Chapter II: The One-Legged Man and the Irish Maid

The next morning I was occupied for several hours in checking over the needs of our trading-stations with Peter Corlaer, so that it was the middle of the forenoon before I was able to leave the counting-room to go aboard Captain Farraday’s ship and concert with her people the lightering of that portion of the cargo which was destined for our warehouse.

Darby McGraw eyed me so wistfully when I took my hat that I sent him to the kitchen to secure a bag of fresh-killed chickens and Winter greens, knowing such food would be welcome to sailors after a long voyage, and bade him carry it to the dock. He was as pleased as if he had been presented with his freedom, and skipped along whistling like a skylark.

We walked down Pearl Street to Broad Street, where the landing-basin indents the land; and I was passing on, with intent to secure a wherry from the foot of Whitehall Street to row me out to the Bristol packet, when Darby drew my attention to the soaring masts and tangled cordage of a great ship lying at anchor in the East River anchorage.

“’Tis a frigate, Master Robert!” he exclaimed.

There was no mistaking the rows of painted gun-ports and the solid bulwarks; and for a moment I fancied Commodore Burrage had anticipated our needs. Then the flag at her mizzen truck rippled out, and I beheld the red-and-gold banner of Spain.

“D’ye suppose he hath come after the pirate?” whispered Darby, all agog.

“Not he,” I answered, laughing. “’Tis a Spaniard, and he and his kidney are not hungry for pirate gore, Darby.”

“Whisht, but if he would only make to shoot off a cannon or two!” sighed Darby. “Or maybe hang a poor soul at the yardarm the while we watched. Oh, Master Robert, wouldn’t it be grand?”

“Go to,” said I, laughing again at the quaint fancies of the lad. “You are as bloodthirsty as any pirate that sails the Spanish Main.”

“I’ll warrant you I am,” returned Darby sturdily. “I’d be a grand pirate, I would--and I’d make naught of frigates, be they Spaniard or King’s ship; aye, or Frenchies. I’d take ’em all!”

“Certes, you would,” I agreed. “But look, Darby! There’s another strange vessel--beyond the frigate.”

I pointed to a battered little brig with patched and dirty sails and a spatter of white showing in her black-painted hull where a roundshot had sent the splinters flying.

“And he hath seen the pirates, or I am amiss,” I added. “His escape must have been exceeding narrow.”

Darby’s eyes waxed as large as a cat’s in the dark.

“Whurra, whurra, do but look to the shot-hole in the side of him! ’Tis he will have made a noble prayer. And now will ye mock me for saying there are pirates abroad, Master Robert?”

“Not I, Darby. Yon fellow has been closer to death than I like to think of,” I answered.

“Now there was as true a word as ever was heard spoke,” proclaimed a pleasant voice behind me. “And shows most unaccountable understanding and humanitee, so it do, seeing as there’s precious few landsmen as stop to figger out the chances a poor sailor must take and never a thankee from his owners nor aught but curses from his skipper, like as not. True as true, young gentleman. I makes you my duty, and says as how, seeing I was one of them vouchsafed a miraculous salvation, I hopes you’ll permit me to offer my most humble thanks.”

I swung around to scrutinize the owner of the voice and saw a handsome, open-faced man in the prime of life, big and strong of his body, but with only one leg. The other, the left, had been lopped off high up near the hip, and he supported himself upon a long crutch of very fine-carved hardwood--mahogany, I afterward discovered. This crutch he employed with all the dexterity of his missing limb. A thong from a hole under the armpiece was looped around his neck, so that when he chose to sit down his support could never fall out of his reach; and in its butt was set a sharp spur of steel to give it a grip upon rough ground or slippery decks.

While I looked at him and he was first speaking he hopped up beside me with a confidential air that was very flattering to a young man and impressed Darby even more than it did me.

“Are you from the brig yonder?” I asked curiously.

