Part 24 (1/2)

They came on board, one at a time, all but Willie MacDougald. Of him there was neither sign nor word. I started forward to question them, then stopped short. Something in their att.i.tude froze and repelled me. Of what use were questions--then, at any rate? For a moment they waited in the gangway, then, all together, they went aft.

Leaving them and moving to the farther side of the brig, I looked a long time into the dark, tangled jungle. The clouds had gone and the stars had come out and the dying wind spoke only in slow, distant soughs among the leaves. So blackly repellent was the matted and decaying vegetation, through which dark veins of stagnant water ran, and so grimly silent, that I could not keep from shuddering with a sort of childish horror. Surely, I thought, human beings could not penetrate such depths. Then, almost with my thought, there came across the dark and fever-laden waters of the great swamp, out of the black jungle night, a thread of golden melody. Someone in that very jungle was whistling sweetly an old and plaintive tune.

I heard the three, Gleazen, Matterson, and my uncle, turn to listen.

By lantern light I saw their faces as they looked intently toward the jungle. So still had the brig now become, that I actually heard them breath more quickly.

Then Neil Gleazen cried, ”By the Holy, that's either Bud O'Hara or his ghost.”

With both hands cupped round his mouth, he was about to send a hoa.r.s.e reply roaring back across the river, when Matterson clutched his hand.

”Be still,” he whispered. ”Here's the answer.”

And he, in turn, sent back the answering phrase of that singularly mournful and haunting ballad: ”I Lost my Love in the Nightingale.”

CHAPTER XVII

THE MAN FROM THE JUNGLE

Very slowly Matterson whistled that old tune, ”The Nightingale,” and very slowly an answer came back to us; then a long silence ensued.

The black water of the marsh rose and fell. We could hear it whispering softly as it washed against the tangled roots of the mangroves, and once in a while I could distinguish the long, faint rasp of some branch or vine that dragged across another. But except for those small noises, the place was as still as a house of death; and as we watched and waited, the feeling grew upon me that we must be in the midst of a dream.

Then something moved and caught my eye, and a canoe silently shot out upon the river. With a swish and swirl of paddles, she came alongside us and stayed for a moment, like a dragon-fly pausing in its flight, then shot silently back the way she had come. I had seen against the water that there were three men in the canoe when she came; but when she slipped back into the mangroves, I saw that there were only two.

Before I had time to question the reason of all this, I saw a man's head rise above the bulwark and knew that he had sprung from the canoe to the chains while the little craft so briefly paused.

Climbing over the bulwark and dropping to the deck, the man said in low, cautious voice, ”Is it Neil I've been hearing? And Molly?”

”Here we be, Bud, us two and Seth Upham.”

”And sure, do this fine vessel be ours, Neil?”

”Ours she is, along with Seth Upham. Come, Bud, here is Mr. Upham, who has joined in with us and gets a half-and-half lay, and here--”

”O Neil,” the mysterious newcomer drawled, ”would he be comin' for naught short of half shares? And where's Molly? Ah, Molly, you've been long away.”

They all were shaking hands together.

”And now,” said Matterson, ”what news of Bull?”

”Of Bull, is it?” the man replied. ”Sure, he's sitting on the chest o' treasure. Warnings they give us, that the hill is haunted and all such. Spirits, you know, Neil; spirits, Molly. Sure the n.i.g.g.e.rs know more about them things than we do--indeed they do. It's not I would go agin them rashly. But I fixed 'em, lads.”

”How?” asked Matterson softly.

”Bull laughed at them fit to kill,--which is his way, as you'll remember,--but not I. Says I, 'Laugh if you will; 't is well to be fearless since you're the one to stay.' But I did for him better than the stiff-necked rascal would do for himself. That night I hunted me out an old master wizard and paid him in gold, and didn't he give me a charm that will keep spirits away?”

To hear a sober white man talk of charms with all the faith of a credulous child amazed me. I had never dreamed there could be such a man. Pressing closer, I took a good look at this queer stranger, and saw him to be a short, broad fellow, with a square jaw and a face so intelligent that my amazement became even greater.

He, in turn, saw me looking at him, and half in a drawl, half in a brogue, asked, ”Now who'll this one be?”