Scarface (17 page)

And to this Scarface could make no reply save that he intended to tell the truth if they would ever let him speak for himself. Only Sir Robert spoke once more, saying:

“Ask of Cheap whether this boy was truly his spy—”

And Cheap took the oath with spirit to reply:

“The lad is like a son to me. Oh, aye, I did have him flogged. I am a man of hasty temper and he did cross me badly. But when he served me well I did accept him into favor again. He is my man.”

And so did Captain Cheap make very sure that his cabin boy would hang on the Bridgetown gallows.

The trial plodded on, only now Scarface had little attention
for the evidence or the plight of the others. Within himself he knew a great and ever growing cold. But yet none of this day seemed real—as real as the pain in his head. Twice he looked up wearily to see that Sir Robert was watching him closely, a frown written between his brows, as if in Scarface he saw a puzzle he could not solve.

And in the end when all the testimony had been heard, Buck and Cheap were painted as black as the men who had gone before them. Then the Judge gave all of them one last chance to speak in their own behalf. Scarface moved stiff jaws and dry lips when they asked of him what he had to say, and he spoke at last more to Sir Robert than to those others who, as he knew well, had already condemned him in their minds.

“Of what has been told here against me—I can say naught for it may be the truth. When I fell ill of the coast fever Captain Cheap did force upon me the devil's brew which Ghost Peter has the secret of. It takes the fever from a man's bones right enough, but it also takes from him his memories. I cannot remember the past at all—”

But he stopped then and set his teeth for they were laughing openly and even the Judge smiled. And he saw that they believed his tale a tissue of poor weak lies. Only Sir Robert's frown grew and he was plaiting a paper into a fan, his fingers biting out sharp creases. So did Scarface's speech in his own behalf lose him any sympathy which might have remained to him.

The jury did not go from the room but rendered a verdict yet sitting. To suffer the extreme penalty of the Queen's law they condemned all save Stodgill and for him
there was freedom since he had been a pressed man.

From the desk before him the Judge picked up the black silk cap and placed it on his wig. There was no laughter in him now, only the most awesome dignity as he gave their sentences.

“—shall be taken hence”—his words were heavy on the stagnant air of the room—"to the place of execution and there, within the flood marks, to be hanged by the neck until you are dead, dead, dead— And thereafter shall your bodies remain upon the gibbet as a warning to all ill-doers and masterless rogues!”

“Dead—dead—dead—” Scarface stared down at the floor. There were great wide cracks between the old boards and a black insect scuttled from one crevice to another. Dead—dead—dead— Those were words, just words.

Someone seized him by his elbow and brought him about so that he could follow his fellows out of the courtroom. And as they went their feet drummed out on those boards —dead—dead—dead—

Chapter Seventeen

DRINK DEEP AND BE SORRY

THEREAFTER they were not left alone to spend their last hours in decent peace, but rather did the town flock in to view them as if they were caged and dangerous beasts. Until they were led out to the gallows they would not be free of pointing fingers and staring eyes.

Some huddled down near the wall and sat looking before them into the blackness of tomorrow, and others put a bold face on the matter and talked loud and long to any who would listen. But Scarface found a far corner of the courtyard wherein they were now penned like senseless cattle and dropped down full length, trying to be as unminding as the animal they deemed him.

For some moments he did not realize why he could not
lie in comfort. But when he felt in the sash about his middle he discovered a hard knot in its folds which bit into him when he tried to rest. He dug it out and found he was holding a chain of soft, dull gold.

There was something about that piece of chain—something important to him. Back and forth, back and forth, his gaze followed its swing. He had handled it before— someone had given it to him. A dagger—a dagger in the right hand—who had said— Cheap had!

And this was Cheap’s gift! Because—because—he had been given it because he told stories of Bridgetown—stories of
BRIDGETOWN
!
Scarface cupped the chain tight in his palm and forced his twisting thought straight.

He could remember now—remember almost all! It was true—he
was
Justin Blade and he
had
walked these cobbled streets before. But the rest was not true—he was no pirate!

That brought him to his feet and sent him pushing among his fellows towards the great iron grille which was the gate. They couldn’t keep him here—he must get out—it was wrong, his being here, all wrong and even Sir Robert would say so.

A hand caught him and the full strength behind it brought him up short. He was looking into Creagh’s heavy face.

“Whar ’way, mate?” the boatswain asked cheerfully. “Thar be no leavin’ fer us ’til we go out t’ tread th’ air tomorrow. Best save yer legs fer that!”

“But I can remember now! I can remember all of it! I’m no pirate!”

Creagh spluttered laughter. “Ain’t ye now? Well, who’d
’ave thought it? Th’ Judge an’ th’ rest don’t allow that ye be right in that. They said yer a pirate right enough. Ain’t no man in Bridgetown t’ say ’em no tonight.”

