The Golden Galleon Part 23

"'Tis a goodly s.h.i.+p in the matter of size," he presently said; "yet I can see but little of her hull, for she is bow-on, sailing eastward as it seemeth."

"Haply 'tis one of their quick-sailing advance guards," suggested Webbe.

But Hartop silently continued to look out upon the sea with his brows bent and an expression of grim expectancy in his cold gray eyes.

"Canst make out if there be more than one s.h.i.+p?" he asked after a long pause. "Mark it well, my boy; for it were best that we make the matter full certain ere we fly back with the alarm."

Gilbert's eyes slowly swept the line of the horizon.

"No," he said; "there is but the one."

"Then we may not yet return," said Hartop; and turning to Timothy Trollope he added: "Take you the tiller, Tim, and keep our head to the westward until the dusk hath fallen. By that time we should know more."

The wind served well for this new course, and the boat sped on. But when the sun had sunk the strange s.h.i.+p could no more be seen, for the bright yellow afterglow was speedily obscured by a gray sea-mist.

Earlier on that same day they had observed that the sea was plentifully strewn with tufts of sea-weed, and below their boat, when they had looked over the gunwale and peered down into the depths of the water, they had seen dense forests of marine growth thickly entangled, and many thousands of jelly-fish and other denizens of the deep.

Jacob Hartop had shown more interest and concern in this fact than any of his companions.

"'Tis for all the world like what I have seen many times in the Sarga.s.so Sea," said he. "And yet it cannot surely be that we have come so far to the westward as that."

But as the evening wore on and the water became yet more densely full of living things, he shook his head gravely and murmured a wish that they had turned back towards the Azores. "For," said he, "if it be that we are on the fringe of the Sarga.s.so Sea there is no knowing what may befall us."

"And prithee, Jacob, what manner of dangers do you fear?" questioned Edward Webbe. "Sure there can be no peril in sailing over a forest of harmless sea-weeds."

"'Twas in the Sarga.s.so Sea that I lost my s.h.i.+p," said Jacob. "I know the place full well, and never do I wish to be back in it again. Hast never heard of it, Ned?"

Webbe shook his head and smiled as he answered:

"Mayhap I have heard the name. But it seemeth to me that we are now in the Atlantic Ocean; and if thou dost declare that we are nigh unto any other sea, why, I can only believe that thou art dreaming."

"Well do I know that we are in the Atlantic," returned Hartop, "though a good piece farther to the westward than we had intended. But you must know that this Sarga.s.so Sea of which I speak, is itself a part of the Atlantic--and a part which all wise mariners do avoid. 'Tis in places naught but a solid ma.s.s of sea-weed, so dense as to support the weight of a man, yea, even of a s.h.i.+p. Once within its confines, 'tis rare that a vessel doth ever escape; and most men who have been through it will tell you strange and marvellous tales of hideous monsters with hundreds of arms, that dart out and entwine in their grip of death all who come within their venomous reach."

"Then I pray you let us adventure no farther," said Webbe, "for I, at least, have no great wish to be embraced by such arms. Let us turn back, Jacob."

"I would that we were once more aboard of the _Revenge_," muttered young Robin Redfern, who lay stretched upon the half-deck at Gilbert Oglander'a feet. "Who knows but that the Spaniards have already pa.s.sed us, and been overmastered and taken home to England."

"There can be little harm in keeping on our present course until sunrise," said Jacob Hartop, not heeding the boy's remark. "Then, if we see no sign of the plate fleet, we can turn about and make a run for Flores."

"Ay," added Webbe, "it were even wise to turn at the first peep of dawn; for, mind you, it would go ill with us if we should find ourselves in the very midst of the galleons without a chance of escape."

And so they held on westward; and when darkness fell over the sea, Hartop and Gilbert curled themselves up under their rugs in the boat's well and went to sleep, leaving Timothy in charge of the tiller and Webbe and Robin on the watch forward.

It may be that the recent mention of the loss of his s.h.i.+p lingered in Jacob's mind as he fell asleep, for, as he dreamt, he saw himself once again upon her deck. A great galleon she was. He had won her in battle from the Spaniards, and as she was a better vessel than his own poor craft, he had converted her to his own use, and taking his own crew aboard of her had hoisted the red cross of St George and cruised with her as a buccaneer on the Spanish Main, conquering many another s.h.i.+p of Spain and transferring their treasures to his own hold, until the galleon was weighed down almost to her lower port-holes with the weight of gold that she carried. And then on a certain night when he was homeward bound he lay in his cabin asleep, and there had come to him one of the s.h.i.+p's boys to tell him that the galleon had sprung a leak and was sinking. He heard the boy calling him now as he lay in his dreams in the _Revenge's_ boat, sailing on those same seas.

"Master Hartop!" the boy cried, laying his hand on the old buccaneer's breast. "Master Hartop! Quick! quick!"

Jacob turned over and sat up, and found himself not in his s.h.i.+p's cabin but in an open boat. And the boy who had called him was young Robin Redfern, who now stood over him with a face as white as the sea-foam, and with his hand that held the boat's lantern trembling as if with palsy.

"'Sdeath, boy!" cried Hartop. "What in the world hath happened?"

