Doctor Syn on the High Seas - Thorndike Russell - Страница 32
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Portuguese to his Spanish, and polished up his French.
“And I shall add to these as time allows,” he said, “for wherever the
rascal may have hidden, when I shall reappear to him it will be useful
if I can speak the language.”
Esnada and his daughter humoured him, but they were glad of the way
things had fallen, for they were fond of the Doctor, and had missed him
badly when he had been traveling from port to port. And then at last
news came.
It was the Ha rbourmaster who brought it in the shape of a sailor. A
native of San Sebastian, he had just returned home from the Americas.
He had been a member of the Santa Maria’s crew for a long time, but had
left her in Charleston when she was put up for sale. Th e owners had
bought a shallower craft to trade up -river.
Oh yes, indeed, the owner’s wife was with him. She had a child, too-a boy—and by this time doubtless had another. The husband, Black Nick,
was for ever dragging her around with him,
baby or no. The sailor went on to speak of Black Nick’s bad habits:
drinking and the worst brutality. When Syn gave him three guineas for
his story, he was back again next day, with details he had not thought
on.
Esnada warned the Doctor not to pay more heed or money, for he
thought the rascal had realized that they had no god regard for his
Black Nick, and so, by further blackening his character, he thought to
purse more guineas.
“Besides,” he added, “tis months and months since he set eyes on your
enemy, who may be anywhere by now.”
This did little good in swerving Doctor Syn. He was determined to
follow his destiny, and that was clearly pointing to America.
“It is so vast a continent,” objected Esnada.
“All the more room to follow him about in,” laughed Syn. “And ‘tis
something to know what continent he is in.”
A few days later, writing to Tony Cobtree on the subject, he ended
with:
“And so I go to America. It is the only thing I can do. Perhaps I
am called to convert the Red Indians —who knows? Or perhaps they will
convert me. Well, I know whose scalp I hunt. Life in England, despite
your father’s entreaties couched with yours and your dear wife’s, I
fear, would be to me unbearable at present. It may be long before I see
you, but I cannot think that I have walked by last on Dymchurch Wall.”
A month later, having taken a sorrowful farewell of his Spanish
friends, he crossed into Portugal and sailed from Lisbon on the
Intention, a cargo vessel bound for the port of Boston in Massachusetts.
Chapter 11
Pirates
The Intention was not a fast-sailing ship, but Syn was in no haste.
It pleased him to think that his following would be slow but relentless.
Yes, dead slow if needs be, but always deathly sure. It was this that
counteracted his boredom of that ship for the company was not congenial
to a man of his parts. The Captain, a New Englander, was the poorest
sort of man, maudlin in his cups, and miserable out of them. Religious,
too, according to his lights, which taught him that when anything went
wrong and usually by his own incompetence, all he had to say was, “It is
the Lord’s Will,” and the blame was shifted to the Diety. Certainly his
gloom of manner did not cheer the
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spirits of those beneath his charge.
Officer and men were a mixed set, for, since his original American
crew had deserted rather than make the return trip upon such a ship,
which they condemned as unseaworthy, and the Captain to perdition, the
very sweepings of the slums had been pressed into servic e. Mostly
Portuguese, they quarreled incessantly amongst themselves, and showed no
respect for their officers. Besides Syn, the other passengers, six in
all, were disappointed merchants from Lisbon, who were going out to
found a colony. At least, that was what they boasted. But they argued
so much about this and that connected with it, and so persistently
quarreled for the post of being the first Governor, that Syn advised
them top conquer themselves before attempting to conquer a territory.
What would have happened had they ever founded that colony will never be
known. The obvious conclusion is that their scalps would speedily have
adorned the belts of war -like Redskins. Instead their fate was just as
terrible, for they were destined to walk the plank.
It was in mid ocean that they fell in with the pirates, and early one
morning under a bright sun shining upon a tranquil sea. The Portuguese
passengers had been grumbling at the slowness of the vessel, but the
Captain argued that the best navigator could not make peace without the
wind. It was then that the topsails of another vessel appeared over the
horizon, and Syn, having watched her for some time, remarked dryly that
there seemed to be plenty of breeze yonder. The ship was indeed fast
overhaul ing the Intention, and heading, too, in their direction. After
the weary weeks on a slow ship, and an empty ocean, this sight of
another vessel cheered the company. But even then, speculations as to
what she might be became cantankerous. One thought her Spanish, another
Dutch, and so on. Doctor Syn settled this argument by the help of his
powerful spy -glass.
“They fly the English flag,” he said.
“I hoped she was Portuguese,” said one of the passengers.
“There are worse colours than the English,” snapped the Captain.
The vessel came on a spanking pace, throwing white water briskly from
her bows.
“They know how to handle her,” said Syn.
Quick to take offense where none was meant, the irritable Captain
cried, “How can I handle the Intention? I told the owners she was
overdue for careening, but they would not spare me the time. Do you
hear a creaking?
“Aye,” replied Syn. “It is the mainmast. She is sprung.”
“I told you that,” retorted the Captain. “But I think otherwise. It
is the barnacles that are so clustered on her kneel that they scrape the
floor of the Atlantic.”
Syn laughed good-humourly and said, “No doubt we shall reach our port
in time, for the barnacles can carry us.”
Meanwhile the other vessel, which was the more plainly seen by all on
board with every tack, showed heavy guns from all her hatch traps.
Asked what she was, the Captain told the Portuguese that she might be
one of England’s finest fighting ships, and no doubt was carrying some
important personable to the Colonies.
“Hardly that, I think,” replied Syn. “She is well handled, true, but
not in the manner of the Royal Navy. Her officers alone would tell me
that. The men, too, are as rascally as ever I saw on shipboard.”
“But they employ the roughest dogs in the English Navy,”
sneered a Portuguese.
“But, sir,” retorted Syn, “there are indeed worse flags to be
met at sea, as the Captain said, than the English colours, and,
by gad,
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they’re going to run up the blackest.”
To the horror of the Portuguese, the English flag, which for all
their sneering had lent to them a feeling of security, was being struck,
and in its stead up went the dreaded Jolly Roger.
“The Skull and Cross Bones!” cried the Captain.
“Pirates!” cried the passengers.
“Pirates! re-echoed the crew, with equal fear.
“It seems, gentlemen,” remarked Doctor Syn calmly, “that we are faced
with a fight, and by the look of it, our adversaries appear to have
advantages.” He turned to the Captain briskly, and said, “I’m su re I
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