Dead Men Tell No Tales by E. W. Hornung (interesting novels in english TXT) 📕
There was, however, one slice of luck in store for me. I found the dear old Lady Jermyn on the very eve of sailing, with a new captain, a new crew, a handful of passengers (chiefly steerage), and nominally no cargo at all. I felt none the less at home when I stepped over her familiar side.
In the cuddy we were only five, but a more uneven quintette I defy you to convene. There was a young fellow named Ready, packed out for his health, and hurrying home to die among friends. There was an outrageously lucky digger, another invalid, for he would drink nothing but champagne with every meal and at any minute of the day, and I have
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“The house is surrounded,” says the squire, very quick and quiet; “is this your doing, Cole?”
“I wish it was,” said I; “but I can’t complain; it’s saved my life.” And I looked at Santos, standing dignified and alert, my still smoking pistol in his hand.
“Two things to do,” says Rattray - “I don’t care which.” He strode across the cellar and pulled at the one full bin; something slid out, it was a binful of empty bottles, and this time they were allowed to crash upon the floor; the squire stood pointing to a manhole at the back of the bin. “That’s one alternative,” said he; “but it will mean leaving this much stuff at least,” pointing to the boxes, “and probably all the rest at the other end. The other thing’s to stop and fight!”
“I fight,” said Santos, stalking to the door. “Have you no more ammunition for me, friend Cole? Then I must live you alive; adios, senhor!”
Harris cast a wistful look towards the manhole, not in cowardice, I fancy, but in sudden longing for the sea, the longing of a poor devil of a sailor-man doomed to die ashore. I am still sorry to remember that Rattray judged him differently. “Come on, skipper,” said he; “it’s all or none aboard the lugger, and I think it will be none. Up you go; wait a second in the room above, and I’ll find you an old cutlass. I shan’t be longer.” He turned to me with a wry smile. “We’re not half-armed,” he said; “they’ve caught us fairly on the hop; it should be fun! Good-by, Cole; I wish you’d had another round for that revolver. Good-by, Eva!”
And he held out his hand to our love, who had been watching him all this time with eyes of stone; but now she turned her back upon him without a word. His face changed; the stormlight of passion and remorse played upon it for an instant; he made a step towards her, wheeled abruptly, and took me by the shoulder instead.
“Take care of her, Cole,” said he. “Whatever happens - take care of her.”
I caught him at the foot of the stairs. I do not defend what I did. But I had more ammunition; a few wadded bullets, caps, and powder-charges, loose in a jacket pocket; and I thrust them into one of his, upon a sudden impulse, not (as I think) altogether unaccountable, albeit (as I have said) so indefensible.
My back was hardly turned an instant. I had left a statue of unforgiving coldness. I started round to catch in my arms a half-fainting, grief-stricken form, shaken with sobs that it broke my heart to hear. I placed her on the campstool. I knelt down and comforted her as well as I could, stroking her hands, my arm about her heaving shoulders, with the gold-brown hair streaming over them. Such hair as it was! So much longer than I had dreamt. So soft - so fine - my soul swam with the sight and touch of it. Well for me that there broke upon us from above such a sudden din as turned my hot blood cold! A wild shout of surprise; an ensuing roar of defiance; shrieks and curses; yells of rage and pain; and pistol-shot after pistol-shot as loud as cannon in the confined space.
I know now that the battle in the hall was a very brief affair; while it lasted I had no sense of time; minutes or moments, they were (God forgive me!) some of the very happiest in all my life. My joy was as profound as it was also selfish and incongruous. The villains were being routed; of that there could be no doubt or question. I hoped Rattray might escape, but for the others no pity stirred in my heart, and even my sneaking sympathy with the squire could take nothing from the joy that was in my heart. Eva Denison was free. I was free. Our oppressors would trouble us no more. We were both lonely; we were both young; we had suffered together and for each other. And here she lay in my arms, her head upon my shoulder, her soft bosom heaving on my own! My blood ran hot and cold by turns. I forgot everything but our freedom and my love. I forgot my sufferings, as I would have you all forget them. I am not to be pitied. I have been in heaven on earth. I was there that night, in my great bodily weakness, and in the midst of bloodshed, death, and crime.
“They have stopped!” cried Eva suddenly. “It is over! Oh, if he is dead!”
And she sat upright, with bright eyes starting from a deathly face. I do not think she knew that she had been in my arms at all: any more than I knew that the firing had ceased before she told me. Excited voices were still raised overhead; but some sounded distant, yet more distinct, coming through the grating from the garden; and none were voices that we knew. One poor wretch, on the other hand, we heard plainly groaning to his death; and we looked in each other’s eyes with the same thought.
“That’s Harris,” said I, with, I fear, but little compassion in my tone or in my heart just then.
“Where are the others ?” cried Eva piteously.
