The Trail of the Sword, Complete - Gilbert Parker
The governor shrugged his shoulders. "Babble," he said, "all babble and
bubble. But go on."
"Babble, your honour! Every word of it is worth a pint of guineas; and
this is the pith of it. Far down West Indies way, some twenty-five,
maybe, or thirty years ago, there was a plate ship wrecked upon a reef. I
got it from a Spaniard, who had been sworn upon oath to keep it secret by
priests who knew. The priests were killed and after a time the Spaniard
died also, but not until he had given me the ways whereby I should get at
what makes a man's heart rap in his weasand."
"Let me see your chart," said the governor.
A half-hour later he rose, went to the door, and sent a soldier for the
two king's officers. As he did so, Bucklaw eyed the room doors, windows,
fireplaces, with a grim, stealthy smile trailing across his face. Then
suddenly the good creature was his old good self again--the comfortable
shrewdness, the buoyant devil-may-care, the hook stroking the chin
pensively. And the king's officers came in, and soon all four were busy
with the map.
CHAPTER IV
THE UPLIFTING OF THE SWORDS
Iberville and Gering sat on with the tobacco and the wine. The older men
had joined the ladies, the governor having politely asked them to do so
when they chose. The other occupant of the room was Morris, who still
stood stolidly behind his master's chair.
For a time he heard the talk of the two young men as in a kind of dream.
Their words were not loud, their manner was amicable enough, if the
sharing of a bottle were anything to the point. But they were sitting
almost the full length of the table from him, and to quarrel courteously
and with an air hath ever been a quality in men of gentle blood.
If Morris's eyesight had been better, he would have seen that Gering
handled his wine nervously, and had put down his long Dutch pipe. He
would also have seen that Iberville was smoking with deliberation, and
drinking with a kind of mannered coolness. Gering's face was flushed, his
fine nostrils were swelling viciously, his teeth showed white against his
red lips, and his eyes glinted. There was a kind of devilry at
Iberville's large and sensuous mouth, but his eyes were steady and
provoking, and while Gering's words went forth pantingly, Iberville's
were slow and concise, and chosen with the certainty of a lapidary.
It is hard to tell which had started the quarrel, but an edge was on
their talk from the beginning. Gering had been moved by a boyish
jealousy; Iberville, who saw the injustice of his foolish temper, had
played his new-found enemy with a malicious adroitness. The aboriginal
passions were strong in him. He had come of a people which had to do with
essentials in the matter of emotions. To love, to hate, to fight, to
explore, to hunt, to be loyal, to avenge, to bow to Mother Church, to
honour the king, to beget children, to taste outlawry under a more
refined name, and to die without whining: that was its range of duty, and
a very sufficient range it was.
The talk had been running on Bucklaw. It had then shifted to Radisson.
Gering had crowded home with flagrant emphasis the fact that, while
Radisson was a traitor and a scoundrel,--which Iberville himself had
admitted with an ironical frankness,--he was also a Frenchman. It was at
this point that Iberville remembered, also with something of irony, the
words that Jessica had used that afternoon when she came out of the
sunshine into the ante-room of the governor's chamber. She had waved her
hand into the distance and had said: "Foolish boy!" He knew very well
that that part of the game was turned against him, but with a kind of
cheerful recklessness, as was ever his way with odds against him, and he
guessed that the odds were with Gering in the matter of Jessica,--he bent
across the table and repeated them with an exasperating turn to his
imperfect accent. "Foolish boy!" he said, and awaited, not for long, the
event.
"A fool's lie," retorted Gering, in a low, angry voice, and spilled his
wine.
At that Iberville's heart thumped in his throat with anger, and the roof
of his mouth became dry; never in his life had he been called a liar. The
first time that insult strikes a youth of spirit he goes a little mad.
But he was very quiet--an ominous sort of quietness, even in a boy. He
got to his feet and leaned over the table, speaking in words that dropped
on the silence like metal: "Monsieur, there is but one answer."
At this point Morris, roused from his elaborate musings, caught, not very
clearly, at the meaning of it all. But he had not time to see more, for
just then he was called by the governor, and passed into the room where
Mammon, for the moment, perched like a leering, little dwarf upon the
shoulders of adventurous gentlemen grown avaricious on a sudden.
"Monsieur, there is but one way. Well?" repeated Iberville.
"I am ready," replied Gering, also getting to his feet. The Frenchman was
at once alive to certain difficulties. He knew that an envoy should not
fight, and that he could ask no one to stand his second; also that it
would not be possible to arrange a formal duel between opposites so young
as Gering and himself. He sketched this briefly, and the Bostonian nodded
moody assent. "Come, then," said Iberville, "let us find a place. My
sword is at my hand. Yours?"
