University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.
THE CUP — THE KISS!

When Calvert left Mrs. Perkins Anderson, he proceeded to a
meeting with Franks; and the two together took their way to the
lagune in which the boats of the “Happy-go-Lucky” were wont
to seek safe harborage. Two of them had arrived, with full cargoes,
which were transferred, in little time, on the shoulders of
the seamen, to the secret warehouse of Master Franks. Among
those who came this time with the boats was Jack Belcher, with
whom, while the boats were unlading, our rover had a long private
conference. That faithful retainer had a minute and interesting
report to make. There were circumstances that made him
uneasy. He reported Lieutenant Molyneaux as still desperately
attentive to the fair Zulieme; but this was not so much the cause
of his uneasiness. They had their dances, as usual, and the rough
Anglo-Saxon was not by any means reconciled, by the frequency
of the fandango, to the familiarities which it allowed. But, as his
superior saw nothing in this to cause apprehension or displeasure,
Belcher forebore reporting fully the measure of his indignation.

But there were more serious matters of suspicion, if not of misconduct,
which had rendered him uneasy. He discovered, or
fancied that he discovered, that the said lieutenant discriminated,
with singular partiality, in the treatment of the crew. Some of
the sailors had no favor shown them. To others he was specially
indulgent; and, with certain of these others, Jack Belcher discovered
that the lieutenant was in frequent conference, privately, in
the woods. Some of these men were occasionally missing, and,

on one of these occasions, one of the boats of the ship was missing
also.

Belcher reported the lieutenant as arbitrary in a degree amounting
to tyranny, giving great offence to the sailors whom he did
not favor. He himself (Belcher), though not strictly under the
authority of the lieutenant, as the private attendant and body-servant
of the captain, had been made to understand that he was
no favorite, and would be subjected to his regimen as soon as ever
he dared indulge in authority as fully as he evidently desired. It
was time, according to Belcher's opinion, that Captain Calvert
should resume the command of the ship.

This tallied well with the captain's purpose.

“I shall go up to-night, Jack. You will remain here with
Franks, lying close, and submitting to all his precautions.”

To what Belcher said of Molyneaux, Calvert only responded
with contemptuous indignation in regard to the course of that
individual.

“The vain blockhead! Now will he not be content till he gets
knocked upon the head. It is a pity, too, for the fellow is as
brave as he is impudent, and as good a seaman as he is a puppy
in his uniform. But, I have sounded him, and know just where
his oars catch crabs. Never you trouble yourself about him,
Jack; but give me the names of the fellows with whom he consorts.
Some of them I suspect already. Where do you suppose
the missing boat went, when she was taken off?”

“To town, sir — where else?”

“Ah! was she so long gone?”

“Eighteen hours at the least.”

“Indeed! We must fathom that. Such visits might seriously
endanger us. But enough now. Let us rejoin Franks.”

When they had returned to the lagune, they found that the
landing of the goods had all been effected.

“Franks,” said Calvert, drawing him aside, “have you that
stout hackney that I used to ride when I was here last?”

`Yes, sir, and as stout a beast as ever.”

`You must get him across the Ashley for me by to-morrow,
sometime. Who have you now at Oldtown?”

“Gowdey. You remember him — a queer fellow. He lives
on the creek, above the town.”

“Is he trusty?”

“True as steel.”

“Anybody else at Oldtown now?”

“Not a soul besides, that I know of. The Indians have burnt
down most of the houses, and the few left are in ruins. Gowdey
has a log-cabin: it was one of the old blocks just on the outskirts.
Fort Sayle, they called it.”

“I remember. Have the horse in Gowdey's hands to-morrow.
Do not spare any money. Be sure of it! I must not be disappointed.”

“It shall be done, sir.'”

“Jack Belcher will remain with you, and help to sort and distribute
the goods. He knows all about it, better than either of
us. I leave you, for the present. To-morrow night, you will
receive my wife, and convey her carefully to Mrs. Perkins Anderson.
She is prepared to welcome her. It is barely possible that
I shall come myself. But let it matter nothing if I do not. You
and Jack can manage everything now.”

And the captain of the cruiser stepped into one of the boats,
and gave the word for both to move. They rowed out of the
creek, but hoisted sail when they reached the river — the wind
being favorable for its ascent — going half the way “wing-and-wing.”
It was about two in the morning when the cry was heard
from the watchman of the ship, “Boat, ahoy!” And the answer
was made in the deep voice of the captain, who soon scrambled
up on deck, and was welcomed by the officer of the watch.

This happened to be Lieutenant Eckles, whose welcome, by-the-way,
appeared to be a somewhat confused one, arising from a
certain fact which he chanced to know, and from which he apprehended
evil to his colleague, the first lieutenant. But, as Calvert
did not seem to notice the confusion of Eckles, we must not anticipate.
The latter, however, showed some eagerness to hurry below,
when he had spoken with the captain; but our rover arrested
him promptly.

