Chapter VIII: Captured!

NO sooner were we well away from the Spanish ship which we had so rashly attacked than I bethought me of young Dick Buzza.

I looked around for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Mustering up courage, I braved the Captain's displeasure, and thrice called the lad softly by name. Still there was no answer.

As Captain Cleat did not call me to silence, but remained at his post, I went for'ard, thinking the lad was down below.

My voice echoed in the empty space of the fo'c'sle, but there came no reassuring reply. Then the thought flashed across my mind that perhaps the boy had been struck by a chance shot; yet I had heard no cry of pain on board the pinnace.

It did not take me long to complete the round of her decks, but no body lay upon her planks.

There were splinters, shattered blocks, and several ropes, while here and there a gaping hole in the bulwarks testified that some of the caravel's shot had told. Presently I came across a dark stain upon the deck. Close to it was another, and more leading in a well-defined path, till they reached the tiller, where the Captain still remained in his attitude of seeming ease.

"You are wounded, sir!" I exclaimed, in alarm and anxiety. An hour or so previously I would have welcomed the fact, but now, under different circumstances, I felt sincerest compassion towards the Captain.

"Ay, Roy," he replied, in a deep voice. "They've done for me. The rascally caravel was packed with soldiers, and we ne'er had a chance."

"Perchance 'tis not a mortal wound," said I. "Can I wash and bind it up? I am not used to so doing, yet I'll do my best."

"All the binding in the world will do no good," he replied. "'Tis bleeding inwardly. See," and, tearing open his doublet, he disclosed a small wound in the right breast, from which the blood welled slowly.

"Tomorrow you and the Cornish lad will be alone," he continued. "See to it that you save the pinnace from the Spaniards. Steer nor'-nor'-east, and, perchance, you'll be picked up by an English craft. Make good your case, and all will be well. But if----"

Here he broke off and begged for water. This I procured, and at the same time told him of the disappearance of Dick Buzza.

"Frightened out of his wits, I'll warrant," quoth he. "You'll doubtless find him down below in the hold. Now leave me and get you a decent rest, for by to-morrow you'll have your hands full, yet keep within hearing, lest I call."

To this I demurred, but Captain Cleat insisted with such vehemence that I instantly obeyed, wondering why he should, when at the point of death, show such unwonted consideration for the 'prentice he had so harshly ill-used.

I lay down upon the deck close to the foremast, with a coil of rope for a pillow and a piece of canvas over me to keep off the heavy dew. For a long while I could not sleep, for the excitement of the conflict, Dick's disappearance, and the Captain's injuries were constantly in my mind; but at length I fell into a troubled slumber.

Suddenly I was awakened by hearing the Captain shouting my name. I started to my feet and looked around, hardly able to grasp the situation.

It was broad daylight; the sun's rays glanced upon the long swell of the ocean, the crests of which were ruffled by a faint southerly breeze. Not a sail was in sight, which was much to be thankful for.

"Come hither, boy!"

The strength of the Captain's voice astonished me. Surely a man at the point of death could scarce shout like that? Then, as I drew near, I perceived a strange look in his eyes.

"Hasten," he continued. "Look around. We are in the midst of the Spanish ships. They lie thick around us; but, sink me, they'll not take the _Damsel of Lyme_!"

He paused for a moment to take his breath, then, speaking rapidly in short, almost incoherent sentences, he continued:

"Quick, lad. Under the cabin floor lies the powder. You know of it full well. Young Staynton was hidden there. Take this pistol, fire right into the thick of it, and we'll make one last journey together. Stop not to think--obey."

I stood still, trembling like a leaf. The Captain was in the grip of delirium.

"What ho, there! Mutiny? Sink me! James! George! come hither, and toss this rascal overboard. Where are you? A murrain on all of you, then; I'll fire the mine myself."

Silently I crept behind him and placed myself betwixt the cabin and the tiller. At all events, I must prevent Captain Cleat from putting his insane resolve into execution.

"Ha, there you are, you young rogue! Now, for the last time, wilt do it? Nay? Then take this, for Captain Hannibal Cleat was never known to miss."

Flourishing the heavy pistol, the demented Captain aimed full at my head and pressed the trigger. I could hear the wheel rasping 'gainst the flint, and saw the powder splutter in the pan. Then, moved by a sudden impulse, I threw myself flat upon the deck. The weapon exploded with startling report, the bullet passing through the low bulkhead a foot or so above my head.

I picked myself up and scrambled over the breastwork, determined to do my utmost to keep the madman at bay.

Then it was that his tone of command turned to one of entreaty.

"Hearken, Roy, and use discretion. Wouldst prefer the slow, lingering tortures of a Spanish prison to the swift, sharp ending that would come if we fire the powder?"

"You are mistaken," I replied. "There are no Spanish ships in sight."

With that he broke into a storm of cursing, and, leaving the tiller, he lurched, knife in hand, towards my place of shelter.

I saw that I must act, and that quickly. Seizing a musquetoon and wielding it clubwise, I stood on the defensive. The odds were with me, since he was already reeling with exhaustion.