Robin raised his free hand and pointed over the boat's gunwale across the water.

"Look!" he cried. "What can it mean?"

CHAPTER XVI.

THE GREEN LIGHT UPON THE SEA.

Jacob was on his feet in a moment. His eyes were dazed by a strange pale-green light that shone luminous over the boat's larboard bow. The sea was calm, with only a gentle swell rolling from the east; the sky was black and starless, and all was dark around saving only in the one direction where shone the ghostly green light, that reared itself like a cloud of radiant mist out of the sea, only a few yards from where he stood.

Even as he gazed upon it, bewildered and speechless, the light seemed to approach, or else it was the boat that sailed into the luminance. It shed its ghastly green glare upon everything, making all on board as plain as though the craft were bathed in soft moonlight. All was as green as gra.s.s. Webbe, Timothy, and Gilbert stood staring about them like phantoms, silently glancing at one another with the emotions of men who had been suddenly hurried into another world. Their faces, their clothing, even their hair was green, and it seemed that the mysterious light had deprived them of speech, for none spoke.

Timothy Trollope, who had been at the helm, had suddenly ceased to pay any regard to the steering, and now the boat's sail swayed idly to and fro, empty of wind. Gilbert Oglander, regaining his sober senses, looked over the side to search for the origin of the strange radiance. But there was no flame to the light, which seemed to be a mere transparent shaft of air, as unsubstantial as a rainbow. And when he turned to see if Jacob Hartop were yet awake, and found the old man at his side, he implored an explanation of the mystery.

"What means it, Master Hartop?" he asked in an awe-stricken voice. "Hast seen its like ever before?"

But the old buccaneer made no answer. Clambering over the coaming of the well, he crept on hands and knees towards the bow near where Gilbert stood. He peered out into the light, gripping the gunwale with trembling hands. He remained thus for many moments. Then suddenly he drew back, flung his left arm round Gilbert's legs, and with a wild, frantic cry upon his lips pointed out with his skinny right hand into the midst of the green light.

"See! see!" he cried. "It is a s.h.i.+p!"

Gilbert's eyes followed the direction in which the old man pointed, and presently he discovered, at the farther fringe of the light, the towering form of a vessel's hull. He could clearly see her stern port-holes, with the gallery above them, and above the gallery the projecting rail of her p.o.o.p-deck. Her counter was richly carved with many strange devices, and the carvings were covered with tarnished gold.

Her stout masts rose high above her, and her ragged sails were ample evidence that it was long since the s.h.i.+p had known their use.

"Can you not see her?" continued Hartop. "Od's life, boy! Look where I point."

"I see her, Master Hartop," returned Gilbert; "I see her. 'Tis a galleon, and a Spaniard by her build."

"Ay, faith, a galleon indeed," nodded Hartop; "and a galleon upon which mine eyes now look not for the first time, if she be not a ghost!" He rose to his feet, still keeping his arm about Gilbert, and added in a strange, dry voice that was scarcely more than a breath: "'Tis a ghost, Master Oglander, 'tis a ghost that you look upon--the ghost of the Golden Galleon!"

And so saying, he turned from the sight and sank upon the narrow deck, covering his face with his hands.

By this time Timothy Trollope also had seen the galleon. Clasping the tiller, he held it over. But it had no effect, for the pinnace had no way upon her; the wind had fallen to an absolute calm, and the sail hung loose and motionless against the mast.

"Out with the sweeps!" cried Edward Webbe, and Timothy, leaving his post, took up one of the long oars, while Gilbert Oglander took the other, and together they pulled and pulled, striving to bring the boat round and so escape from the grim phantom galleon. But with the first stroke they made their oar-blades caught in a mesh of sea-weeds. The disturbed water flashed with phosph.o.r.escent fire, and when the oars were with difficulty dragged up they rose dripping with a shower of sparks and heavy with clinging weeds. Again the oars were dipped, and again they were weighted with the tangled growth of weeds.

"'Tis of no avail, Tim," declared Gilbert as he drew in his oar. He leaned over the boat's side and looked down into the calm, shadowy water, where fitful tracks of s.h.i.+ning white light showed the movements of coiling writhing monsters of the deep.

"Nay, pull at your oars!" cried Jacob Hartop, rising now from the deck and slipping down into the well. "Let us not be carried nearer to that horrid s.h.i.+p! Dip not your blades so deep, but pull her round that we may get beyond this phantom light. Here, Ned," he added to Webbe, "take thou a hand of Timothy's oar, while I give a help to Gilbert. 'Twill go ill if four of us cannot move her. Robin, my lad, get thee to the tiller and steer us back into the darkness."

He looked aft to where Robin stood and saw the lad obediently approach the tiller, while he himself pulled at Gilbert's oar. The boat began to move, but scarcely had a second stroke of the oars been made when a frantic scream came from Robin Redfern, and the lad, starting forward, plunged himself headlong into the midst of his companions.

"In heaven's name, what hath bewitched the lad?" cried Hartop. He abandoned the oar and bent down to pick Robin up, and felt him trembling in every limb. The boy was comforted by the touch of human hands, but he positively refused to return to the helm.

"I cannot, I cannot!" he cried.