The palace was now doomed, its great ante-chamber a glowing furnace where no living thing might be; and looking on this, haggard-eyed, Adam breathed a prayer and turned away.... Away from sparks and devouring flame, through a cool darkness where leaves rustled fitfully, through silent streets with none to stay them, for the battle had roared into the distance, out unchallenged through the West Gate and into a glimmering dusk that brightened upon them, little by little, as up rose the late moon to show them a flat, grassy expanse or savannah, shut in by dark forest and distant mountains. Here Adam halted to look about him.
"What course now, sir?" enquired Ned, cleaning his axe-blade with handful of grass. "Are we for sea-coast or river?"
"The coast, Ned, there to join Sir Benjamin and the rest—if we may. But first, did you, did any man here see aught o' my boy, Smidge?"
"I did, sir," answered Tregenza; "he was i' the thick of it and laying about him very stoutly."
"Ay, sir, and wi' Moa, your young Indian, along of him likewise, Cap'n. Mebbe they won away along o' Sir Benjamin when the dons turned tail and Sir Ben's company hard a-starn of 'em."
"Well, now," said Adam, peering at his fifteen survivors, "I'll see which o' your hurts most needs my care."
"Why none o' we, sir!" they answered in cheery chorus. "No no, Cap'n. We be well enough and handsome.... A bit o' blood here or there but naught to harm, sir."
"Show me! You, Will Farren,—your fingers drip! Bare me your arm—so! Here's rill should soon drain your life. Out with your shirt-tail!"
William Farren obeyed, and from this garment, by Adam's direction, tore a strip wherewith his bleeding was presently stopped. So now in this desolation, with the moon to light him and Antonia to aid, Adam performed such rough surgery as he might; in the middle of which business hearing a cautious hail, he glanced up to behold Moa with his arm about a bedraggled Smidge who limped. And never were youth and boy greeted more heartily than by their messmates, though Adam shook reproving head at them.
"Sir," said the boy, saluting, "begs to report as I have convoyed this here Moa safe and sound 'cept for bit of a cut in 's arm. And I got me trod on and trampled somewhat, which don't matter, but ... oh, sir ..." the boyish voice quavered tearfully, "oh Cap'n Adam, I ... lost my sword, sir!"
"Shalt have another, old seadog. But——"
Adam paused and turned to the now familiar sound of a thin, querulous voice upraised in fierce expostulation, and beheld Captain Smy writhing feebly in the powerful arms of Absalom Troy.
"Loose me, accursed renegade, loose me, I say!"
"Easy, Smy, easy now! Bide still lest thou do thy poor body more harm. So ho, Adam,—here come I, a poor, lost soul that hath indeed lost everything save life, good sword, and stout arm. Wilt take me along, Old Adam?"
"Indeed, Absalom. 'Tis for sake of you and Smy we are here. So now are we sixteen swords. Come!"
On they went again and now all silent because of Smy's bitter taunts and Absalom's ready answers, they conversing on this wise:
Smy: "Loose me, Troy! The touch o' you is abomination, cursed false—Papist and traitor that ye are!"
Absalom: "Yet am I no traitor to thee, Smy, nor to thy God that made us all. I do but—adapt myself to circumstance."
Smy: "To save your coward's hide!"
Absalom: "True enough! What, dost groan? Do I bear thee comfortably thus, old messmate? God knows I'd spare thee any least——"
Smy: "Talk not o' God to me, Master Mock Papist!"
Absalom: "Then let's say—devil burn me but I'd fain spare thee any further pain, Smy. When I look on thy poor body I could weep! And what—what hast gained by such grievous suffering?"
Smy: "A clean soul! The fire of agony hath purged away all dross. Soon I shall stand before the Lord, strong again, perfected and made worthy by woes endured for His sake. But as for thee,—ha, thou Absalom that for dread of a little passing agony could forswear thy Faith—thou——"
Absalom: "Ay ay, old lad, I'm bound for Hell and the torment hereafter, the brimstone pit, dread Avernus and—— Ha—didst flinch again! Do I jar thee, Smy?"
Smy: "Nay! But wherefore drag my useless carcass along? To what avail? I'm done wi' life, and yearning for death and the Abiding Glory. So, put me down, leave me, I say."
Absalom: "Nay, I'll never leave thee, old shipmate, or I'm a shotten herring! While there's life there's hope,—if not, I'll see the last o' thee for old friendship's sake."
Smy: "I'm no friend o' thine!"
Absalom: "No matter, thou'rt friend o' mine, and therefore——"
"Hush!" said Adam, halting suddenly. "Listen!"
A vague sound growing louder to the thud of flying feet; a great, black shape outlined against the rising moon; the gasping voice of Jimbo:
"Oho ... Cap'n Adam ... Spaniards! Hundreds ... t'ousands! Dey come for ... burn de boats and dey kill us too! Black Bartlemy what ... you kill so splendorious ... him not dead, sah ... de pirats carry him ... back to de ships. Sir George him wounded, sah, de dons fight berry good, and Sir Benjamin lose plenty men ... but fight him way to de boats.... And now more Spaniards chase me, only I ... run berry fast for you, Cap'n and ... warn you dey's coming!"
"Whereaway, Jimbo?"
"Astarn o' me, sah ... pikes and muskets ... hundreds and t'ousands, sah."
"Bear up for the woods!" cried Adam. "Starboard all!" But, as he spoke, heard a distant clamour, and glancing thither, saw the moon flash back from corslet and morion, with the brandished steel of their pursuers.
"Aha!" exclaimed Absalom. "They've sighted us! Let's run for 't, Adam! Once in the woods I know a refuge shall serve us handsomely,—caves above the sea, can we but make 'em."
"Ay!" said Adam, drawing sword. "Jimbo, take Captain Smy——"
"No!" said Absalom, "I can bear him, the poor soul's scarce heavier than puling babe."
They reached the forest, and in this welcome shelter paused to take breath and glance back at their pursuers,—fierce soldiery and vengeful citizens who cried death on them, and flourished musket or pike.
"How many d'ye make 'em?" questioned Absalom. "Nigh a hundred, eh, Adam?"
"More!" he replied, glancing askance on the one so close beside him that her hand might touch his unseen.
"Ay," quoth Ned, twirling his axe, "more they be, I rackon, sir, but we'll make 'em fewer anon, if they cross our hawse or run foul o' we."
On they went again, plunging deep into leafy glooms, amid underbrush and thorny tangles so dense they must hew a path with axe and sword,—on through a windless, reeking darkness shot athwart by level moonbeams; stumbling over unseen obstacles, sliding in mud and quaking ooze, splashing through dim streams and sullen pools until, halting at last, Absalom gasped:
"Ho, Jimbo ... your trick ... with the Captain...."
"Fools—fools!" screeched Smy, as the gigantic negro cradled him in mighty arms. "To drag such useless burden! Set me down ... toss me in a pool ... leave me with the Lord!"
"Him berry extremious light, sah! I've carry him so easy as de newborn piccaninny child."
"Then damn your black skin, Jimbo!" cried Smy, humanized by indignation.
Out from that dense vegetation they struggled, up from the dark and humid shadow into vivid moonlight that showed a wide, grassy plateau rising steeply to a jagged, rocky summit that overhung the sea, the sight of which gladdened Adam's heart, so apt was this for defence.