On the Account/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII
KNIFE-PLAY
THE pirates sat and squatted in a big circle where hummocks and dunes of sand formed the seats of a natural arena on the shore of the islet. The morning meal was over and the sun was well up. A man had hitched up the slender trunk of the palm and reported the topsails of the corvette showing on the horizon in the hope that the pirate would come out of his hide-out. What with the channel and the shallows they were in no fear of his guns.
For safety’s sake the sails of the brigantine were close furled and the spars decked cleverly with fronds of palmetto. They could wait until the coast was clear, or, if the king’s ship proved too persistent, slip out to southward. This last Bane did not want to do unless he were pressed. He had to careen and the fresh-water creek he preferred for the cleansing of the weeds and barnacles from the bottom of the brigantine was to the north and east on Great Exuma Isle.
To go south would lose him valuable time and this was the best season for his piracies. The merchantman they had just captured and fired, after putting its crew into their own longboat, had carried several butts of wine and a day’s debauch was ahead. After the division of the spoils there was rare sport forward. Spanish Jack had given the new man the lie.
To refuse a challenge meant that the flincher would lead the life of the ship’s cur and the recruit had taken it up. Wagers were freely offered on Spanish Jack and there were no takers. Knives were the weapons set aside for settling such affairs as providing the best spectacle and the longest fight and all knew the half-breed’s especial skill.
Spanish Jack was a cheat and a bully but the other was one who held as little in common with them as oil with water, and the ship, now that he had shown them the passage, would be the happier without him. Only Hampton, the one-eyed, stood beside him.
“Look ye, lad,” said Hampton. “’Ware the sun. He will work you to it. Watch his shadow. Or he will dazzle you with his blade. ’Tis an old trick of his. He cheated me out of eleven guineas the other night. I have no love for him. If ye win, belike it will make ye more popular. Ye should spruce up, man. That face of yours is a spoil-sport. ’Tis a gay life we aim to lead.
“Let me see your knife. Take mine. It has a grip of sharkskin and the blade is long. He can shift to either hand or throw straight to an inch of his mark. He’ll try to gut ye or slash the tendons of your wrist. Crouch and thrust. Don’t slash—it shortens your reach.
“Take off your shirt, ye are to fight naked in your drawers. ’Tis the rule. The bullies like to watch the red score on the naked flesh. Soak your headkerchief, the sun will else addle your brains—and wrap your for arm in your sash. That yellow mongrel has arms like a squid but yours are full as long. I mind me when I sailed with Kidd”
Bane, sitting with his officers upon a turf-crowned knoll, gave the word. The two advanced, crossing their blades at arms’ length, right foot advanced to right foot.
Todd’s lean, brown body sloped from square shoulders to narrow hips, his ribs showing clean above his muscle-ridged stomach. He was confident of the issue. A plan had come into his head. His cause was righteous and he felt that Spanish Jack was not to be the one to defeat it. That the duel was forced upon him he felt sure but he meant to use the enmity that lay back of it to his own ends.
The Spaniard was fat in comparison but he seemed made of gutta percha as he thrust swiftly and bound back, his eyes glittering as he saw the scarlet line break out across Todd’s shoulder. He circled, puma-footed, backing toward the sun. Todd saw his shadow swinging longer toward him.
The sunglare caught his eyes and he leaped to one side, drawing his belly inward to avoid the sweeping lunge and clutching for the other’s knife-hand with his left. In the second they were locked, swaying. Spanish Jack saw the turtler’s eyes glaring at him, malignant, assured. He suddenly dropped to his knees, pulling Todd forward, downward, with all his strength while the eager circle yelled.
Taken unawares, Todd lunged over the breed’s shoulder, pitching heavily to the sand but whirling like a cat to regain his feet. Spanish Jack spun round on his buttocks, slashing as he came, and once more scoring. The point caught Todd on his hip with a squeak and the blood spurted as the blade glanced off. Spanish Jack rose effortless to his feet and flung a handful of fine sand, rushing in as Todd lowered his head to avoid the grit.