Three steps did he take, then, without any apparent warning, his knees bent, and he fell in a heap upon the deck.

Throwing down my now needless weapon, I hastened to where he lay. One brief glance was sufficient. Captain Hannibal Cleat was no more.

I was now free to search for Dick Buzza, so, dragging the Captain's corpse into the shade of the poop, and covering it with an ensign, I hastened to take a lantern and examine the two holds. I hoped that in his fright the lad had rushed below and had fallen asleep through sheer weakness, but a thorough search revealed nothing. His fate was a mystery. I could only conjecture that, a prey to an irresistible terror, he had leapt over the side.

On returning upon deck I found that the pinnace had run up in the wind, and was lying hove-to.

Using my very scanty knowledge of seamanship, I contrived to lower the maintopsail, square the foresail, and thus sail easily before the wind.

By lashing the tiller I was enabled to leave the helm for long periods, in order to attend to the preparation of my meals and to make a thorough examination of the ship.

Ere leaving the Brittany ports she had got rid of the bulk of the booty, but there was enough money and valuables to make a man rich for life. 'Twas ill-gotten, truly, but that was not of my doing, so I prepared to return to England according to Captain Cleat's instructions ere his fit of madness came over him.

I therefore heaved the Captain's body over the side, having first attached a piece of ballast to his feet. Then, gathering all the gold pieces I could find, I placed them in a canvas sack and stowed them in the limbers of the ship, so that only by the most minute search would they be likely to be discovered.

I next proceeded to make all shipshape as far as possible, clumsily splicing all the ropes that had been shot away, and clearing the splinters and fragments from the deck.

Fortunately, the pinnace was well provisioned, and there was water in abundance.

The wind, too, held true, and my spirits rose. Given fine weather and no interference from hostile ships, I hoped to sight the English coast within seven days. There I would run the pinnace ashore, taking the bag of gold, and leave her to her fate. Next time I ventured afloat I would exercise more discrimination in the choice of a vessel, for though I hated my lot aboard the pirate ship, my desire to take to the sea remained as strong as ever.

In this way, musing on the bright future, I continued to indulge in pleasant day-dreams that, as each hour passed, seemed to approach nearer to their realisation.

As night came on I lashed the helm and turned in to a comfortable bunk in the after-cabin, trusting that the wind would hold during the hours of darkness. Worn out and absolutely overdone with the succession of exciting experiences, I fell into a sound, refreshing sleep, awaking when the sun was high in the heavens.

My first thought was to wonder whether the horizon was clear of other vessels. Truth to tell, I was not anxious, under present conditions, to meet even an English ship, while the thought of coming across an Algerine or a Spaniard filled me with keen anxiety.

As far as I could see there appeared no cause for alarm, but the broiling heat of the sun had caused a slight haze to lie in thin banks of fleecy mist upon the sea. Yet the breeze still held, and the ship was keeping fairly on her course.

Knowing the speed of the pinnace under ordinary conditions, and making due allowance for her reduced speed, I guessed that I was about a hundred leagues north-north-west of Cape Finisterre, and every hour my chance of falling in with a Spanish vessel was most surely diminishing.

So, having seen that the _Damsel of Lyme_ held fairly on her course, I kept the helm lashed, and went to prepare a meal. This occupied the best part of an hour, and when I came on deck again I fancied I saw a sail away down to the south-west.

Filled with apprehension, I made my way aloft, and from the maintopmast head looked in the direction of the object of my suspicions.

They were only too well founded. Visible above the bank of mist were the topsails of a large galleon, though her hull was as yet partly concealed by the haze.

"A Spaniard without doubt," I muttered; then taking courage in the fact that, perchance, those on deck might not have observed my small craft, I swarmed down on deck and proceeded to hoist the maintopsail.

It was a hard task for one pair of hands, but by the aid of tackles I succeeded in getting the heavy yard up chock-a-block, and squaring the drawing canvas.

Nobly the pinnace responded to the increased call upon her speed, and, leaving a long wake astern, she slipped swiftly through the waves.

This continued for about an hour, and, to my unbounded satisfaction, the gap between the two vessels began to widen appreciably.

Suddenly I noticed a dark line ruffling the waters astern. The mist disappeared as if by magic, disclosing every detail of the pursuing craft. Almost at the same time I saw men swarming up her rigging to shorten sail.

I knew full well what it meant. It was a squall approaching, and I was helpless to act. Already the way of the pinnace was too great to allow one to leave the helm. One instant's neglect to grasp the tiller would have caused her to broach to, with disastrous results. It must be a case of holding my course and trusting to Providence.

On board the galleon they were barely in time ere the squall overtook her. For a moment her bluff bows sank deep in the water, then, as she gathered an increased way, the foam flew in cascades from her stem.

This much I was able to discern by taking hasty glances over my shoulder, and, apprehensively, I waited for the powerful gust to overtake me.

