CHAPTER XIII.
“A randy, dandy, dandy-o, A whet of ale and brandy-o, With a rumbelow and a Westward-ho! Heave, my mariners, all-o!”
TETUAN was passed, and the narrow way of Gib-al-Taric, and off Tangier the brigantine spoke a small galley which had come from the port to meet her. The two craft lay side by side, for the sea was like glass.
Here Spence said farewell to the Moor who had freed him, and to the six men who remained of the Moor’s following.
From the lazaret of the brigantine was lifted a chest, one of several in which was laid away Ripperda’s ill-gotten gold. This chest, with certain other plunder, was swung aboard the galley as Mulai Ali’s share. Then Spence confided to the Moor that same water-stained leather box, which held in its care Ripperda’s great schemes.
“To Mulai Ali this is worth more than the gold,” he said. “Take it to him, with our thanks and good-will.”
So the Moor passed to his own ship, and the galley departed. Spence called the crew into the waist, and with Mistress Betty beside him, laid a choice before them.
“Say now, lads, which way we steer? Whether to the north and England, or out across the Atlantic to home again. Many of you are wounded, we are short-handed, our charts are poor, our instruments worse. Yet we have food and drink to spare. Settle the matter by vote, and let us get out of these waters.”
Now the men, grinning, looked one at another. Roberts was urged forth as spokesman. He touched his forelock to the girl, and regarded Spence with a wide smile.
“Why, sir, as to instruments and charts and such, that be your business. But that there gold down below—be there much left?”
Spence laughed. “Enough to make us all rich men, lads, and Ripperda pays the shot. So speak out freely.”
“Well, sir, we would be fools to steer for any English port wi’ that gold below,” said Roberts. “The less any one knows of our business, say we, the better! If it please you, Master Spence, we vote to make Boston town, and if the royal governor hears naught o’ that there gold, ’twill be good luck for us!”
“Very well,” said Spence. “Master Roberts, lay the course for the Azores, and we’ll try our fortune for home!”
A cheer echoed up from the crew. Spence turned to the girl—met her grave regard.
“Well, Mistress Betty! Will you be saddened in heart to see the hills of Boston over our bow instead of the chalk cliffs of Dover?”
A smile lightened in the eyes of the girl as her hand crept into his. “Dear Patrick! Hast never read your Bible, then? Dost not remember what Ruth said to the man in whose hand her own lay—even as mine lies in yours?”
And Patrick Spence laughed out as he looked with her to the west, and the ship swung about to the wind.
THE END.