Black Bartlemys Treasure

"And having maddened them with your hellish decoctions you'll shoot the poor rogues down?"

"Aye, Martin, I will so, lest peradventure they shoot me. Then besides, shipmate, what o' the women? I have the Lady Joan and her maid to think on, 'twould be an ill fate theirs in the hands of yon filthy rabblement. Hark to 'em yonder, hark what they sing!"

For a while I could hear nought but a clamour of fierce shouts and hallooing, then, little by little, this wild, hoarse tumult rose and swelled to a fierce chaunt: "Some swam in rum to kingdom come, Full many a lusty fellow. And since they're sped, all stark and dead, They're flaming now in hell O. So cheerly O, Hey cheerly O, They're burning down in hell O!"

"D'ye hear it, Martin, did ye hear it? Shoot the poor rogues d'ye say? Sink me, but I will so if Fortune be so kind. Yonder's short shrift and quick dispatch for me, shipmate, and then--the women! Think of my Lady Joan writhing in their clutches. Hark'ee to the lewd rogues--'tis women now--hark to 'em!" And here again their vile song burst forth with much the same obscenity as I had once heard sung by Abnegation Mings in a wood, and the which I will not here transcribe.

"Well, shipmate," says Adam, glancing up from his papers, "last of all, there's yourself! Here's you with the rope in prospect unless you quit this ship, and yonder, Martin, yonder is the long-boat towing astern, all stored ready, a calm sea and a fair wind--"

"No more of that!" says I angrily.

"But will ye dangle in a noose, Martin, when you might be away in the long-boat as tows astern of us, and with a fair wind as I say and--"

"Have done!" says I clenching my fists.

"'Twill be the simplest thing in the world, Martin," he went on, leaning back in his chair and nodding up at me mighty pleasant, "aye, a very simple matter for you to drop down from the stern-gallery yonder d'ye see, and setting a course south-westerly you should make our island in four-and-twenty hours or less what with this wind and the sea so calm--"

"Never!" cried I in growing fury, "Come what will I stay aboard this ship until we reach our destination!"

"Hum!" says he, pinching his chin and eyeing me 'twixt narrowed lids, "Are ye still bent on nought but vengeance then? Why look'ee, Martin, 'tis none so far to seek, for seeing you may not reach the father why not smite him through the daughter? She'd make fine sport for our beastly crew--hark to 'em roaring! Sport for them and a mighty full vengeance for you--"