Part 15

The noise ceased, and Stukeley slept like an infant, showing his strong white teeth in a smile. Harthop muttered and swore, wishing that a ship with a woman in her might sail the rivers of hell; for that was all she was fit for. He reproved the man who was working with him for suggesting the tomahawk. The man sulked and loafed for the rest of the afternoon, and then told a sympathetic fo’c’s’le that you got your head bit off if that pale judy in the cabin heard you so much as “hem.” Harthop, nursing his wrath till knock-off time, took it out of the boy who kept his cabin clean.

“Can’t you find some other place to stow your brass-rags, without putting them under my mattress?”

“Please, sir, they’re not the brass-rags. They’re the rags you stuff in the leaky seam, sir. In wet weather, sir.”

“My bed’s no place for them, you dirty young hound. What have you done with the molasses that was left?”

“You’d ate all your molasses, sir; from last week.”

“There was some left in the tin. You’ve been at it again.”

“No, sir. I swear I haven’t, sir.”

“How many times have I told you I won’t have you swear? Eh? Give me my supplejack.”

“Oh, sir, I won’t do it again. I won’t do it again.”

“There, my boy. Perhaps that’ll teach you another time. Now go and lay my supper. If you don’t stop howling I’ll give you another six.”

The boy went forward howling, to hide in the darkness of the hold, where he could cry by himself, choking with misery and shame, praying for death. If he had had a flint and steel he would have burnt the _Broken Heart_ at her anchor. As he had none, he sobbed himself to sleep, careless of Mr. Harthop’s supper, full of the bleeding, aching misery which none save the wronged child can ever taste to the full. When it was dark and all had gone to bed, he crept aft to the ward-room, where the bread-barge and the case of spirits stood, just as the two mates had left them. He helped himself to bread and rum; for misery had made him reckless. Besides, having defied Mr. Harthop he might as well defy the two mates. So he ate and drank, looking at the light on the landing-stage, which made a golden track to dance. It trembled in yellow flakes on the water, a path of gold, to the blackness of the rudder eddies below him. He was not very sure if he could swim so far; but he did not care. He was too wretched to mind drowning. It was very dark in the wardroom. It was dark above him in the cabin. Below him, the ship’s shadow was dark. He was sure that the watchmen would not see him. They never walked on the poop. After a moment of groping he found the falls of the relieving-tackle, and unrove the raw hide till he had an end ten feet long. He hitched the tackle so that the block should not creak, and paid out the end through the chase-port. Then, as even the most miserable of us will, he felt the misery of leaving. This ship of wretchedness had been a home to him. He remembered the singing in the dog-watch. It was awful to have to go like that. In his wretchedness, a tear or two rolled down his cheek, to splash on the port-sill. A light footstep moved up and down above him. One of the stern-windows of the cabin opened with a little rattle. He heard Stukeley’s voice coming from the state-room drowsily. Then Mrs. Stukeley spoke from overhead.

“It’s such a beautiful night, Tom. Do come and see the stars. They’re wonderful. Wonderful. Come and see them, Tom dear.”

“You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“Bow-wow-wow. What an old bear. I shan’t. I’ve got on my dressing-gown.”

“Thanks. I prefer my bed.”

The listener in the wardroom smiled in spite of his misery; then trembled lest the lady should stay long. For suppose a watchman crept below to see if the mates had left any rum behind them? Suppose anybody came--Mr. Harthop, Mr. Ramage? He peered into the ’tween-decks, where all was dark and still, save for the cat’s eyes gleaming green, watching for a mouse, and the snores of Mr. Ramage in his hammock. Then, up above him, moved by the beauty of the night, the woman began to sing, in a voice of drowsy sweetness, in a little low voice that made each word a pearl, a round, lustrous pearl, a tiny globe that glowed in the mind, it was so perfect, so ripe, so tender. She was singing that old song of Campion’s about the woman who had played with love in the hour of her beauty. She was a woman who had played, and been played with; till her beauty withered just as she had learned the worth of love, just as life had made her worthy of love, at her coming to wisdom:--

Where are all thy beauties now, all hearts enchaining? Whither are thy flatterers gone, with all their feigning? All fled, and thou, alone, still here remaining. . . . . . . . . . . . When thy story, long time hence, shall be perusèd, Let the blemish of thy rule be thus excusèd, “None ever lived more just, none more abusèd.”

The window closed amid murmured words; Stukeley, moved by the voice, had drawn his wife away. The boy sighed that it was over; then corked the rum-bottle and put it in his pocket. He would have taken some bread, had he been able to carry it dry. He thought of dashing to his chest in the half-deck for an extra shirt; but gave up the plan as being too risky. Very quietly and quickly he slid down the rope into the water, letting the tide take him, striking out now and again, towards the landing-stage. He was puzzled by the coming of the ripples; they hit him in the cheek before he judged that they were near. He got a mouthful once, and choked; but none heard. Very soon he was clambering up the landing, gulping rum with shudders. Then, after wringing out his jacket, he set out to run along the sandy track that was the street. The dogs barked as they heard his feet beat; but he kept on, for some three miles, till he dropped tired out among the wood. There he lay shivering in the scrub till the dawn, when, seeing a plantation near, he sought shelter of the planter, who hired him “for his keep,” glad of the chance. In the morning, when hue and cry was made for him, when boys and men called and crawled for him among the cargo of the ship, no one suspected that Stukeley was the indirect cause of his desertion. The mates swore when they found their rum gone. The other boys swore when they had to do the deserter’s work. Cammock swore at the watchmen for not barring in the chase-ports, while the watchmen swore that they had barred them. Mr. Harthop swore that if ever he caught that boy again he would give him cherriliccum pie. Thus the matter came to an end.

