The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

I had helped to do her.

      Dawson also, despite his stubborn disposition to see things as he would have them, had, nevertheless, some secret perception of the incurable sorrow which she, with all her art, could scarce dissimulate. Yet he clung to that fond belief in a return of past happiness, as if ’twere his last hope on earth. When at last our wind sprang up, and we were cutting through the waters with bending masts and not a crease in the bellied sails, he came upon deck, and spreading his hands out, cries in joy:

      “Oh, this blessed sunlight! There is nought in the world like it—no, not the richest wine—to swell one’s heart with content.”

      And then he fell again to recalling our old adventures and mirthful escapades. He gave the rascals who fetched us ashore a piece more than they demanded, hugely delighted to find they understood his Spanish and such quips as he could call to mind. Then being landed, he falls to extolling everything he sees and hears, calling upon Moll to justify his appreciation; nay, he went so far as to pause in a narrow street where was a most unsavoury smell, to sniff the air and declare he could scent the oranges in bloom. And Lord! to hear him praise the whiteness of the linen, the excellence of the meat and drink set before us at the posada, one would have said he had never before seen clean sheets or tasted decent victuals.

      Seeing that neither Moll nor I could work ourselves up (try as we might) to his high pitch of enthusiasm, he was ready with an excuse for us.

      “I perceive,” says he, “you are still suffering from your voyage. Therefore, we will not quit this town before tomorrow” (otherwise I believe he would have started off on our expedition as soon as our meal was done). “However,” adds he, “do you make enquiry, Kit, if you can get yourself understood, if there be ever a bull to be fought today or any diversion of dancing or play-acting tonight, that the time hang not too heavy on our hands.”

      As no such entertainments were to be had (this being the season of Lent, which is observed very strictly in these parts), Dawson contented himself with taking Moll out to visit the shops, and here he speedily purchased a pair of clappers for her, a tambour for himself, and a guitar for me, though we were difficult to please, for no clappers pleased Moll as those she had first bought; and it did seem to me that I could strike no notes out of any instrument but they had a sad, mournful tone.

      Then nothing would satisfy him but to go from one draper’s to another, seeking a short petticoat, a waist-cloth, and a round hat to Moll’s taste, which ended to his disappointment, for she could find none like the old.

      “Why, don’t you like this?” he would say, holding up a gown; “to my eyes ’tis the very spit of t’other, only fresher.”

      And she demurring, whispers, “Tomorrow, dear, tomorrow,” with plaintive entreaty for delay in her wistful eyes. Disheartened, but not yet at the end of his resources, her father at last proposed that she should take a turn through the town alone and choose for herself. “For,” says he, “I believe we do rather hinder than help you with our advice in such matters.”

      After a moment’s reflection, Moll agreed to this, and saying she would meet us at the posada for supper, left us, and walked briskly back the way we had come.

      When she was gone, Dawson had never a word to say, nor I either, for dejection, yet, had I been questioned, I could have found no better reason for my despondency than that I felt ’twas all a mistake coming here for happiness.

      Strolling aimlessly through the narrow back ways, we came presently to the market that stands against the port. And here, almost at the first step, Dawson catches my arm and nods towards the opposite side of the market-place. Some Moors were seated there in their white clothes, with bundles of young palm leaves, plaited up in various forms of crowns, crosses, and the like—which the people of this country do carry to church to be blessed on Palm Sunday; and these Moors I knew came from Elche, because palms grow nowhere else in such abundance.

      “Yes,” says I, thinking ’twas this queer merchandise he would point out, “I noticed these Moors and their ware when we passed here a little while back with Moll.”

      “Don’t you see her there now—at the corner?” asks he.

      Then, to my surprise, I perceived Moll in very earnest conversation with two Moors, who had at first screened her from my sight.

      “Come away,” continues he. “She left us to go back and speak to them, and would not have us know.”

      Why should she be secret about this trifling matter, I asked myself. ’Twas quite natural that, if she recognised in these Moors some old acquaintance of Elche, she should desire to speak them.

      We stole away to the port; and seating ourselves upon some timber, there we looked upon the sea nigh upon half an hour without saying a word. Then turning to me, Dawson says: “Unless she speak to us upon this matter, Kit, we will say nought to her. But, if she say nothing, I shall take it for a sign her heart is set upon going back to Elche, and she would have it a secret that we may not be disheartened in our other project.”

      “That is likely enough,” says I, not a little surprised by his reasoning. But love sharpens a man’s wit, be it never so dull.

      “Nevertheless,” continues he, “if she can be happier at Elche than elsewhere, then must we abandon our scheme and accept hers with a good show of content. We owe her that, Kit.”

      “Aye, and more,” says I.

      “Then when we meet tomorrow morning, I will offer to go there, as if ’twas a happy notion that had come to me in my sleep, and do you back me up with all the spirit you can muster.”

      So after some further discussion we rose, and returned to our posada, where we found Moll waiting for us. She told us she had found no clothes to her liking (which was significant), and said not a word of her speaking to the Moors in the market-place, so we held our peace on these matters.

      We did not part till late that night, for Moll would sit up with us, confessing she felt too feverish for sleep; and indeed this was apparent enough by her strange humour, for she kept no constant mood for five minutes together. Now, she would sit pensive, paying no heed to us, with a dreamy look in her eyes, as if her thoughts were wandering far away—to her husband in England maybe; then she would hang her head as though she dared not look him in the face even at that distance; and anon she would recover herself with a noble exaltation, lifting her head with a fearless mien. And so presently her body drooping gradually to a reflective posture, she falls dreaming again, to rouse herself suddenly at some new prompting of her spirit, and give us all her thoughts, all eagerness for two moments, all melting sweetness the next, with her pretty manner of clinging to her father’s arm, and laying her cheek against his shoulder. And when at last we came to say good-night, she hangs about his neck as if she would fain sleep there, quitting him with a deep sigh and a passionate kiss. Also she kissed me most affectionately, but could say never a word of farewell to either of us—hurrying to her chamber to weep, as I think.

      We knew not what to conclude from these symptoms, save that she might be sickening of some disorder; so we to our beds, very down in the mouth and faint at heart.

      About six the next morning I was awoke by the door bursting suddenly open, and starting up in my bed, I see Dawson at my side, shaking in every limb, and his eyes wide with terror.

      “Moll’s gone!” cries he, and falls a-blubbering.

      “Gone!” says I, springing out of bed. “’Tis not possible.”

      “She has not lain in her bed; and one saw her go forth last night as the doors were closing, knowing her for a foreigner by her hood. Come with me,” adds he, laying his hand on a chair for support. “I dare not go alone.”

      “Aye, I’ll go with ye, Jack; but whither?”

      “Down to the sea,” says he, hoarsely.

      I stopped in the midst of dressing, overcome by this fearful hint; for, knowing Moll’s strong nature, the thought had never occurred to me that she might do away with herself. Yet now reflecting on her strange manner of late,