“God knows,” said I; “they may be done for, too.”
“If they are!”
“It’s better than the death they would have lived to die.”
“But only one of them was a wilful murderer! Oh, Mr. Cole - Mr. Cole - go and see what has happened; come back and tell me! I dare not come. I will stay here and pray for strength to bear whatever news you may bring me. Go quickly. I will - wait - and pray!”
So I left the poor child on her knees in that vile cellar, white face and straining hands uplifted to the foul ceiling, sweet lips quivering with prayer, eyelids reverently lowered, and the swift tears flowing from beneath them, all in the yellow light of the lantern that stood burning by her side. How different a picture from that which awaited me overhead!
The library doors were shut, and I closed the secret one behind me before opening the other and peering out through a wrack of bluish smoke; and there lay Captain Harris, sure enough, breathing his last in the arms of one constable, while another was seated on the table with a very wry face, twisting a tourniquet round his arm, from which the blood was dripping like raindrops from the eaves. A third officer stood in the porch, issuing directions to his men without.
“He’s over the wall, I tell you! I saw him run up our ladder. After him every man of you - and spread!”
I looked in vain for Rattray and the rest; yet it seemed as if only one of them had escaped. I was still looking when the man in the porch wheeled back into the hall, and instantly caught sight of me at my door.
“Hillo! here’s another of them,” cried he. “Out you come, young fellow! Your mates are all dead men.”
“They’re not my mates.”
“Never mind; come you out and let’s have a look at you.”
I did so, and was confronted by a short, thickset man, who recognized me with a smile, but whom I failed to recognize.
“I might have guessed it was Mr. Cole,” said he. “I knew you were here somewhere, but I couldn’t make head or tail of you through the smoke.”
“I’m surprised that you can make head or tail of me at all,” said I.
“Then you’ve quite forgotten the inquisitive parson you met out fishing? You see I found out your name for myself!”
“So it was a detective!”
“It was and is,” said the little man, nodding. “Detective or Inspector Royds, if you’re any the wiser.
“What has happened? Who has escaped?” “Your friend Rattray; but he won’t get far.”
“What of the Portuguese and the nigger?”
I forgot that I had crippled Jose, but remembered with my words, and wondered the more where he was.
“I’ll show you,” said Royds. “It was the nigger let us in. We heard him groaning round at the back - who smashed his leg? One of our men was at that cellar grating; there was some of them down there; we wanted to find our way down and corner them, but the fat got in the fire too soon. Can you stand something strong? Then come this way.”
He led me out into the garden, and to a tangled heap lying in the moonlight, on the edge of the long grass. The slave had fallen on top of his master; one leg lay swathed and twisted; one black hand had but partially relaxed upon the haft of a knife (the knife) that stood up hilt-deep in a blacker heart. And in the hand of Santos was still the revolver (my Deane and Adams) which had sent its last ball through the nigger’s body.
“They slipped out behind us, all but the one inside,” said Royds, ruefully; “I’m hanged if I know yet how it happened - but we were on them next second. Before that the nigger had made us hide him in the grass, but the old devil ran straight into him, and the one fired as the other struck. It’s the worst bit of luck in the whole business, and I’m rather disappointed on the whole. I’ve been nursing the job all this week; had my last look round this very evening, with one of these officers, and only rode back for more to make sure of taking our gentlemen alive. And we’ve lost three out of four of ‘em, and have still to lay hands on the gold! I suppose you didn’t know there was any aboard ?” he asked abruptly.
“Not before tonight.”
“Nor did we till the Devoren came in with letters last week, a hundred and thirty days out. She should have been in a month before you, but she got amongst the ice around the Horn. There was a letter of advice about the gold, saying it would probably go in the Lady Jermyn; and another about Rattray and his schooner, which had just sailed; the young gentleman was known to the police out there.”
“Do you know where the schooner is ?”
“Bless you, no, we’ve had no time to think about her; the man had been seen about town, and we’ve done well to lay hands on him in the time.”
“You will do better still when you do lay hands on him,” said I, wresting my eyes from the yellow dead face of the foreign scoundrel. The moon shone full upon his high forehead, his shrivelled lips, dank in their death agony, and on the bauble with the sacred device that he wore always in his tie. I recovered my property from the shrunken fingers, and so turned away with a harder heart than I ever had before or since for any creature of Almighty God.
Harris had expired in our absence.
“Never spoke, sir,” said the constable in whose arms we had left him.
“More’s the pity. Well, cut out at the back and help land the young gent, or we’ll have him giving us the slip too. He may double back, but I’m watching out for that. Which way should you say he’d head, Mr. Cole?”
“Inland,” said I, lying on the spur of the moment, I knew not why. “Try at the cottage where I’ve been staying.”
“We have a man posted there already. That woman is one of the gang, and we’ve got
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