i pass over the events of the next six months without comment, but not because they were uninteresting. oh, no. one could not sail from plymouth, england, to the south seas, touching at madeira, the canaries, rio and buenos ayres and rounding the mighty and fearsome cape horn, without seeing many things of interest and participating in scenes as dangerous as they were exciting. but i am not writing a book of travels, though perchance i may some day endeavor to set forth for your delectation some of my far voyagings in unknown seas. suffice it to say that we passed safely from the much traversed atlantic to the lonely pacific, and were drawing near to the island we sought according to the calculations of good captain matthews and myself, when something happened.

i had brought it on myself, i realized, but[92] that made it no more bearable. indeed, i was mad, mad all through; outraged in dignity, humiliated in self-respect, and were it not foolish to speak so of a man of my years and standing, i should say i was broken in heart. i suppose that i should feel the wound to my affections more than that to my pride later, but at that present moment feelings of indignation predominated. i had been a fool, of course, and i should have expected nothing else; equally, of course, perhaps i should even have anticipated this, and probably if i had been in my right senses on that day i would have known it. but then you see, i was not in my right senses, and that was the secret of my disgrace. and that it all happened after half a year of the friendliest, most pleasant intercourse between a man and a maid only intensified the bitterness of the situation.

my little mistress had been so kind to me that i had dwelt in a fool’s paradise. i awoke to realize that she had not forgot the difference between our stations. she had been born in the castle, i in the gardener’s lodge; she was of the great house, i was of the cottage. i had forgot[93] it in these long months at sea—by heaven, the sight of her was enough to make a man forget anything if he loved her as i! there, the secret is out, though i make no doubt you guessed it long before—but it seems she had not. there was no mirror in the cabin, but i could well guess that the sight of me was not sufficiently prepossessing to make any woman forget our respective merits and stations.

in birth, in breeding, in education, in everything, she stood immeasurably removed from me; so far removed that association on any terms scarcely seemed possible. yet she had been so kind. i was her only confidant or companion in the ship. i had forgot all that lay between, or else, remembering, i had yet endeavored to leap the gap. i had fondly hoped that the one thing in me that was truly great, my passion for her, would land me safely by her side. i did not see how she could fail to comprehend it, though i did try to disguise it.

well, that love of mine—it had not brought her nearer. on the contrary it had put me under lock and key! and here i was, shut up like a criminal in my own cabin in her ship, or[94] mine for that matter. come to think of it, that moment i believe love had completely disappeared. i could recall—and can to this day—the fierce, burning rush of color to her cheek where i had kissed it; the fire of rage and surprise mingled which sparkled in her eyes. the duke of arcester i had marked for life for less than this, i recalled in shame.

i hardly recollected the fierce blow of her hand upon my face. that was nothing. i had laughed at it as she had recoiled from me when i had released her—actually laughed! i was not laughing at her, god knows, but at her impotence physically compared to my strength. she was a small slender little body, i could have carried her easily with my one hand—and i have often done so since—yet she struck hard when she did strike.

as i recalled it, i suppose that laugh was my undoing. perhaps she thought i laughed at her. well, what mattered it? whatever the cause, i was undone. all the patient devotion of years, all the restraint of the long voyage had come to naught.

there had been plenty of bright starlight on[95] deck. she had stepped out from the dark shadow of the spencer and i had followed hard on her heels. the first night watch had not yet been called and the men idle about the decks, waiting the boatswain’s shrill whistle, had noted it all. i can see their sneering, laughing faces even now. god! i could bear anything from her but nothing from them, and but for the sorry figure i must have cut in a low brawl with the ruffians, i would have leaped upon them and fought them until they killed me.

as it was, i drew myself up and waited while she sent for good old captain matthews and, vouchsafing no explanations, imperiously bade him stow me below as a prisoner in my cabin. he didn’t relish the job but went about it forthwith. indeed, i did not wait for further orders after her look and glance. i stalked below as haughtily as you please. it was her ship, as she had said and as she certainly believed, and had it not been, who could deny her anything? not i, forsooth. i could steal a kiss but not balk her will.