IX. A FAREWELL DINNER

The shame and obloquy I leave thine own; Inherit those rewards; they’re fitter for thee. Your oil’s spent, and your snuff stinks: go out basely. _The False One._

Standing on the poop, looking seaward, the five cabin-dwellers watched the summer fleet come in. It came in haltingly, a scattered troop of ships, some with spars gone, one or two, fir-built, streaked white where a shot had struck; all seaworn. Cammock, watching them, sent his boat round to the “men of war” to order them aboard at once. Harthop had already been settled ashore, in charge of the tobacco, under the Governor’s eye. He would make good terms for the ship’s owners; the merchants at home could hardly lose on the venture.

“We’re all right, sir,” said Cammock to Margaret. “There’s probably a letter. But the Governor’s your friend. You needn’t worry.”

“I wish I could see things as you see them, captain,” said Margaret. “But I can’t. How is it you always have a plan? How do you discipline yourself? How is it you’re always ready?”

“I dunno, sir. I’ve only got a few things to think of, and I think ’em out. P’r’aps that’s it. But just step aft, sir. Look here, sir. We’re ready to sail. The new topmast’s aloft. We’re a little light, perhaps, but nothing to hurt. The thing is--are you going to give him up? You got to decide now.”

“I can’t. We must think of her child.”

“She can’t have a child on the Isthmus.”

“There’ll be time enough to arrange something else when we get there. But she must be spared the shock.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll send the long-boat in for all the fresh meat and fruit there is.”

“Oh, I know, captain. I know it’s not the rightest thing for her. A voyage to sea.”

“She’ll get that anyway, sir. Either way. Very good, sir. I’ll have all ready to sail. I’ve sent for the ‘men of war.’ They’ll join us either here, or between the Points. Well, Mr. Perrin. We’re off to-night, sir.”

“But we’re all dining with the Governor. You’ve surely not forgotten that, Charles.”

“Look there, Edward. There’s the summer fleet.”

“What if it is? We can’t throw the Governor over. We must dine with the Governor. What? You an Englishman and want not to dine with a lord?”

“How about our friend there?”

“No Englishman would arrest a guest at dinner. He values his digestion and his butler’s opinion too much. There’s no risk. Oh, we must go to the dinner. I’ve got a new American coat to go in.”

“No harm in it, sir,” said Cammock. “It might divert the lady, poor thing.”

“Yes,” said Margaret, sighing. “If it won’t tire her.” He crossed over to the Stukeleys. “Olivia,” he said, “Perrin has just reminded me that we’re dining to-night at the Governor’s. It won’t tire you?”

“Tire me? Of course it won’t.”

“You would like to go?”

“We both want to go. Tom’s going to sing ‘Twankydillo.’ We may have enough ladies for a dance.”

“We shall probably sail, directly we come aboard to-night.”

“Sail, Charles? Not for Darien?”

“Yes, Olivia. For Darien.”

“Ah-h.” She turned white. Little as she liked Virginia, she knew it, she had proved it. The unknown was before her now, close at hand, shapeless yet, ill-defined, a spectral country. For a moment she stared blankly at Margaret with the eyes of a frightened animal. “Isn’t it. Isn’t it rather sudden?” she asked.

“Yes. Rather sudden,” he answered in a hard voice. “But, of course, we may not go. You see, Stukeley. You see, Olivia. The summer fleet there may have letters for us. May have letters for us.” He groped about for an excuse. “My owners,” he went on. “My merchants may wish me to proceed at once. On the other hand, we may be told to trade at Charleston. Or trade rather longer here. Though we’ve done well here. It’s possible. You understand, Olivia. I told you the day we left Falmouth. Our whole aim was to have our work done before the summer fleet arrived. To buy up the tobacco crop before some of it is fully cured. And, to tell the truth, we’ve hurried all we could.”

“Don’t worry, old girl,” said Stukeley, drawing his wife aside. “The sooner we go, the sooner we’ll be back.”

“Oh, Tom. Don’t go. Don’t let us go.”

“Oh, come, come,” he said, biting his lips. “It’ll be all right. Maggy. Come here, Maggy. If you meet a home-bound English ship on our way we may ask to be transhipped.”

“Oh,” said Olivia; “then why not go ashore now, Tom? Why go on to Darien?”

Stukeley muttered to himself about his folly. “Now we’re going all over it again,” he said to himself. “Remember, I’m pledged in honour, Livy,” he said.

“Then, Charles, you’ll release him from his pledge, won’t you? Let him come ashore. I want to go home.”

