"Ay ay, Adam. But no more o' this, 'tis moot point and grisly subject, so talk we o' life and the joy of it for,—hearkee in thine ear,—at my last and most secret computation, we are grown rich beyond even mine own expectation,—never a man o' the crew but will receive a thousand guineas and more for his share, ay—even little Smidge! As for thyself, Adam, being Captain-general, thourt one o' the wealthiest commanders afloat to-day! For myself,—though 'twill grieve me sensibly to part, I am for England by the first ship thither bound. England! And affluence! I'll buy me back our family estates, become a power in the country and figure o' splendour at Court! Oh, Lord love thee, Adam, come now and let us drain a goblet, clink cannikin and toss a pot to Old England, ourselves and the golden Future,—come thee now!"
CHAPTER XXXIV
HOW ADAM HALTED 'TWIXT DOUBT AND CERTAINTY
The sun was in its decline when they anchored before this rich and populous city of Port Royal to be presently surrounded by a great flotilla of boats of every kind thronged with people of every sort from languid ladies and fine gentlemen rowed by liveried slaves, to native piraguas filled with vociferous humanity, black, yellow and tawny. Yet each and every eager for sight of this now famous ship of 'Captain Adam Penfeather, the Buccaneer,' whose exploits had made him so notorious and whose tall vessel, though scarred by battle and stress of weather, yet showed much of her former splendour.
So the citizens of Port Royal, who throve greatly by marketing the cargoes of merchant adventurer, but far more by the rich lading of buccaneers and pirates, gave resounding welcome to the great Santissima Trinidad from boats, canoes and crowded quays, since report spoke her as ship crammed with treasure to the very hatches.
But Adam, having scanned these many faces with eager, questioning gaze, now fixed his wistful eyes upon this famous city that was for him the one place in all the world because of the one woman whose feet might have blessed the pavement of its busy streets and palm-shaded squares. Motionless he leaned, chin in hand, gazing on this oft-dreamed city where he knew, instinctively, was to be found the answer to that anxious question had troubled him these four long years; here he was to know at last if Antonia lived or was dead. So now, preferring doubtful hope to final and hopeless certainty, he made no least effort to know this answer, for his fear so far out-weighed hope that he shrank as yet from seeking the truth of it for himself. Thus stood he until espying Sir George on deck below he beckoned him up to the poop.
"George," said he, his gaze still on the distant mountains, "I take it you will go ashore with Ben?"
"God love you—yes, Adam! Life calls yonder, all the bustle and joy of it. But you'll with us, surely?"
"No ... not yet, George, lest in the midst of such joyous life I learn ... of death."
"Ah, you mean our lost shipmates of the poor Adventuress?"
"Ay, I do. And most especially my good friend, Absalom Troy and ... his lady."
"Eh? Lady? Mean you his wife, Adam?"
"Indeed, George."
"But how ... who ... when had he a wife?"
"Howbeit, George, as my trusty friend I ask you to ... to make persistent enquiry ashore ... wheresoever you go ... for our lost friends. Ask first for Captain Troy, and if this fail, then enquire for him as Lord Perrow. Wilt do this for me?"
"Assuredly, Adam. But for Troy's wife now, pray tell me——" But at this moment Sir Benjamin appeared, bellowing joyously and in resplendent attire (looted from some ship), a magnificent personage from arrogant-curling feather to jingling, silver spurs.
"Ha, plague and confound me!" he exclaimed. "I say curse me with everlasting torments but 'twill never do, Adam! Art never going ashore in such damnable, dismal rig? That coat,—those breeches——"
"Will remain aboardship, Ben, and myself in them."
"So thou'lt not join us, Adam? Then I'll away to convene the chiefest merchants and so forth. I'll sound the markets and open negotiations. Also I've ordered Frant to have the sally port manned and ourselves piped away for mere look of it. There be many eyes upon us, Adam, and it behoves us to carry ourselves somewhat preciously."
So these two splendid gentlemen descended with dignity into their waiting boat and were rowed ashore while Adam went to his cabin and there found Smidge hard at work, with rags, oil and soft leather, on his armour (this constant labour of love) cherishing the many dints and scratches that hard service and close action had wrought upon the burnished steel.
"Lookee, Cap'n Adam, sir," cried the boy, "here's where a musket ball hit ye! And here's where you was poked very hard wi' a half-pike the time they pirates boarded us fore and aft, two ships they was—off Hispaniola. And on your helmet the mark of a sword though I think as how 'twas a naxe, and——"
"Ay, my old seadog, 'tis a good armour and has served me well."
"Yessir, 'tis always a-serving and a-saving of you because you always seem trying to get yourself killed, sir."
"Yet am I alive, Smidge."
"Because o' this armour, sir,—so this is why I keeps it bright."
"Well, leave it now and bring me your lessons, first the sentences I gave you to copy, then the four sums. You've done 'em, I hope?"
"Ay ay, Cap'n, the very best as I could ... only ... I wrote some blots by accident, sir, and one o' they sums wouldn't let me do him nohow ... and, if you please, sir, I got a complaint to lay afore you."
"What is it?"
"Why then, Cap'n Adam, I don't want for myself to be a scholard,—just being your own seadog is all as I wants for to be until I grows me into one o' your Dreadnoughts like Si and Toby and Nick what can't write a stroke, sir, and says as how they don't want. So I'd liefer be your sailor than try for to be a scholard, sir."
"But I wish you to be both, Smidge, so that someday you'll be able to navigate and command your own ship. How old are you?"
"Why jist afore I takes to the sea, I hears as I were ten years of age, sir."
"So that now you are about fourteen,—ha, and a very backward scholar for your age. Now bring your lessons for my correction."
"Ay ay, sir,—only first, axing your pardon and by your leave, I got jest one more complaint——"
"What now?"
"This yere Indian savvige, sir, as be always looking and staring and follering o' you and never a word ... ay and running for to serve you afore me. Well, sir, he aren't wanted—not wi' me always ready for to look arter you, Cap'n Adam. So what I says is—let's tell him for to sheer off, if you please, sir."
"No, Smidge. Instead we will make him your messmate. Remember what cruel suffering we saved him from, and what he must have endured. I think he is sad, lonely and silent only because he has no English."
"He can talk Spanish, sir—a bit, though not so good as me."
"Very well, you shall teach him English and how to read, write and cypher."
"What—me, sir?" wailed Smidge.
"Yes. And this is an order! I set him in your charge. Now bring me your lessons—no, first go fetch hither our Indian."
"He's out yonder now, sir, standing off and on."
"Then bring him in here."
Smidge obeyed, though unwillingly, and presently returned followed by this tall young Indian who saluted Adam with joined hands touching first his breast and then his brow.
"Smidge, ask his name slowly and in your best Spanish."
The boy did so, whereupon this silent Indian's dark eyes lit up, and touching himself with slim, brown finger, he made answer in soft, liquid tones: