Jeffery Farnol

“ I cried, clenching my shackled hands. "But for my enemy this boy might now be as other men—'stead of outcast rogue and scarred galley-slave, he might have come to love and win love—to have known the joy of life and its fulness! Howbeit he must go his way, rogue and outcast to the end."
"No!" she cried, "No! The wrong may be undone—must—shall be—wounds will heal and even scars will fade with time."
"Scars of the body, aye—belike!" said I, "But there be scars of the mind, wounds of the soul shall never heal—so shall my just vengeance sleep not nor die whiles I have life!" ”

“ At this I saw the white hand clench itself, but her voice was tender as ever when she answered:
"Sorrow and suffering may lift a man to greatness if he be strong of soul or debase him to the brute if he be weak."
"Why then," says I, "begone to your gallants and leave me to the brutes."
"Nay, first will I do that which brought me!" and she showed the key of my gyves.
"Let be!" I cried, "I seek no freedom at your hands—let be, I say!"
"As you will!" says she, gently. "So endeth my hope of righting a great wrong. I have humbled myself to you to-night, Martin Conisby. ”

“ I questioned.
"Now let us divide our treasure, Martin—"
"But I bartered my share for the lives of—"
"Tush!" says he, and reaching a valise from shadowy corner he opened it and I beheld such a glory of flashing gems as nigh dazzled me with their splendour. "Look at 'em, Martin, look at 'em!" he whispered. "Here's love and hate, life and death, every good and all the sins—look at 'em!" And catching up a handful he let them fall, glittering, through his fingers. "Lord love me, Martin," he whispered, "'tis enough to turn a man's brain! Have ye counted 'em over, comrade?" ”

“ I don't understand you, Martin!" says she unsteadily.
"Here's you cast alone with me on this island. 'He is a man,' says you to yourself, 'and I a lonely woman. So must I keep him busy, his mind ever employed on some labour, no matter what, lest peradventure he make love to me—'"
"Stop!" cries she angrily, leaping up to her feet all in a moment. "For shame, Martin Conisby! You wrong me and yourself—I am your comrade—"
"Nay, you are a woman, very subtle, and quick-witted as you are beautiful. ”

“ Look'ee, there's men in this world born to be took off by someone or other, and they always come a-drifting across my hawse and get took off accordingly, but don't blame me, lad, don't. And as for a-drugging of ye, Marty, true again! But love me! What was I to do? But I didn't take you off, lad, no, nor never shall unless you and policy force me so to do. I'm no murderer born—like Adam—curse him! Clap me alongside Adam and I'm a turtle-dove, a babe for innocence and a lamb for meekness! There never was such a murderer born into this wicked world as Adam Penfeather, with a curse! ”

“ Thus we remained a great while hearkening to the awful booming of this rushing, mighty wind, a sound indescribable in itself, yet one to shake the very soul. In a while, the tumult subsiding a little we might distinguish other sounds, as the rolling of thunder, the rending crash of falling trees hard by, and the roar of mighty waters. And presently her voice came to me:
"God pity all poor mariners, Martin!"
"Amen!" says I. And needs must think of Adam and Godby and wonder where they might be.
"'Tis very dark, shall we not have a light?" she questioned. ”

“ I'm haunted, I tell you!"
"Who by, shipmate?"
"Aye!" I cried. "Who is it—what? 'Tis a thing that flits i' the dark and with never a sound, that watches and listens. It mounted the ladder yonder scarce a moment since plain to my sight—"
"Yet I saw nothing, Martin. And not a soul stirring, save the watch forward, the steersman aft, and myself."
"Why then I'm verily mad!" says I.
"Not you, shipmate, not you. 'Tis nought but the solitude and darkness, they take many a man that way, so ha' done with 'em, Martin! ”

“ I have ever been a solitary man walking alone and distrustful of my fellows. For, Martin, I have here the secret of a treasure that hath been the dream and hope of roving adventurers along the Main this many a year—a treasure beyond price. Men have sought it vainly, have striven and fought, suffered and died for it, have endured plague, battle, shipwreck, famine, have died screaming 'neath Indian tortures, languished in Spanish dungeon and slaveship, and all for sake of Bartlemy's Treasure. ”

