Volume Ii Part 16 (1/2)
”He shrinks not from death, but has gone to bring you a priest,” said the girl. ”The Virgin grant you may yet live!”
She then as noiselessly departed, and once more left the dying man to his own reflections.
His thoughts were far from enviable; he felt perhaps remorse--for it was not repentance nor grief--for his crimes; and as he recalled them all, the long dark catalogue seemed endless,--terrific! Deeds of rapine and murder long forgotten revived like adders, and stung him once more;--but it was the agony of lost despair--the echoes of horrid crimes!
From these thoughts he was roused by the entrance of Bill Stacy, and with him a Roman Catholic priest.
”Ha! Bill! you are come at last. Egad! I thought you had clean forgotten a wounded mate. But who the devil have you got there? Where did you pick up yon shaveling?--and why bring you accursed priests to my bed?”
”Your cable is nigh run out; I thought you would like a chaplain mayhap, and brought this fellow along--for I had hard work to prevail on the cussed fool to venture his head here;--but here he is; and he knows a yarn o' long prayers!”
”My son,” said the priest, looking heavenwards as he crossed himself, ”look on this blessed sign, and ere life takes wing, ask the bless--”
But he was cut short by the Captain.
”Cease your drivelling--idiotical nonsense, or preach to others who believe your fables. Egad, you think me dying, but I'll come it yet.
Away, old dotard!”
”Blaspheme not, my son; think upon the blessed Virgin; think on him who forgave the dying thief.”
”I, the dying thief! be d--d to you. Bill, if you love me, chase the whining hypocrite from the cave. G.o.d's name! had I the strength, I would break his shaven pate for him.”
”He don't want you, nor do I neither; so spread sail, old monk, and look sharp our lads don't tear your frock off your back or your hide off your old bones,” said Bill, pus.h.i.+ng the priest unceremoniously from him by the way he came in.
”What in the foul fiend's name brought you that pattering shaven-headed rascal here for?”
”I told you, but howsomdever let it pa.s.s. What did you want me for?”
”Sit down, Bill. I say, Bill, this cut isn't mortal, is it?”
”There's small doubt of that: you are overhauled at last. I bound it up, but the blood flows into your hold, when it is full you will sink.”
”You lie, sirrah! and yet--yet, I do feel queery. D--n Ned for a villain; it was a cowardly felon-thrust. You will avenge me, Bill, if I flit.”
”I promise you. Our band will go to wreck now when their skipper is gone.”
”And yet, Bill, I may come it. I've escaped worse than this.”
”No you havn't; you won't ride out this squall. You are wrecked at last, and on the shoals now.”
”Go to the devil. You are a capital Job's comforter, Bill,” said the sinking sinner, trying to laugh.
”I'm thinking you will see him first. Gin there be a devil he should give you a good berth, since you have helped so many downwards. You'll know if there be a h.e.l.l or not this night.”
For some time, as if exhausted by his exertions in speaking, the Captain lay silent and motionless, save that now and then, as if in agony, he ground his teeth together or clenched the clothes between his fingers.
Old Bill sat silently watching him without a feature moving. Again the dying Captain sat up, and pa.s.sing his hand over his eyes as if to clear his vision, said, ”Bill, the candle is going out--it is getting dark.”
”It is your own candle going out, and the darkness of death in your brain!”
”You lie, dog, it is false! and yet--yet how dark it grows. The shadows pa.s.s quickly; ah! they're gone, I see clear again; and now once more they come--it grows dark, so dark! Bill, I'm dying--but get brandy, I've heard it has do--ne won--” He sank back, unable to articulate the final words.