They anchored that noon in a great bay surrounded by forests and mountains, which formed a harbour wherein a thousand sail of tall ships might have lain. Through the long afternoon, while the Rose of Devon swung at her anchor, the wind stirred the palms and a wild stream, plunging1 in a succession of falls down a mountainside, shone like a silver thread. But Paul Craig sat guard over Will Canty, who lay in the steerage chained to the mizzenmast, and there was no chance for any one of the men to speak with Will. And on deck the carpenter measured and sawed and planed for his purpose; and having shaped his stock he wrought2 a coffin3.
First he threw nails in a little heap on the deck, then, kneeling, he drove them home into the planed boards. It was rap-rap-rap, and rap-rap-rap. The noise went through the ship, while the men looked at one another; and some chuckled5 and said that the Old One was a rare bird; but the Old One, coming out of the great cabin without so much as a glance at the lad who lay chained to the mast, stood a long time beside the carpenter. He kept a grave face while he watched him work, and very serious he looked when he turned away and came and stood beside Philip Marsham.
"There are men that would slit6 the fellow's throat," he said, "or burn him at stake, or flay7 him alive; but I have a tender heart and am by nature merciful. Though he broke faith and dipped his hands in black treachery, I bear him no ill will. I must needs twist his thumbs to wring8 his secrets out of him and I can no longer keep him about me; yet, as I have said, I bear him no ill will. Saw you ever a finer coffin than the one I have ordered made for him?"
What could a man reply? Although there had been complaining and revolt before, the Old One again held the ship in the palm of his hand, for they feared his irony9 more than his anger.
Darkness came and they lowered the coffin into the boat, whither man after man slid down.
"Come, boatswain," said the Old One, in a quiet, solemn voice. "There is an oar4 to pull."
And what could a man do but slide with the others down into the boat and rest on the loom10 of an oar? Phil shared a thwart11 with the carpenter, and raised his oar and held it upright between his knees.
The coffin lay across the boat amidships, and there were four oars12, two on the one side and two on the other; but a man sat beside each oarsman, two more crowded into the bow, and two sat in the stern sheets with the Old One. Then they lowered Will Canty to the bottom in front of the Old One, where he lay bound hand and foot.
Shoving off from the ship, the oarsmen bent13 to their task and the Old One steered14 with a sweep; but the boat was crowded and deep in the water, and they made slow progress.
Mosquitoes swarmed15 about them and droned interminably. The water licked at the boat and lapped on the white beach. The wind stirred in the palms. The great bay with its mountains and its starry16 sky was as fair a piece of land and sea as a man might wish to look upon in his last hour; but there are few men whose philosophy will stand by them at such a moment, and there is an odd quirk17 in human nature whereby a mere18 droning mosquito can drive out of mind the beauty of sea and land—nay19, even thoughts of an immeasurable universe.
The men beat at mosquitoes and swore wickedly until the Old One bade them be silent and row on, for although they had come near the shore the water was still deep under the boat, which tossed gently in the starlight.
A time followed in which the only sounds were of the wind and the waves and the heavy breathing of the men. Some were turning their heads to see the shore and the Old One had already risen to choose a landing-place, when Will Canty—who, although bound hand and foot, had all the while been edging about in the stern unknown to the others till he had braced20 his feet in such a way that he could get purchase for a leap—gave a great spring from where he lay, and thus threw himself up and fell with his back across the gunwale, whence, wriggling21 like a worm, he strove to push himself over the side.
The Old One sprang forward in fury to seize and hold him, and caught him by the wrist; but one of the men in zeal22 to have a hand in the affair drove the butt23 of his gun against Will Canty's chin, and in recovering the piece he stumbled and pushed the Old One off his balance. So the Old One lost his hold on Will Canty's wrist and before the rest knew what was happening Will had slipped into the deep water and had sunk. That he never rose was doubtless the best fortune that could have befallen him, and likely enough it was the blow of the gun that killed him. But the Old One was roused to such a pitch of wrath24 at being balked25 of his revenge that he was like a wild beast in his fury.
Quicker than thought, he turned on the man who had pushed against him, and reaching for the coffin that was made to Will's measure—a great,............