With a playful shove he sent Scarface spinning, to collide with another man who cursingly fended him to stumble over the outstretched feet of a third and bring him forcibly up against the very gate he had been pushing towards. Only now he had no wish to stand there.

What Creagh said was true. No man in Bridgetown would believe his fantastic story tonight. And tomorrow—tomorrow— He closed his eyes. But still printed before them was a scene he had been trying desperately not to think of. Dead—dead—dead—

“Pirate! Yah—murderin’ scum! Pirate, dirty pirate!”

Without the gate a small boy was snatched back by his taller brother. By the minute the crowd outside the prison yard was growing and nowhere among it did Scarface see any who might be appealed to—none of the better sort of townspeople were in this mob. Or if they were, they kept well to the outskirts.

“Pirate! Pirate!” someone else mouthed the chant before him. Scarface looked into the vacant eyes and slobbering jaws of Danby Johns. He who had once been the butt of this same mob was now a part of it. But as his wandering gaze met Justin’s a strange expression crossed his seamed face, and he extended a trembling hand.

“Good ’een t’ ye, matey,” he whined. “Be ye goin’ t’ buy ol’ Danby rum?”

On bitter impulse Scarface tossed the gold chain through the grill and Johns caught it eagerly. Incredulously he
looked from the gold to Scarface until the boy nodded reassuringly.

“Aye, take it, Danby. Drink deep and be sorry. The best rum, mind you!”

Danby nodded solemnly as if taking an oath. “Aye, matey, th’ best rum!”

But he was not to get his rum after all, for the guard at the gate had witnessed the transaction and now he came down upon Johns and wrested the chain out of his grasp. Scarface pulled at the gate bars in fruitless anger.

“Give it to him!” he ordered. “That is mine to give as I please. Give it back to Johns!”

The guard grinned. “Is it now? Well, th’ lieutenant will ’ave a word about that. Come along, you!” He kicked at Johns. “I’m after thinkin’ ’e’ll want a word wi’ you also. Drinkin’ th’ ’ealth o’ pirates, is it?”

With the struggling Johns firmly in hand the guard pushed his way through the mob and Scarface listlessly left the gate for his old corner. All that he ever did turned out ill. Now doubtless he had made trouble for Johns—who might even be sent to join them. Surely his star was a black one and he had been damned by it from the hour of his birth.

He wondered if Snelgrave would ever hear of the brave ending made by his star pupil. Liza would have to find another master also, and whatever secrets she kept locked in her dirty head would never be known to him now. The boy put his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and was half sunk in a sort of sullen daze when the guards came for him—pushing through the crowd of condemned men to hunt him out.

At first he thought the night was over and they were having him forth to march behind the silver oar down to the water’s edge. But they were taking none of the others and they took him not to the street but into the jailer’s own quarters where three men awaited him.

Candles burned high to show him Sir Robert, Cocklyn and that same puffy-faced judge whose words had sent him to this place. And all three of them were intent upon what Sir Robert held—the chain. At his coming their attention turned to him and Sir Robert asked:

“You gave this to Johns to spend for drink?”

Scarface shrugged. “Why not? After the morning it will serve me not and to be drunk on good rum will give him pleasure. Let him toast me out of this life if he will.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Cheap gave it to me. He told me that it was truly mine and that if I knew how to use it—it might be a dagger. He has a liking for such talk—”

“Cheap!” Sir Robert’s mouth was a thin bluish line. “Ever Cheap!” He turned to the Judge. “Let us have him in—”

“A dagger,” repeated Cocklyn slowly. “Now why did the fellow say that? You are sure that the chain is the one, Robert?” His hand rested lightly on Scarlett’s shoulder.

“Aye. I am sure—sure of everything that marked those months. Do you think I can ever forget while still I breathe! This is the first proof—the first proof I have ever had in all these years. And if Cheap—” His eyes were alive, more alive than his set face, his close-held lips. Around the chain his fingers were curled claw-tight.

But Cocklyn had turned again to the boy. “So Cheap
did tell you that this trinket was yours—that you had full right to it?”

“He said that it was my wages and it was a pity that I did not know the proper market in which to spend it; also that he was being generous—how generous I could not guess—” He broke off, uneasy under Cocklyn’s intent gaze.

The major was eyeing him from head to foot, making him feel almost as if he stood stripped and shivering before them all. From that moment he was never free from Cocklyn’s eyes, no matter how he tried to escape into the obscurity beyond the candlelight. Only Sir Robert seemed no longer aware of him nor marked his withdrawal to the other side of the small room. For Scarlett was watching the door with a fierce anticipation.

It was a year’s wait to Scarface, and mayhap half a century to Sir Robert, before they had Cheap in. He stepped just within the door, his chains clanking as he moved, and blinked once or twice at the change from the torchlight to the more concentrated illumination here. Then he coolly examined the company and stood waiting their pleasure. Only he looked more to Sir Robert.

