Part 11

“I don’t like prigs, and I don’t like blue-stockings, and I don’t like----”

“People who care for beautiful things? Is that it?”

“A lot of mewing old women who ought to be in a rook-shop.”

“What’s a rook-shop?” said Olivia.

“A monastery, my dear. A monk or nun house. Somewhere where they could mew and caw their silly hearts out. Beauty. Eh? Beauty. I’ve heard ’em talk about beauty. What do they know about beauty?”

“There’s nothing in poetry and that,” said Mr. Iles, rallying to his patron. “What’s the good of it? It’s unpractical stuff. B’gee, der poets should come to sea. I’d show ’em what to write about.”

“What would you show them?” said Perrin.

“Show them?” said Mr. Iles. “I’d show them what a man is, for one thing.”

“And what is a man?” said Margaret.

“He ain’t an old woman, anyway,” said Mr. Iles.

“I don’t want to know what he isn’t. I want to know what he is. What is a man?”

“A felly what can do his piece, and stick it out. A man who won’t hang back, or lie up, or give you no lip.”

“You would like the world composed of such men?”

“B’gee I would. You’re right.”

“And you, Stukeley?”

“I’d like my dinner in peace, without a lot of cross-examination. Talk about beauty with Perrin there. He likes to hear you. I don’t.”

“No,” said Perrin. “No, Stukeley. I shouldn’t think you ever liked to hear of anything noble.”

“Noble. Good Lord. I hope I spend my time better. You two seem to think because you read a few half-tipped writers like yourselves, you’re free to judge everybody else.”

“Well,” said Margaret. “And don’t you judge everybody else? Better judge, I think, with some knowledge of the law.”

“Don’t lose your temper about it. You’re such a funny devil.”

“Mr. Iles,” said Olivia, in order to create a diversion. “Have you ever been in Virginia, in any of your voyages?”

“Yes, miss. I been there two or three times.”

“Tell us about it, Mr. Iles,” said Margaret. “Were you there at the time of the rebellion?”

“I was there just after.”

“What was the cause of the rebellion?” Olivia asked. “It was hushed up, in England. But a man I once met told me that it was a very terrible thing. You remember Charles Myngs, Charles? He was one of the rebels.”

“I know. He was very lucky to get away. The rebellion was caused by the action of a wise, far-seeing young man, who objected to paying taxes to, and being governed by, a body of wiseacres three thousand miles away, who gave nothing in return, except expensive impositions.”

“You talk like a rebel yourself,” said Stukeley. “I suppose you sympathize with them?”

“Most certainly I do.”

“But to go against the King,” said Olivia. “And to cause all that bloodshed.”

“The King,” said Iles, with contempt. “I don’t see what you English fellies want with a king. What good is a king to you, anyway? I seen him once. I wouldn’t own to a man like the one I seen. King James, hey?”

At this moment, Captain Cammock entered, stuffing a handkerchief between his white stock and his neck, to arrest the blood dripping from the gash. Stukeley grinned, and watched him, waiting for the explosion. He did not know that Cammock had guessed Stukeley’s plan on hearing Mr. Iles’s shrill voice when Mrs. Inigo opened the cabin door, so that she might carry off the soup. He was angry with Stukeley; but he was far more angry with his little second mate. His first impulse had been to enter, and fling Mr. Iles through the stern-window. Then he thought that that was what Stukeley and Iles had planned between them, and expected. The possibility of the fiddle occurred to him. It was just possible that Olivia had asked for a tune, not knowing, how could she know, of the captain’s pride of place in old sea-custom. She was a fine, delicate lady. He wouldn’t demean himself before her, by noticing any silly little slight, devised by a crawler and a cur. He smiled into his shaving-glass, as he dabbed away the blood, thinking that his old days as a man of war had taught him a little prudence. He referred most of his daily problems, such as they were, to their equivalents on the larger stage of war. Once or twice, he thought, the Spaniards had tempted them, to make them attack, but only the “mad, swearing, flashy fellows” were caught in that way. It was better to go by the difficult road; it proved the easier in the end. He would settle with Mr. Iles later on.

He went to his place at the head of the table, and made some apology to Olivia.

“I’m sorry to be so late, Mrs. Stukeley.”

“Have you hurt yourself? I hope you’ve not cut yourself badly.”

“No. No. It just bleeds. I upset the alum I had, last week. Good evening, sir. Good evening, mister. Good evening, Mr. Perrin. May I give you a bit more beef, Mr. Iles? I won’t have any soup, thank you, stewardess. Bring me the bread-barge. Well, Mrs. Stukeley. We’ll soon see Virginia at this rate. Very soon. We might sight the cruiser at any time.”