“Keep your post, sir: you do not propose that I shall take the
watch off your hands!”

Thus speaking, he passed below himself, and, entering his cabin
suddenly, was confounded, not only to find the lights burning, but
to discover the fair Zulieme sitting up, and engaged, with Lieutenant

Molyneaux, at a Spanish game of cards, which the beauteous
lady was teaching the ambitious Briton. They had heard
nothing of his arrival — too much absorbed, we may suppose, and
the vessel being head out from the creek where she lay, and the
captain entering from forward. A decanter of Spanish wine stood
upon the table, and it was evident that Molyneaux had been imbibing
pleasure, if not instruction, in more ways than one. It was
a natural impulse of guilt that made him start to his feet, in some
confusion, at the sight of his superior. He was otherwise bold
enough to face the devil.

“What do you here, sir,” demanded the captain, “in my private
cabin?”

Zulieme answered, with equal coolness and simplicity —

“I asked him in, Harry, to play with me.”

“He should have known better than to have accepted your invitation.
This is no place for him, and he knows it. But that I
know you so well, Zulieme, I had cut his throat and yours too.
Away, sir, to your own quarters, and see that you do not repeat
this offence at any invitation!”

The lieutenant glared savagely upon the speaker as he passed
out, but prudence prevailed with him for once, and he was silent.
Calvert saw the expression of his face, and simply muttered to
himself —

“The time is not yet come!”

Meanwhile, Zulieme had sprung up also, her black eyes flashing
with indignation, and her little figure trembling with the same
feeling.

“And you come, Harry, only to be a brute! Pray, what 's the
harm of Molyneaux coming to play with me — and when I asked
him, too?”

“Harm! — But what 's the use? She can never understand!”

“What 's that I can 't understand, Harry?”

“That among our brute English, my lieutenant has no business,
at midnight, in the chamber of my wife. And I repeat to you
that, were you any but the woman that you are, I should have
not only cut Mr. Molyneaux' throat, but probably yours also.”

“You horrid wretch! And why do n't you do it? And why
am I different from other women, I want to know?”

“I am afraid that I can 't teach you, Zulieme. But, you are.

This person, Molyneaux, knew that he was doing wrong, though
you did not. Does it not strike you as possible, Zulieme, that
there are men who would like to persuade you to do wrong?”

“And for what? But that 's always the way! Everything 's
wrong with you savage English. But what made you stay away
so long? You 've been gone more than five days.”

“It might as well have been five months. You have spent the
time happily enough.”

“No! I 've only danced and sung, and run in the woods till I
was tired, and scared too, for Mr. Molyneaux said that the red
Indians were all about.”

“You were more safe in their hands than in his, silly one!
But I am about to remove you from the danger of the red Indians,
and possibly from other dangers. Do you still wish to go to
Charleston?”

“Oh, dear Harry, is it true? Will you carry me?”

“Or send you! You shall go to-morrow night, if you please.”

“Oh, why not to-night?” And she leaped up and threw her
arms round the neck of the sombre man, and kissed him; then
whirled about, and pirouetted, and threw herself into the intoxicating
raptures of her most voluptuous Mexican dances, vainly entreating
him, in dumb show, to take the floor.

He looked at her with a countenance that saddened as he gazed.
The savage severity of face had passed off, and his look was now
of a subdued melancholy. It finally melted into a faint smile,
which her quick eyes eagerly detected.

“Ah, Harry, now you look good-natured again. You will really
take me with you to Charleston?”

“Either take you or send you. I have made arrangements for
your reception there. Mrs. Perkins Anderson, an old acquaintance
of mine, has invited you. She is quite a fine, fashionable
lady, who sees a great deal of company, and lives in the best style.
Under her chaperonage, you will enjoy the best opportunity of
seeing life in Charleston.”

“And is she young, and gay, and pretty, and rich, Harry?
Does she give balls and dancing-parties?”

“Ay, she does little else, and you will be in your element.
But I must warn you that, in Charleston, you are not to be
known as Zulieme Calvert — not to be known as my wife — better

not be known as a wife at all. My name is under ban in Charleston.
A price is set upon my head.”

“I won't go, Harry — I won't! Those brute English! Oh,
no! Let 's go anywhere else. Let 's go from 'em — go to Havana,
Harry — that 's a good Harry!”

“Alas! Zulieme, a still greater price is set upon my head in
Havana. Here, they will pay for it but in pounds and dollars;
there, in doubloons and joes.”

“Why, Harry, what 's to be done? Better go back to Darien,”
she answered, in temporary consternation.

