University of Virginia Library

32. CHAPTER XXXII.
WOODS HAVE EARS.

The forest was once more silent, still as death — a solemn
silence which seems to overawe Nature, and check her most courageous
breathings. The conspirators were gone, and by this time
probably were all housed safely, and in their several hammocks,
in the Happy-go-Lucky, that smart rover, over which they designed
to spread the ominous standard of the “Jolly Roger.”

But the silence was for a few moments only. The thicket
which they had so recently occupied, was anon conscious of new
parties upon the scene, in the persons of two other men who came
out from yet deeper hiding-places in the rear. There they had
evidently lain perdu, and in a situation which enabled them to
take in all the particulars which we have related. One of the
last-comers now spoke, in low but deep accents, the tones of
which were significant of greatly-aroused and very painful emotions:—

“Great God of heaven! is it possible that I have heard all
this?”

The voice was that of our rover himself, Captain Calvert. The
voice which answered him was that of one who has hitherto been
unknown to us.

“I reckon, captain, you are now satisfied that I told you no
more than the truth.”

“Would to Heaven I could believe otherwise, Bill Hazard!
I would give a thousand pounds could I convict you of falsehood.”

“That you will never do, captain. Your own ears are the very
witnesses I wanted. I knew it must reach you at last, for this is
the place they meet in nightly. You have heard all I have been
telling you for more than two weeks, and something more I reckon;
and I 'm glad you 've heard for yourself; for it 's not easy to
believe in such villany, in men we 've been trusting so long, upon
any evidence short of one's own senses.”

“Verily, it is not! Yet do me justice, Hazard, and remember
that I have always held you faithful and honest in what you said.
It was rather a hope with me that you had been deceived, than a
doubt that you were honest. I am now satisfied, however painfully,
that you have spoken nothing but the truth. Belcher entertained
his suspicions, not to the same degree with you, but I
would not hear him. Yours is evidence; and it is now mine.
All his suspicions, and your statements, have been confirmed by
my own senses.”

“You know all the parties, captain?”

“No! I am not sure of some two or three of the common seamen.
Of course, I know the voices of Molyneaux and Fowler,
and I have my guesses at some of the rest. Some of the names
were also spoken. There were Fowler, Stoddart, Jordan, Rollins,
and—”

“Pearson and Gibbes,” answered the other, concluding the
sentence.

“But all these were not present. They were only named by
the others, as sure.”

“And they are sure, sir! These are the very rascals of the
ship.”

“It may be! Yet the best of men may be involved by a misrepresentation.”

“That is true, sir; and we might doubt, if we had reason to
suppose that Molyneaux and Fowler could fancy that they were
overheard. But they did not, that is certain; and these fellows
are just as guilty as the rest.”

“Not exactly. Some men are rogues through feebleness. A
strong will, in one villain, subdues to villany the feebler nature, in
the absence of any better authority. We may hang a miserable
wretch for crime to-day, whom a few hours of time, under a good
master, would make a worthy citizen. At all events, Hazard,
there must be no doubt of the persons in the movement, when
they are required to pay the penalty of their crimes. We must
have all that right, and even then, there will be cases, in respect
to whom Justice must take some hints from Mercy.”

“That 's for you to say, captain. Yet, it 's just as well to have
your rope round about the man you mean to pardon, the same as
him you mean to hang; you 've got the first list I gave you, sir?”

“Yes; but there are additions to be made to it. These you
can furnish me to-morrow night.”

“You do n't forget, captain, as I told you, that I had to mix a
little in this business myself, before I could get to see so far.”

“I remember all, Hazard.”

“Thank you, sir. I need n't say, captain, after what you 've
heard yourself, that what 's to be done you 'll have to do quickly.
You see they 're pretty hot on the scent. You 've got to make
quick preparations as well as strong ones.”

“It will need little time. I am already in part prepared for
the emergency; for, though unwilling to believe in all that Belcher
and yourself told me, I yet felt that every precaution was
necessary, and I have not neglected the affair. We shall be ready
for these wretches.”