“What is the cruiser?” Olivia asked.

“She’s a man-of-war, Mrs. Stukeley. She cruises up and down between the two Capes.”

“B’gee, Captain Cammock,” said Mr. Iles. “I should a thought you’d a known better’n to expect to see her for another week.”

“Would you, mister?” he answered. “They make a wide sweep at this time of year.”

“How do you know?” put in Stukeley.

“They come away out to look for pirates. The pirates come round at this season, Mr. Stukeley, to look for the English merchantmen.”

“Well. Mr. Iles knows Virginia, and he says they don’t.”

“I can’t help that. Can I?”

“Is there any chance of the pirates attacking us?” Olivia asked.

“I should pity any pirate that tries.”

“Dog doesn’t eat dog,” said Stukeley. “Our captain here’s a pirate himself. He’ll give his old friends the wink.”

“Was you really a pirate, Captain Cammock?” said Mr. Iles.

Olivia stared at the captain curiously.

“Take away the beef, stewardess,” he said in a natural tone, ignoring the question. “Steward. Steward there. You may take away. Mrs. Stukeley, I hope you’ll give us a song afterwards. If you’ll give us a song, and Mr. Iles a tune on his fiddle, I’ll bring in another treat, and we’ll all be merry.”

“What treat have you for us, captain?” asked Margaret.

“I’ve got a box of raisin-candy, from Ilo, in Peru,” he answered. “It’s said to be a great dainty; but some people find it too sweet. But only if you sing, Mrs. Stukeley.”

“Oh, I’ll sing. I haven’t sung for a week now. I shall be delighted to sing.”

“And you’ll sing, too, Mr. Stukeley?”

“Oh, I vote we don’t sing. Let’s have cards. There’s no sense in caterwauling.”

“I got a fine song,” said Mr. Iles, taking a pull at his glass of spirits.

“What song is that?” said Perrin.

“The lament of the old buccaneer, it’s called. It’s about a pirate who was hanged. B’gee. He’d been captain in a merchant ship after. But they hung him.”

Captain Cammock asked the company if they would have any more duff. He himself had had more than enough.

“Look at him blushing,” said Stukeley, nudging Iles.

At this moment, there came loud cries from the deck, of “Watch there. Watch,” shouted by many voices cheerily. Then there were cries of “Haul in. Haul in. Haul in. Snatch it and run her up.” Then a silence, a sudden stamp of feet, and the voice of some one asking what was on the arming. “Sand and small shells,” came the answer of the boatswain. The diners at the cabin table seemed to see the man raising the heavy plummet to show the spoils stuck upon the grease.

“Land o-o-o-h,” he cried. “Land o-o-o-h. Hooray.” Then the seamen, gathered in the waist, with the redness of the sunset on them, cast loose a gun at Mr. Cottrill’s order. As the cook, coming from the galley with a red-hot poker, called to the men to stand clear of the breech, Captain Cammock bowed to Olivia, raising his glass.

“Mrs. Stukeley,” he said, “we’re in soundings. Your very good health. Soundings, gentlemen. You must all drink to soundings. Now then. There goes the gun. Three cheers.” There were no cheers in Stukeley, though he drank the toast.

Half an hour later, after hearing a few songs, and a jig upon the fiddle, Captain Cammock sat smoking in his cabin. He struck his gong to call the steward. “Ask Mr. Iles to come here, please?” In a few minutes Mr. Iles appeared, followed by Stukeley, who had expected the summons. “Mr. Stukeley,” said the captain, “I shall be pleased to see you later. I wish to talk with Mr. Iles a moment.”

“Thank you,” said Stukeley. “But I wish to hear what you’ve got to say to Mr. Iles.”

“It doesn’t concern you, Mr. Stukeley.” Mr. Iles tittered.

“Mr. Iles is my friend,” said Stukeley. “I’ll make it concern me.”

“Mr. Stukeley. I don’t wish to be rude. But I command here. There’s the door.”

“To hell with the door.”

“Go on deck, Mr. Iles, till I send for you.”

“Stay here, Iles. Look here, my old pirate----”

“Did you hear my order, Mr. Iles?”

“No.”

“No, he didn’t hear. He’s accustomed to being ordered by gentlemen. He’s not used to pirates.”

“I’ll repeat my order. Go on deck, Mr. Iles, and wait there till I send for you.”

“Don’t you do it, Iles. I’m damned if I’d take an order of that sort.”

“Do you hear me, Mr. Iles?”

“B’gee, cap, you’ll speak to me like you’d speak to any one else. I ain’t goin’ to be called down by any old pirate.”

