Black Bartlemys Treasure

"Od rot your bones!" snarled the one-eyed man and spat towards me, whereat I raised my staff and he, lifting an arm, took the blow on his elbow-joint and writhed, cursing; but while I laughed at the fellow's contortions, the plump man sprang (marvellous nimble) and dashed out the light and, as I stepped from before the window, I heard the lattice go with a crash of glass. Followed a long, tense moment wherein we all (as I judge) held our breath, for though the storm yet roared beyond the shattered casement, within was a comparative quiet. Thus, as I stood in the dark listening for some rustle, some stealthy creeping step to guide my next blow, I thrust away my pistol and changing my staff to my right hand, drew forth the broad-bladed sailor's knife I carried, and so waited mighty eager and alert, but heard only the far-off booming of the wind. Then a floorboard creaked faintly to my left, and turning short, I whirled my staff, felt it strike home and heard a fierce cry and the uneven tread of staggering feet.

"Fight, rogues!" cried I. "Here's meat and drink to me--fight!" and setting my back to the wall I waited for their rush. Instead I heard a hoarse whispering, lost all at once in a woman's shrill scream out beyond the casement, and thereafter a loud voice that hailed: "House ho! House ahoy! Light ho! Show a glim, ye drunken dogs!" and here followed a rush of roaring sea-oaths, drowned in a scream, louder, wilder than before. Then, while this distressful cry yet thrilled upon the air, pandemonium broke loose about me, shouts, cries and a rush and trample of feet; the table went over with a crash and the darkness about me rained blows. But as they struck random and fierce, so struck I and (as I do think) made right goodly play with my hedge-stake until, caught by a chance blow, I staggered, tripped and, falling headlong, found myself rolling upon sodden grass outside the shattered window. For a moment I lay half-dazed and found in the wind and rain vasty comfort and refreshment.

Then in the pitchy gloom hard by I heard that which brought me to my feet--an evil scuffling, a close and desperate struggling--a man's hoarse laugh and a woman's pitiful pleading and sobbing. I had lost my staff, but I yet grasped my knife, and with this held point upwards and my left hand outstretched before me, I crept forward guided by these sounds. My fingers came upon hair, a woman's long, soft tresses, and I remember marvelling at the silky feel of them; from these my hand slipped to her waist and found there an arm that grasped her close, then, drawing back my hand, I smote with my knife well beneath this arm and drove in the stout blade twice. The fellow grunted and, loosing the maid, leapt full at me, but I met him with clenched fist and he went down headlong, and I, crouched above him and feeling him struggle to his knees, kicked him back into the mud and thereafter leapt on him with both feet as I had been wont to do when fighting my fellow-slaves in some lazarette; then, seeing he stirred no more, I left him, doubting nothing I had done his business. Yet as I went I felt myself shiver, for though I had been compelled to fight the naked wretches who had been my fellow-slaves, I had killed no man as yet.