"Mine is not far off," answered Gering sullenly. Iberville forbore to
point a moral, but walked to the mantel, above which hung two swords of
finest steel, with richly-chased handles. He had noted them as soon as he
had entered the room. "By the governor's leave," he said, and took them
down. "Since we are to ruffle him let him furnish the spurs--eh? Shall we
use these, and so be even as to weapons? But see," he added, with a burst
of frankness, "I am in a--a trouble." It was not easy on the instant to
find the English word. He explained the duties of his mission. It was
singular to ask his enemy that he should see his papers handed to Count
Frontenac if he were killed, but it was characteristic of him.
"I will see the papers delivered," said Gering, with equal frankness.
"That is, if by some miraculous chance I should be killed," added
Iberville. "But I have other ends in view."
"I have only one end in view," retorted Gering. "But wait," he said, as
they neared the door leading into the main hall; "we may be seen. There
is another way into the grounds through a little hall here." He turned
and opened a door almost as small as a panel. "I was shown this secret
door the other day, and since ours is a secret mission let us use it."
"Very well. But a minute more," said Iberville. He went and unhooked a
fine brass lantern, of old Dutch workmanship, swung from the ceiling by a
chain. "We shall need a light," he remarked.
They passed into the musty little hallway, and Gering with some
difficulty drew back the bolts. The door creaked open and they stepped
out into the garden, Iberville leading the way. He had not conned his
surroundings that afternoon for nothing, and when they had reached a
quiet place among some firs he hung the lantern to the branch of a tree,
opening the little ornamental door so that the light streamed out. There
was not much of it, but it would serve, and without a word, like two old
warriors, they took off their coats.
Meanwhile Morris had returned to the dining-room to find Jessica standing
agaze there. She had just come in; for, chancing to be in her
bed-chamber, which was just over the secret hallway, she had heard Gering
shoot the bolts. Now, the chamber was in a corner, so that the window
faced another way, but the incident seemed strange to her, and she stood
for a moment listening. Then hearing the door shut, she ran down the
stairs, knocked at the dining-room door and, getting no answer, entered,
meeting Morris as he came from the governor's room.
"Morris, Morris," she said, "where are they all?"
"The governor is in his room, mistress."
"Who are with him?" He told her.
"Where are the others?" she urged. "Mr. Gering and Monsieur
Iberville--where are they?"
The man's eyes had flashed to the place where the swords were used to
hang. "Lord God!" he said under his breath.
Her eyes had followed his. She ran forward to the wall and threw up her
hands against it. "Oh Morris," she said distractedly, "they have taken
the swords!" Then she went past him swiftly through the panel and the
outer door. She glanced around quickly, running, as she did so, with a
kind of blind instinct towards the clump of firs. Presently she saw a
little stream of light in the trees. Always a creature of abundant energy
and sprightliness, she swept through the night, from the comedy behind to
the tragedy in front; the grey starlight falling about her white dress
and making her hair seem like a cloud behind her as she ran. Suddenly she
came in on the two sworders with a scared, transfigured face.
Iberville had his man at an advantage, and was making the most of it when
she came in at an angle behind the other, and the sight of her stayed his
arm. It was but for a breath, but it served. Gering had not seen, and his
sword ran up Iberville's arm, making a little trench in the flesh.
She ran in on them from the gloom, saying in a sharp, aching voice:
"Stop, stop! Oh, what madness!" The points dropped and they stepped back.
She stood between them, looking from one to the other. At that moment
Morris burst in also. "In God's name," he said, "is this your honouring
of the king's governor! Ye that have eat and drunk at his table the
night! Have ye nae sense o' your manhood, young gentlemen, that for a mad
gossip ower the wine ye wend into the dark to cut each other's throats?
Think--think shame, baith o' ye, being as ye are of them that should know
better."
Gering moodily put on his coat and held his peace. Iberville tossed his
sword aside, and presently wrung the blood from his white sleeve. The
girl saw him, and knew that he was wounded. She snatched a scarf from her
waist and ran towards him. "You are wounded," she said. "Oh, take this!"
"I am so much sorry, indeed," he answered coolly, winding the scarf about
his arm. "Mistress Leveret came too soon."
His face wore a peculiar smile, but his eyes burned with anger; his voice
was not excited. Immediately, however, as he looked at Jessica, his mood
seemed to change.
