Taking another step back, I started to turn toward the curtain through which I had come. Unwittingly I had stumbled into some other affair of which I knew nothing and wished to know nothing.
“Obviously,” I said, “we talk to no point. Perhaps another time—”
“Now,” he said, and from under his desk he produced a formidable-looking pistol. The click of its cocking was loud in the room. “Sit down. I will have my boys in, and we shall know more about you, my young fool.”
He shouted suddenly. “Harry! Tom! Here, at once!”
His pistol was gripped in his hand, but it was merely held, and he believed the threat was enough, but I kicked my chair toward him, just enough to make him jerk back from sheer instinct, and then I was through the curtains and found myself facing a burly fellow with more confidence than is usually permitted a man.
“Here, now! Just back up there! I will—!”
“Not now,” I said, and kicked him on the kneecap. He bent over, grabbing at his injured knee with a howl, and I jerked my knee into his face, then pushed him aside with the flat of my hand and went for the outer door. A slim lad with an evil face awaited me there, but he stepped aside, smiling in no friendly fashion. “My time will come later,” he said. “It always does!”
With that I was on the street and around the corner, across the street and around another corner. What manner of place was this Port Royal? Was there a den of thieves wherever a man looked? I had but stepped into a store—no matter.
Back at the tavern I went at once to the room and sat down upon the bench, throwing my hat upon the bed. As I did so, my eye caught a flutter from the table where sat the bowl and pitcher.
A bit of paper, held down by the bowl. I opened its one fold.
Madame Legare has been taken. Meet me near mouth of Rio Cobre, near Santiago de la Vega. No later than midnight.
Henry
For a moment I stood still, thinking. Madame Legare taken! She had escaped them once, but she would not do so again, and her husband, a good, well-meaning man, was probably not the kind to deal effectively with Bauer. Yet it was my responsibility, for it was I who had brought her to his attention.
Turning to my belongings, I dug out two pistols and loaded them and tucked both into my belt. To leave Port Royal for Santiago de la Vega and the mouth of the Rio Cobre was simply to cross the entrance to the bay. In my mind’s eye I pictured the distance.
Two miles? Or a bit more?
I would go now, at once.
CHAPTER XIV
The boy I found on the shore who would take me across the harbor entrance was slim and very black, his eyes large and soulful. “A shillin’, suh. I does it for a shillin’.”
“Make good time and keep your eyes out for trouble and there’ll be another shillin’,” I said.
“A shillin’,” he said. “An’ I see anything you should know, I tell you.”
He pushed off as soon as I was seated, and we moved at once out over the dark water. Dark water where no wind blew, and two dozen ships lay at anchor, pirate vessels most of them, some bulging with cargo freshly looted from vessels on the Spanish Main. Nor was the harbor quiet because night had come. A lighter, piled high with bales and casks, passed us. There were lights in the ships, and from a galleon, still bearing marks of fire and cannon balls, there came drunken singing. A man lurched to the rail and waved a bottle at us, inviting us for a drink. From shore there was the sound of music and drunken singing. It was a wild night in a wild port upon a wild sea with the island looming high and dark behind it.
“Lived here long?” I asked.
“No other place,” he said. “I like it, suh. This is what I like, the boat, a man to take across, a shillin’ comin’ when you step ashore, an’ sometime a cabin on the slope of the Healthshire Hills.”
He was silent, and the oar chunked solemnly in the oarlock at the stern. There was not wind enough for a sail, although beyond the ships at anchor there might be.
“I been ast to go upon a ship. More’n one time. I don’t want that. I don’t want no gold bought for blood. I like a quiet time with the sound of my oar or water past the hull. I like a man settin’ quiet like you. I like the smells on the other side, yonder. I like it over on Galleon Bay.”
For a long time he was silent, and after a bit I said, “I am from the mountains of America, far away to the north. I have a cabin there where the flowers bloom and where the mountain edges reach up to the sky. I know what you mean.”
He set me ashore after a while on a sandy spit near the river, and I gave him his shilling. “You have a family?” I asked. I could see the whites of his eyes in the darkness and the white scarf tied about his head.
“I once had. Maman died when I was tall as her waist. Papa an’ me, we put her down and marked the place. He done stayed on wi’ me, but his eyes were always a-looking at the sea, and ever’ time a ship sailed, I think he’s heart go wi’ it.
“One day I was fourteen, an’ papa he say I am man now, an’ I say you go, papa. You go down where the ships go because I see he’s heart is with them, and he went away, and I have my boat and sometimes a shillin’.”
“What name do you have?”
“Andrew, suh. I am called Andrew.”
“No other name?” I saw his teeth when he smiled.
“I have no need for other name. I am Andrew. It is enough. If I had another name, too, I might feel big about me, and it is not good. A boy named Andrew who has a boat. Good-by, suh.”
I put the shilling in his hand, and he pushed off and went into the darkness, standing tall and quiet in his boat. I stood alone in the darkness, unmoving, until the night lost the sound of his oar.
All was black about me; a loom of jungle-covered hills and only a narrow strip of white shoreline stood close. I walked up the beach and stood to think, to decide which way I should go, but there was a soft rustling and a sound near me.
“Captain? It is Henry.”
He came from the shadows. Several others moved near him, and I kept a hand on a pistol. “It is well, Captain. They are maroons and my people.”
“They have taken Adele Legare. Where are they now?”
“Not far.” He laughed softly. “They do not know, but they are watched. My people are like the Indians of your country. They are quiet in the forest.”
“Are they camped?”
“They move slowly, I think, as if waiting for somebody or for a time. They now are near the Salt Ponds, but I think they go to Galleon Bay. It is a good place for boats to come and not to be seen.”
He led the way, and we moved swiftly. There had been a shower earlier, and the leaves dripped, yet I think it helped to obscure the sounds of our passing, and we had been going but a few minutes when a man came from the jungle. We stopped briefly while he talked to Henry; then he faded into the jungle and was gone.
“They are but minutes away.” He glanced at me, as I could dimly see. “There will be fighting, I think.”
“How many are they?”
“Seven now, and a light was seen on Galleon Bay, a signal, we believe.” He led the way sharply downhill. The earth was muddy under foot, and several times I slipped but each time caught myself before falling.
Suddenly the water was before us, a goodly stretch of it with the darkness of land beyond. Henry touched my arm. “We walk easily here, for there is a swamp along the shore.”
My boots were ill fitted for such travel, and I longed for a pair of my moccasins, which suited me better. We emerged upon solid footing, a stretch along the shore, and we walked along the sand.
Suddenly a voice spoke, “Sheer off there! Belay it! We want no visitors here!”
“But you have them, my friend,” I said quietly. “You have many visitors, and we wish the young lady. You may release her now, or we will have your blood first.”