The Pirate (Marryat)/Chapter XIV

The Meeting
The pirates returned to their vessel discomfited. Those on board, who were prepared to hoist in ingots of precious metal, had to receive nought but wounded men, and many of their comrades had remained dead on the shore. Their captain was melancholy and downcast. Hawkhurst was badly wounded, and obliged to be carried below as soon as he came on board. The only capture which they had made was their former associate Francisco, who, by the last words spoken by Hawkhurst as he was supported to his cabin was ordered to be put in irons. The boats were hoisted in without noise, and a general gloom prevailed. All sail was then made upon the schooner, and when day dawned she was seen by the Spaniards far away to the northward.

The report was soon spread through the schooner that Francisco had been the cause of their defeat; and this was only a surmise, still, as they considered that had he not recognised the vessel the Spaniards would not have been prepared, they had good grounds for what had swelled into an assertion. He became, therefore, to many of them, an object of bitter enmity, and they looked forward with pleasure to his destruction, which his present confinement they considered but the precursor of.

“Hist! Massa Francisco!” said a low voice near to where Francisco sat on the chest. Francisco turned round and beheld the Krouman, his old friend.

“Ah! Pompey, are you all still on board?” said Francisco.

“All! no,” replied the man, shaking his head; “some die—some get away—only four Kroumen left. Massa Francisco, how you come back again? Everybody tink you dead. I say no, not dead—ab charm with him—ab book.”

“If that was my charm, I have it still,” replied Francisco, taking the Bible out of his vest; for, strange to say, Francisco himself had a kind of superstition relative to that Bible, and had put it into his bosom previous to the attack made by the pirates.

“Dat very good, Massa Francisco; den you quite safe. Here come Johnson—he very bad man. I go away.”

In the meantime Cain had retired to his cabin with feelings scarcely to be analysed. He was in a bewilderment. Notwithstanding the wound he had received by the hand of Francisco, he would never have sanctioned Hawkhurst putting him on shore on a spot which promised nothing but a lingering and miserable death. Irritated as he had been by the young man’s open defiance, he loved him—loved him much more than he was aware of himself; and when he had recovered sufficiently from his wound, and had been informed where Francisco had been sent on shore, he quarrelled with Hawkhurst, and reproached him bitterly and sternly, in language which Hawkhurst never forgot or forgave. The vision of the starving lad haunted Cain, and rendered him miserable. His affection for him, now that he was, as he supposed, lost for ever, increased with tenfold force; and since that period Cain had never been seen to smile. He became more gloomy, more ferocious than ever, and the men trembled when he appeared on deck.

The apparition of Francisco after so long an interval, and in such an unexpected quarter of the globe, acted, as we have before described, upon Cain. When he was taken to the boat he was still confused in his ideas, and it was not until they were nearly on board that he perceived that this young man was indeed at his side. He could have fallen on his neck and kissed him: for Francisco had become to him a capture more prized than all the wealth of the Indies. But one pure, good feeling was unextinguished in the bosom of Cain; stained with every crime—with his hands so deeply imbrued in blood—at enmity with all the rest of the world, that one feeling burnt bright and clear, and was not to be quenched. It might have proved a beacon-light to steer him back to repentance and to good works.

But there were other feelings which also crowded upon the mind of the pirate-captain. He knew Francisco’s firmness and decision. By some inscrutable means, which Cain considered as supernatural, Francisco had obtained the knowledge, and had accused him, of his mother’s death. Would not the affection which he felt for the young man be met with hatred and defiance? He was but too sure that it would. And then his gloomy, cruel disposition would reassume its influence, and he thought of revenging the attack upon his life. His astonishment at the reappearance of Francisco was equally great, and he trembled at the sight of him, as if he were his accusing and condemning spirit. Thus did he wander from one fearful fancy to another, until he at last summoned up resolution to send for him.

A morose, dark man, whom Francisco had not seen when he was before in the schooner, obeyed the commands of the captain. The irons were unlocked, and Francisco was brought down into the cabin. The captain rose and shut the door.

“I little thought to see you here, Francisco,” said Cain.

“Probably not,” replied Francisco, boldly, “but you have me again, in your power, and may now wreak your vengeance.”