“Aye, aye, young gentleman, I am; and one of the miserable sinners as was saved by an inscrootable Providence as takes no account o’ men’s deserts, just or unjust, as the preachers’ sayin’ is. Out of Barbaders, I am, in the brig _Constant_. Name o’ Silver, sir--John, says my sponsors in baptism.

“But my mates most generally calls me ‘Barbecue’ ’count o’ my being held a monstrous fine cook. And there’s a tale to that, young sir. Ah, yes! This weren’t the first time I suffered at the hands o’ them pirates that scourge and ravage the seas to the despite of poor, honest sailormen.”

He lowered his voice.

“D’ye see this lopsided carcass of mine now? You do, says you. Yes, yes; there ain’t no mistakin’ a one-legged man. And how do you suppose I lost my left stick, eh? Can’t say, says you--nor it ain’t strange, seein’ as we’ve never met afore this.

“Well, I’ll tell ye, sir. You ha’ a young face, and kind, and I can see you take an interest in an unfortunate sailor-man’s sorrows--aye, and this good lad wi’ ye, too--from Ireland, ain’t ye, my hearty? I knowed it, I knowed it!

“But what was I a-sayin’? Oh, yes, to be sure. I was tellin’ ye of my lost leg--and glad I am it wasn’t my flipper as went. ’Cause why, says you? ’Cause a man can set himself to makin’ good a lost leg, which ain’t no use for nothin’ except walking.

“But a hand now? Figger it out, my master! No hand, and ye can’t work, ye can’t fight, ye can’t scarcely eat. That’s why I says I’m lucky.”

The man attracted me by his originality, and I own frankly I would have pressed him for further information whether Darby had been with me or not; but ’twas Darby brought him back to the main point of interest.

“Did ye see the pirates?” panted the lad in excitement.

John Silver drew himself erect upon his crutch and frowned out at the shot-scarred brig.

“See ’em?” he repeated. “Well now, my lad, that depends. Aye, aye, it all depends.

“This last time, d’ye mean? No, I can’t conscientiously say I seen ’em this time. In the matter o’ my leg ’twas different--and the time Flint marooned me.”

“You know Flint then?” I broke in upon him.

He shook his head.

“Know him? Oh, no, young gentleman; I don’t know no bloody villains like that. I ha’ seen ’em, yes--a sight too many of ’em, as ye might say. And suffered most terrible at their hands; but I make no doubt the Lord is decided I ha’ suffered my portion, seein’ that this last time He delivered me safe and sound out o’ the scoundrels’ hands.”

“Was it off Sandy Hook they attacked you?” I inquired.

“Off Sandy Hook?” he repeated. “Maybe ’twas so, young gentleman. We took small reckoning o’ where we were. Our one thought was to make port whole and safe.”

“But I see they hulled you?” I pressed him.

“That?” he answered. “Oh, yes; but-- May I make bold to ask, sir, ha’ other vessels been chased off New York port, do you know?”

I pointed to where Captain Farraday’s craft swung at her anchor a scant quarter-mile above the brig.

“That Bristol packet ran the notorious Captain Rip-Rap tops’ls down but yester-morning,” I told him.

His brows knit together in a frown, apparently of thought.

“Captain Rip-Rap you says it was! Blister me, young gentleman, but that’s dreadful news. Well, well, well! A fortunate escape as ever was. And ’tis good hearing that others was ekal lucky. But I dare say the King’s ships will be after him by now?”

“No, there’s none nearer than Boston,” I answered. “’Twill be a week at the least before we can hunt the scoundrels hence.”

He wagged his head dolefully.

“Blister me, but that’s ill news. Fortunate, indeed, I was to draw clear. He was after me till darkness and sheered off more in fear o’ the sands than for aught else, I dare swear.”

“So it was yesterday he chased you?” I asked.