“I 'm glad, captain, for I was beginning to get quite scary.”

“Have you found out where Eccles is?”

“No, sir. I do n't think there 's anything against him, except
he 's too blind to many things that he ought to see. He 's thick-headed,
sir.”

“He 's weak. And you note that Fowler and Molyneaux both
count upon his weakness, to render him willing, when once they 've
played their game; and perhaps they are right.”

“I think so. So far, I think him only easy and blind, and not
criminal.”

“We shall interpose in time for his safety.”

“But that visit of Lieutenant Molyneaux and Fowler to the
town, sir? Won't that be apt to give you some trouble?”

“I think not. On the contrary, I see in it a new opportunity
for effecting my objects with more certainty, and perhaps safety.
These details do not make me anxious, Hazard. The mere danger
and difficulty to myself constitute the least part of my anxiety.
But, great God! to think that I have trained so many of these
wretches for such a life as they deliberately propose to lead! —
that the flag of Britain, through my agency, has prepared them
for running up the black and bloody ensign of piracy! Have I,
in truth, under the roving commission which has seemed to me
hitherto a sufficient guaranty, been tutoring these miserable creatures
for a life of license; for the flinging off all law, social and
divine; loosening the ties of morals, with the bonds of nations,
and making the transition easy from the privateer to the pirate!”

“Do n't trouble your mind with such a notion, captain! You 've
done nothing of the kind. This fellow, Sam Fowler, is an old
buccaneer. He has twice accepted the king's mercy, and escaped
the penalties of former crime only by doing so at the last moment.
But the black blood has n't been, and could n't be, purged
out by a king's pardon. He's so thoroughly a pirate by habit,
that, put him wherever you please — in the regular service even
— and he 'd be at his bloody tricks again in no time, and with the
first easy opportunity. And there are two others of these chaps
who are just like him — old pirates — regular 'scape-gallowses —
sworn brothers of the coast, and most unredeemable villains.”

“Who are they?”

“Pearson and Gibbes.”

“I will remember them. We must try and discriminate between
the ringleaders and the miserable wretches whom they
beguile. Of this be sure, William Hazard: the flag of Britain,
while I breathe, shall never give place, on that vessel, to the Jolly
Roger! No; there shall be one head low — one heart shall be
cold for ever — ere your eyes shall see that spectacle!”

“God be with you and help you, captain!” exclaimed the other,
fervently.

“And that vain young Irish blockhead! to be so easily won,
so readily deluded, in spite of my warnings, my painstaking and
forbearance, and by that evil-eyed, miserable, hoary-headed old
ruffian! And through what snare? Not gold; he has enough

of that: but through lust, and hate, and envy — all these the children
of a mere vanity! — that bubble passion, the first-born with
us, the last to die out of our bosoms, which absorbs and uses all
other passions!”

“It 's mighty strong in his bosom, sir.”

“Light head, vaporous brain, vain, vicious heart. And he
would cross weapons with me! The `point of honor'! Honor!
honor! What a word to be used upon a dog's tongue! Fool!
fool! But he shall have the privilege he craves. His wish shall
be indulged, and let the fatal sisters watch the issue from the
clouds.”

“You do n't mean, sir, that you will fight with such as he?”

“Will I not! Yes, boy, in such a case I waive pride, character,
authority, all things upon which, in ordinary cases, I should
insist. I mean to fight with him, point to point, though he bring
a score of bloodhounds at his back. I will make him feel that I
am his master. I rejoice that he broods with this desire. It
somewhat accords with my own. He has been an offender in
other respects, boy, than those which you report. But of this I
shall say naught. Enough that he shall have his wish; and let
his skill and spirit maintain his vanity, if they can!”

