The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

      “I think you were never so happy in your life, Moll, as that time we were in Spain, nor can I recollect ever feeling so free from care myself—after we got out of the hands of that gentleman robber. There’s a sort of infectious brightness in the sun, and the winds, blow which way they may, do chase away dull thoughts and dispose one to jollity; eh, sweetheart? Why, we met never a tattered vagabond on the road but he was halloing of ditties, and a kinder, more hospitable set of people never lived. With a couple of rials in your pocket, you feel as rich and independent as with an hundred pounds in your hand elsewhere.”

      At this point Moll, who had hitherto listened in apathy to these eulogies, suddenly pushing back her chair, looks at us with a strange look in her eyes, and says under her breath, “Elche!”

      “Barcelony for my money,” responds Dawson, whose memories of Elche were not so cheerful as of those parts where we had led a more vagabond life.

      “Elche!” repeats Moll, twining her fingers, and with a smile gleaming in her eyes.

      “Does it please you, chuck, to talk of these matters?”

      “Yes, yes!” returns she, eagerly. “You know not the joy it gives me” (clapping her hand on her heart). “Talk on.”

      Mightily pleased with himself, her father goes over our past adventures—the tricks Moll played us, as buying of her petticoat while we were hunting for her, our excellent entertainment in the mountain villages, our lying abed all one day, and waking at sundown to think it was daybreak, our lazy days and jovial nights, etc., at great length; and when his memory began to give out, giving me a kick of the shin, he says:

      “Han’t you got anything to say? For a dull companion there’s nothing in the world to equal your man of wit and understanding”; which, as far as my observation goes, was a very true estimation on his part.

      But, indeed (since I pretend to no great degree of wit or understanding), I must say, as an excuse for my silence, that during his discourse I had been greatly occupied in observing Moll, and trying to discover what was passing in her mind. ’Twas clear this talk of Spain animated her spirit beyond ordinary measure, so that at one moment I conceived she did share her father’s fond fancy that our lost happiness might be regained by mere change of scene, and I confess I was persuaded somewhat to this opinion by reflecting how much we owe to circumstances for our varying moods, how dull, sunless days will cast a gloom upon our spirits, and how a bright, breezy day will lift them up, etc. But I presently perceived that the stream of her thoughts was divided; for though she nodded or shook her head, as occasion required, the strained, earnest expression in her tightened lips and knitted brows showed that the stronger current of her ideas flowed in another and deeper channel. Maybe she only desired her father to talk that she might be left the freer to think.

      “’Twas near about this time of the year that we started on our travels,” said I, in response to Dawson’s reminder.

      “Aye, I recollect ’twas mighty cold when we set sail, and the fruit trees were all bursting into bloom when we came into France. I would we were there now; eh, Moll?”

      “What, dear?” asks she, rousing herself at this direct question.

      “I say, would you be back there now, child?”

      “Oh, will you take me there if I would go?”

      “With all my heart, dear Moll. Is there anything in the world I’d not do to make you happy?”

      She took his hand upon her knee, and caressing it, says:

      “Let us go soon, father.”

      “What, will you be dancing of fandangos again?” asks he; and she nods for reply, though I believe her thoughts had wandered again to some other matter.

      “I warrant I shall fall into the step again the moment I smell garlic; but I’ll rehearse it an hour tomorrow morning, that we may lose no time. Will you have a short petticoat and a waist-cloth again, Moll?”

      She, with her elbows on her knees now, and her chin in her hands, looking into the fire, nodded.

      “And you, Kit,” continues he, “you’ll get a guitar and play tunes for us, as I take it you will keep us company still.”

      “Yes, you may count on me for that,” says I.

      “We shan’t have Don Sanchez to play the tambour for us, but I wager I shall beat it as well as he; though, seeing he owes us more than we owe him, we might in reason call upon him, and—”

      “No, no; only we three,” says Moll.

      “Aye, three’s enough, in all conscience, and seeing we know a bit of the language, we shall get on well enough without him. I do long, Moll, to see you a-flinging over my shoulder, with your clappers going, your pretty eye and cheek all aglow with pleasure, and a court full of señors and caballeros crying ‘Holé!’ and casting their handkerchiefs at your feet.”

      Moll fetched a long, fluttering sigh, and, turning to her father, says in an absent way: “Yes, dear; yes. When shall we go?”

      Then, falling to discussing particulars, Dawson, clasping his hands upon his stomach, asked with a long face if at this season we were likely to fall in with the equinoxes on our voyage, and also if we could not hit some point of Spain so as to avoid crossing the mountains of Pyranee and the possibility of falling again into the hands of brigands. To which I replied that, knowing nothing of the northern part of Spain and its people, we stood a chance of finding a rude climate, unsuitable to travelling at this time of year, and an inhospitable reception, and that, as our object was to reach, the South as quickly as possible, it would be more to our advantage to find a ship going through the straits which would carry us as far as Alicante or Valencia. And Moll supporting my argument very vigorously, Dawson gave way with much less reluctance than I expected at the outset. But, indeed, the good fellow seemed now ready to make any sacrifice of himself so that he might see his Moll joyous again.

      When I entered his shop the next morning, I found him with his coat off, cutting capers, a wooden platter in his hand for a tambourine, and the sweat pouring down his face.

      “I am a couple of stone or so too heavy for the boleros,” gasps he, coming to a stand, “but I doubt not, by the time we land at Alicante, there’ll not be an ounce too much of me.”

      Learning that a convoy for the Levant was about to set sail with the next favourable wind from Chatham, we took horse and rode there that afternoon, and by great good luck we found the Faithful Friend, a good ship bound for Genoa in Italy, whereof Mr. Dixon, the master, having intent to enter and victual at Alicante, undertook to carry us there for ten pounds a head, so being we could get all aboard by the next evening at sundown.

      Here was short grace, to be sure; but we did so despatch our affairs that we were embarked in due time, and by daybreak the following morning, were under weigh.

      CHAPTER XXXV.

      How we lost our poor Moll, and our long search for her.

      We reached Alicante the 15th March, after a long, tedious voyage. During this time I had ample opportunity for observing Moll, but with little relief to my gloomy apprehensions. She rarely quitted her father’s side, being now as sympathetic and considerate of him in his sufferings, as before she had been thoughtless and indifferent. She had ever a gentle word of encouragement for him; she was ever kind and patient. Only once her spirit seemed to weary: that was when we had been beating about in the bay of Cadiz four days, for a favourable gale to take us through the straits. We were on deck, she and I, the sails flapping the masts idly above our heads.

      “Oh,” says she, laying her hand on my shoulder, and her wasted cheek against my arm, “oh, that it were all ended!”

      She was sweeter with me than ever she had been before; it seemed as if the love bred in her heart by marriage must expend itself upon some one. But though this tenderness endeared her more to me, it saddened me, and I would have had her at her tricks once more, making merry at my expense. For I began to see that our happiness comes from within and