“To be sure, young sir. Wasn’t that what I told ye? Yesterday, about the noon glass, he came a-thunderin’ up, and towards dusk he could bring his bow-chasers to bear, and was for droppin’ a spar to hinder us. But we took his shot in the hull, as ye see, and got off safe in spite of all he could do.”

One of the wherrymen was sculling toward us along the shore, and I waved to him to pull under the piling on which we stood.

“I must be off,” I said. “I congratulate you, Master Silver, on your escape. Whatever dangers you may have encountered in the past, your good luck was with you yesterday.”

He bobbed his head and pulled at his forelock.

“Thank’ee kindly, young gentleman. Here, sir, let me catch the painter. Right! Will ye ha’ the basket on the thwart by ye? And this nice lad here, doesn’t he go, too? No?

“Maybe then ye’d add a mite to your kindness and let me borry his time for a half-glass or so for to show me a couple o’ landmarks I must make in the town. I wouldn’t ask it of ye, sir, only as ye see, I’m half-crippled in a manner o’ speakin’, and this is a strange port to me, as plies usual to the West Injies.”

“Use the lad by all means,” I answered. “Darby, take Master Silver wherever he wishes to go.”

Darby’s freckled face gleamed at the prospect of more of the company of this one-legged sailorman, who talked so easily of pirate fights and flights.

“Oh, aye, Master Robert,” says he. “I’ll help him all I know.”

“O’ course he will,” spoke up Silver. “I never seed a boy wi’ a kinder face. A kind face means a kind heart, I always says, young gentleman.”

My wherryman was on the point of laying to his oars when a sudden thought caused me to check him.

“By the way, Master Silver,” I called, “it occurs to me that perhaps Darby may be unable to serve you in all that you wish. Do you seek any one in especial?”

He hesitated for just the fraction of a minute.

“Why, not especially in particklar, sir,” he answered at last. “I am for the Whale’s Head Tavern, if ye happen to know o’ such a place.”

I nodded.

“’Tis in the East Ward close by. Darby can show you.”

He shouted renewed thanks and stumped off agilely on his crutch, Darby strutting beside him with a comical pride.

Aboard the _Anne_ I found all in confusion. Captain Farraday, as I had expected, had not returned since he landed the preceding afternoon and undoubtedly was sleeping off an accumulation of divers liquors in the George Tavern. The mate had gone ashore that morning to search for him, and would probably take advantage of the opportunity to emulate his skipper’s example. Master Jenkins, who had missed drowning at the red hands of the redoubtable Rip-Rap and Flint, was in charge of the ship. He was a melancholy, sour-visaged East-countryman, who moved with a deliberation as pronounced as Peter Corlaer’s, and inspecting the manifests with him was a tedious business. I accepted an invitation to share his midday meal, and the afternoon was gone when we concluded our work, agreed upon the time of arrival of the lighters on the morrow and returned to the deck.

My wherry had been dismissed long ago, and he bade the bosun muster a crew to row me ashore. Standing by the gangway, I commented idly upon the two ships which had come in since morning.

“The brig had a close go of it with your friend Rip-Rap,” I remarked.

“Aye,” returned Jenkins glumly. “’Tis passing queer a Barbadan should be fetching sugar and rum to New York. They leave that mostly to the Yankees.”

“True,” I admitted; “yet there’s an exception to every rule.”

A silvery whistle-blast sounded on the deck of the Spanish frigate up-stream.

“Too bad that’s not one of ours now,” I commented. “Rip-Rap should have a dose of his own medicine.”

Master Jenkins expressed utter disapprobation without a wrinkle on his features.

“They Spaniards!” he snorted. “What are they a-doin’ here anyway, I’d like to know?”

“He may have been blown north on his crossing,” I hazarded.

Master Jenkins snorted a second time.

“He hasn’t started a rope. Mischief they’re up to. Never knowed it to fail.”

“What kind of mischief?” I inquired.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Not knowin’, can’t say. But no good ever came from they Spaniards, Master Ormerod, and ye may lay to that.”