Cammock rose, breathing rather hard, but speaking very quietly. “Go on deck,” he said.

“He’s my guest,” said Stukeley, “and it’s his watch below. I’m damned if he shall go on deck.”

“Are you going, Mr. Iles?”

“Ah, git ter hell.”

“Don’t you hit him,” said Stukeley, as Captain Cammock picked up his little gong-hammer.

“Hit me?” said Iles. “Hit me? B’gee, cap, you hit me and I’ll mark you for life all right, all right.”

“I’m not going to do any hitting, Mr. Stukeley,” said Cammock quietly. He went to the gong and struck it softly till the steward came.

“Send the boatswain to me,” said Cammock.

“I will, seh.”

“What are you going to do now?” said Stukeley. Captain Cammock relit his pipe at the lamp, stopping the red fragments with his thumb. The boatswain knocked at the door, cap in hand.

“Call all hands aft, boatswain.”

“What der hell?” said Mr. Iles, as the call sounded. The men came hurrying aft, swearing at having their dog-watch spoiled. Some of them were half clad, just out of their hammocks; others were buttoning their clothes. In the last of the daylight, in the glow which gives a holy beauty to all things, they seemed a strange company. Just so will the assembling souls look, when the heavens crinkle into flame, as the triumphing clarion shrills, bringing together the awed, the sullen, the expectant.

“Muster your watch, Mr. Iles.”

“No. We’ll settle it here,” said Stukeley, thinking that the cabin was safer for his purpose than the deck. “We’ll settle it here, old Brandyco.”

Cammock brushed past him and went on to the poop, without replying. Iles, much puzzled, was about to follow.

“Don’t go,” said Stukeley. “I wouldn’t go. Don’t go. I’ll make it square for you.”

“B’gee. I’d better go,” said Iles. “I don’t know what game he’s up to, do I hell?”

He went on deck, to the starboard side, where he began to muster his watch. Mr. Cottrill’s voice, much more slow and grave than his, made a strange echo with him, each calling a name in turn, each drawing a response from a voice of different pitch. “Shepherd.” “Here, sir.” “Arnold.” “Here, sir.” “Richard Arnold.” “Here, sir.” “John Wise.” “Present, sir.” “Adams.” “At the wheel, sir.” Then the reports: “Port watch all present, sir, except the wheel and look-outs.” “Starboard watch all present, sir.” “Idlers and boys all present, sir”; followed by Captain Cammock’s “Very well,” as he paced to and fro across the forward end of the poop. Captain Margaret stood with Perrin by the poop-bell, with their hats off, out of deference to Captain Cammock. They stood still in their most splendid clothes, just as they had risen from the feast. They looked down on all the upturned faces a few feet beneath them, wondering at the beauty of the scene, lit now, by the dying sun, into a glow, that made each face glorious. Still Captain Cammock walked to and fro, casting a contemptuous glance as he turned; his face set and passionless; his eyes taking in each face of all the crowd. Stukeley, who had followed his friend on deck, asked Margaret if he was going to lead in prayer; but he got no answer; the men, impressed and puzzled, did not titter. Cammock stopped in his walk, and looked over the poop-rail at the crew.

“Thomas Iles,” he said.

“Sir,” said Iles, turning and looking up.

“I break you, for refusing duty.”

“What, sir?”

“Mr. Cottrill.”

“Sir.”

“Put the man Iles in your watch.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Iles, go below and get your chest. Take it forward to the fo’c’s’le. You belong to Mr. Cottrill’s watch.”

“What the hell”--began Stukeley.

“Silence, please.”

“I ain’t goin’ to take no break from you,” said Iles.

“Mr. Cottrill,” said Cammock, “log that man.”

“Go below and get your chest, Iles,” said Cottrill.

“Get ter hell,” said Iles.

Cottrill walked up to him and smote him in the eye. “Get your chest, pronto,” he said. “Give me any more of your lip and I’ll lay your spine bare. Give him a hand you, Wise.”

“You know the rules, men,” said Captain Cammock. “Choose your new second mate.”

The men shuffled and shifted. One of them, a leader in the fo’c’s’le, shoved the bosun forward. “What the hell, boys,” said the bosun under his breath. “We’d rather you chose, sir,” said old Sails, coming from among the crowd after a moment of busy whispering.

“I choose you, boatswain,” said Cammock. “Ay or no, you?”

“Ay, sir.”

“Mr. Ramage, you’re our second mate. Come to my cabin at eight bells and sign the articles. You, Griffin Harris, take Mr. Ramage’s call; I make you boatswain. Mr. Ramage, tell one of the hands to shift your gear into the second mate’s cabin. Harris, bring your chest aft to the round-house. Men, remember that Mr. Ramage is Mister Ramage. Take the call, Harris.”

