He debated again and again all he had heard, and came to the conclusion that if he said anything it must be to the captain himself.
One morning Bart's manner showed that something had occurred. His sour face wore a smile, and he was evidently greatly relieved of his responsibility as he said to the prisoner:
"There, you can go out."
"Has the captain returned?"
Bart delivered himself of a short nod.
"Tell him I wish to see him. Bid him come here."
"What! the skipper? You mean, ask him if I may take you to him, and he'll see you."
"I said, Tell your skipper to come here!" said Humphrey, drawing himself up and speaking as if he were on the quarterdeck. "Tell him I wish to see him at once."
Bart drew a long breath, and wrinkled up his forehead so that it seemed as if he had an enormous weight upon his head. Then, smiling grimly, he slowly left the place.
The buccaneer, who looked anxious and dispirited, was listening to some complaint made by his lieutenant, and angry words were passing which made Bart as he heard them hasten his steps, and look sharply from one to the other as he entered.
Black Mazzard did what was a work of supererogation as he encountered Bart's eye--he scowled, his face being villainous enough without.
"Well," he said aloud, "I've warned you!" and he strode out of the old temple-chamber which formed the captain's quarters, his heavy boots thrust down about his ankles sounding dull on the thick rugs spread over the worn stones, and then clattering loudly as he stepped outside.
"You two been quarrelling?" said Bart, sharply.
"The dog's insolence is worse than ever!" cried the captain with flashing eyes. "Bart, I don't want to shed the blood of the man who has been my officer, but--"
"Let someone else bleed him," growled Bart. "Dick would; Dinny would give anything to do it. We're 'bout tired of him. I should like the job myself."
"Silence!" said the captain, sternly. "No, speak: tell me, what has been going on since I've been away?"
"Black Mazzard?"
The captain nodded.
"Half the time--well, no: say three-quarters--he's been drunk, t'other quarter he's spent in the south ruins preaching to the men."
"Preaching?"
"Yes, with you for text. Just in his old way; but I've been too busy with the prisoner."
"Yes, and he?"
"It's him who is master here. Here, get up!" The buccaneer started, threw back his head, and the dark eyes flashed as he exclaimed--
"What's this, sir? Have you been taking a lesson from Mazzard?"
"I? No; I'm only giving you your orders!"
"What orders?"
"Master Captain Humphrey Armstrong's. You're to get up and go to him directly. He wants you!"
The buccaneer sprang to his feet.
"He wants me--he has sent for me?" he cried, eagerly.
"Ay! You're to go to him. He's master here!"
A dull lurid flush came over the captain's swarthy face as his eyes encountered those of his henchman, and he frowned heavily.
"Of course you'll go!" said Bart, bitterly. "I should give up everything to him now, and let him do as he likes!"
"Bart!"
"Oh, all right! Say what you like, I don't mind. Only, if it's to be so, let him hang me out of my misery, and have done with it."
The buccaneer turned upon him fiercely, and his lips parted to speak; but as he saw the misery and despair in Bart's face his own softened.
"Is this my old friend and help speaking?" he said, softly. "I did not expect it, Bart, from you. Why do you speak to me like this?"
"Because you are going wrong. Because I can see how things are going to be, and it's natural for me to speak. Think I'm blind?"
"No, Bart, old friend. I only think you exaggerate and form ideas that are not true. I know what you mean; but you forget that I am Commodore Junk, and so I shall be to the end. Now, tell me," he continued, calmly; "this captain of the sloop asks to see me?"
"Orders you to come to him!"
"Well, he is accustomed to order, and illness has made him petulant. I will go."
"You'll go?"
"Yes. Perhaps he has something to say in answer to an offer I made."
"An offer?"
"Yes, Bart, to join us, and be one of my lieutenants."
"Join us, and be your lufftenant?" cried Bart.
"Yes, and my friend. I like him for the sake of his old generous ways, and I like him for his present manliness."
"You--like him?"
"Yes. It is not impossible, is it, that I should like to have a friend?"
"Friend?"
"Yes!" said the captain, sternly; "another friend! Don't stare, man, and think of the past. Mary Dell died, and lies yonder in the old temple, covered by the Union Jack, and Abel Dell still lives--Commodore Junk, seeking to take vengeance upon those who cut that young life short."