Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 10

"A comely rogue that sang strange song."

"Ah!" said Penfeather, his eyes narrowing. "A song, says you--and strange--how strange?"

"'Twas all of dead men and murder!"

"D'ye mind any line o't, shipmate?"

"Aye, the words of it went somewhat like this:

"'Some on a knife did part wi' life And some a bullet took O!

But--'"

Now here, as I stopped at a loss, my companion took up the rhyme almost unconsciously and below his breath:

"'But three times three died plaguily A wriggling on a hook O!'

"Comrade!" says he in the same low voice, "Did ye see ever among these mariners a one-handed man, a tall man wi' a hook in place of his left hand--a very bright, sharp hook?" And now as Penfeather questioned me, he seized my wrist and I was amazed at the iron grip of him.

"No!" I answered.

"Nay," says he, loosing his hold, "how should you--he's dead, along o'

so many on 'em! He's done for--him and his hook, devil burn him!"

"'A hook both long and stout and strong, They died by gash o' hook O!'"

"Ah!" I cried. "So that was the kind of hook!"

"Aye!" nodded Penfeather, "That was the kind. A bullet's bad, a knife's worse, but a steel hook, shipmate, very sharp d'ye see, is a death no man should die. Shipmate, I've seen divers men dead by that same hook--torn and ripped d'ye see--like a dog's fangs! I'd seen many die ere then, but that way--'twas an ill sight for queasy stomachs!"

"And he--this man with the hook is dead, you say?"

"And burning in h.e.l.l-fire!"

"Are you sure?"

"I killed him, shipmate!"

"You!" says I.

"I, shipmate. We fought on a shelf o' rock high above the sea, my knife agin his knife and hook--'twas that same hook gave me this scar athwart my jaw--but as he struck, I struck and saw him go spinning over and over, down and down and splash into the sea. And for three days I watched that bit o' sh.o.r.e, living on sh.e.l.l-fish and watching for him, to make sure I had finished him at last."

"And these other rogues?" says I.

"What like were they, shipmate?" Hereupon I described (as fully as I might) the three sailor-men I had fought with in the hedge-tavern (albeit I made no mention of the maid), while Penfeather listened, nodding now and then and pinching at his long chin. "And this other fellow," says he, when I had done, "this fellow that sang--d'ye know if his name chanced to be Mings--Abnegation Mings, comrade?"

"The very same!" says I.

"Strange!" quoth Penfeather, and thereafter sat staring gloomily down into the rippling waters of the brook for a while. "I wonder?" says he at last. "I wonder?"

"What think ye shall bring these fellows so far from the coast--what should they be after?"

"Me, shipmate!"

"You!" says I for the second time, marvelling at the strange quiet of him. "And what would they have of you?"

"My life, shipmate, and one other thing. What that thing is I will tell you when we have drunk the blood-brotherhood! But now it behoveth me to be a-going, so I'll away. But when you shall seek me, as seek me ye will, shipmate, shalt hear of me at the Peck-o'-Malt tavern, which is a small, quiet place 'twixt here and Bedgebury Cross. Come there at any hour, day or night, and say 'The Faithful Friend,' and you shall find safe harbourage. Remember, comrade, the word is 'The Faithful Friend,' and if so be you can choose your time--night is better." So saying, he arose.

"Wait!" says I, pointing to the coins yet lying on the gra.s.s. "Take your money!"

"'Tis none o' mine," says he, shaking his head. "Keep it or throw it away--'tis all one to me!" Then he went away through the wood and, as he went, I thought he walked with a new and added caution.

CHAPTER VIII

HOW I FELL IN WITH ONE G.o.d-BE-HERE, A PEDDLER

Evening was at hand as I reached a little alehouse well away from the road and pleasantly secluded by trees: thither came I, fondling Penfeather's money in my pocket, for I was again mightily sharp set.

But all at once I stopped, for, pa.s.sing the open lattice, I heard loud laughter and a merry voice:

"And there, believe me, gossips" (quoth this voice), "as sure as this be beef--aye, and good beef and cooked to a turn, mistress--there's this great, lob-lolly, hectoring Tom b.u.t.ton fast i' the pillory--and by this good ale, a woeful sight, his eyes blacked, his nose a-bleeding, his jerkin torn and a dead cat about his neck, oho--aha! Tom b.u.t.ton--big Tom, fighting Tom so loud o' tongue and ready o' fist--Tom as have cowed so many--there is he fast by the neck and a-groaning, see ye, gossips, loud enough for six, wish I may die else! And the best o'

the joke is--the key be gone, as I'm a sinner! So they needs must break the lock to get him out. Big Tom, as have thrashed every man for miles." But here merry voice and laughter ceased and a buxom woman thrust smiling face from the window, and face (like her voice) was kindly when she addressed me:

"What would ye, young master?"

"A little food, mistress," says I, touching my weather-worn hat and pulling it lower over my bruised and swollen features.

"Why come in, master, come in--there be none here but my Roger and G.o.dby the peddler, as knoweth everyone."

So I entered forthwith a small, snug chamber, and seating myself in the darkest corner, acknowledged the salutations of the two men while the good-looking woman, bustling to and fro, soon set before me a fine joint of roast beef with bread and ale, upon which I incontinent fell to.

The two men sat cheek by jowl at the farther end of the table, one a red-faced, l.u.s.ty fellow, the other, a small, bony man who laughed and ate and ate and laughed and yet contrived to talk all the while, that it was a wonder to behold.

"Was you over to Lamberhurst way, master?" says he to me, all at once.

"Aye!" I nodded, busy with the beef.

"Why then, happen ye saw summat o' the sport they had wi' the big gipsy i' the pillory--him as 'saulted my Lady Brandon and nigh did for her ladyship's coz?"

"Aye," says I again, bending over my platter.

"'Tis ill sport to bait a poor soul as be helpless, I think--nay I know, for I've stood there myself ere now, though I won't say as I didn't clod this fellow once or twice to-day myself--I were a rare clodder in my time, aha! Did you clod this big rogue, master?"

"No!"

"And wherefore not?"

"Because," says I, cutting myself more beef, "I happened to be that same rogue." Here Roger the landlord stared, his buxom wife shrank away, and even the talkative peddler grew silent awhile, viewing me with his shrewd, merry eyes.