honourable service might redeem one who was a pirate and a thief?”
Her glance fell away. Her voice faltered a little in replying. “If he... needs redeeming. Perhaps... perhaps he has been judged too harshly.”
The blue eyes flashed, and the firm lips relaxed their grim set.
“Why... if ye think that,” he said, considering her, an odd hunger in his glance, “life might have its uses, after all, and even the service of King James might become tolerable.”
Looking beyond her, across the water, he observed a boat putting off from one of the great ships, which, hove to now, were rocking gently some three hundred yards away. Abruptly his manner changed. He was like one recovering, taking himself in hand again. “If you will go below, and get your gear and your woman, you shall presently be sent aboard one of the ships of the fleet.” He pointed to the boat as he spoke.
She left him, and thereafter with Wolverstone, leaning upon the rail, he watched the approach of that boat, manned by a dozen sailors, and commanded by a scarlet figure seated stiffly in the stern sheets. He levelled his telescope upon that figure.
“It’ll not be Bishop himself,” said Wolverstone, between question and assertion.
“No.” Blood closed his telescope. “I don’t know who it is.”
“Ha!” Wolverstone vented an ejaculation of sneering mirth. “For all his eagerness, Bishop’d be none so willing to come, hisself. He’s been aboard this hulk afore, and we made him swim for it that time. He’ll have his memories. So he sends a deputy.”
This deputy proved to be an officer named Calverley, a vigorous, self-sufficient fellow, comparatively fresh from England, whose manner made it clear that he came fully instructed by Colonel Bishop upon the matter of how to handle the pirates.
His air, as he stepped into the waist of the Arabella, was haughty, truculent, and disdainful.
Blood, the King’s commission now in his pocket, and Lord Julian standing beside him, waited to receive him, and Captain Calverley was a little taken aback at finding himself confronted by two men so very different outwardly from anything that he had expected. But he lost none of his haughty poise, and scarcely deigned a glance at the swarm of fierce, half-naked fellows lounging in a semicircle to form a background.
“Good-day to you, sir,” Blood hailed him pleasantly. “I have the honour to give you welcome aboard the Arabella. My name is Blood—Captain Blood, at your service. You may have heard of me.”
Captain Calverley stared hard. The airy manner of this redoubtable buccaneer was hardly what he had looked for in a desperate fellow, compelled to ignominious surrender. A thin, sour smile broke on the officer’s haughty lips.
“You’ll ruffle it to the gallows, no doubt,” he said contemptuously. “I suppose that is after the fashion of your kind. Meanwhile it’s your surrender I require, my man, not your impudence.”
Captain Blood appeared surprised, pained. He turned in appeal to Lord Julian.
“D’ye hear that now? And did ye ever hear the like? But what did I tell ye? Ye see, the young gentleman’s under a misapprehension entirely. Perhaps it’ll save broken bones if your lordship explains just who and what I am.”
Lord Julian advanced a step and bowed perfunctorily and rather disdainfully to that very disdainful but now dumbfounded officer. Pitt, who watched the scene from the quarter-deck rail, tells us that his lordship was as grave as a parson at a hanging. But I suspect this gravity for a mask under which Lord Julian was secretly amused.
“I have the honour to inform you, sir,” he said stiffly, “that Captain Blood holds a commission in the King’s service under the seal of my Lord Sunderland, His Majesty’s Secretary of State.”
Captain Calverley’s face empurpled; his eyes bulged. The buccaneers in the background chuckled and crowed and swore among themselves in their relish of this comedy. For a long moment Calverley stared in silence at his lordship, observing the costly elegance of his dress, his air of calm assurance, and his cold, fastidious speech, all of which savoured distinctly of the great world to which he belonged.
“And who the devil may you be?” he exploded at last.
Colder still and more distant than ever grew his lordship’s voice.
“You’re not very civil, sir, as I have already noticed. My name is Wade—Lord Julian Wade. I am His Majesty’s envoy to these barbarous parts, and my Lord Sunderland’s near kinsman. Colonel Bishop has been notified of my coming.”
The sudden change in Calverley’s manner at Lord Julian’s mention of his name showed that the notification had been received, and that he had knowledge of it.
“I... I believe that he has,” said Calverley, between doubt and suspicion. “That is: that he has been notified of the coming of Lord Julian Wade. But... but... aboard this ship...?” The officer made a gesture of helplessness, and, surrendering to his bewilderment, fell abruptly silent.
“I was coming out on the Royal Mary....”
“That is what we were advised.”
“But the Royal Mary fell a victim to a Spanish privateer, and I might never have arrived at all but for the gallantry of Captain Blood, who rescued me.”
Light broke upon the darkness of Calverley’s mind. “I see. I understand.”
“I will take leave to doubt it.” His lordship’s tone abated nothing of its asperity. “But that can wait. If Captain Blood will show you his commission, perhaps that will set all doubts at rest, and we may proceed. I shall be glad to reach Port Royal.”
Captain Blood thrust a parchment under Calverley’s bulging eyes. The officer scanned it, particularly the seals and signature. He stepped back, a baffled, impotent man. He bowed helplessly.
“I must return to Colonel Bishop for my orders,” he informed them.
At that moment a lane was opened in the ranks of the men, and through this came Miss Bishop followed by her octoroon woman. Over his shoulder Captain Blood observed her approach.
“Perhaps, since Colonel Bishop is with you, you will convey his niece to him. Miss Bishop was aboard the Royal Mary also, and I rescued her together with his lordship. She will be able to acquaint her uncle with the details of that and of the present state of affairs.”
Swept thus from surprise to surprise, Captain Calverley could do no more than bow again.
“As for me,” said Lord Julian, with intent to make Miss Bishop’s departure free from all interference on the part of the buccaneers, “I shall remain aboard the Arabella until we reach Port Royal. My compliments to Colonel Bishop. Say that I look forward to making his acquaintance there.”
CHAPTER XXII.
HOSTILITIES
In the great harbour of Port Royal, spacious enough to have given moorings to all the ships of all the navies of the world, the Arabella rode at anchor. Almost she had the air of a prisoner, for a quarter of a mile ahead, to starboard, rose the lofty, massive single round tower of the fort, whilst a couple of cables’-length astern, and to larboard, rode the six men-of-war that composed the Jamaica squadron.
Abeam with the Arabella, across the harbour, were the flat-fronted white buildings of that imposing city that came down to the very water’s edge. Behind these the red roofs rose like terraces, marking the gentle slope upon which the city was built, dominated here by a turret, there by a spire, and behind these again a range of green hills with for ultimate background a sky that was like a dome of polished steel.
On a cane day-bed that had been set for him on the quarter-deck, sheltered from the dazzling, blistering sunshine by