In response to the Captain's question Bertrand attested his master's identity and declared his own, and the boatswain volunteered additional confirmation; but old Ned, though no one had asked his opinion, spitefully swore the opposite, and by way of evidence produced, to the poet's horror, the document signed in the fo'c'sle, which proclaimed Ebenezer a member of the crew.
" 'Twere better for all if ye signed them two aboard," he added. "They're able enough seamen, but thieves and rogues to ship with! Don't let 'em fool ye with their carrying-on!"
Seeing their old shipmate's purpose, some of the other men took up the cry, hoping thereby to save themselves from being forced to join the pirates. But the Captain, after examining Ned's document, flung it over the side.
"I know those things," he scoffed. "Besides, 'twas signed by the Laureate of Maryland." He appraised Ebenezer skeptically. "So thou'rt the famous Eben Cooke?"
"I swear't, sir!" Ebenezer's heart pounded; he tingled with admiration for the Captain's astuteness and with wonder that his own fame was already so widespread. But his troubles were not over, for although the pirate seemed virtually persuaded, he ordered both men brought aft for identification by the passengers, whereupon he was perplexed to hear a third version — neither of the men was a sailor, but it was the older, stouter one who was Laureate, and the skinny wretch his amanuensis. Captain Meech agreed, and added that this was not the servant's first presumption to his master's office.
"Ah," the pirate captain said to Bertrand, "thou'rt hiding behind thy servant's skirts, then! Yet how is't the crew maintain the contrary?"
By this time the looting of the Poseidon was complete, and everyone's attention turned to the interrogation. Ebenezer despaired of explaining the complicated story of his disguise.
"What matters it to you which is the liar?" Captain Meech inquired from the quarter-deck, where he was being held at pistol-point. "Take their money and begone with ye!"
To which the pirate answered, undisturbed, " 'Tis not the Laureate's money I want — he hath little enough of that, I'll wager." Ebenezer and Bertrand both vouched for the truth of this conjecture. " 'Tis a good valet I'm after, to attend me aboard ship; the Laureate can go to the Devil."
"Ye have found me out," Bertrand said at once. "I'll own I am the Laureate Eben Cooke."
"Wretch!" cried Ebenezer. "Confess thou'rt a lying scoundrel of a servant!"
"Nay, I'll tell the truth," the pirate said, watching both men carefully. " 'Tis the servant can go hang for all o' me; I've orders to hold the Laureate on my ship."
"There is your poet, sir." Bertrand pointed shamelessly to Ebenezer. "A finer master no man ever served."
Ebenezer goggled. "Nay, nay, good masters!" he said at last. " 'Tis not the first time I've presumed, as Captain Meech declared! This man here is the Laureate, in truth!"
"Enough," the pirate commanded, and turned to the turbaned Moor. "Clap 'em both in irons, and let's be off."
Thus amid murmurs from the people on the Poseidon the luckless pair were transferred to the shallop, protesting mightily all the way, and having confiscated every firearm and round of ammunition they could find aboard their prey, the pirates gave the ladies a final pinch, clambered over the rail, cast off the grapples, and headed for the open sea, soon putting their outraged victims far behind. The kidnaped seamen — Chips, the boatswain, and a youngster from the starboard watch — were taken to the captain's quarters to sign papers, and the two prisoners confined forward in the rope- and sail-locker, which by addition of a barred door and leg irons made fast to the massive oak knees had been turned into a lightless brig.
Sick with wrath at his valet's treachery though he was, and with apprehension for his fate, Ebenezer was also bewildered by the whole affair and demanded to know the reason for their abduction; but to all such queries their jailer — that same black giant who had first laid hands on them — simply responded, "Captain Pound hath his reasons, mate." It was not until the leg irons were fastened and the brute, in the process of bolting the heavy door, repeated this answer for the fourth or fifth time, that Ebenezer recognized the name.
"Captain Pound, did you say? Your captain's name is Pound?"
"Tom Pound it is," the pirate growled, and stayed for no further questions.
"Dear Heav'n!" the poet exclaimed. He and Bertrand were alone in the tiny cell now, and in absolute darkness, the Moor having taken the lamp with him.
"D'ye know the blackguard, sir? Is he a famous pirate? Ah Christ, that I were back in Pudding Lane! I'd hold the wretched thing myself, and let Ralph Birdsall do his worst!"
"Aye, I know of Thomas Pound." Ebenezer's astonishment at the coincidence — if indeed it was one — temporarily gained the better of his wrath. "He's the very pirate Burlingame once sailed with, off New England!"
"Master Burlingame a pirate!" Bertrand exclaimed. "At that, 'tis no surprise to me — "
"Hold thy lying tongue!" snapped Ebenezer. "Thou'rt a pretty knave to criticize my friend, that would throw me to the sharks yourself for tuppence!"
"Nay, prithee, sir," the servant begged, "think not so hard of me. I'll own I played ye false, but 'twas thy life or mine, no paltry tuppence." What's more, he added, Ebenezer had done the same a moment later, when the Captain revealed his true intention.
To this truth the Laureate had no rejoinder, and so for a time both men were silent, each brooding on his separate misery. For beds they had two piles of ragged sailcloth on the floor timbers, which, since their cell was in the extreme bow of the shallop, were not horizontal but curved upwards from keel and cutwater, so that they also formed the walls. The angle, together with the pounding of waves against the bow, would have made sleep impossible for Ebenezer, despite his great fatigue, even without the additional discomforts of fear and excitement. His mind returned to Henry Burlingame, who had sailed under the very brigand who now held them prisoner; perhaps aboard this very ship.
"Would he were here now, to intercede for me!"
He considered revealing his friendship with Burlingame to Captain Pound, but rejected the idea. He had no idea what name Henry had sailed under, for one thing, and his friend's manner of parting company with his shipmates would scarcely raise the value, in the Captain's eyes, of an acquaintanceship with him. Ebenezer recalled the story, told him in the Plymouth coach, of Burlingame's adventure with the mother and daughter whom he'd saved from rape, and who had rewarded him with, among other things, the first real clue to his ancestry. How sorely did he miss Henry Burlingame! He could not even remember with any precision what his dear friend looked like; at best his mental picture was a composite of the very different faces and voices of Burlingame before and after the adventures in America. Bertrand's remark came to his mind again, and brought with it disturbing memories of the valet's encounters with Henry: their meeting in the London posthouse, never mentioned by his friend, and their exchange of clothing in the stable of the King o' the Seas. Why had Bertrand not been surprised to learn of Burlingame's piracy, which had so astonished Ebenezer?
"Why did you speak so ill of Burlingame?" he asked aloud, but in reply heard only the sound of snoring from the other side of the great keel timber between them.
"In such straits as ours the wretch can sleep!" he exclaimed with a mixture of wonder and exasperation, but had not the heart to wake him. And eventually, though he had thought the thing impossible, he too succumbed to sheer exhaustion and, in that unlikeliest of places, slept.