so here i was, the mate of the rose of devon—and but for my own renunciation i had been[96] her captain—engaged in this wild goose chase, this foolish search for treasure, for so it seemed to me then, locked up below like any mutinous dog at the behest of a woman that i could have broke between my thumb and finger. and after all i had done and sacrificed for her, too.

the hot blood came into my cheeks again. i remember i raised my arm and shook it toward the door and then let it fall. what was the use? i was her prisoner. i loved her, fool that i was. i thought then and i think now i had rather be her prisoner than be free and away from her, than be free and know her not. no lovesick boy could have been more foolish than i about her—and, in your ear, i am so yet.

come to think of it, i had always loved her, ever since those days when i, the gardener’s boy, had been her faithful and devoted slave. and through the long years when i had been far voyaging in distant seas i had kept her memory fresh and sweet and true. i had been in many rough places, i had seen life from the seamy side, the common lot of a sailor of my day had been mine. i was not what you would call a religious man; no, not nearly religious enough,[97] but the thought of her and my mother had kept me a clean man. in that respect, at least, i was worthy of her; doubtless, i dare say, more worthy of her than arcester and luftdon and all the young gallants who had paid court to her before her father lost his all and had blown out his brains, leaving her but the parchment and enough gear with my aid to charter and equip the ship.

such as it was, my heart was hers, and my life had always been. as often as i could i had come back to the old cottage where i was born and for old time’s sake she had been kind to me. i had craved even her condescension, although it made me mad to see her surrounded by the other men and women, so that i would fling myself away and take the first ship that offered to the farthest port. yet, i always came back—to her.

and i had been so glad that i was there when sir geoffrey had killed himself and that i had bought the ship and fitted it out and had been able to do so much for her. as i said, she would fain have given me command of the saucy little rose of devon had i willed it—and sometimes,[98] now for instance, i cursed myself that i had not taken it rather than insisted that she should have an older man, not a better seaman, than i. there are no better seamen in narrow seas or broad than i, if i do say it myself, who should not.

i had worked my way up through the forecastle to the quarter-deck. i had a natural gift for figures. i could take a sight and work out a position as well as any book-taught navigator, and i had been a great reader, too. my private cabin was crowded with books. a goodly portion of my earnings was ever spent that way. i had wit enough to choose good books, too, and perseverance enough to study them well. and they stared at me then from shelves built in the bulkhead. what fond dreams i had indulged in while i had pored over them, turning their thin pages with my tarred, blunt fingers! i walked over to them that night and struck them with my fist in impotent rage. what was the use of it? the stain of tar was on me forever in her eyes.

and yet i knew more than she. oh, much more about everything but the usages of good[99] society, and i had at least learned something of good manners in her company since her father’s death. many a time i have caught her tripping as to facts of knowledge, not daring, not even caring to tell her; or, perhaps i had better say, not wishful to humiliate her by showing her that she was wrong, content to know that much myself, and hugging my poor little superiority to my heart. i knew more than she and more than most of the men with whom she associated. my shipmates used to laugh at me for being a book delver, a worm, they were wont to call me. well, they didn’t laugh very long. there was nothing physical for which i need stand aside for any man. i was over six feet high and built in proportion. i could unaided, and alone, hold the wheel of the best ship in the fiercest storm. i had matched myself against man and against storm, not once but many times, and neither the one nor the other had ever made me back down.

now i was a prisoner. i said i didn’t feel that blow on the cheek, but as i thought on it, it fairly seared me. i hated her, i hoped that—no, i might as well be honest with myself—i[100] didn’t care how she treated me, how disdainful were her words, how unjustly she punished me, i loved her. i couldn’t help it, i didn’t want to help it. i would fain kiss the deck planks she hallowed with her footsteps.