"Morris," he said, "I am sorry. Mademoiselle," he added, "pardon! I
regret whatever gives you pain." Gering came near to her, and Iberville
could see that a flush stole over Jessica's face as he took her hand and
said: "I am sorry--that you should have known."
"Good!" said Iberville, under his breath. "Good! he is worth fighting
again."
A moment afterwards Morris explained to them that if the matter could be
hushed he would not impart it to the governor--at least, not until
Iberville had gone. Then they all started back towards the house. It did
not seem incongruous to Iberville and Gering to walk side by side; theirs
was a superior kind of hate. They paused outside the door, on Morris's
hint, that he might see if the coast was clear, and return the swords to
their place on the wall.
Jessica turned in the doorway. "I shall never forgive you," she said, and
was swallowed by the darkness. "Which does she mean?" asked Iberville,
with a touch of irony. The other was silent.
In a moment Morris came back to tell them that they might come, for the
dining-room was empty still.
CHAPTER V
THE FRUITS OF THE LAW
Bucklaw having convinced the governor and his friends that down in the
Spaniards' country there was treasure for the finding, was told that he
might come again next morning. He asked if it might not be late afternoon
instead, because he had cargo from the Indies for sale, and in the
morning certain merchants were to visit his vessel. Truth to tell he was
playing a deep game. He wanted to learn the governor's plans for the next
afternoon and evening, and thought to do so by proposing this same
change. He did not reckon foolishly. The governor gave him to understand
that there would be feasting next day: first, because it was the birthday
of the Duke of York; secondly, because it was the anniversary of the
capture from the Dutch; and, last of all, because there were Indian
chiefs to come from Albany to see New York and himself for the first
time. The official celebration would begin in the afternoon and last till
sundown, so that all the governor's time must be fully occupied. But
Bucklaw said, with great candour, that unfortunately he had to sail for
Boston within thirty-six hours, to keep engagements with divers assignees
for whom he had special cargo. If his excellency, he said, would come out
to his ship the next evening when the shows were done, he would be proud
to have him see his racketing little craft; and it could then be judged
if, with furbishing and armaments, she could by any means be used for the
expedition. Nicholls consented, and asked the king's officers if they
would accompany him. This they were exceedingly glad to do: so that the
honest shipman's good nature and politeness were vastly increased, and he
waved his hook in so funny and so boyish a way it set them all
a-laughing.
So it was arranged forthwith that he should be at a quiet point on the
shore at a certain hour to row the governor and his friends to the Nell
Gwynn. And, this done, he was bade to go to the dining-room and refresh
himself.
He obeyed with cheerfulness, and was taken in charge by Morris, who,
having passed on Iberville and Gering to the drawing-room, was once more
at his post, taciturn as ever. The governor and his friends had gone
straight to the drawing-room, so that Morris and he were alone. Wine was
set before the sailor and he took off a glass with gusto, his eye cocked
humorously towards his host. "No worse fate for a sinner," quoth he;
"none better for a saint."
Morris's temper was not amiable. He did not like the rascal. "Ay," said
he, "but many's the sinner has wished yon wish, and footed it from the
stocks to the gallows."
Bucklaw laughed up at him. It was not a pretty laugh, and his eyes were
insolent and hard. But that, changed almost on the instant. "A good
thrust, mighty Scot," he said. "Now what say you to a pasty, or a strip
of beef cut where the juice runs, and maybe the half of a broiled fowl?"
Morris, imperturbably deliberate, left the room to seek the kitchen.
Bucklaw got instantly to his feet. His eye took in every window and door,
and ran along the ceiling and the wall. There was a sudden click in the
wall before him. It was the door leading to the unused hallway, which had
not been properly closed and had sprung open. He caught up a candle, ran
over, entered the hallway, and gave a grunt of satisfaction. He hastily
and softly drew the bolts of the outer door, so that any one might come
in from the garden, then stepped back into the dining-room and closed the
panel tight behind him, remarking with delight that it had no
spring-lock, and could be opened from the hallway. He came back quickly
to the table, put down the candle, took his seat, stroked his chin with
his hook, and chuckled. When Morris came back, he was holding his wine
with one hand while he hummed a snatch of song and drummed lightly on the
table with the hook. Immediately after came a servant with a tray, and
the Scotsman was soon astonished, not only at the buxomness of his
appetite, but at the deftness with which he carved and handled things
with what he called his "tiger." And so he went on talking and eating,
and he sat so long that Jessica, as she passed into the corridor and up
the stairs, wearied by the day, heard his voice uplifted in song. It so
worked upon her that she put her hands to her ears, hurried to her room,
and threw herself upon the bed in a distress she could set down to no
real cause.