“ Now as I prepared to climb through the lattice she, beholding the sword where it yet lay, stooped and, taking it up, sheathed it. "This was thine own once, I've heard," says she. "Take it, Martin Conisby, keep it clean, free from dishonour and leave thy vengeance to God."
"Not so!" says I, shaking my head. "I have my knife, 'tis weapon better suited to my rags!" So saying, I clambered out through the lattice even as I had come. Being upon the terrace, I glanced up to find her leaning to watch me and with the moon bright on her face.
"Live you for nought but vengeance?" ”

“ Come, what d'ye say, friend?"
"I say sheer off and leave me to my sleep lest I mischief you."
"Ha' ye no lust for riches, then?"
"No more than I have to your company and I love that less and less."
"'Tis pity!" says he, shaking his head. "Aye, 'tis pity, for I do like you more and more, such a fine blood-and-beef, dare-and-be-damned, gibbet-like figure of a rogue, shipmate, as would grace a cross-roads better than most, which is one reason I was drawn to ye, d'ye see, I being a quiet soul—"
"And a pirate, like as not!"
"Easy, shipmate, easy. Passion is an ill word to steer by. ”

“ Is't not so, Martin?"
"Yes—no! Nay, how should I know?" quoth I.
"Yet should love befall you upon a day, 'twould be love unworthy any good woman, Martin!"
"Why then," says I, "God keep me from the folly of love."
"Pray rather that Love, of its infinite wisdom, teach you the folly of hate, Martin!"
"'Tis a truth," says I bitterly, "a truth that hath become part of me! It hath been my companion in solitude, my comfort in my shameful misery, my hope, my very life or I had died else! ”

“ But the fit passed, and in my vain pride I smote my staff into the mud at my feet and vowed within myself that nought should baulk me of my just vengeance, come what might; as my father had suffered death untimely and hard, so should die the enemy of my race; for the anguish he had made me endure so should he know anguish. I bethought me how long and deadly had been this feud of ours, handed down from one generation to another, a dark, blood-smirched record of bitter wrongs bitterly avenged. "To hate like a Brandon and revenge like a Conisby!" ”

“ Turning, I caught my dear, brave lady to my heart. Heedless of aught else in the world beside I clasped her in my aching arms, and kissed her until she stayed me and showing me where stood our enemies, a wild disordered company, took my hand and began to run. Reaching the cliff we climbed together nor stayed until she had brought me to a little cave where lay an arquebus together with bandoliers. "I tried to reload it, dear Martin, but 'twas vain—my poor, silly hands shook so. For, O my dear, I—heard them—saw them and—thought I should run mad—O Martin my love!" ”

“ She spoke for ye, as I guessed she might."
"And how should you guess this, Adam?"
"By adding one and one, Martin. But even so, comrade, even though she stand by you—what can she do, or Godby and I for that matter, 'gainst a whole ship's company crazed wi' panic fear—fear, aye and small wonder, Martin! Death is bad enough, murder's worse, but for three hearty fellows to disappear and leave no trace—"
"Aye, but was there no trace, Adam?"
"None, shipmate, none!"
"No blood anywhere?"
"Never a spot, shipmate!"
"Why then is there ever a man aboard with a wounded hand, Adam?" ”

“ And presently a sigh brake from her and she turned, her anger forgotten quite.
"O!" cries she, "'Tis joy to be alive, to breathe such air, and behold such a glory of sea and sky! Look around us, Martin, and give thanks!" And truly the sea was smooth enough save for a long, rolling swell out of the East, and with a soft and gentle wind to abate the sun's generous heat. "Are you not glad to be alive, Martin?" says she.
"To what end?" I answered. "Of what avail is life to me cast away on a desolate island."
"Desolate?" says she, starting. "Do you mean we shall be alone?"
"Aye, I do." ”

“ Butter—churned by my ladyship—and—bread, Martin! Bread baked by my ladyship's own two hands."
"O marvellous, sweet lady!" says I.
"And 'tis none so ill though I had no yeast, is it, Martin?"
"Delicious!" says I, my mouth full.
And now, all our recent woes and sorrows clean forgotten, a right joyous meal had we; our hearts light as the sweet air that breathed around us, and untroubled as the placid ocean and broad serenity of heaven, with no dark shadow anywhere to warn us of those evils to come. Thus we ate and talked, finding joy in everything. ”