there was another side to my confinement and i presently took thought on that. i swear that i was not thinking of myself but of her. i was ever thinking of her. i could see dangers that beset her as perhaps no one else could, and my confinement added to her peril. she didn’t realize that; nobody aft on the ship realized it. i did not see any present way to make her understand the situation. i had not cared to alarm her before, and any attempt on my part to set it forth now would be looked upon as a personal plea, and yet there was a peril, imminent, menacing, about to break, i feared.

you see, the fact that we were treasure hunting had got about. who told it i could not discover, but the unusualness of our proceedings, the arming of a peaceful merchant ship, the indefiniteness of the articles, the clearing from plymouth for the south seas, the absence of any great amount of cargo, and the high wages[101] promised had aroused suspicions. i had not thought much about the crew, except of pimball. we had shipped a lot of smart seamen; about the average in quality and above the average in smartness, i decided as the days had passed with nothing happening; but times were good and ships were plenty, and we had sailed rather late in the season, and pimball had signed many i could wish had been left ashore.

her presence on the ship, too, was a mystery. alone in the little rose of devon with thirty men! by evil mishap the maid she had brought with her had died after a brief illness two weeks out. captain matthews and i were for turning back, but she said no, she would go on. we had lost too much time already and her all was embarked. we were now plowing the blue waters of the pacific and i, mate of the ship, and the only other officer to be trusted, locked up! pimball, the boatswain, seemed to me to be the least trustworthy of the lot. i had not got over my initial dislike for him at all!

we were nearing the latitude and longitude of the island. suppose the men rose in mutiny! i ground my teeth in rage at the thought. the[102] men liked me well enough, and i had been particular to keep them in good humor, passing over many a thing for her sake that i would have followed with a blow had she not been there. captain matthews had complained once or twice of my laxity, but i knew things that he didn’t, and i had done what i deemed best for her. i pledge you my word that i didn’t care a farthing for the treasure. i had never given it much thought. i grew to believe in it less and less as we got further from home, and if i had been stronger for my duty and weaker in my love i would have dissuaded her from the voyage, following master ficklin’s lead.

now that she was poor and alone, neglected and forgotten, i had enjoyed a foolish dream that i could be a companion to her—a life shipmate!—for the captain was a rough, plain old sailor. what a fool i was! and yet it had worked in some way as i had intended. we had been thrown into closer intimacy by the loneliness of her position, and by my faithful and, until that night, most unobtrusive, self-effacing devotion. i was thinking too much of her to give my attention to any other kind of treasure anyway,[103] and i’d rather have had her than all the golden argosies that plowed the seas.

i supposed it never entered her head that i could presume to love her, consequently she was less careful than she had been otherwise, and that very night when i had poured out my declaration to her, she had found no words with which to meet it. i thought her motionless silence was consent. i see now that it was petrified amazement. i seized her in my arms, like the brute she must have thought me, lifted her up and kissed her fair on the lips and then on her averted cheek. arcester, the blackguard, could have done no worse. i will never forget how she stigmatized me, brute, coward, lowborn. i don’t believe she had railed at that scoundrel duke so fiercely. well, i didn’t care what she called me. her safety, her life, her honor demanded that i be released. that was the paramount concern.

i listened—i thought i heard a footfall in the outer cabin. could she be there? i suppose that i had been locked up for perhaps an hour, aye, on the instant the bell forward struck three. we kept man-o’-war customs at her[104] fancy. the sound came to me faintly as i listened. half past nine. she could not have gone to her berth yet. she must be there in the great cabin. i ventured to call.

any man can imagine what it cost me to humble myself to ask her mercy. stop, i ought to apologize. no gentleman—i do not mean the dandies that made love to her—but no real gentleman such as i, in spite of my low birth and rough breeding, hoped i might prove myself to be, would have taken advantage of her as i did. yes, an apology was certainly owing from me. even had it not been i should have been compelled to make it for her sake.

