"Veney Number One!" cried Sir Benjamin, "and 'Snoggers' a pretty play, very sweet and rare to fancy." But even while he spoke the murderous steel was grinding together again in rapid exchanges,—stroke and counter-stroke, threat of flickering points at face, at throat, at body and limbs, with ceaseless clash and flurry of swift-twirling blades. At last, Adam's weapon sweeping in wide parry, seemed to leave an opening and there, as expected, Absalom instantly made his attack, which Adam as instantly avoided by supple volt, or turn of his agile body and, stepping back as Absalom drove past, lowered his point and stood thus motionless, though panting a little, until Absalom might recover his poise and guard.
"Veney Number Two!" cried Sir Benjamin. "And 's death, gentlemen all, I'm bold to aver that I——"
"Ha, damnation!" Absalom gasped. "Stint this foolery, Adam,—strike, man, strike and blood me ... if ye can ... What mockery d'ye make?"
"None," Adam answered, despondently, "except that I promised not to harm you."
"Eh—not——? You ... you promised not to harm——" Words seemed to fail Absalom, and he stared dumb with indignation and amazement, therefore Adam continued:
"Ay, I did. And indeed, Mr. Troy, your play is even more reckless than I expected, so loose and wild I might have killed you all too easily. So let's be done."
"The which," quoth Captain Smy, "is gospel true."
"Ay, body o' me," cried Sir Benjamin, "that's the verity on 't, sirs!"
Absalom stared down at the rapier in his fist, shook his head at it, strode to the table and laying it there, stood, chin on breast, as if pondering some abstruse problem; suddenly he chuckled and, seating himself on corner of the table, began to laugh, and so continued until came a thunderous knocking on the door and therewith a voice, crying hoarsely.
"Sail ho! Two sail ... bearing down on us to larboard! Pirates o' Barbary ... two galleys bearing down on us."
CHAPTER XVI
THE SALLEE ROVERS
Adam saw them first as two black specks far to windward yet showing plain against a luminous horizon, while all about him,—fore and aft, below and aloft, was stir and hum of instant preparation, with a confused murmur of voices that had in it something grimly joyous, this never-ending hum pierced, now and then, by shout of command and silvery twitter of the boatswain's pipe.
Now as Adam leaned to watch this oncoming menace, he was aware of Captain Smy beside him who peered very earnestly through a spy-glass.
"Are these indeed pirates, Smy?" he questioned, anxiously.
"Ay, beyond all peradventure, Adam! Pirates o' Barbary, sons of iniquity and children o' the Devil. Try a peep at 'em through my perspective glass."
So Adam took the glass and after some trouble got sight of these vessels, long and black with sweep of lofty pointed sails.
"And—oars!" said he.
"Verily, Adam, this is why they are galleys,—they can go with no wind, d'ye see?"
"Also I can see ... steel aflicker."
"Ay, this proves 'em galleys o' war and crammed wi' rogues athirst for Christian gore, Adam. So an the wind fail us or they shoot away our spars thou shalt ha' thy bellyful o' fighting for once! And none o' your delicate rapier work or pretty foyning play,—'twill be chop of axe, push o' pike and downright stroke o' sword, for they'll lay us aboard. So I'll away to prepare me, therefore, and do thou set by that rapier and take stout broad-sword instead, for 'twill be close and bloody work should the wind drop, the which God forbid!"
And away strode Smy leaving Adam to watch these distant foes with growing apprehension. For now all his thought was of Antonia, remembering how John Fenn, the gunner, had thanked God there were no women aboard.
But as he watched these black specks, that seemed to grow upon his sight, and greatly troubled thereby, he heard a low yet very cheerful whistling nearby, and greatly wondering what man could whistle so merrily at such time, turned, and was astonished to see this was none other than Amos Perrin, the Master, this usually doleful person, who, meeting Adam's surprised glance, smiled and nodded, he also winked.
"Sir," said he, "in this sad world be yet times for joy, and this is one! For yonder come two devil craft intent on our slaughter and destruction! Death, sir, and damnation! So is my soul uplift whiles heart singeth within me."
"Nay, but why so, I pray you?"
"For that being an Englishman and therefore Christian, 'tis my assured hope this death and damnation shall be theirs and we the instruments o' Grace by means o' steel and round-shot to plunge 'em forthwith to the very deeps of hell. Friend Adam, I was captured and slave to 'em once, I with my boy, Will, and he scarce fifteen turned ... they whipped him to death, my young and only son, whiles I in my fetters watched him die. So now rejoice I that Providence shall rid the world o' yon scum and pray John Fenn's guns shall do their business right bloodily."
"But how if the wind fail and they board us?"
"Why then 'stead o' round-shot, shall be our steel, hand to hand,—ay, and so much the better. In two hours, or thereabout, we shall be hard at it and ... should I be called to join my little son, the happy despatch, sir, my books and instruments are for you. I've left a writing to this effect."
Then, before Adam might find words to thank him, Amos Perrin smiled and strode away, whistling happily as he went.
Forward in the waist of the ship Bo'sun Ned and his mates were busied aiding and directing divers of the men to clear for action, so thither went Adam.
"How think you of the wind, Bo'sun?" he enquired.
"Too light, sir!" answered brawny Ned, glancing up at the great spread of sail that flapped ever and anon. "Us needs a stiffish breeze and a smart helm for to weather they galleys, and be cursed to em! Hows'ever, us can give 'em a broadside or so afore they run us aboard—eh, John?" he enquired, turning where stood Fenn, the gunner.
"I reckon so, Ned. I've my lower tier loaded with ball, cross-bar and case as should discourage 'em somewhat. If they close and board—'twill be in guns, shut ports and us, every man and boy, aloft here with pike and cutlash."
"Ar!" nodded the Bo'sun. "And me wi' old Alf here," and from somewhere nearby he caught up a ponderous axe, its haft corded and fashioned with a loop, its great blade backed by a down-curving spike.
"But," enquired Adam, "why do you name it Alf, and wherefore is that spike?"
"Why, sir, I names him Alf arter me old dad, him being the biggest man in Alceston or any o' they Downland villages, and this being the biggest axe aboard. This here spike is for to smite into the timbers of a enemy ship whereby to climb aboard same, wherefore 'tis called a boarding axe. And when I fight I has this here lanyard rove about me wrist agin loss. And," quoth he, twirling this terrible weapon in powerful hand, "for close work there's nought may compare with a axe, 'tis very pretty, very sarten-sure. Though there's some prefers sword and others a pike, but for me ever and always—an axe. And what'll be your ch'ice, Mr. Adam, if so be youm minded for to try a stroke at they varmin?"
"A hanger, Ned, this in your belt—will you lend it to me again?"
"With j'y, sir," answered the Bo'sun, unbuckling his broad belt to gird it about Adam's slim person. "You know as it be purty sharp, ay, and so does Frant,—eh, Martin lad?"