Before I could answer him the bosun reported the small boat all clear and lying at the ladder-foot, and I bade Master Jenkins a hasty good evening, for his stolid pessimism became mighty irksome upon close acquaintance.

As my boat straightened away from the Bristol packet’s side a barge shot around the hull of the Spaniard and pulled after us, a dozen brawny fellows tugging at the oars. A single cloaked figure sat in the stern sheets beside the officer in command. The two boats made the Broad Street slip almost together, and I leaped ashore, tossed several coins to the sailors who had rowed me and started to walk off, bent upon reporting to my father, who, I knew, would be provoked by the length of time my errand had consumed. But I had not walked far when a man called after me from the wharf-head.

“_Señor_! Sirr-rr-rah!”

I turned to face the coxswain of the frigate’s barge and a farrago of Spanish gibberish of which I understood not a word. And upon my saying as much, a second person stepped forward into the yellow glow of an oil lanthorn which hung from a bracket upon a warehouse wall hard by. ’Twas the cloaked figure of the barge, and instead of a midshipman or under-officer the scanty light revealed a young woman whose lissome grace was vibrant through the cumbersome folds of her wrap. A single ejaculation of sibilant Spanish, and the coxswain was hushed.

“Sir,” said she then in English as good as my own, “can you direct me to the Whale’s Head Tavern?”

I could bring forth no better than a stammer in answer. She was the second stranger that day to ask for the Whale’s Head, which my father had remarked the previous evening for a noted resort of bad characters; and certes, she appeared to be the last sort of woman who might be expected to have anything to do with the kind of roistering wickedness which went on there. Also, I could not forbear asking myself how came so fair a maid aboard a Spanish frigate.

In the soft lanthorn-light she was anything but Spanish in her looks. Dark, yes, with hair that shone a misty-black, but her eyes were as blue as Darby McGraw’s, and her nose had the least suspicion of a tilt to it. Her mouth was wide, with a kind of twist at the ends that quirked up oddly when she laughed and drooped with a sorrow fit to crack open your heart if she wept. And she was little more than a child in years, with a manifest innocence which went oddly with the question she had asked me.

A slim foot tapped impatiently upon the cobbles as I stared.

“Well, sir,” she said coldly, “does it happen you do not know English better than Spanish?”

“N-no,” I managed to get out. “But--but the truth is, the Whale’s Head is no place for such as you, mistress.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I do not catch your meaning, perhaps,” she answered. “It is my father I go to meet there.”

“But he would never favor your coming there at this hour,” I protested.

She permitted herself a trill of laughter.

“You speak as if you had full knowledge of his ways,” she admitted. “But the nuns at St. Bridget’s were telling me oft and oft how I was going out into the wicked world, and sorra a look at wickedness have I had yet. So I decided this evening I should have some savor of adventure to make up for being cooped all these weeks in that horrid, dirty old ship; and I made Don Pablo, who was officer of the deck, call away a boat for me--and he wringing his hands and pleading would I bring about his ruin.”

I laughed, myself, at the wonderful spontaneity of her mood. Faith, I could imagine how the young dons aboard the frigate philandered themselves sick over her.

“But that has naught to do with your going to the Whale’s Head tonight,” I reminded her. “Indeed, you should never think of it.”

“I will be the judge of that,” she retorted, instantly haughty. “And if my father is there I can come to no harm.”

“If he is,” I said. “I doubt you have mistaken his ordinary.”

“No, no,” she said decidedly. “I heard him speaking with them of it. But it may be you are right, sir, and I will not be so ungrateful as to flout a kindly stranger’s well-meant advice. Juan can go into the tavern when we come to it, and I will bide outside. But somewhere I must walk, for my feet are all dancey with the sway of the sea, and we shall be away again with the tide in the morning. This is the last dry land I shall tread in many a week.”

“If you will allow me, I’ll put you on your way for the Whale’s Head,” I offered. “I must walk in that direction.”