i am a man of fierce temper, as you have deemed and as you shall see, if you go with us further in this history, but i can control it on occasion, and i did it now. i shook the door of the cabin gently at first and then vigorously and called once and again. there was no answer. i beat upon it. i raised my voice. i scarcely thought i could be heard on deck. the wind was blowing, the sea was heavy and the ship was pitching wildly, the straining, the creaking, the groaning of the timbers would have prevented[105] such a noise as i made from attracting attention unless someone were in the cabin.

but all in vain. no heed was paid to me and yet i could swear that somebody was there. i don’t know how exactly, but i was conscious of her presence. perhaps because i was so in love with her that i could always tell whether she was about. i can to this day. many a time in after years she has stepped into the room where i have been sitting, without a sound, and has come to me and laid her hand on my shoulder, but i have had knowledge before she touched me that she was there.

it made me madder than before to go thus unheeded. i was on the point of giving over my endeavor, but the thought of that peril in which she stood, and the fact that i was removed from the deck and a prisoner, made me resolve on one more effort. she must be made to hear, and if to hear, to answer.

“madam,” i whispered softly, and then more loudly, “madam!”

i did not venture to say any other name. i called again and yet a fourth time and then for the last time with the full power of my voice.[106] i heard a movement outside and then a voice, beloved, blessed voice even when it rated me!

“well, sir.”

the words came to me through the partition. she was there then, as i had divined. she had been there all the time, trying me.

“i would fain have a word with you,” i answered, putting everything else by and speaking most entreatingly and with a humility i did not altogether feel.

“i desire no speech with you,” was her cold and measured answer.

i could hear her turn as if to move away. she had come very softly, but she went loudly as if to show me her intention.

“think of my long and faithful service,” i urged, “and of your gracious friendship for me, often expressed.”

“you yourself forgot it tonight.”

“for god’s sake,” i cried desperately as i heard her go, “just one word.”

“an apology? do you beg for forgiveness?”

“no—yes—anything,” i finished in confusion.

“i will not listen. i wish to convince you of the enormity of what you have done, the grossness[107] of your presumption. i will give you time for quiet reflection, sir.”

“i am convinced already,” i urged hurriedly.

“so easily,” she mocked.

“madam, if you love life and honor, i pray you hear me. it is not of myself i think but of you. you are in grave peril,” returned i with the utmost seriousness.

“what peril?”

there was a note of alarm in her voice in spite of her effort to be indifferent. i seized upon its promise eagerly.

“the men of the ship, they are not what they should be. captain matthews is alone. pimball is a villain. i trust no one but—”

“and is that the plea on which you seek your freedom?”

“that is the only plea.”

“you did not discover this danger until i locked you up, did you?”

she laughed mockingly, but there was music in her voice for me, albeit her words were harsh and unjust.

“i tell you that it is not for myself i fear, but for you,” i persisted.

[108]“and was it for that you insulted me on the quarter-deck before the men and—”

“no,” said i savagely. “by heavens, i did that for myself.”

“arcester could have done no worse,” she said cuttingly.

“curse arcester!” i burst out, the mention of the man’s name always inflaming me, “he would have made you his—”

“silence!” cried the woman. “i will hear no more. it is a foolish plea, the men are devoted to me and—”

“for god’s sake, mistress wilberforce,” i cried, but this time she was gone.

i heard the door of her cabin shut violently. there was no help for it. well, i must devise some way unaided. for i must get out for her sake. the cabin was lighted by an air port closed by a deadlight. i measured it, drew back the thick glass and examined the opening, although i knew it was a futile proposition. a slender boy might have slipped through but not a man such as i. my mighty thews and sinews and great bulk required a door and no small one, either.