Calvert almost forgot the presence of his follower, in the utterance
of his passionate speech; but he soon recalled his thoughts,
bringing them, by a strong effort of will, from vehemence to subjection:—

“And now, Will Hazard, my good boy, keep up your watch,
as well and faithfully as you have done thus far. Note the departure
of the boat, with Molyneaux and Fowler; and, just so
soon as they are out of sight, get off with five fellows whom you
can trust. Let the men be well armed with cutlasses and pistols.
Cross the river to the other shore, and creep down in the shadows
till you reach the five old oaks, at the bend of Accabee.
Belcher, or Franks, will meet you there. Should I arrange anything
better in the meantime, you shall hear from me, at this
place. Fortunately, you have time enough. There are five days
before this masquerade. Masquerade! More fools! It is perhaps
fortunate that there are more fools — that we have this masquerade.
It gives us time. The rogues will not attempt anything
till this folly 's over. So, watch, my good boy, and be in

readiness. You know what I require, Away, now, to the ship!
You can enter it in safety?”

“With the next change of watch, sir.”

“Do so, then. Fear nothing; I shall neither fail you nor these
people. Something I have to digest before I decide upon the
game to play. But I will not leave you uninformed. Be sure,
at all events, that I shall be ready for them. Neither head nor
hand can fail me now. Be patient, and steer prudently, as before.
You shall have my signal in proper season. Go, now,
boy; you have done well — worthily — as few older men could
do. I shall remember you as you deserve.”

And the other, Will Hazard, went away as bidden. And the
outlawed rover stood alone in the depth and midnight shadow of
that Indian forest, his eyes straining through the solid thickness
of the woods, and the almost solid density of the night, in the
direction of the ship, which he could not see.

“What a man's soul is in that boy!” was his exclamation.

And well, indeed, might he make it. Will Hazard was but
eighteen, a slim English lad, with fair face and bright blue eyes
and a cheery, laughing spirit, whom no one would suspect of heroism
or conspiracy. Yet, had he been tempted by the latter, and,
in a simple, almost unconscious matter, was proving himself capable
of the former. Such is the modest material of which Nature
makes proper men.

But the thought of the boy gave place, in the mind of the rover,
to the stronger impression made by the conspirators; and he
again spoke, though now in soliloquy, of the vexing trouble which
was most his care:—

“O fools! blind fools!” he muttered, shaking his hand still in
the direction of the ship — “O fools! as monstrous in stupidity
as in crime! Do you think me a dullard, an imbecile? Ye shall,
feel me. I forebore ye, and hoped — nay, might have prayed for
ye, but that I had as little faith in my prayers as in your virtue!
But ye have reached the length of your tether — the term of
your insolence and my forbearance. Ye shall soon know me as
your judge!”

And again he waved his hand in air, slowly and solemnly, as
denouncing judgment.

“Ye can not persuade me now! Ye are doomed!”

So speaking, he turned his back upon the scene, and strode to
the spot where his steed was fastened; and while he tightened
the girth about the beast, he murmured unconsciously:—

“It has come upon me sooner than I thought, but not wholly
unexpected. It has spread farther than I feared, but not too far
for arrest. I have been too confident of this people, too heedless
of my own duty. But this shall be done. Alas! look which way
I will, I see that I have lived in vain!

“And this painful watch by day and night — it profits me
nothing. How should it profit? What can it bring, but the confirmation
of a great agony, and the certainty of all its stings?

“And yet I have not the courage to forbear the watch whose
discoveries must still be wo! Would to God that the struggle
were all over! — every struggle — all at once — in one mighty
convulsion — one hurricane rage — in which the good ship goes
down in the overwhelming shock, and the waves settle over her
in placid supremacy. I have spread sail, surely, only for such a
fate!”

And a bitter groan escaped him at the close. And, with a sort
of desperation, he threw himself upon his steed; and it was only
after several irregular bounds, under the fierce pricking of his
spur, which bore him into deeper thickets, that he was taught the
wiser policy to prick his way rather than the beast. His own
impatience gave him no succor, in the effort to dissipate his griefs
in the headlong violence of his pace.