“But, sir, you do not think—Surely you cannot consider it possible to take—”
“I will take Panama—even the Cup of Gold.”
“How may you do this thing? The city is strongly guarded with walls and troops, and the way across the isthmus is nigh impassable but for the burro trail. How will you do this thing?”
“I must take Panama. I must capture the Cup of Gold.” The captain’s jaw set fiercely.
Now Coeur de Gris was smiling quietly.
“Why do you grin at me?” demanded Captain Morgan. “I was thinking of a chance remark I made a little time ago, that Panama was like to go the way of Troy town.”
“Ah! this nameless woman is in your mind. Dismiss her! It may be there exists no such woman.”
“But then, sir, we are rich enough of this last spoil.”
“It would be no evil thing to grow richer. I am tired of plundering. I would rest securely.”
Coeur de Gris hesitated a time, while his eyes were covered with a soft veil.
“I am thinking, sir, that when we come to Panama every man will be at his friend’s throat over the Red Saint.”
“Oh, you may trust me to keep order among my men—strict order—though I hang half of them to do it. A while ago I sent word to Panama that I would go there, but I did it as a joke. And I wonder, now, whether they have been fortifying themselves. Perhaps they, too, thought it a joke. Go, now, Coeur de Gris, and speak to no man of this. I make you my ambassador. Let the men throw their gold away. Encourage gambling—here—now—on the ship. Give them an example at the taverns—an expensive example. Then they will be driven to go out with me. I must have an army this time, my friend, and even then we may all die. Perhaps that is the chief joy of life—to risk it. Do my work well, Coeur de Gris, and it may be one day you will be richer than you can think.”
Young Coeur de Gris stood musing by the mast.
“Our captain, our cold captain, has been bitten by this great, nebulous rumoring. How strange this pattern is! It is as though the Red Saint had been stolen from my arms. My dream is violated. I wonder, when they know, if every man will carry this feeling of a bitter loss—will hate the captain for stealing his desire.”
V
Sir Edward Morgan led forces against St. Eustatius, and, while the battle raged, a slim, brown Indian slipped up and drove a long knife into his stomach. The Lieutenant-Governor set his lips in a straight, hard line, and crumpled to the ground.
“My white breeches will be ruined,” he thought. “Why did the devil have to do it, just when we were getting on so nicely. I should have got special thanks from his Majesty, and now I shall not be here to receive them. Heaven! he chose a painful place!” And then the full tragedy struck him.
“An ordinary knife,” he muttered; “and in the stomach. I should have preferred a sword in the hand of an equal—but a knife—in the stomach! I must look disreputable with all this blood and dirt on me. And I cannot straighten up! Christ! the wretch struck a sensitive spot.”
His men sadly bore him to Port Royal.
“It was unavoidable,” he told the Governor; “slipped up on me with a knife and stabbed me in the stomach. Such a little devil he couldn’t reach any higher, I suppose. Report the affair to the Crown, will you, Sir? And please do not mention the knife—or the stomach. And now will you leave me with my daughter? I shall be dying soon.”
Elizabeth stood over him in a darkened room.
“Are you hurt badly, father?”
“Yes, quite badly. I shall die presently.”
“Nonsense, papa; you are only joking to excite me.”
“Elizabeth, does it sound like nonsense—and have you ever heard me joke? I have several things to speak of, and the time is very short. What will you do? There is little money left. We have been living on my salary ever since the King made his last general suggestion for a loan.”
“But what are you talking about, papa! You cannot die and leave me here alone and lost in the colonies. You cannot, cannot do it!”
“Whether I can or not, I shall die presently. Now let us discuss this matter while we can. Perhaps your cousin who has come to such fame through robbery will care for you, Elizabeth. I am pained at the thought, but—but—it is necessary to live—very necessary. And after all, he is your cousin.”
“I will not believe it. I simply will not believe it. You cannot die!”
“You must stay with the Governor until you can meet your cousin. Tell him the exact standing of the matter; no fawning—but do not be too proud. Remember he is your own blood cousin, even though he is a robber.” His heavy breathing filled the room. Elizabeth had begun to cry softly, like a child who cannot quite tell whether or not it is hurt. Finally words were forced from Sir Edward’s lips.
“I have heard that you can tell a gentleman by the way he dies—but I should like to groan. Robert would have groaned if he had wished. Of course, Robert was queer—but then—he was my own brother—he would have shrieked if he had felt like it. Elizabeth, will you—please—leave the room. I am sorry—but I must groan. Never speak of it—Elizabeth—you promise—never—never to speak of it?”
And when she came again, Sir Edward Morgan was dead.
VI
Spring had come to Cambria, welling up out of the Indies and out of the hot, dry heart of Africa, and this the fifteenth Spring since