“Sure, sir, it is a great favor you offer,” she answered. “I can not but thank you.”

And she gave an order in Spanish which fetched the under-officer she called Juan and one of his men out from the shadows. They fell in behind us as we walked off along the line of the warehouses.

“You are upon a long voyage?” I ventured.

“You may well say so,” she cried. “From here to the Floridas, and after that on to the Havana and the cities of the Main.”

“You will soon have no need to regret a lack of adventures,” I said. “There are few men, let alone maids, who fare so far afield.”

“Ah, sir, that is what I like to think upon! I was near mad with delight when my father came to the convent and took me from the sisters. Until the ship’s decks were under my feet I could not believe it was true that I was really free.”

“But you are never Spanish!” I said. “I ask not in idle curiosity, though----”

Her laughter was like a chime of bells.

“Sure, they say I am as Irish as the pigs in the Wicklow hills where I was born.”

And all of a sudden she was grave again.

“I am not knowing your politics, sir, but there’s maybe no harm in just telling you my father was of those who opposed the Hanoverian and fought for King James and Bonnie Charlie. And because his own King can not employ him, he serves Spain.”

“It is not pleasant for an Englishman to think of all the brave gentlemen must serve foreign monarchs,” I acknowledged. “But I hope you will be happy in the Indies, mistress.”

“Oh, we shall not be staying there long,” she answered blithely. “My father is an engineer officer, and he must inspect the fortifications on the Main and elsewhere. We shall be returning to Spain within the year. But look, sir! Is not that sign intended to be a whale’s head?”

“Yes,” I said. “This is the tavern.”

One look at its flaring windows and the cut-throat gentry who swaggered in and out of the low door convinced my companion that I had not misrepresented the character of the place. She drew back to the curb, and the corners of her mouth drooped sadly.

“Glory, what an ill hole!” she murmured. “Now for why would the _padre_ come hither? Business, says he; but----”

And she shook her head with a vague doubting emphasis.

“I would not seem to be thrusting myself upon you, mistress,” I said, “yet I am fearful your Spaniards can not make themselves understood. Will it please you that I inquire within for your father?”

She considered, catching a corner of her lip betwixt white teeth.

“Troth, sir,” she answered finally, “I see not how I can avoid going the deeper in debt to you.”

There was a moment’s pause.

“And how shall I----”

“Ay de mi!” she exclaimed with a bubble of laughter. “How stupid of me to be forgetting I am just a maid off the sea to you. Ask for Colonel O’Donnell, sir, and tell him his daughter waits without.”

And as I started toward the door she added gayly:

“It is not every girl could step upon a strange shore and find a cavalier waiting to aid her. But what would Mother Seraphina say to such brazenness? Ah, I can see her now! The blessed saints preserve us, Moira! Have ye no manners or modesty into yourself at all? A hundred Aves and the Stations of the Cross twice before you sup.”

Her voice was still ringing in my ears as I shouldered a drunken sailor from my path, lowered my head to pass under the lintel of the tavern’s entrance and so gained the hazy blue atmosphere of the taproom, cluttered with tables, foul with smoke and stale alelees, abuzz with rough voices bawling oaths and sea-songs.

It was the chorus of one of these songs which first distracted my thoughts from the Irish girl outside--a wild, roaring lilt of blood and ribaldry:

“Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest--
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest--
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”

I looked to the corner whence it came, and discovered the one-legged sailor, John Silver, thumping the time with a pewter mug on the table-top as he led the group around him, foremost amongst whom, after himself, was Darby McGraw, flaming red mop standing out like a buccaneer ensign, shrill voice carrying above the thundering basses of his companions--as villainous a crew, to outward seeming, as I had ever looked upon. I noted especially a pasty, tallowy-faced man, whose shifty eyes were masked by a skrim of greasy black hair, and a big, lusty, mahogany-brown fellow with a tarry pigtail, who evidently found as much satisfaction in the song as poor, fuddled Darby.