“I feel none, Francisco; nor would I have suffered you to have been put on shore as you were, had I known of it. Even now that our expedition has failed through your means, I feel no anger towards you, although I shall have some difficulty in preserving you from the enmity of others. Indeed, Francisco, I am glad to find that you are alive, and I have bitterly mourned your loss:” and Cain extended his hand.

But Francisco folded his arms, and was silent.

“Are you then so unforgiving?” said the captain. “You know that I tell the truth.”

“I believe that you state the truth, Captain Cain, for you are too bold to lie; and, as far as I am concerned, you have all the forgiveness you may wish; but I cannot take that hand; nor are our accounts yet settled.”

“What would you more? Cannot we be friends again? I do not ask you to remain on board. You are free to go where you please. Come, Francisco, take my hand, and let us forget what is past.”

“The hand that is imbrued with my mother’s blood, perhaps!” exclaimed Francisco. “Never!”

“Not so, by G—d!” exclaimed Cain. “No, no; not quite so bad as that. In my mood I struck your mother; I grant it. I did not intend to injure her, but I did, and she died. I will not lie—that is the fact. And it is also the fact that I wept over her, Francisco; for I loved her as I do you.”

(“It was a hasty, bitter blow, that,” continued Cain, soliloquising, with his hand to his forehead, and unconscious of Francisco’s presence at the moment. “It made me what I am, for it made me reckless.”)

“Francisco,” said Cain, raising his head, “I was bad, but I was no pirate when your mother lived. There is a curse upon me: that which I love most I treat the worst. Of all the world, I loved your mother most: yet did she from me receive much injury, and at last I caused her death. Next to your mother, whose memory I at once revere and love, and tremble when I think of (and each night does she appear to me), I have loved you, Francisco; for you, like her, have an angel’s feelings: yet have I treated you as ill. You thwarted me, and you were right. Had you been wrong, I had not cared; but you were right, and it maddened me. Your appeals by day—your mother’s in my dreams—”

Francisco’s heart was softened; if not repentance, there was at least contrition. “Indeed I pity you,” replied Francisco.

“You must do more, Francisco; you must be friends with me,” said Cain, again extending his hand.

“I cannot take that hand, it is too deeply dyed in blood,” replied Francisco.

“Well, well, so would have said your mother. But hear me, Francisco,” said Cain, lowering his voice to a whisper, lest he should be overheard; “I am tired of this life—perhaps sorry for what I have done—I wish to leave it—have wealth in plenty concealed where others know not. Tell me, Francisco, shall we both quit this vessel, and live together happily and without doing wrong? You shall share all, Francisco. Say, now, does that please you?”

“Yes; it pleases me to hear that you will abandon your lawless life, Captain Cain; but share your wealth I cannot, for how has it been gained?”

“It cannot be returned, Francisco; I will do good with it. I will indeed, Francisco. I—will—repent;” and again the hand was extended.

Francisco hesitated.

“I do, so help me God! I do repent, Francisco!” exclaimed the pirate-captain.

“And I, as a Christian, do forgive you all,” replied Francisco, taking the still extended hand. “May God forgive you, too!”

“Amen!” replied the pirate, solemnly, covering his face up in his hands.

In this position he remained some minutes, Francisco watching him in silence. At last the face was uncovered, and, to the surprise of Francisco, a tear was on the cheek of Cain and his eyes suffused with moisture. Francisco no longer waited for the hand to be extended; he walked up to the captain, and taking him by the hand, pressed it warmly.

“God bless you, boy! God bless you!” said Cain; “but leave me now.”

Francisco returned on deck with a light and grateful heart. His countenance at once told those who were near him that he was not condemned, and many who dared not before take notice of him, now saluted him. The man who had taken him out of irons looked round; he was a creature of Hawkhurst, and he knew not how to act. Francisco observed him, and, with a wave of the hand, ordered him below. That Francisco was again in authority was instantly perceived, and the first proof of it was, that the new second mate reported to him that there was a sail on the weather bow.

Francisco took the glass to examine her. It was a large schooner under all sail. Not wishing that any one should enter the cabin but himself, he went down to the cabin-door, and knocked before he entered, and reported the vessel.

