"Ha?" sneered Bartlemy. "Shall I wait whiles you say a prayer first?"
"'Tis done, sir, and I'm ready."
"So be it!" said Bartlemy, and advancing with airy flourish, took his ground.
Clash and ring of vicious steel that flickered in close and deadly action; stamp of feet and hiss of quick-drawn breath; skill and scorn of death against murderous craft and imperious will. To and fro, up and down, back and forth, they fought with no stay or respite now, changing their ground with nimble volts and dexterous passes, while slowly yet surely, Adam compelled his enemy in the one direction. Bartlemy's fleeting smile had vanished, his breath came short, the sleeve of his sword-arm was a fluttering rag; Adam was spattered with his own blood, his face showed pale, his eyes half-closed; then his point faltered wide and, with gasping, triumphant cry, Bartlemy drove in powerful, finishing thrust—was jarred by violent parry, strove to recover, tripped and, as he fell, felt his sword beaten from relaxed grasp—and thus lay defenceless, staring up from the point that pricked his throat, to the merciless eyes staring down on him. So, for a moment, both were still and dumb, while the blood from Adam's wound splashed down upon Black Bartlemy's face.
"Well..." said Adam, at last, "it is ... high time you were ... killed!"
"And 'twould seem ... that time is ... now!" gasped Bartlemy, and, settling himself more comfortably, looked up at scowling Adam and smiled. "Sir," said he, "you now behold me ... ready."
Very slowly and as if against his better judgment, Adam backed away.
"John," said he, "my handkerchief."
"Here, sir,—shall I lap it about your wound?"
"No, pray give it to me."
So with the handkerchief, Adam went back to his still prostrate enemy who gazed serenely up at the cloudless sky and hummed a merry air to himself.
"Sir," said Adam, "you need this, I think."
Smiling graciously, Bartlemy accepted the handkerchief and therewith wiped Adam's blood from him, then rising with his usual languid ease, beheld Adam being helped into his garments by a small, eager boy and a placid Indian youth, while John Fenn was sheathing his rapier.
"Captain Penfeather, my thanks and—your handkerchief!"
"Black Bartlemy," answered Adam, a little mournfully, "you may keep it in memory of one who might—nay who ought to have killed you ... and yet did not ... and to my present wonderment. But should there ever be a ... next time ... then and most certainly kill you I shall."
And presently, with John's handkerchief about his hurt, his rapier beneath John's arm and his two devoted and awed young seadogs following, Adam went back to his waiting boat.
CHAPTER XXXVI
TELLS OF JOY AND A GLAD REUNION
"Pro-digious!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin, mopping brow and glancing at his companions' intent faces, from Adam leaning motionless in his chair, to Ned Bowser who stared with round eyes and mouth agape.
"It is a sum," continued Sir Benjamin, "of such amplitudinous magnitude as doth far transcend the loftiest expectations of—even myself! We sit here vastly wealthy men all and therefore persons o' power to command o' this base, slavish world whatso we desire."
"Ay but," questioned Adam, sitting up suddenly, "heark to yonder tumult! This curse o' gold begins to work upon the crew."
"They do but rejoice, Adam, and not without due reason, or I'm a cur-dog! For there's never a man o' them but hath two thousand, five hundred odd broad pieces to his share, worked out in proportion,—so stupendous is our fortune!"
"Faith," laughed Sir George, "there's seldom been richer booty to divide. I'm all amazed to find myself so preposterous wealthy!"
"And I!" said John Fenn, shaking his head, "I can scarce believe it yet."
"Nor me likewise!" quoth Ned. "Which, seeing as I'm so rich, I dunno what I shall do wi' myself, or how spend so much good money."
"For mine own part," said Sir Benjamin, "I sail for England with the first ship I may. For England now summons me home with golden clarions."
"And I'll with thee, Ben!" cried Sir George, "England is—the only place, and home—ah 'tis a blessedness!"
"Well now," demanded Sir Benjamin, "what o' thyself, Adam? What holdeth the golden future for thee?"
"Work!" answered Adam, somewhat grimly.
"Nay, I protest!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin, bouncing in his chair. "Work, in a rich man, is folly and worse, as I shall now prove. For, mark me—a rich man, having no need o' work, yet working for mere love o' work, pandereth to his own lust and passion for work, and thus doeth his poorer neighbour out o' work, and so becometh a menace and stumbling block to all that needs must work to live. Ergo, the rich worker is a curse,—so curse him heartily,—say I!"
"Also," continued Adam, "the sea is my home, and there is work for me hereabout that I am called unto and best fitted for. So my destiny is here."
"Why then, 'twill grieve me to part with thee, Adam, after all these years of trial and close fellowship,—ay, 'twill touch me very sensibly, or call me dogsbody!"
"Indeed," sighed Sir George, "it hath been a good and great companionship, Adam, a true friendship."
"So truly great," said John Fenn, "that I bide with you, Captain Adam, so long as I may."
"Ay, ay," growled Ned, "when I mind how 'twas me as larned ee to know a ship,—what I now says is, such being so and seeing as how, I'll bear along of ee, poor or rich, and no thought o' parting company till Natur' passes the word thereto——"
It was now that a knock on the door interrupted them, and Martin Frant stood on the threshold, an angry man who jerked thumb over broad shoulder, saying:
"Ship's company is away, sirs,—took shore leave and sheered off for good, by look o' things."
"Desertion?" bellowed Sir Benjamin. "Ha—malediction! What's the meaning o' this?"
"Gold!" answered Adam. "'Tis the curse of gold beginning to work in them, Ben. Most of the poor rogues will be drunk to-night, sick in a week, ruined in a month and destitute.... How many remain aboard, Martin?"
"Scarce fifty, sir."
"Why, very well, say to these I will sign them on for a new venture, at double rates, and bid 'em pass the word to their fellows when they go ashore."
"Ay, sir,—and at double rates?"
"Yes, Martin. The crews I command shall be ever the stoutest seamen and best paid of any afloat. Let this be known to all. Say also that every man is free to go ashore, but all such as remain faithful to the ship and me—these I shall never forget."
"Howbeit," quoth Sir Benjamin, so soon as Martin had departed, "you are like to be deserted by all here pretty soon, Adam, except you go ashore likewise. For who will bide cramped aboardship when he may live in luxury ashore?"
"I shall, for the present," Adam answered. "So now, Ben, you are leaving, I take it?"
"Ay, 'od's my life—that am I! And George likewise. I've taken goodly house nobly furnished, Adam—and with servants, slaves and so forth, in best part o' the town. George bides with me until such time as we take ship for England. There we shall live as gentlemen o' circumstance should, surrounded by all those comforts, refinements, precious amenities and delicate whatnots denied a man aboardship. I was hoping you might be induced to join us—eh, how sayest thou, Adam?"
"My thanks, Ben, but I've too much to employ me, as—first and foremost to seek news of our lost friends. Then to re-victual and choose me another crew, and after that—the Spanish Main."
"Why then," quoth Sir Benjamin, rising, "you will visit us often, I hope, and I shall come aboard frequently as may be."
So they took leave of each other. Sir Benjamin somewhat boisterously, Sir George regretfully,—and were presently gone.