From Scarlett’s fingers swung the chain and to it was drawn Cheap’s attention. His jaw thrust forward and he laughed softly.

“Greetings, brother-in-arms.” His voice held all the old arrogance. “And from whence had you that token?”

“I might ask the same of you, Cheap.” Each word ground from between set teeth.

“And if I were to say that I had it from the same source where you bestowed—”

None of them were prepared for that sudden leap, for
the spring which brought the pirate’s throat between Scarlett’s two hands. And those merciless hands tightened in spite of all Cheap’s frenzied writhings. Then Cocklyn was into the struggle, beating and tearing at those iron fingers, bellowing into the Governor’s ear.

“Don’t Robert, don’t kill him! If you do—you’ll never know! Robert! Fiend take you, loose him! Acton, help me—he’s mad!”

The Judge was with him and in the end the sheer weight of their arms broke Scarlett’s murderous grip so that Cheap sank back against the wall, his tearing gasps for life-saving air loud in the room. But Scarlett stood quiet, his hands hanging at his sides, his unmoved face like that of a dead man, even his eyes dull and listless. When Cocklyn urged him he allowed himself to be guided back to his chair, as uncomplaining as if he were a babe or stricken of his wits.

For what seemed a long time to the boy by the wall, there was a deep silence in the room. Cheap recovered enough to drag himself erect, his manacled hands rubbing at his tortured throat. Cocklyn and Acton hovered above the Governor, and the Major’s hands were pressed down upon his friend’s shoulders to hold him in his seat. But Scarlett was able to control his rage now, his eyes were alive again, his tenseness gone. He picked up the chain from the floor where he had dropped it in his frenzied attack upon the pirate captain.

“So all these years,” he began softly, “you knew.”

And with all the malicious humor gone from his face, Cheap nodded heavily, still rubbing at his throat as if he could not answer aloud.

“What happened—what happened to the
Maid of Cathay?”
Sir Robert asked—as if he were making an inquiry of mere acquaintance, not of a man he had just tried to kill.

“We took her—off Jamaica,” croaked Cheap, making answer as if those eyes, that calm voice, were instruments of torture forcing the words out of him.

Cocklyn’s hands tightened their hold on Scarlett but the Governor made no move to rise. Instead he twisted the chain about his wrist so that it served as a bracelet.

“We—you mean that you took her, Cheap. And then what happened after?”

“She burned.”

“Burned” The word was a blow upon the air of the room. Cocklyn sucked in his breath sharply, but Scarlett betrayed no emotion now.

“And her passengers?” He might have been discussing the sugar crop.

Cheap’s chains clashed. He moved his hands in a sharp gesture and straightened to his full height, towering over all of them. But the man on the rude chair before him was still master of the situation.

“Under the sea—”

Cocklyn moved at that. He put forth his hand, digging fingers tightly into the cloth of Scarface’s coat. Then he pulled the boy back into their tight circle.

“You lie, Cheap. And here stands the proof of that!”

Cheap’s mouth worked as if he would laugh and yet no laughter would come to his bidding. It was Acton who asked the question for him.

“What do you mean, man?”

“Just this, for some purpose of his own Cheap has kept this boy by him, saying now and again that he was a weapon to be used against an ancient enemy. He gave to him that bangle, telling him that it was his by right—by right! Think—think what that could mean!”

“I will not appeal to your mercy”—Sir Robert spoke as if he had not heard Cocklyn’s outburst—"because you do not know the meaning of that word—as you proved years since—”

This time Cheap managed the laugh. “Right enough, Sir Robert, you were ever good at reading a man. No, I finished with mercy, even as I finished with friendship, long ago. And to prove my freedom from mawkishness I’ll tell you all the tale you want out of me—give it to you out of my pleasure in it. Because when I tell it I can see you—look into your face and watch every word burn you. Filth was I! Red-handed murderer, unfit for gentlemen such as yourself to consort with— Aye, I’ve remembered right well all those fine names you flung at me upon the occasion of our last meeting. You paid for every one of them—and now you’ll pay twice over!

“I took the
Maid of Cathay
— just as you have tried to discover these seventeen years and more, with all your agents combing the islands for news of her. I took the
Maid of Cathay
and sank her with all on board save one—save one—Robert Scarlett!

“And that one I took into Tortuga with me. Remember Tortuga as it then was—thieves’ den for the whole Main. That’s where I took your lady—she who was too nice, too
fine for me to meet on that night we both hold memories of. Aye, she came to Tortuga right enough. Only there I lost a piece of my luck. Because she died, you see, was gone between two days. But she left me a memory token which I have been careful of, precious careful of, since I saw that she had left in my hand a weapon which would break you in the end, bring you to those stiff knees of yours, just as you brought me to mine once on a time. She left me—your son!”