“Nay, Zulieme, you will do as I counsel. I told you repeatedly,
before, what were the dangers of my life, everywhere; but
you are a bad listener. You were angry with me because I did
not give you an opportunity at the festas of Havana, though you
saw how our vessel had to skulk along the coast, and only peep
into some of the Cuban harbors. And, though I showed you the
garote at Havana, and told you that five hundred ounces would
be paid by the governor to any one who would help him to adjust
its collar to my neck, you heard of nothing but the bull-fights of
`holy week' — the processions and the fandangos which were to
follow. As we entered the harbor of Charleston, I showed you
the gallows, and you were then told that here the governor was
prepared to give five hundred pounds to him who should help him
to rope me by the throat to its accursed beams; yet you had previously
heard of the gay people of Charleston, and you gave no
heed to the hanging of your husband. Well, I have arranged for
your enjoying yourself in Charleston without respect to me.”

“But we will not go there, Harry, or to Havana either, or anywhere,
if they hate you, Harry. We 'll go back to the isthmus,
Harry, where we can dance as we please, and no garote and no
gallows for either you or me. O Harry, you talk as if I wished
you were dead! You brute, Harry!”

“Nay, Zulieme, let it relieve you when I tell you that, in going
to Charleston, you do not increase my embarrassments in any
way. We shall not be seen together, or known in connection.
You shall be introduced, not as my wife, nor as any wife, but as a
young lady of Mexican family, friends to Mr. Perkins Anderson,
the famous Indian trader; and you are to become the protégé of
his wife. Now, Mrs. Perkins Anderson is a very fine woman,

gay as a lark and frisky as a kitten, who has only one weakness
against which I would warn you. She fancies, all the while, that
she is wretched as a ground-mole, and gloomy as an owl that
knows not where to find a supper. If she tells you that she is
ready to die — to commit suicide — you have only to execute
some of your most dashing dances in her sight, or to admire her
new dresses, and she will forget all her sorrows. Bating this
weakness, she is a fine woman enough. Some think her very
pretty. She is very showy, very smart as well as showy, and
sometimes converses very brilliantly.”

“Ah, Harry! have you long known her?”

“Yes, several years.”

“Ah! she is your `Olive,' then!”

He started up, gazed at the infantile speaker very sternly for a
moment, and then said:—

“Zulieme, I have begged you never more to name to me that
name. Do not, if you would not vex as well as pain me.”

“But, Harry—”

“Not a word more!”

“Oh, you savage, Harry!—”

“Enough, Zulieme, that I try to content you with those things
which satisfy your heart. In Charleston you will enjoy yourself,
especially under the patronage of Mrs. Perkins Anderson. For
her sake, as well as mine, my name must be suppressed. She
will find you another. I shall see you occasionally. Now, get
you to bed, and beware how you again invite other men into the
privacies of my chamber. Remember that there are things, purely
domestic, which the Englishman, differing from almost all other
people, holds to be sacred. You, of all your race, will be the
last to understand this; but let it suffice you that I tell you it is
so! An Englishman's chamber is sacred, Zulieme; his weapons
are sacred; the cup from which he drinks is sacred! See — this
was to me an especially consecrated cup!” — taking up one which
stood upon the table, half-filled with wine — a silver cup, richly
chased — just such a cup as loving godmothers give to children.
... “It was the gift of a grandmother to a mother, of a mother to
me. Yet has it been polluted this night by the lips of one who,
even while he drank, meditated ill to you and me. It shall never
pollute my lips again!”

And he crushed the delicate vessel, with all its grouped vines
and fanciful figures, out of all shape, into a mass, by a single
nervous grasp of his powerful hand!

“Why, Harry, are you mad? What harm has the cup done,
and it was so pretty?”

“It is pretty in my eyes no more — it is no more sweet! Now
understand, Zulieme, that we English hold domestic things to be
sacred; we hold our chambers sacred — our wives; but if they
become polluted by other hands or lips, we crush them, however
beautiful or sweet once — we crush them into nothingness, even
as I crush this cup! Go — now! Sleep, dream, and wake, if
you please, to song and dance; but, remember, that the most sacred
thing, once polluted, becomes hateful to the sight and feelings
of the Englishman.”

“You spiteful, awful Harry!” she cried, half-laughing, half-sobbing,
as she threw her arms about his neck. She would have
kissed him, but he put her away, and hurriedly left the cabin —
murmuring, sotto voce, as he did so:—

“I know not — I have half a doubt — no matter how innocent
she is — that this impudent fellow has polluted her lips, even as
he has polluted my cup. I could suffer her kiss as a thoughtless
and innocent child; but no — not after his!”

Zulieme called after him, but he did not heed, perhaps did not
hear her. For a moment she appeared disposed to follow him;
but — “No, no!” she said, half-aloud; “he is in his cross fit now.”
And, undressing herself, she went to bed, and in a little while had
sobbed herself to sleep.