Black Bartlemy's Treasure Part 69

"Martin," says he, "'tis true you are a fool but your folly harmeth none but yourself! And thou'rt such honest fool that I must needs love thee, which is strange, yet so it is. Look'ee, we have quarrelled and fought, very well--what's to let us from being friends again?"

"But if I doubt you, Adam?"

"Why, as to that," says he with his whimsical look, "I verily do think myself a something doubtful being at times."

Now at this, up I rose and gripped his hand right heartily; which done he brought me into the cave whiles G.o.dby posted himself on the threshold, leaning on his musket.

"What now, Adam?" I questioned.

"Now let us divide our treasure, Martin--"

"But I bartered my share for the lives of--"

"Tus.h.!.+" says he, and reaching a valise from shadowy corner he opened it and I beheld such a glory of flas.h.i.+ng gems as nigh dazzled me with their splendour. "Look at 'em, Martin, look at 'em!" he whispered.

"Here's love and hate, life and death, every good and all the sins--look at 'em!" And catching up a handful he let them fall, glittering, through his fingers. "Lord love me, Martin," he whispered, "'tis enough to turn a man's brain! Have ye counted 'em over, comrade?"

"I never saw them until this moment, Adam." And I confessed how in my folly I had cast his letter of instruction into the sea, and of how my lady had found the secret at her dire peril.

"And she never showed you, Martin?"

"I was always too busy!"

"Busy!" says he, sitting back on his heels to stare up at me. "Busy? O Lord love me! Sure there's not your like i' the whole world, Martin!"

"Which is mighty well for the world!" says I bitterly.

"'Tis vasty treasure, Martin and worth some little risk. And in the cave lie yet fifty and four bars of gold and others of silver, with store of rix-dollars, doubloons, moidores and pieces of eight--gold coins of all countries. There let 'em rot--here's more wealth than we shall ever spend. Shall we divide it here or aboard s.h.i.+p?"

"Wait rather until we reach England."

"So be it, comrade. Then I'm minded to apportion a share to G.o.dby here--what d'ye say?"

"With all my heart!"

"Why then 'tis time we got it safe on board."

"But how to do it--what of Tressady's rogues, Adam?"

"Having buried such of themselves as needed it, Martin, you shall see 'em playing leap-frog on the sands down yonder happy as any innocent school-lads, and never a firearm amongst 'em."

"Hist, Cap'n!" says G.o.dby, suddenly alert, "The man Abner and his two mates a-peeping and a-prying!"

"Where away, G.o.dby man?"

"Hove to in the lee o' them bushes yonder."

"'Tis sly, skulking rogue Abner!" says Adam, closing and strapping the valise, "'Tis in my mind, G.o.dby, this Abner will never live to see England. Summon 'em hither, all three."

This G.o.dby did forthwith, and presently the three fellows appeared who, knuckling their foreheads, made us their several reverences.

"What now, lads?" says Adam, viewing them with his keen eyes, "I seem to mind your looks, you sailed with Black Bartlemy aboard the 'Delight'

I think? Nay, 'tis no matter, we'll let bygones be bygones, and we be all marvellous honest these days, the which is well. Meantime take this dunnage down to the boat," and he pointed to the valise. Hereupon one of the fellows took it up, and knuckled an eyebrow to us in turn.

"We sail at sundown," says Adam, "so, G.o.dby, you may as well go aboard and see that all be ready."

"Aye, aye!" says G.o.dby, tightening the belt where swung his great cutla.s.s and, shouldering his musket, set off after the three.

"So there goeth our fortune aboard, comrade."

"And in desperate risky fas.h.i.+on, Adam."

"In safe, straightforward fas.h.i.+on rather, and in broad daylight, the which is surer than stealing it aboard in the dark."

"But should these rogues guess what they carry--"

"They won't, Martin, and if they should they have but their knives 'gainst G.o.dby's musket and pistols."

"Ha--murder, Adam?"

"Would you call this murder, comrade?"

"What other? I wonder what manner of man you'll be, away there in England?"

"A worthy, right wors.h.i.+pful justice o' the peace, Martin, if Providence seeth fit, in laced coat and great peruke, to see that my tenants'

cottages be sound and wholesome, to pat the touzled heads o' the children, bless 'em! And to have word with every soul i' the village.

To snooze i' my great pew o' Sundays and, dying at last, snug abed, to leave behind me a kindly memory. And what for you, Martin? What see you in the s.h.i.+p yonder?"

"G.o.d knoweth!" says I, gloomily.

"Why not a woman's love, comrade, why not good works, rank and belike--children to honour your memory?"

"Were I but worthy all this, Adam."

"Zounds, but here's humility! Yet your true lover is ever humble, I've heard, so 'tis very well, Martin. And this doth mind me I bear you a message from my lady--"

"A message--from her?" I cried, gripping his arm, "Out with it, man, out with it and G.o.d forgive you this delay! What says my lady?"

"This, Martin: she would have you shave according to late custom."

"Why, so I will! But said she no more?"

"Aye, something of meeting you here. So get to your shaving and cheerily, comrade, cheerily. I'll to the s.h.i.+p, for at sunset 'tis up anchor and hey for England! I'll fire two guns to warn you aboard, and tarry not, for the s.h.i.+p lieth within a sunken reef and we must catch the flood." Here he turned to go, then paused to glance round the horizon with a seaman's eye. "The wind is fair to serve us, Martin,"

says he, pinching his chin, "yet I could wish for a tempest out o' the north and a rising sea!"

"And why, Adam, in Heaven's name?"

"'Twould be the sure and certain end of Tressady and Mings, comrade.

Howbeit what's done is done and all things do lie in the hands of Providence, so do I cherish hope. Go and shave, Martin, go and shave!"