Bracing myself at the tiller, I endeavoured to keep the _Damsel of Lyme_ straight before the wind. I could hear its moaning, yet dared not face the on-coming danger. Then, with a loud groaning and straining, the braces began to tauten, and the canvas to belly out as the first puff struck the pinnace; but ere she could gather sufficient way, the main squall swooped down.

I felt the water swirling up to my knees, while in the midst of a deafening crash the mainmast snapped off three feet from the deck, the wreckage wrenching the foreyard from its slings. Then, as the little craft broached to, the vicious green seas swept clean over her, and it was as much as I could do to save myself from being swept overboard.

Within ten minutes the squall had passed, and the weather was calm again, though the sea still ran high. The pinnace still floated, and, in spite of the trailing wreckage, seemed fairly buoyant.

I looked around for the Spanish ship. During the squall she had considerably overrun the _Damsel of Lyme_, but had backed her mizzen-topsail, with the evident intention of sending a boat.

My dreams of reaching England with the pinnace were doomed to be rudely shattered. I could think of no satisfactory plan to evade capture. If I hid below, it was unlikely that the Spaniard would be content with an informal search, and being discovered would add to my troubles. Neither could I hope to pass for a Frenchman, or, in fact, anybody but an English lad.

The Spaniards' longboat was hoisted out, and two officers and half a score of seamen tumbled into her. With the exception of the officers, who wore rapiers and pistols, the boat's crew were unarmed. The blades of the oars fell into the water with alacrity, and quickly the boat headed towards the _Damsel of Lyme_.

When within a short distance of the pinnace, one of the officers stood up and hailed me, but, being ignorant of the language, I could only shake my head.

Thereupon he tried again, apparently in another tongue, and meeting with the same result, tried yet again, this time in fair English:

"What ship is that?"

"The _Damsel of Lyme_, armed trader."

"Then throw me a rope."

I heaved with more vigour than precision, for the coil flew straight at his head. Only by raising his arm was the officer able to avoid a blow on the head, and even then his velvet cap fell from his closely-cropped hair.

He muttered angrily in his beard, and disdainfully threw the rope to the bowman, who quickly brought the boat alongside. The crew, led by the officers, swarmed over the side, and the _Damsel of Lyme_ was in the possession of the hated Spaniards.

"Where is the Captain?" demanded the officer who had before spoken to me.

He was a man of about fifty years of age, tall and slender, with a bronzed face, narrow, beady eyes, and, as I mentioned before, short black hair and pointed beard. His olive complexion was rendered still more swarthy by constant exposure to the salt breezes and the glare of the sun, but I noticed that his hands were long and thin, the well-cared-for fingers being heavily jewelled.

Knowing it was of no use to mince matters, I told him of our encounter with one of the ships of the Hispaniola Fleet, and how Captain Cleat had met his end.

"This, then, is not a ship belonging to the heretic Queen of England? Where are the ship's papers?"

I could not enlighten the haughty officer concerning the second question. The first I preferred to ignore. Thereupon he gave orders to the boat's crew, who immediately went below to search the vessel. The two officers remained on deck, the one questioning me closely, while the other smiled complacently, and stroked his beard as his companion translated my replies.

"What is your name, you piratical young dog?" he asked, after a while.

I told him.

"Roy? Are you, perchance, a relative of one Richard Roy, aforetime pilot to His Most Gracious Majesty King Philip?"

"He was my father, sir," I replied eagerly. "Why do you ask? Is he still alive? Do you know where he is?" and a string of similar questions delivered with the impatience of youth, and with the keenness for information respecting my long-lost parent.

To all this my questioner seemed absolutely indifferent, and with an exasperating languidness entered into conversation with his fellow-officer, though at times they gesticulated with their hands, after the manner of the people of southern climes.

Presently one of the seamen returned, and made a voluble report, while in a few moments he was joined by another, who bore a bejewelled crucifix that Captain Cleat had taken from a Spanish vessel many years ago, and had kept on board in an iron-bound trunk.

Both officers had crossed themselves at the sight of this silent witness to rank piracy, and, after giving several orders, the one who had spoken with me got into the longboat.

Thereupon two of the sailors motioned me to follow. Since my arms were not bound nor any attempt at ill-usage had been made, I began to feel more at ease, though I knew full well that I was a prisoner, and a member of the crew of a pirate to boot.

As the boat pushed off I could see that the Spaniards who had been left on board the pinnace were hard at work cutting away the wreckage, so that it was evident that they meant to stand by the prize, and not remove the booty and scuttle her. No doubt they had found out that the _Damsel of Lyme_ was thoroughly seaworthy as far as her hull was concerned, and that she was built on good lines for swift sailing. Properly handled, she would prove a valuable asset to any fleet.

As I looked back at her, I felt that another chapter of my life had come to a close. It had not been a pleasant one, 'tis true, but it might well have been worse. I was now face to face with captivity in the hands of the hated Spaniards.

Many and fearsome were the stories I had heard of their cruelty to heretics, and as I turned and gazed at the vast bulk of the galleon I prayed for strength to bear my tribulations with the fortitude of a true-born Englishman.