Griffin Harris, a short, thick-set seaman, hanging his head but showing no trace of emotion, pulled his forelock and stepped up to Mr. Ramage.

“Beg pardon, Mr. Ramage,” he said, “might I have the call, sir.” Mr. Ramage slipped the chain from his neck and handed it to him.

“Pipe down, bosun.”

Harris took the pipe and blew the tremolo of the belay. The men turned to walk forward, just as Iles and Wise reappeared with the chest and bag. Captain Cammock’s sternness vanished the moment the pipe down had sounded.

“You’ll have to pipe better than that, bosun,” he said. “You pipe like Wally with the stiff neck.” The new bosun laughed. “I’ll pipe fine against we get there, sir.”

Stukeley walked up to Captain Cammock. “What the hell d’you mean by insulting my friend?” he said.

Cammock paid no attention to him, but walked up to Margaret to ask if he would stand the first watch with the new second mate.

“Certainly,” said Margaret.

“I asked you a question,” said Stukeley bitterly, in a loud voice, so that the men loitering in the waist could hear. “D’ye hear me, Captain Cammock? What the hell d’you mean by insulting my friend?”

“Stukeley,” said Margaret, “go below.”

“I’m not talking to you,” said Stukeley.

“No,” said Margaret; “but I’m giving you some sound advice. Go below.”

“You’re a funny devil, aren’t you? Now then, Brandyface, you’ll give me an answer.”

At this moment Iles came up, from his old haunts, in the ’tween-decks, carrying his demijohn of carefully saved spirits.

“What have you got there, Iles?” said the captain quickly.

“My whack of rum.”

“Take your cap off, or I’ll knock it off. What did you say?”

“My whack of rum, Captain Cammock, sir.”

“Yes. You’d better remember that. Put down that demijohn.”

“Please, sir. It’s mine, sir.”

He laid down the demijohn, fingering his cap.

“Steward, whack that rum out to all hands at eight bells. Allow it to the man Iles in the savings book.”

“I will, seh.”

“There,” said Cammock, turning to Margaret. “He’s not going to curry favour forward with a couple of gallons of rum. He’d have had half the watch blind if I’d not seen him that time.”

Stukeley put his hand on Cammock’s shoulder. “You damned old pirate,” he said. “Now you’ll settle with me. Your little go’s over. Now it’s mine.”

Cammock turned to Margaret. “Take his other arm, sir,” he said.

He caught Stukeley by the wrist with his left hand. Margaret tackled him swiftly on the other side. Together they marched him below to Cammock’s cabin, which they entered locking the door behind them.

“Now, Mr. Stukeley,” said Cammock, placing his prisoner on the settee. “I command this ship. Be quiet now. Not a word, sir, till I’m done. You give me any more trouble. You so much as try to come between me and my hands, and you’ll go in irons till I can put you ashore.”

“That’s entirely right, Captain Cammock,” said Margaret. “You’d do well to remember it, Stukeley.”

“I’ll remember it,” said Stukeley. “And I’ll make you two remember it.”

“Another thing,” said Cammock. “While you live aft, you’ll act aft. You’ll hold no conversation with any member of my crew, except through one of my officers. And I shall expect you to keep from the main deck and the ’tween-decks. I say nothing about your insults. Them’s only the bubbling in your mind, I guess. I’m sorry for you. But give me no more, sir. If you do, or if you break the rules I make, you’ll go in irons till we land.”

“Anything more?” said Stukeley.

“There’ll be more when I see you need it.”

“All right, Maggy. I’ll remember this. Is that all now?”

“Yes. That’s all,” said Margaret.

“Then I advise you to let me go.”

“There’s the door,” said Margaret, turning back the key. “Allow me to come with you.”

“Thank you. I choose my own company.”

“No, sir,” said Cammock. “We shall do that for you. You ain’t fit to choose your own company. I’m sorry to have to say it.”

“You wait, Mr. Cammock. You wait.”

“Will you come on deck, Stukeley?” said Margaret. “Or will you join your wife?”

“You may go to hell,” said Stukeley. With this repartee he walked aft to vent his spleen upon Olivia. Guessing his intention, Margaret stayed with him till the bell called the starboard watch on deck.

VII. THE TOBACCO MERCHANT

“This is all our world; We shall know nothing here but one another.” _The Two Noble Kinsmen._

Six days after striking soundings, the _Broken Heart_ sailed up the James River with the flood, to let go her anchor off Jamestown as the last gun of her salute was fired. Her colours were dipped to the colours on the Governor’s flagstaff. Her sails were all clued up together; the bunts of the furls were tight and shapely, crossed by the broad black bands of the bunt-gaskets.

