Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 41

Myself: Good again! Or I might make a couple of gins, running nooses cut from the goat-skin. Howbeit, I'll try!

Herewith I arose and she also; then while she busied herself to scald out our turtle-sh.e.l.l, I set off to get my goat-skin. And finding it where I had left it hanging on a rock to dry, I fell a-cursing to myself for very chagrin; for what with the heat of the rock and the fierce glare of the sun, here was my goat-skin all shrivelled and hard as any board. So stood I scowling at the thing, chin in hand, and mightily cast down, and so she presently found me; and beholding my disconsolate look falls a-laughing.

"O Martin," says she, "'tis well there are some things you cannot do!"

Saying which, she takes up the skin (albeit it smelt none too sweet) and away she goes with it into the cave. So I got me back to my carpentry, and selecting as many boards as I required for the width of my table, fell to cutting them to their proper lengths with hammer and chisel. And despite the shade of the mighty trees that girt us round and the soft wind that stirred, plaguy hot work I found it; but ever and anon she would bring me water, in one of our sh.e.l.ls, cool from the spring, or would sit beside me as I laboured, aiding me in a thousand ways and showing herself vastly capable and quick-witted; thus as the sun sank westwards I had all my boards cut to an even size and two of the legs, though these, being square, I must needs chop asunder with the hatchet; yet I persevered, being minded to complete the work ere nightfall if possible.

"But where are your nails?" says she, where she sat watching.

"Our nails be too few and precious," quoth I, pausing to re-sharpen my hatchet. "I shall burn holes and pin our table together with pegs."

"Why then," says she readily, "let me split and shape you some pegs."

"Spoke like a true comrade!" says I impulsively. "Sometimes I do forget you are--"

"A woman?" she questioned as I paused; and I wondered to see her eyes so bright and shining. "Here is twice you have named me your comrade, Martin, and so will I be so long as I may. You sometimes would call me your comrade when we played together years ago, and 'tis a good name, Martin. Come now, teach me how I must make these pegs for our table."

So I showed her how to split divers lengths of wood and shape these as round and smooth as might be, the while I bored holes for them with a heated iron; and thus we sat side by side at our labour, seldom speaking, yet I (for one) very well content.

At length, with her a.s.sistance, I began setting the framework of our table together, joining and pinning it with my wooden pegs driven mighty secure; last of all I laid the boards across and, pinning these in place, there was our table; and though it was rude and primitive so far as looks went, yet very serviceable we were to find it.

"Well, Martin," says she, when I had borne it into our cave, "methinks my shelves and cupboard are none so far to seek!" Here she falls to patting this unlovely thing and viewing it as it were the wonder of the world; and I must needs leap upon it to prove its strength.

"'Tis over-heavy," says I, giving it a final shake, "but 'twill serve!"

"To admiration!" says she, smoothing its rough surface with gentle hand. "To-night we will sup from it. Which reminds me that supper is to cook and our meat nearly all gone, Martin, though we have plenty of plantains left." So I told her I would go fetch what remained of the carca.s.s after supper, so soon as the moon rose. And now whiles she bustled to and fro, I chose me a little piece of wood, and sitting where I might watch her at her labours, began to carve her the hair pin I had promised.

"Our third cave should make us a very good larder!" says she busy at her new table preparing supper.

"Aye."

"'Tis so marvellous cool!"

"Aye."

"I think, because the pool lieth above it."

"Mayhap!"

"Indeed, these are wonderful caves, Martin."

"They are."

"Who lived here before us, I wonder?"

"Penfeather, like as not."

"Why should you think this?"

"Well, that door yonder was never a carpenter's work, yet 'tis well made and furnished with a loop-hole, narrow and horizontal to give a lateral fire, the which I have seen but once ere this. Then again the timbers of this door do carry many marks of shot, and Adam Penfeather is no stranger to such, violence and danger, steel and bullet seem to follow him."

"Why so, Martin? He hath ever seemed a man very quiet and gentle, most unlike such rough sailor-men as I have seen hitherto."

"True," says I, "but 'neath this att.i.tude of mind is a wily cunning and desperate, bloodthirsty courage and determination worthy any pirate or buccaneer of them all."

"Why, courage and determination are good things, Martin. And as for Master Penfeather, he is as I do know a skilful navigator and very well read, more especially in the Scriptures, and methought your friend?"

"For his own purposes!" quoth I.

"And what are these, Martin?"

At this I merely scowled at the wood I was carving, whereupon she questions me further:

"Master Adam is such a grave and sober man!"

"True!" says I.

"And so wise in counsel--"

"Say, rather, cunning!"

"Though to be sure he once had a poor man beaten cruelly."

"Wherein he was exactly right!" says I, grinding my teeth at memory of Red Andy. "Aye, there Penfeather was very right, this fellow was a vile and beastly rogue!"

"What dreadful thing had he done, Martin?"

"Stared at you!" says I, and stopped; and glancing up, found her regarding me with look mighty strange.

"Did you mind so much?" she questioned.

"No whit, madam. Why should I?"

"Aye, why indeed!" says she and turns to her cooking again and I to my carving, yet in a little, hearing her gasp, I glanced up to find her nigh stifled with her laughter.

"Ha, why must ye laugh, madam?" I demanded.

"O Martin!" says she, "And must this poor man be whipped--and for a mere look? And you so fierce withal! I fear there be many men do merit whipping if this be sin so great."

"I see no reason in your laughter, my lady!" quoth I, scowling up at her.

"Because you have no gift of laughter, my lord!" says she, and turns her back on me.

Here I came nigh to tossing her half-finished hairpin into the fire; but seeing her turn her head, carved on for very shame.

"And are you so very angry, Martin?" I bent to sharpen my knife. "I would that you might laugh yourself--once in a while, Martin." I tested my knife on my thumb. "You are always so grave, Martin, so very solemn and young!" Finding my knife still blunt, I went on sharpening it.

Here and all suddenly she was beside me on her knees and clasps my knife-hand in hers. "Indeed I had no thought to anger you. Are you truly angered or is it only that you are so very--hungry?" Now here I glanced at her and beholding all the roguish mischief in her eyes, try how I might, I could not but smile too.

"A little of both, comrade!" says I. "Though verily I am a surly animal by nature."