Before the governor and his guests parted for the night, Iberville, as he
made his adieus to Gering, said in a low voice: "The same place and time
to-morrow night, and on the same conditions?"
"I shall be happy," said Gering, and they bowed with great formality.
The governor had chanced to hear a word or two and, thinking it was some
game of which they spoke, said: "Piquet or a game of wits, gentlemen?"
"Neither, your excellency," quoth Gering--"a game called fox and goose."
"Good," said Iberville, under his breath; "my Puritan is waking."
The governor was in ripe humour. "But it is a game of wits, then, after
all. Upon my soul, you two should fence like a pair of veterans."
"Only for a pass or two," said Iberville dryly. "We cannot keep it up."
All this while a boat was rowing swiftly from the shore of the island
towards a craft carrying Nell Gwynn beneath the curious, antique
figurehead. There were two men in her, and they were talking gloatingly
and low.
"See, bully, how I have the whole thing in my hands. Ha! Received by the
governor and his friends! They are all mad for the doubloons, which are
not for them, my Radisson, but for you and me, and for a greater than
Colonel Richard Nicholls. Ho, ho! I know him--the man who shall lead the
hunt and find the gold--the only man in all that cursed Boston whose
heart I would not eat raw, so help me Judas! And his name--no. That is to
come. I will make him great."
Again he chuckled. "Over in London they shall take him to their bosoms.
Over in London his blessed majesty shall dub him knight--treasure-trove
is a fine reason for the touch of a royal sword--and the king shall say:
'Rise, Sir William'--No, it is not time for the name; but it is not
Richard Nicholls, it is not Hogarth Leveret." He laughed like a boy. "I
have you, Hogarth Leveret, in my hand, and by God I will squeeze you
until there is a drop of heart's blood at every pore of your skin!"
Now and again Radisson looked sideways at him, a sardonic smile at his
lip. At last: "Bien," he said, "you are merry. So--I shall be merry too,
for I have scores to wipe away, and they shall be wiped clean--clean."
"You are with me, then," the pirate asked; "even as to the girl?"
"Even as to the girl," was the reply, with a brutal oath.
"That is good, dear lad. Blood of my soul, I have waited twelve
years--twelve years."
"You have not told me," rejoined the Frenchman; "speak now."
"There is not much to tell, but we are to be partners once and for all.
See, my beauty. He was a kite-livered captain. There was gold on board.
We mutinied and put him and four others--their livers were like his
own--in a boat with provisions plenty. Then we sailed for Boston. We
never thought the crew of skulkers would reach land, but by God they
drifted in again the very hour we found port. We were taken and
condemned. First, I was put into the stocks, hands and feet, till I was
fit for the pillory; from the pillory to the wooden horse." Here he
laughed, and the laugh was soft and womanlike. "Then the whipping-post,
when I was made pulp from my neck to my loins. After that I was to hang.
I was the only one they cooked so; the rest were to hang raw. I did not
hang; I broke prison and ran. For years I was a slave among the
Spaniards. Years more--in all, twelve--and then I came back with the
little chart for one thing, this to do for another. Who was it gave me
that rogues' march from the stocks to the gallows's foot? It was Hogarth
Leveret, who deals out law in Massachusetts in the king's name, by the
grace of God. It was my whim to capture him and take him on a
journey--such a journey as he would go but once. Blood of my soul, the
dear lad was gone. But there was his child. See this: when I stood in the
pillory a maid one day brought the child to the foot of the platform,
lifted it up in her arms and said: 'Your father put that villain there.'
That woman was sister to one of the dogs we'd set adrift. The child
stared at me hard, and I looked at her, though my eyes were a little the
worse for wear, so that she cried out in great fright--the sweet
innocent! and then the wench took her away. When she saw my face
to-night--to-day--it sent her wild, but she did not remember." He rubbed
his chin in ecstasy and drummed his knee. "Ha! I cannot have the
father--so I'll have the goodly child, and great will be the ransom.
Great will be the ransom, my Frenchman!" And once more he tapped Radisson
with the tiger.
CHAPTER VI
THE KIDNAPPING
The rejoicing had reached its apogee, and was on the wane. The Puritan
had stretched his austereness to the point of levity; the Dutchman had
comfortably sweated his obedience and content; the Cavalier had paced it
with a pretty air of patronage and an eye for matron and maid; the
Indian, come from his far hunting-grounds, bivouacked in the governor's
presence as the pipe of peace went round.
