for you far and wide; and the captain is furious. He says he will have you found.”

“And ye’ve been quite well, darlin’?”

“Yes, Dinny. No, Dinny. I’ve been fretting to death to know what had become of you.”

“Sure and I’ve been quite right, only I wanted to know about you. Nobody’s middled wid ye, then?”

“No, Dinny – not yet.”

“Arrah, shpake out now, and say what ye mane wid your ‘not yet,’” cried Dinny, angrily.

“Black Mazzard.”

“Well, he’s shut up.”

“He escaped the same time that you did.”

“Eshcaped! Holy Moses!”

“That wretch free!” cried Humphrey.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is he?”

“No one knows, sir; but they have parties out searching for him and for you.”

“Oh! murther! murther!” groaned Dinny. “My heart’s bruk entirely. What’ll I do at all? Shtop, darlin’; ye must come here.”

“Stop here, Dinny! Oh, no, I couldn’t!” said the woman, piteously.

“Sure no, and ye couldn’t,” said Dinny. “It wouldn’t be dacent, darlin’, for ye’ve got a characther to lose. Captain, dear, what’ll I do?”

“We must wait, Dinny, and try to-night if we cannot find a boat.”

“And lave that poor darlin’ to be freckened to death by that great black baste? Oh, captain, dear, I’ll have to go wid her and purtect her; and if I’m hung for it, why, I can’t help it. I should have behaved like a man.”

“Wait, Dinny,” said the woman, cheerily. “You keep in hiding for a day or two, dear. If Black Mazzard does come and try to get me away, I can but die.”

“Sure, an’ what good’ll that do me?” cried Dinny. “D’ye want to make me a widow, too!”

“Hush! You’re talking too loudly,” whispered the woman. “Good-bye! Next time I come I’ll bring food. Perhaps good news.”

“No, no; don’t go yet, darlin’,” cried Dinny. “She’s gone. Oh, murther, sor! What’ll I do! Can’t ye put me out of me misery at wanst?”

Dinny calmed down at last, and Humphrey resumed his place upon the couch, which was arranged so that at any moment they might secure their retreat. But the night had not passed before the faithful little woman was back again with such provisions as she could bring and lower down to them, for she would not hear of Dinny coming out, threatening to keep away if he ran any risk.

This went on for two nights, during which time they had no alarm. Not a soul beside approached the place; and the same report was brought them that their hiding-place baffled all, but the captain was fiercely determined that the prisoners should be found.

“Then why not try to escape inland, Dinny!” said Humphrey, at last. “Surely, it cannot be impossible.”

“Haven’t we all thried it again and again wid the captain, sor!” said Dinny, in remonstrance. “He sot us all to work, so as to make sure that we couldn’t be attacked from the land; and ye can’t get in a mile annywhere, for thick forest worked together like a powerful big hurdle that’s all solid, and beyant that’s mountains – and burning mountains – and the divil knows what! Sure, and ye can’t get that way at all widout an army of wood-cutters, and a life a hundred years long!”

A week went by, food was wanting, the prisoners were in despair, and they had both crept out again and again to the end of the corridor and listened to try and make out something; but all outside was solemnly still, and the place might have been once more the abode of death, had not a couple of sentries always been visible keeping watch, so that it was impossible to stir.

“I can’t shtand this anny longer, sor,” said Dinny one evening. “I’m going to see if I can’t find her, sor. I must have news of the darlin’, or I shall die!”

“It’s madness, Dinny!” said Humphrey, excitedly.

“Sure, and I know it is, sor. I am mad.”

“But you will injure her and yourself too.”

“I can’t help it, sor. I’ve a faling upon me that Black Mazzard has got her again, and I’m going to fetch her away.”

“You are going to your death; and it will be through me, man!”

“Make your moind aisy, sor, about that. It would be all the same if ye were not here. Sure, and I’d be a poor sort of a boy if I towld a woman I loved her, and thin, when the darlin’ was in difficulties, jist sat down quietly here, and left her in the lurch.”

“She would not have you stir, Dinny, if she knew.”

“What of that, sor! Let ’em hang me if they catch me; and if they do, sor, Oi’ll doie like a Kelly. And not a word will I shpake of where ye are; and I wish ye safe away to your swateheart – for ye’ve got wan, I’m thinking, or ye wouldn’t be so aiger to get away.”

“Well, promise me this, Dinny – you’ll wait a few hours and see if we have news.”

“Faix, and for your sake, sor, I’ll do that same,” said Dinny.

He went to the window-opening and leaned there, listening; while Humphrey seated himself upon the edge of the couch to watch the opening above his head, in the expectancy that Mistress Greenheys might arrive and put an end to the terrible suspense as to her silence.

The still, sultry heat was terrible, not a leaf moved outside, and the darkness came on more obscure than usual; for as Humphrey looked out of the window from time to time, to gaze along the forest arcade, there was not a firefly visible, and the heavy, oppressive state of the air seamed to announce a coming storm.

Dinny’s figure had long been invisible, but he made his presence known by crooning over snatches of the most depressing minor-keyed Irish melody he could recall; but after a time that ceased, and the silence grew heavy as the heat.

“How long have I been asleep?” he muttered, starting up and listening. “Dinny!”

No answer.

“Dinny! Hist! Are you asleep?”

He dare call no louder, but rose from the couch.

“Dennis Kelly, the traitor, has gone, Humphrey Armstrong!” cried a hoarse voice, and he felt himself driven back into the great tomb-like place.

“Commodore Junk!” cried Humphrey in his surprise.

“Yes, Commodore Junk. Hah! I have you. My prisoner once again.”

“Your prisoner! No, not if I die for it!” cried Humphrey, passionately; and he struggled to free himself from the tightening grasp.

“I tell you it is madness. You have proved it yourself, and, weary with your folly, you have returned.”

“Returned!” cried Humphrey, fiercely; “yes, but only to be free.”

The captain tried to utter some angry appeal, but a fierce struggle had commenced, and the great stony place seemed to be full of whispers, of hoarse sighs, the catching of breath, harsh expirations as the contending pair swayed here and there – the captain, lithe and active as a panther, baffling again and again Humphrey’s superior weight and strength. Twice over the latter tripped and nearly fell, but he recovered himself and struggled on, seeking to wind his arms round the buccaneer and lift and throw him with a west country wrestling trick. But try how he would, his adversary seemed to twist like an eel and recover himself, till suddenly, as they swayed here and there, with the thick rugs kicked on one side, there was a low, jangling noise as a sword escaped from its scabbard and fell upon the stony floor.

It was a trifling incident, but it attracted the buccaneer’s attention for a moment – just long enough to put him off his guard – the result being that he was thrown heavily, Humphrey planting his knee upon his breast, and as he thrust out a hand it encountered the fallen sword, which he snatched up with a shout of triumph, shortened in his hand, and held to the buccaneer’s throat.

“Now,” he cried, fiercely, “I have the upper-hand, my lad. You are my prisoner. Make but one sound, and it is your last.”

The buccaneer uttered a low moan, and snatched at the blade, but the intervening hand was thrust away, and the point pressed upon the heaving flesh.

“Do you give in?”

“No!” cried the buccaneer, fiercely. “Strike, Humphrey Armstrong; strike, and end my miserable life! Then go and say, I have slain the woman who loved me with all her heart!”

“What!” cried Humphrey, starting back, as the sword fell from his nerveless hand, and a flash, as of a revelation, enlightened him as to the meaning of much that had before seemed strange.

“Well, why do you not strike? Did I not speak plainly? I am Mary Dell!”