[109]the wind had increased, it was blowing hard outside and some spray came in through the port as the waves slapped the side of the ship. i closed and secured it; there was nothing to be gained there. i must seek some other way.

i was not weaponless. nobody had thought to search my cabin, and a brace of pistols which i always kept loaded and ready for an emergency were locked securely in my chest. my hanger, none of your dandified french rapiers but a stout ship’s cutlass, ground to a razor’s edge, heavy enough to paralyze any arm but one muscled like mine, hung at the side of my berth. it was the same with which i had marked the duke.

the cabin door was a strong one. it was locked and barred without. i might have broken through it. i could have done so if i had had space enough in which to run and hurl myself against it. i might even have kicked it to pieces with my heavy seaman’s boot. certainly i could easily have blown the lock off with my pistol, but any of these endeavors would have aroused the ship.

to let the sleeping dogs lie when you have no[110] means of controlling them should they awaken, i have ever found to be a good maxim. i had one other hope. if captain matthews should come to the cabin i would appeal to him. for the rest i determined not to sleep that night. some strange foreboding possessed me, such a feeling a man has when his own hand is taken from the helm and no other is near by to grasp it, as if the uncontrolled ship must surely broach to and founder.

we were near the latitude and longitude of the island we were seeking, if indeed there were such an island as was thought to be, and i reasoned that the men would argue that now would be a good time for an outbreak, especially since i was removed. would it come that night? would it come at all? was i mistaken in the men?

i have often wondered why women were made and, since they were made, why men should be such fools about them—yet i would by no means unmake them! here i was helpless just because i had snatched a kiss from one. although i had ever been a decent man as man goes, i had ventured as far as kisses with maidens[111] here and there in this little world around which i had gone so many times, and none of them had ever taken it quite like that. to be sure, none of them was like her. and now that i am in the mood for confession, i might as well say that i fully rejoiced in that kiss. it had not been on the cheek first but full and fair on her lips, and i had held her tight and drunk my fill—no not that, of course; i could never do that, but still it had been a man’s kiss on a maiden’s lips fairly given, and—

well, whatever happened, i had the memory of that kiss. she would never forgive me. of course, there was absolutely no hope that she would return my suit even in her poverty. she was not for such as i, and if there was anything in this old buccaneer’s parchment, if there was an island, if she did get the treasure, why the world would be at her feet again; and i, like the fool i was, was helping her get it, to bring that about. i was mad, aye, mad, with impotent helplessness that night.

i sat there in the dark, no light being vouchsafed to me and the lanterns in the outer cabin not having been lighted, for a long time. the[112] wind rose and rose. the ship was pitching madly. my room was on the starboard side of the cabin and presently i heard all hands called to reef the topsails. captain matthews was alert and ready, of course. presently he put the ship about and with some of the canvas off her she was steadier. there did not seem to be any especial danger in the weather and for that i was thankful.

i must have dozed. i was awakened by the last echoing of the bell forward. i didn’t know what time it was because i didn’t know whether i had heard it begin to strike, but i could count three couplets, which meant that it was eleven o’clock at least. i didn’t know, of course, that it was eight bells, midnight, until after a shrill piping of his whistle the long-drawn-out voice of the boatswain came to me through the low bulkhead that separated the trunk cabin from the quarter-deck above and the ’tween decks below.

“a—a—all the port watch! show a leg, lively, lads!”

i could hear the men of the watch below grumbling and cursing as they turned out.[113] they had evidently been sent to their hammocks after the topsails had been reefed for a couple of hours in. i could also hear scraps of conversation as they struggled into their jackets and coats.

“let’s do it.”

“now?”

“yes!”

“shall we kill him?”

“this is the best time!”

“aye, aye.”

“the old man’s alone!” and so on.

what i heard filled me with dismay. the purport was plain. i picked up the pistol and pointed it at the lock in the door. i had made up my mind, come what might, to blow off the lock and get free. perhaps i could even yet prevent and overawe them. before i could press the trigger, however, i heard a call on the deck above me, a shot, a rush of feet, a scuffle, oaths, curses, a cry for help, a groan, a fall!