“Thank you, Francisco; you must take Hawkhurst’s duty for the present—it shall not be for long; and fear not that I shall make another capture. I swear to you I will not, Francisco. But this schooner—I know very well what she is: she has been looking after us some time: and a week ago, Francisco, I was anxious to meet her, that I might shed more blood. Now I will do all I can to avoid her, and escape. I can do no more, Francisco. I must not be taken.”

“There I cannot blame you. To avoid her will be easy, I should think; the Avenger outsails everything.”

“Except, I believe, the Enterprise, which is a sister-vessel. By heaven! it’s a fair match,” continued Cain, his feelings of combativeness returning for a moment; “and it will look like a craven to refuse the fight: but fear not, Francisco—I have promised you, and I shall keep my word.”

Cain went on deck, and surveyed the vessel through the glass.

“Yes, it must be her,” said he aloud, so as to be heard by the pirates; “she has been sent out by the admiral on purpose, full of his best men. What a pity we are short-handed!”

“There’s enough of us, sir,” observed the boatswain.

“Yes,” replied Cain, “if there was anything but hard blows to be got; but that is all, and I cannot spare more men. Ready about!” continued he, walking aft.

The Enterprise, for she was the vessel in pursuit, was then about five miles distant, steering for the Avenger, who was on a wind. As soon as the Avenger tacked, the Enterprise took in her topmast studding-sail, and hauled her wind. This brought the Enterprise well on the weather-quarter of the Avenger, who now made all sail. The pirates, who had had quite enough of fighting, and were not stimulated by the presence of Hawkhurst, or the wishes of their captain, now showed as much anxiety to avoid, as they usually did to seek, a combat.

At the first trial of sailing between the two schooners there was no perceptible difference; for half an hour they both continued on a wind, and when Edward Templemore examined his sextant a second time, he could not perceive that he had gained upon the Avenger one cable’s length.

“We will keep away half a point,” said Edward to his second in command. “We can afford that, and still hold the weather-gage.”

The Enterprise was kept away, and increased her speed: they neared the Avenger more than a quarter of a mile.

“They are nearing us,” observed Francisco; “we must keep away a point.”

Away went the Avenger, and would have recovered her distance, but the Enterprise was again steered more off the wind.

Thus did they continue altering their course until the studding-sails below and aloft were set by both, and the position of the schooners was changed; the Enterprise now being on the starboard instead of the larboard quarter of the Avenger. The relative distance between the two schooners was, however, nearly the same, that is, about three miles and a half from each other; and there was every prospect of a long and weary chase on the part of the Enterprise, who again kept away a point to near the Avenger.

Both vessels were now running to the eastward.

It was about an hour before dark that another sail hove in sight right a-head of the Avenger, and was clearly made out to be a frigate. The pirates were alarmed at this unfortunate circumstance, as there was little doubt but that she would prove a British cruiser; and, if not, they had equally reason to expect that she would assist in their capture. She had evidently perceived the two schooners, and had made all sail, tacking every quarter of an hour so as to keep her relative position. The Enterprise, who had also made out the frigate, to attract her attention, although not within range of the Avenger, commenced firing with her long-gun.

“This is rather awkward,” observed Cain.

“It will be dark in less than an hour,” observed Francisco; “and that is our only chance.”

Cain reflected a minute.

“Get the long-gun ready, my lads! We will return her fire, Francisco, and hoist American colours; that will puzzle the frigate at all events, and the night may do the rest.”

The long-gun of the Avenger was ready.

“I would not fire the long-gun,” observed Francisco, “it will show our force, and will give no reason for our attempt to escape. Now, if we were to fire our broadside-guns, the difference of report between them and the one of large calibre fired by the other schooner would induce them to think that we are an American vessel.”

“Very true,” replied Cain, “and, as America is at peace with all the world, that our antagonist is a pirate. Hold fast the long-gun, there; and unship the starboard ports. See that the ensign blows out clear.”

The Avenger commenced firing an occasional gun from her broadside, the reports of which were hardly to be heard by those on board of the frigate; while the long-gun of the Enterprise reverberated along the water, and its loud resonance was swept by the wind to the frigate to leeward.

Such was the state of affairs when the sun sank down in the wave, and darkness obscured the vessels from each other’s sight, except with the assistance of the night telescopes.