Silver saw me almost as soon as I spotted him, and with a quick word to the others, got to his feet and stumped across the room, dragging Darby after him by the arm. His large, good-humored features were wreathed in a smile tinged with mortification.

“So you come after him, Master Ormerod, did you?” he shouted to make himself heard in the confusion. “And ashamed o’ myself I oughter be, says you, and with reason, too. But I’m not one to lead a likely lad astray, and all Darby’s had was good, ripe ale and two earsful o’ sea-gossip as’ll give him things to dream o’ for nights to come. I shouldn’t oughter o’ let him come back, sir, but when he stuck that red mop o’ his in the door an hour past I hadn’t the heart to send him away. He’s come to no harm, so you won’t hold it against him for a extry mug or two of ale; will you, sir?”

“I did not come after him,” I answered; “but as I am here he had best return home with me. Where did you get my name, Silver?”

He pulled his forelock knowingly.

“Why, from Darby, o’ course, sir--not that anybody on the water-front couldn’t ha’ told me, seein’ what a kind-hearted, friendly young gentleman you are. But asking your pardon for the liberty, sir, can I serve you in any way?”

“I don’t think so,” I told him. “I am seeking a Colonel O’Donnell.”

I fancied a flicker of surprise stirred the bluff friendliness mirrored in his face. He stared around the room.

“Never heard o’ the gentleman, sir, which ain’t surprizin’, seein’ I was never here before this morning, myself; but I ran into some old shipmates of mine as gave me the run o’ the place, and it may be I can find out for you from one o’ them. Just you wait here a shake, Master Ormerod, and I’ll see what I can do.”

This seemed the wisest course, inasmuch as it was apparent there was nobody in the taproom of the quality of Colonel O’Donnell, so I nodded assent; and as Silver stumped away, threading a nimble passage in and out of the crowded tables, I asked Darby what he had been doing. Somewhat to my astonishment, the boy lapsed into sullenness and answered in monosyllables. Only once he revealed a flare of interest, when I remarked:

“That was a sufficiently devilish song you were singing, Darby.”

“That it was!” he exclaimed. “Whisht, whiles singing it ye can _feel_ the blood a-dripping from your cutlass.”

“And who were the others singing with you?”

The sullen look covered his face like a curtain.

“Oh, just shipmates.”

“Of yours?”

“No, of Master Silver’s.”

“What are their names?”

“I know not.”

“Oh, come now, Darby!”

“Well, the one he calls Bill Bones and the other Black Dog--but there’s no meaning in nature in that last.”

Silver had disappeared through a door at the rear in company with one of the drawers, and now he came swinging in again on his crutch, ahead of a tall, lantern-jawed man in a rich dress of black-and-silver, whose gold-hilted sword claimed the gentleman. This man Silver ushered to me with a crudely hearty courtesy.

“Here’s luck, Master Ormerod,” he called when he was within earshot. “My friend had heard tell the colonel was above-stairs. This here’s the young gentleman I spoke of, your honor. My duty to ye both, sirs, and always pleased to serve.”

And off he swung on his crutch again to be received with acclamations by his cronies in the corner.

The lantern-jawed man gave me a keen glance, almost a suspicious glance, I should have said. He had a nervous manner, and there was a kind of restless glow in his eyes.

“Well, sir?” he said. “I understand you desired speech with me?”

“If you are Colonel O’Donnell----”

He nodded curtly.

“--I am to tell you that your daughter awaits you outside,” I concluded.

He was genuinely startled.

“My daughter? But who are you, sir, who act as her guardian?”

I was nettled, and did not hesitate to show it.

“She asked me the way hither when she came ashore,” I retorted, “and, deeming it scarce probable that you would care to have her enter the taproom, I even offered my services to fetch you forth to her.”

I saw now his resemblance to her, for the corners of his mouth twitched down in the same way her’s had. And he muttered something like a curse in Spanish.

