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The Lady and the Pirate, a novel by Emerson Hough |
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Chapter 36. In Which We Fold Our Tents |
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_ CHAPTER XXXVI. IN WHICH WE FOLD OUR TENTS By consent of the lighthouse keeper, we left the Belle Helene moored at the wharf in the channel, with Williams in charge, while Peterson and I, towing the tender's sailing skiff, its piratical lateen sail lowered, started back for our encampment in our long boat. It was only a half mile or so alongshore around the head of the island, although we had to keep out a bit to avoid going aground on the flats where the Belle Helene had come to grief--and had, moreover, to wade ashore some fifty yards or so, now that the sea was calm, since the keel of the motor-boat would not admit a closer approach in the shallows. We found our party all assembled, John having but now issued his luncheon call; and, such had proved the swift spell of this care-free life, none expressed much delight at the announcement of my decision to strike camp and move toward civilization. Helena only looked up swiftly, but made no comment; and Mrs. Daniver, to my surprise, openly rebelled at leaving these flesh-pots, where canvasback and terrapin might be had by shaking the bushes, and where the supply of ninety-three seemed, after all, not exhausted. Of course, my men had nothing to say about it, but when it came to my partners and associates, Lafitte and L'Olonnois, there was open mutiny. "Why, now," protested L'Olonnois, his lip quivering, "O' course we don't want to go home. Ain't our desert island all right? Where you goin' to find any better place 'n this, like to know? Besides"--and here he drew me to one side--"they's a good reason for not goin' just yet, Black Bart!" "What, Jimmy?" I inquired. "Well, I know somethin'." "And what is it?" "Well, Jean Lafitte knows it, too." "What is it then?" "Well, it ain't happened yet, but it's goin' to--or anyhow maybe." "You interest me! Is it a matter of importance?" "--Say it was!" "To whom?" "Why, to you--an' besides, to my Auntie Helena. 'N' you can't pull off things like that just anywheres. Jean Lafitte an' me, we frame up how to handle yon heartless jade, the fair captive, 'n' here you butt in 'n' spoil the whole works. It ain't right." I bethought me now of the conversation I had unwillingly overheard--and my heart was grateful to these my friends--but the next instant I remembered the note to Cal Davidson. "I thank you, Jimmy, my friend," said I, "and I believe I know what you mean, but it can't be done." "What can't, an' why can't it?" "Why, the--the frame-up that you have just mentioned. In short--but, Jimmy, go on and roll up the blankets." "But why can't it, and what do you know about it? Tell me," he demanded with sudden inspiration, "is yon varlet a suitor, too, for yon heartless jade?" "I decline to answer, Jimmy. Don't let's get into too deep water. Go on and get your bundles ready." "You're a fine pirate, ain't you, Black Bart!" he broke out. "Do you hold yerself fit to head a band o' bold an' desprit men, when you let yerself be bluffed by yon varlet, an' him a thousand miles away? You try me, just you gimme a desert island, or even a pirut ship, a week, like the chance you got, an' beshrew me, but any heartless jade would be mine!" "Oh, maybe not, Jimmy." "--Or else she'd walk the plank." "There isn't any plank to walk here, Jimmy," said I, pointing to our boat, which lay in the shoals far out. "I rather wish there were." "You'll have to carry my Auntie Helen out on yore strong right arm, Black Bart." "I'll do nothing of the sort, Jimmy." "Don't you like her no more? An' if you don't, what're we here for?" I could foresee embarrassments in further conversation with Jimmy in his present truculent mood, so sought out others less mutinous, and gave orders for the striking of the camp and the embarkment of all in the small boats. I left Peterson and Willy to take the ladies and most of the duffel in the large boat, assigned John the dingey for his cook boat, and decided to pole the light draft duck boat over the shallows direct to the yacht, taking my two associates with me. It was necessary, of course, to carry our fair passengers out to the long boat, which was some distance out on the flat beach. Peterson and I made a cradle for Mrs. Daniver, with our locked hands, and so got her substantial weight aboard. Helena mutely waited, but seeing her so, and unwilling myself to be so near to her any more, I motioned her to step into the flat duck boat, dry shod, and so poled her out to the long boat; but I did so in silence, nor did she look up or speak to me. Our new pilot sat in his own boat, and was towed back, after rendering some assistance with the cargoes; so now, at last, I