About twilight the governor and his party had gone home. Deep in
ceremonial as he had been, his mind had run upon Bucklaw and the
Spaniards' country. So, when the dusk was growing into night, the hour
came for his visit to the Nell Gwynn. With his two soldier friends and
Councillor Drayton, he started by a roundabout for the point where he
looked to find Bucklaw. Bucklaw was not there: he had other fish to fry,
and the ship's lights were gone. She had changed her anchorage since
afternoon.
"It's a bold scheme," Bucklaw was saying to his fellow-ruffian in the
governor's garden, "and it may fail, yet 'twill go hard, but we'll save
our skins. No pluck, no pence. Once again, here's the trick of it. I'll
go in by the side door I unlocked last night, hide in the hallway, then
enter the house quietly or boldly, as the case may be. Plan one: a
message from his excellency to Miss Leveret, that he wishes her to join
him on the Nell Gwynn. Once outside it's all right. She cannot escape us.
We have our cloaks and we have the Spanish drug. Plan two: make her ours
in the house. Out by this hall door-through the grounds--to the
beach--the boat in waiting--and so, up anchor and away! Both risky, as
you see, but the bolder the game the sweeter the spoil. You're sure her
chamber is above the hallway, and that there's a staircase to it from the
main hall?"
"I am very well sure. I know the house up-stairs and down."
Bucklaw looked to his arms. He was about starting on his quest when they
heard footsteps, and two figures appeared. It was Iberville and Gering.
They paused a moment not far from where the rogues were hid.
"I think you will agree," said Iberville, "that we must fight."
"I have no other mind."
"You will also be glad if we are not come upon, as last night; though,
confess, the lady gave you a lease of life?"
"If she comes to-night, I hope it will be when I have done with you,"
answered Gering.
Iberville laughed a little, and the laugh had fire in it--hatred, and the
joy of battle. "Shall it be here or yonder in the pines, where we were in
train last night?"
"Yonder."
"So." Then Iberville hummed ironically a song:
"Oh, bury me where I have fought and fallen,
Your scarf across my shoulder, lady mine."
They passed on. "The game is in our hands," said Bucklaw. "I understand
this thing. That's a pair of gallant young sprigs, but the choice is your
Frenchman, Radisson."
"I'll pink his breast-bone full of holes if the other doesn't--curse
him."
A sweet laugh trickled from Bucklaw's lips like oil. "That's neither here
nor there. I'd like to have him down Acapulco way, dear lad. . . And now,
here's my plan all changed. I'll have my young lady out to stop the duel,
and, God's love, she'll come alone. Once here she's ours, and they may
cut each other's throats as they will, sweetheart."
He crossed the yard, tried the door,--unlocked, as he had left
it,--pushed it open, and went in, groping his way to the door of the
dining-room. He listened, and there was no sound. Then he heard some one
go in. He listened again. Whoever it was had sat down. Very carefully he
felt for the spring and opened the door. Jessica was seated at the table
with paper and an ink-horn before her. She was writing. Presently she
stopped--the pen was bad. She got up and went away to her room. Instantly
Bucklaw laid his plan. He entered as she disappeared, went to the table
and looked at the paper on which she had been writing. It bore but the
words, "Dear Friend." He caught up the quill and wrote hurriedly beneath
them, this:
"If you'd see two gentlemen fighting, go now where you stopped them last
night. The wrong one may be killed unless."
With a quick flash of malice he signed, in half a dozen lightning-like
strokes, with a sketch of his hook. Then he turned, hurried into the
little hall, and so outside, and posted himself beside a lilac bush,
drawing down a bunch of the flowers to drink in their perfume. Jessica,
returning, went straight to the table. Before she sat down she looked up
to the mantel, but the swords were there. She sighed, and a tear
glistened on her eyelashes. She brushed it away with her dainty
fingertips and, as she sat down, saw the paper. She turned pale, caught
it up, read it with a little cry, and let it drop with a shudder of fear
and dismay. She looked round the room. Everything was as she had left it.
She was dazed. She stared at the paper again, then ran and opened the
panel through which Bucklaw had passed, and found the outer door ajar.
With a soft, gasping moan she passed into the garden, went swiftly by the
lilac bush and on towards the trees. Bucklaw let her do so; it was his
design that she should be some way from the house. But, hidden by the
bushes, he was running almost parallel with her. On the other side of her
was Radisson, also running. She presently heard them and swerved, poor
child, into the gin of the fowler! But as the cloak was thrown over her
head she gave a cry.