“It seems I am beholden to you, sir,” he answered stiffly. “She is a child, and vastly ignorant of the world, and I must be both father and mother to her.”

I bowed and stood aside to make room for him to pass out.

“Master Ormerod, the seaman called you, did he not?” continued O’Donnell. “Perhaps, sir, you will permit an older man to compliment you upon an honorable deportment.”

A slightly pompous tone invaded his speech.

“I am not unfamiliar with the chief centers of our Old World society, Master Ormerod, and I have the honor to hold the office of chamberlain to a monarch, who, though he may not be named upon English soil, will some day recover the estate a usurper has deprived him of. I need say no more, I am sure.”

“I understand, sir,” I replied. “And may I suggest that Mistress O’Donnell is awaiting you?”

He brushed by me with a click of impatience, and Darby and I followed him to the street, Darby thrilled anew by the sight of his luxurious habit, the five-pound ruffles that covered his wrists and the worked hilt of his sword. As we all three emerged, Mistress O’Donnell darted up to her father and caught at the lapels of his coat.

“Ah, _padre_,” she cried in a brogue that clotted and slurred her words, “you’ll not be holding it against me because I wearied of the ship and would feel the earth crumbling underfoot, and me so lonely for lack of you I was near to weeping the while I sat in my cabin with naught to do but read my Hours!”

He wilted, as must any man have done, flinging his arm around her with a gesture that verged on the theatrical.

“Tush, tush, Moira,” he rebuked her gently; “’twas unbecoming in you, and in Spanish lands such conduct would lead to trouble. See that you do it not a second time. I will give you in charge of Juan; and, having had your taste of freedom, you must return aboard, for I have matters yet requiring my attention. Ah, yes, and you must thank this gentleman properly for his gallantry. Master Ormerod, my dear! His father is a great merchant of this town.”

Mistress O’Donnell swept me a willowy curtsey, and as I bowed acknowledgment I wondered where he had secured such exact information about me. He had seemed totally ignorant of who I was when we met.

“Sure, I’ll not be after trying to thank you,” says my lady to me with a twinkle in her eye. “For I couldn’t find the words would express my gratitude. But for you, ’tis an awful fool I’d have made of myself this quarter-hour past.”

Colonel O’Donnell hemmed reprovingly.

“Let it be a lesson to you, my girl. My thanks to you again, Master Ormerod. My compliments to your father, if it please you. Good night, sir.”

I understood that he wished to be rid of me, and accepted the cue.

“Good night, sir,” I replied. “And a fair voyage to you, mistress. If I can be of further service, pray command me.”

“No, Master Ormerod, here our paths diverge,” she answered softly, and placed her hand upon her father’s arm.

A moment later I was hurrying north and west, Darby McGraw chattering beside me, for the lady’s bright beauty seemed to have scoured the sulkiness from his spirits.

“Ah, there was the lovely, gracious maid for ye, Master Robert!” he cried. “Did ye hark to the song in her voice? And did ye see the blue in her eyes, like lake-water with green fields all around and the sun shining faint? She’s the breath of the Ould Sod; and oh, whirra, it’s never more I’ll see it, for they say I’m to be a pirate.”

“You talk nonsense,” I returned harshly.

“Nonsense?” he repeated. “It’s a grand word, nonsense, Master Robert. But whisht, now, ye’ll say a good word for me with the old master, won’t ye?”

I told him I would, mostly to stop the clacking of his tongue; and he skipped high like a colt that has just had its first meal of oats.

“She put the comether on ye, that elegant young maid,” he continued. “She had a way with her, she did. Aye, for her I’d give over being a pirate.”

“We’ll never see her again, Darby,” I said. “She’ll be beyond the Caribbees a few weeks hence, and we plodding at our tasks here in New York.”

He gave me a shrewd glance.

“Indeed, and it’s a wiser man than the Pope can see beyond the weeks, Master Robert,” says he.