ONCE more they came to hand-grips. Todd put forth all his strength, grinding the small bones of the pirate’s wrist until the sweat of agony started from Spanish Jack’s eyes and he tore free. The firm sand was printed with their foot-marks as they swerved and feinted, the perspiration already streaming down them, their breath coming short and hard while the pirates leaned forward word less and motionless from their vantage-seats and a gull screamed overhead.
Todd watched the eyes of his man. He caught a telegraphed lunge to the stomach on his own curving blade, thankful for the sickle shape of the blade and the pebbly grip of the shagreen handle. It was not the first time he had fought with knives though never before in deliberate duel, and his coordinating eye and wrist time after time successfully parried the blows in mid-air. He was better winded than the sleek pirate whose indulged paunch showed signs of distress. And he was watchful for more tricks.
One came at last. They had grappled and Spanish Jack swung a savage side-kick at his ankle that almost overcame Todd’s balance. He stumbled forward, throwing up the pirate’s forearm with a jarring swing of his own crossed right and countered with an overhand buffet that caught the breed a blow on the side of the head and sent him staggering back, the sun full in his eyes for a second as Todd regained his balanced footing and leaped in.
Spanish Jack dropped to one knee, shaded his eyes with his left hand for an all-important heart-beat and, with a sharp snap, threw his blade, beautifully balanced for the purpose, straight to the heart. Todd caught the flash of it and shrunk sideways in mid-spring. The keen steel flayed the scant flesh of his outer ribs as he swerved and a great roar came from the crowd.
Spanish Jack had missed!
The pirate turned, dug fingers and toes in the sand and flung himself forward in a sprint with Todd at his heels. The turtler caught him at the slope and drove his knife to the guard between the shoulders. Spanish Jack plunged coughing to the ground, wrenching his body from the dripping blade to lie twitching at the feet of his comrades.
There was a sullen silence. Todd felt its omen as he turned toward Bane. If he could gain what he wished for, his plan was well forwarded. Bane beckoned to him and led him apart.
“My bullies take the loss of that runaway amiss,” he said. “Yet I have but lost a coward and kept a better man. And I have need for ye. Look, ye, ’twill not be pleasant aboard for ye ere this dies down. ’Tis in my mind to build a stockade and magazine on this islet. The Venture is as foul as the beard of Poseidon. Once clean I can lead the corvette or any other keel the king sends out a merry chase. We shall sail to night at dusk and clear him in the dark. In two weeks we will return, to come in by dawn.
“There is wood enough. If ye can swing an ax I’ll leave ye here with tools and the shallop for towing. ’Tis leaky but ’twill serve. By the time we return the matter will have died down. What say ye?”
Todd’s eyes held a gleam that Bane mistook for gratitude. He had gained what he had meant to ask.
“Where do ye careen?” he asked.
Bane frowned.
“I set my own courses,” he said.
“I but meant to tell ye of a good place.”
“I know of a dozen. So then, ’tis settled. Ye can pilot us out as the sun drops and return in the shallop. They will never see us in the shore haze until the dark covers us. There is no moon until long after midnight. And, a word in your ear.
“Cultivate a more cheerful look on that black face of yours. The men will have it ye are a Jonah. Your face would sour the water casks. Learn to smile against we get back. A good jest is the best purge for sorrow. If ’tis the matter of a faithless lass, forget it. Look not so sullen, man.”
“I shall be smiling when we meet next time,” said Todd.
Bane turned away then wheeled.
“Keep a good fire going tonight and a smudge by day. ’Twill serve to keep this corvette certain that we are still within. Two days from now let it die down. That should leave the coast clear for us to put back. I have no mind to sail around the whole Jumentos.”
Todd nodded. He had got the information he most wanted after all. The Venture was going north, probably to one of the Exuma group.
Just as the sun dipped and spread a sudden curtain between day and night the brigantine cleared the channel and, steering northeast, was swallowed up in the dusk. Todd, still with the gleam in his eyes that Bane had thought gratitude, rowed back to the islet with his tools and provisions and started a fire. He seemed in a hurry to commence his labors, taking up his pick after a hasty meal and commencing to dig.