“ So with her crushed to me I turned and set off along the beach, and she, lying thus helpless, must needs fall to weeping again and I, in my selfish and blind folly, to plaguing the sweet soul therewith, as:
"England is far away, my Lady Joan! Here be no courtly swains, no perfumed, mincing lovers, to sigh and bow and languish for you. Here is Solitude, lady. Desolation hath you fast and is not like to let you go—here mayhap shall you live—and die! An ill place this and, like nature, strong and cruel. An ill place and an ill rogue for company. ”

“ My couch shall be the corner yonder."
"Ah, prideful youth! 'Tis sweet to be young, Martin!" says Penfeather with his sudden, whimsical half-smile and clapping his hand on my shoulder. "Sleep where ye will, that corner is as good as another. See, there stands my tuck, a Spanish blade of notable good temper, it hath been a true friend to me many a time ere now and should be a trusty bedfellow. As for me, I'm for a feather-bed. And, Martin," says he, pausing to pinch his chin and view me sideways, "if aught should chance to me—at any time—the chart and treasure will be yours. ”

“ I saw the glitter of the hook, heard Smiling Sam's gasping scream as the steel bit into him, and then Tressady was on his feet smiling round upon his awed and silent company.
"Look'ee, bullies!" says he, pointing to the Smiler's inanimate form, "Here's poor Sam all swounded away at touch o' my hook like any woman—and him my bo'sun! Pshaw! I want a man!" Here he stooped, and wrenching the silver pipe from Smiling Sam's fat throat stared from one shuffling rogue to another: "Step forward, Abner," says he at last, "Come, you'll do—you're a prime sailor-man, you're my bo'sun henceforth." ”

“ I hate you, Martin Conisby, scorn and despise you! And now give me the tiller and begone to your sleep!" Saying which she pointed where she had spread the cloaks hard by the midship thwart and I, amazed by her fierce outburst, suffered her to take the tiller from my hold, and coming amidships laid myself down even as she had commanded.
But no thought of sleep had I, rather I lay that I might watch her (furtively, beneath my arm) where she sat head aloft, cheeks flushed and bosom tempestuous. And (despite her beauty) a very termagant shrew I thought her. ”

“ I fear there be many men do merit whipping if this be sin so great."
"I see no reason in your laughter, my lady!" quoth I, scowling up at her.
"Because you have no gift of laughter, my lord!" says she, and turns her back on me.
Here I came nigh to tossing her half-finished hairpin into the fire; but seeing her turn her head, carved on for very shame.
"And are you so very angry, Martin?" I bent to sharpen my knife. "I would that you might laugh yourself—once in a while, Martin." I tested my knife on my thumb. "You are always so grave, Martin, so very solemn and young!" ”

“ And sure enough in a while comes the big man Tressady a-stealing furtive-fashion and falls to hunting both in the open grave and round about it but, finding nothing, steals him off again. Scarce was he out of eye-shot, Martin, than cometh the little dark fellow Ben, who likewise fell to stealthy search, grubbing here and there on hands and knees, yet with none better fortune than his comrade. But of a sudden he gives a spring and, stooping, stands erect with Bartlemy's dagger in his hand. ”

“ As to Indians I wait till I see 'em, and as for Death—"
"Death?" gasped Humphrey, "Here's for you first!" and whipping out a knife he made a fierce thrust at the speaker; but the others closed with him. Then as they strove together panting and cursing I rose to come at them; but the wounded man, chancing to lift his head, saw me where I stood, the moonlight on my bloody face, and uttered a hoarse scream.
"Death!" cries he, "'Tis on us mates—look, look yonder! Death and wounds—yonder he comes for all of us—O mates look! ”

“ Whether a man and woman thus solitary must needs go a-falling in love with one another? Finding no answer to this either, I turned, half-minded to put the question to my companion, and found her fast asleep.
She lay deep-slumbering in the light of the fire, her face half-hid 'neath a tress of shining hair; and I viewing her, chin in fist, saw in her only the last of her hated race and knew in that moment that never might there be aught of true love, that pure passion, high and ennobling, the which may lift man above his baser self—never might this be 'twixt her blood and mine. ”