was ready to leave a spot which, in any other circumstances, would have offered much charm for a man fond of the out-of-doors. As for my young friends, they were almost in tears as they sat, looking back longingly at the great flights of all manner of wild fowl continuously streaming in and out of the lagoon. At any other time, I would have been unwilling as any to depart, but, now, the whole taste and flavor of life had left me, and no interest remained in any of my old occupations or enjoyments. All that remained was the action necessary to deliver Helena and her aunt back to the usual scenes of their lives, to make their losses as light as possible, to take my own losses, and so close the books of my life. "There they come!" said Jean Lafitte, pointing to a vast gaggle of clamoring wild geese coming in from the bay. "Right over our point, Jimmy! Gee! I wisht I was under them fellers right now. Pow! Pow!" "Aw, shut up!" was Jimmy's reply. "We won't never get no chance like this again. Why, looky here, we was reg'lar castaways on a real desert island, an' we had a abandoned ship, an' we c'd 'a' lived chiefly by huntin' an' fishin'; and we had evaded all pursuit an' run off with the fair captive to a place o' hidin'--why, it's all just like in the book. An' what do we do? Why, we go home! Wouldn't it frost you? An' what's worse, we let the heartless jade get away with it, too! Ain't that so?" "Yes, that's true, Jimmy," I replied. "Well, I was talkin' to Jean Lafitte--but it's so. We started out all right as pirates, but now we let a girl bluff us." "What would you do, Jimmy, in a case like that?" I inquired. "I would wring the wench's slender neck, beshrew me! She couldn't put over none o' that coarse work on me. No, curses on her fair face!" "That will do, Jimmy!" said I, and pushed on in silence, Jean Lafitte very grave, and Jimmy snuffling, now, in his grief at leaving the enchanted island. So, all much about the same time, we reached the Belle Helene and went aboard. The ladies went at once to their cabin, and I saw neither again that day, although I sent down duck, terrapin and ninety-three for their dinner that night. In half an hour we were under way; and in an hour and a half, having circumvented our long desert island, we were passing through the cut-off which led us back into Cote Blanche, some fifty miles, I presume, from what was to be our voyage's end. We still were in the vast marsh country, an inaccessible region teeming with wild life. The sky now was clear, the air once more warm, the breeze gentle, and all the country roundabout us had a charm quite its own. A thousand side channels led back into the fortresses of the great sea-marsh, to this or that of the many lakes, lagoons and pond holes where the wild fowl found their feeding beds. Here was this refuge, where they fled to escape persecution, the spot most remote, secluded, secret, inaccessible. Here nature conspired to balk pursuit. The wide shallows made a bar now to the average sailing craft, and as for a motor-yacht like ours, the presence of a local pilot, acquainted with all the oyster reefs and shallows, all the channels and cut-offs, made us feel more easy, for we knew we could no longer sail merely by compass and chart. A great sense of remoteness from all the world came over me. I scarce could realize that yonder, so lately left behind, roared the mad tumult of the northern cities. This wide expanse was broken by no structure dedicated to commerce, not even the quiet spire of some rural church arose among the lesser edifices of any village--not even the blue smoke of some farmhouse marked the dwelling-place of man. It was the wilderness, fit only for the nomad, fit only for the man resentful of restraint and custom, longing only for the freedom of adventure and romance. The cycles of Cathay lay here in these gray silences, the leaf of the lotus pulsed on this lazy sea. Ah! here, here indeed were surcease and calm. And all this I was leaving. I was going back now to the vast tumult of the roaring towns, to the lip of mockery, the eye of insincerity, the hand of hypocrisy, where none may trust a neighbor. And moreover, I was going back without one look, face to face, into the eyes and the heart of the woman I had loved, and who, by force of these extraordinary circumstances had, for a miraculous moment, been thus set down with me, her lover, in the very surroundings built of Providence for secrecy and love! Yonder, speeding to her summons, no doubt hastened, ready to meet her, the man whom she had preferred above me. And like a beast of burden, driven in the service of these two, I was plodding on, in the work of leaving paradise and opportunity, and delivering safe into the hands of another man the woman whom I loved far more than all else in all the world. _ |
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