Cup of Gold: A Life of Sir Henry Morgan, Buccaneer, with Occasional References to History by John Steinbeck

Author:John Steinbeck
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Morgan, 1635?-1688 -- Fiction, Caribbean Area -- Fiction, Governors--Jamaica -- Fiction, Buccaneers -- Fiction, Henry
Publisher: Standard Ebooks
Published: 2025-01-01T09:01:00+00:00

V

Sir Ed­ward Mor­gan led forces against St. Eu­statius, and, while the bat­tle raged, a slim, brown In­di­an slipped up and drove a long knife in­to his stom­ach. The Lieu­tenant-Gov­er­nor set his lips in a straight, hard line, and crum­pled to the ground.

“My white breech­es will be ru­ined,” he thought. “Why did the dev­il have to do it, just when we were get­ting on so nice­ly. I should have got spe­cial thanks from his Majesty, and now I shall not be here to re­ceive them. Heav­en! he chose a painful place!” And then the full tragedy struck him.

“An or­di­nary knife,” he mut­tered; “and in the stom­ach. I should have pre­ferred a sword in the hand of an equal—but a knife—in the stom­ach! I must look dis­rep­utable with all this blood and dirt on me. And I can­not straight­en up! Christ! the wretch struck a sen­si­tive spot.”

His men sad­ly bore him to Port Roy­al.

“It was un­avoid­able,” he told the Gov­er­nor; “slipped up on me with a knife and stabbed me in the stom­ach. Such a lit­tle dev­il he couldn’t reach any high­er, I sup­pose. Re­port the af­fair to the Crown, will you, Sir? And please do not men­tion the knife—or the stom­ach. And now will you leave me with my daugh­ter? I shall be dy­ing soon.”

Eliz­a­beth stood over him in a dark­ened room.

“Are you hurt bad­ly, fa­ther?”

“Yes, quite bad­ly. I shall die present­ly.”

“Non­sense, pa­pa; you are on­ly jok­ing to ex­cite me.”

“Eliz­a­beth, does it sound like non­sense—and have you ev­er heard me joke? I have sev­er­al things to speak of, and the time is very short. What will you do? There is lit­tle mon­ey left. We have been liv­ing on my salary ev­er since the King made his last gen­er­al sug­ges­tion for a loan.”

“But what are you talk­ing about, pa­pa! You can­not die and leave me here alone and lost in the colonies. You can­not, can­not do it!”

“Whether I can or not, I shall die present­ly. Now let us dis­cuss this mat­ter while we can. Per­haps your cousin who has come to such fame through rob­bery will care for you, Eliz­a­beth. I am pained at the thought, but—but—it is nec­es­sary to live—very nec­es­sary. And af­ter all, he is your cousin.”

“I will not be­lieve it. I sim­ply will not be­lieve it. You can­not die!”

“You must stay with the Gov­er­nor un­til you can meet your cousin. Tell him the ex­act stand­ing of the mat­ter; no fawn­ing—but do not be too proud. Re­mem­ber he is your own blood cousin, even though he is a rob­ber.” His heavy breath­ing filled the room. Eliz­a­beth had be­gun to cry soft­ly, like a child who can­not quite tell whether or not it is hurt. Fi­nal­ly words were forced from Sir Ed­ward’s lips.

“I have heard that you can tell a gen­tle­man by the way he dies—but I should like to groan. Robert would have groaned if he had wished. Of course, Robert was queer—but then—he was my own broth­er—he would have shrieked if he had felt like it. Eliz­a­beth, will you—please—leave the room.

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