Concerning the Song of a Dead Man

"O Martin!" says she, looking up at me with troubled eyes, "Dear Martin, what is it?"

"Aye--what?" quoth I, wiping sweat from me. "God knoweth. But you heard? That song? The words--"

"I heard a man singing, Martin. But what of it--we are safe here! Ah--why are you so strange?"

"Damaris," says I, joying in the comfort of her soft, strong arms about me, "dear love of mine, here is thing beyond my understanding, for these were words I dreamed sung to me by a dead man--the man Humphrey--out beyond the reef--"

"Nay, but dear Martin, this was a real voice. 'Tis some shipwrecked mariner belike, some castaway--"

"Aye--but did you--mark these words, Damaris?"

"Nay--O my dear, how should I--at such a moment!"

"They were all--of Black Bartlemy! And what should this mean, think you?"

"Nay, dear love, never heed!" says she, clasping me the closer.

"Aye, but I must, Damaris, for--in a while this singing shall come again mayhap and--if it doth--I know what 'twill be!"

"O Martin--Martin, what do you mean?"

"I mean 'twill be about the poor Spanish lady," says I, and catching up my belt where it hung, I buckled it about me.

"Ah--what would you do, Martin?"

"I'm for Deliverance."

"Then will I come also."

"No!" says I, catching her in fierce arms, "No! You are mine henceforth and more precious than life to me. So must you bide here--I charge you by our love. For look now, 'tis in my mind Tressady and his pirates are upon us at last, those same rogues that dogged the 'Faithful Friend' over seas. Howbeit I must find out who or what is it is that sings this hateful--" I stopped, all at once, for the voice was come again, nearer, louder than before, and singing the very words I had been hearkening for and dreading to hear: "There's a fine Spanish dame, And Joanna's her name, Shall follow wherever ye go: 'Till your black heart shall feel Yow cursed steel: Black Bartlemy--Bartlemy ho!"