Humphrey Bold: A Story of the Times of BenbowStrang, Herbert
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Humphrey Bold: A Story of the Times of Benbow
Strang, Herbert
Benbow, John, 1653?-1702 -- Fiction
Without slackening our pace I made the captive walk by my side and
questioned him. He had been left, as I suspected, in charge of the
boats, alone, and at the noise of our assault he had run up the
path, intending to overtake his comrades and give them warning of
what was happening. But being out of his element, his heart failed
him when he came into the wild wooded country, and he had been
skulking behind the trees when Joe espied him. He was a Frenchman.
I learned from him that some weeks before, his vessel had been
joined by an Englishman, who had proposed to his captain an
expedition to an estate some ten miles inland. The captain had been
at first reluctant to undertake the expedition; 'twas work for
landsmen, he said, not for sea dogs, and having heard rumors of a
buccaneer brig having been captured in that very cove by a horde of
negroes led by a white man, he was loath to leave his vessel. But
the Englishman had worked upon his fellow countrymen among the
buccaneers by tales of large sums of money lying in the house in
question; he had been steward of the estate, he said, and had been
forced to leave behind the hoard he had gathered, on being attacked
by a villainous enemy that coveted his wealth. But it was too
securely hidden to have been discovered by the interloper.
These compatriots of his had insisted on the captain holding a
council of the whole crew, at which the proposal was put to the
vote and carried; and the captain's last objections were overcome
by the promise of a quarter of the hidden money, the Englishman to
have a quarter, and the remainder to be divided among the crew.
My suspicion being so fully borne out, I forced the pace, for
though I foresaw a tough fight, my men were all sturdy fellows, who
were not like to feel any distress after a march of but ten miles.
I only half believed the story of hidden gold. The produce of the
estate would generally, I thought, be paid for, not in specie, but
in bills of exchange, which would be in the hands of duly appointed
agents at the port. It seemed more likely that Vetch had some other
motive: what, I could not guess. But whatever his design might be,
I counted myself very lucky in having come to the neighborhood in
time to frustrate it.
When we came within a mile of the estate we saw a dense cloud of
smoke rising into the air at the spot where, as I judged, the house
stood. This seemed to confirm my suspicion; Vetch was indulging his
venomous spite by burning the residence of Mistress Lucy. We sprang
forward at the double, and coming in sight of the house, I saw with
relief that it was yet intact, the smoke arising from the
outbuildings, which were already almost burned to the ground. Then
we heard musket shots, and as we drew nearer loud shouts. The
plantations were utterly deserted, there was not a negro visible of
whom we might ask what was toward; so we skirmished forward to a
place among the trees where the front of the house was in full
view.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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