Captain Cammock walked the poop with Margaret, pretending to watch the squaring of the yards. Both were puzzled and ill at ease. They were in that troublous state of waiting to be assured; their anxiety was such that a decisive blow, either for or against them, would have seemed better than the uncertainty which made them hope for one thing while fearing the other. On entering Chesapeake Bay, they had squared their yards, intending to run up past Stingray, to Hog Creek on the Accomac side, where some of Cammock’s friends were planting. But a man-of-war sloop, flying the ensign, and full of men, had crossed their bows, bidding them heave-to and send a boat. Cammock had gone aboard her to find out what she wanted; and had received orders to proceed direct to Jamestown, to discharge his cargo there. No explanation was given except that “Those were the orders.” The officer of the watch would tell him nothing more. He had returned on board after this, feeling sure that danger threatened them. He was inclined to think that word had come from England ordering their arrest on arrival. But he was not sure. The lieutenant had been surly after a drunken night. His remark of “You’ll find out about that when you get there” might have come from a momentary irritation at being questioned. Margaret had called up Stukeley, to tell him his fears, and Stukeley had counselled putting to sea. This was impossible; for the sloop was almost within hail; while without Point Comfort, under her whole topsails, her open port-lids flashing, was one of the two frigates on the station coming in from her cruise to take fresh water. They were in the trap; they could only hope for the best. Stukeley took the news badly. He stood by the mizen rigging, with a white face, licking his lips and making wild suggestions.

“Couldn’t you put me ashore?” he asked. “Send me in a boat. Until you leave?”

“How about Olivia? Have you told her yet, what you expect?”

“No, of course I’ve not told her. Can’t you talk sense?”

“Hadn’t you better tell her? I mean, as--in kindness to her.”

“No. I can’t.”

“Shall I tell her?”

“My God, no. Look here, Margaret. I tell you why I can’t tell her. I’m a blackguard, and all that. Look here. She’s going to have a child.”

“My God. Are you sure, Stukeley?”

“Sure? Damn it, man. It’s serious. For God’s sake talk sense.”

“Well. My God. She must be told, man. It’ll only be worse for her later.”

“No, it won’t be.”

“But what are you going to do?”

“Do? I tell you it’ll be death for her if she learns.”

“But you must think of her, Stukeley. Man. How. Supposing. She can’t come to Darien. It’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible. It’d be all right.”

“Well, Stukeley, I give you up.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Things must take their course. I can’t think what I can do.”

“Are you going to give me up?”

“You must see that you’ll be taken. If there’s a letter.”

“If. If. Oh. Good luck, you.”

“Yes. But think of Olivia. Man. She must go home. You must see that.”

“Yes. But she doesn’t. You know how queer women get at these times. She insists on coming with me.”

“I don’t know. Go and tell her. Go on and tell her, cost what it may.”

“I’ve got to consider her child.”

“Captain Cammock, you’ve got a clear head. What do you say?”

“You could head me up in a cask,” said Stukeley.

“Well,” said Cammock. “I say, go and eat a good big dinner. We shan’t be in till afternoon; till two or three, perhaps, if the wind drops. If there’s to be an arrest, you’ll know of it soon enough. It’ll settle itself. Don’t cross no river till you come to the water. Why? Cos you may get drowned anyway.”

“But about my wife?”

“Oh, she’ll be well looked after. We’ll look after her.”

“Damn you.”

“Captain Margaret,” said Cammock, “just come aft with me, while I take some bearings.”

When they had walked out of earshot of Stukeley, Cammock added that it would be a good thing to let the man suffer for a spell.

“But how about Mrs. Stukeley, captain? And her little one?”

“I wasn’t thinking of them, sir. I’m thinking of you and Mr. Perrin. And the ship, too. We may be a political matter, sir. The Lords who fitted us out; they’ve got enemies--political enemies. They may say, ‘Oh, you’ve sent out a gang of pirates, who rescue escaping felons.’ There may be the devil’s own row at home about us. Law is all right and fair. But there’s no law nor right in politics.”

“We shall know soon.”

“Yes. Very soon now.”

“It’s anxious work, waiting.”

“Why, yes. Worse than the event.”

“It’ll come hard on that poor girl.”

“She’s better quit of him, sir. Much better.”

“She won’t think that.”

“Not at first. But she will.”

“I wonder what it’s going to be. Pretty, that little cove there, with the little green boat coming out.”

“Very pretty sights at sea, sir. Nice bit of timber yonder. Good spars in them red pine. Don’t borrow trouble, sir. We’ll know soon enough.”