“What do you propose to do, Captain Cain?” said Francisco.

“I have made up my mind to do a bold thing. I will run down to the frigate, as if for shelter; tell him that the other vessel is a pirate, and claim his protection. Leave me to escape afterwards; the moon will not rise till nearly one o’clock.”

“That will be a bold ruse, indeed; but suppose you are once under her broadside, and she suspects you?”

“Then I will show her my heels. I should care nothing for her and her broadside if the schooner was not here.”

In an hour after dark the Avenger was close to the frigate, having steered directly for her. She shortened sail gradually, as if she had few hands on board; and, keeping his men out of sight, Cain ran under the stern of the frigate.

“Schooner ahoy! What schooner is that?”

“Eliza of Baltimore, from Carthagena,” replied Cain, rounding to under the lee of the man-of-war, and then continuing: “That vessel in chase is a pirate. Shall I send a boat on board?”

“No; keep company with us.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” replied Cain.

“Hands about ship!” now resounded with the boatswain’s whistle on board of the frigate, and in a minute they were on the other tack. The Avenger also tacked and kept close under the frigate’s counter.

In the meantime, Edward Templemore and those on board of the Enterprise who, by the course steered, had gradually neared them, perceiving the motions of the two other vessels, were quite puzzled. At one time they thought they had made a mistake, and that it was not the pirate vessel; at another they surmised that the crew had mutinied and surrendered to the frigate. Edward hauled his wind, and steered directly for them, to ascertain what the real facts were. The captain of the frigate, who had never lost sight of either vessel, was equally astonished at the boldness of the supposed pirate.

“Surely the rascal does not intend to board us?” said he to the first-lieutenant.

“There is no saying, sir; you know what a character he has: and some say there are three hundred men on board, which is equal to our ship’s company. Or perhaps, sir, he will pass to windward of us, and give us a broadside, and be off in the wind’s eye again.”

“At all events we will have a broadside ready for him,” replied the captain. “Clear away the starboard guns, and take out the tompions. Pipe starboard watch to quarters.”

The Enterprise closed with the frigate to windward, intending to run round her stern and bring to on the same tack.

“He does not shorten sail yet, sir,” said the first-lieutenant, as the schooner appeared skimming along about a cable’s length on their weather bow.

“And she is full of men, sir,” said the master, looking at her through the night-glass.

“Fire a gun at her!” said the captain.

Bang! The smoke cleared away, and the schooner’s foretopsail, which she was in the act of clewing up, lay over side. The shot had struck the foremast of the Enterprise, and cut it in two below the catharpings. The Enterprise was, for the time, completely disabled.

“Schooner ahoy! What schooner is that?”

“His Majesty’s schooner Enterprise.”

“Send a boat on board immediately.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“Turn the hands up? Shorten sail!”

The top-gallant and courses of the frigate were taken in, and the mainsail hove to the mast.

“Signalman, whereabouts is that other schooner now?”

“The schooner, sir? On the quarter,” replied the signalman, who with everybody else on board, was so anxious about the Enterprise, that they had neglected to watch the motions of the supposed American. The man had replied at random, and he now jumped upon the signal-chests abaft to look for her. But she was not to be seen. Cain, who had watched all that passed between the other two vessels, and had been prepared to slip off at a moment’s warning, as soon as the gun was fired at the other schooner, had wore round and made all sail on a wind. The night-glass discovered her half a mile astern; and the ruse was immediately perceived. The frigate filled and made sail, leaving Edward to return on board—for there was no time to stop for the boat—tacked, and gave chase. But the Avenger was soon in the wind’s-eye of her; and at daylight was no longer to be seen.

In the meantime, Edward Templemore had followed the frigate as soon as he could set sail on his vessel, indignant at his treatment, and vowing that he would demand a court-martial. About noon the frigate rejoined him, when matters were fully explained. Annoyed as they all felt at not having captured the pirate, it was unanimously agreed, that by his audacity and coolness he deserved to escape. It was found that the mast of the Enterprise could be fished and scarfed, so as to enable her to continue her cruise. The carpenters of the frigate were sent on board; and in two days the injury was repaired, and Edward Templemore once more went in pursuit of the Avenger.