Margaret flushed, and then turned white. For a moment he wavered; she saw him waver.

“You will, Charles. Won’t you?”

“Olivia,” he answered. “I cannot. I’d like to. But he’s such a good Spanish scholar. He’s the only one of us who really knows Spanish. I’d grown to count on him. We all had.”

“But you could get Spanish talkers here, Charles. Couldn’t he, Captain Cammock?”

“No, ma’am. You couldn’t get gentlemen, Mrs. Stukeley. And you see the Dons is particular.”

“Yet you sailed from London without a Spanish talker.”

“Yes,” said Perrin. “But our plans were different then.”

“How were they different then? I’m going to cross-examine you all.”

“We decided to try to trade with some of the Spanish cities, Olivia; having so good an interpreter.”

“I thought you were going to fight with the Spanish cities. That’s what we decided in council.”

“My dear Livy,” said Stukeley. “You’re like a justice of the peace.”

“But I want----” She checked herself sharply, and looked at the incoming ships. The men also turned to look, as she had planned that they should.

“That’s a nice one, isn’t it, Captain Cammock?”

“The Dutch-built one, Mrs. Stukeley? No.”

“How do you know she’s Dutch-built?”

“How do you know whether to trust a man when you meet him, Mrs. Stukeley? You don’t rightly know. You have an instinct. I’ve an instinct for ships. There’s twenty things tells me she’s Dutch, long before I’ve time to examine them.”

“Yes,” said Margaret, only too glad of the diversion. “But I want you to tell us now what it is that makes you say she’s Dutch. It’s in her hull, isn’t it? What is it in her hull?”

“The Dutch, sir,” said Cammock, “are built for the India trade, and they give their ships a rather high sheer, and not quite so much camber as an English builder likes. Then they like a very flat floor, and a tuck that----” He wandered on into a swamp of sea terms, taking it for granted that his hearers understood him. Margaret and Perrin plied him close with questions as the ship loitered past them, rolling in the light wind, her men singing out at her cluelines. While they talked, Stukeley and Olivia went below to the cabin; Stukeley with the feeling that Olivia would now make no more fuss; Olivia with the sense that all was not well, that something was withheld from her.

“Tom,” she said suddenly, as soon as the cabin-door had closed, “you’re keeping something from me. What is it? Why am I not to know?”

“I’m not keeping anything back.”

“Tom, I think you’re being made a tool of. I think Charles has some scheme that isn’t quite right. Don’t be dragged into it, Tom.”

“Dragged into it, Livy?”

“You’ve a noble, trusting nature, Tom; and I love you for it. But. Oh, I feel sure Charles has some deep-laid scheme, that he’s afraid to tell you of. I don’t think he was telling the truth to me just now.”

“Oh, nonsense, Livy. He couldn’t tell a lie if he tried.”

“No, Tom, dear; but he was trying.”

“When?”

“He was trying to find a reason for the ship’s sailing to-night.”

“But it was the plan, Livy. We expected to sail as soon as the summer fleet came.”

“Why, Tom? Tell me that.”

“There may be letters ordering us to sail. My dear girl. Maggy’s got a whole firm of merchants to order him as they please. We had to be ready in case an order came from them. There may be no order.”

“But we weren’t ready, Tom. When the fleet was signalled we were in the midst of trading.”

“Yes. But my dear child. If there’s no order, we may trade again to-morrow.”

“You think it’s all right then, Tom? Do you?”

“Of course I do, Livy. You’ve got fine eyes, Livy. Did you know that?”

“But why should they alter their scheme of fighting the Spaniards? You promised to help the Indians against the Spaniards. Now you’re suddenly asked to help Charles’s merchants to make trade with the Spaniards. You never promised to do that. And I should never have let you. Never. Never. Oh, Tom, they’ve tricked us cruelly. They aren’t going to help the Indians, Tom. They’re going to make money, like common city-merchants. And they want my noble, generous Tom to help them. Don’t do it, dear. Don’t do it. I can’t bear it.”

“My dear Livy.”

“I can’t have you mixed up with merchants.”

“Look here, old girl. Aren’t you a little unreasonable? We’ve decided that we can help the Indians best by making some sort of agreement with the Spaniards.”

“You say _we_ have decided this. When was it decided? Why wasn’t I told?”

“We haven’t really decided. It was suggested last night. After you’d gone to bed.”

“Why wasn’t I told? What was suggested?”

“It’s a fine idea, Livy. Cammock suggested our going to one of the towns and proposing an agreement with the Governor.”

“What sort of an agreement?”

“The Governor to trade with us, just as if we were Spanish. The English to abstain from hostilities, and the Indians to be accounted English subjects. And they want me to interview the Governor.”

“It’s only an excuse to make money, Tom. To make money without the self-sacrifice of fighting. And what if the Spaniards refuse?”

“Then we should have some just excuse for proceeding as we’d planned.”

“Tom, I don’t think they’ve been straightforward with us. There’s something hidden. I’m sure of it.”

“But what can be hidden, Livy? My darling charmer. Eh? Besides, look here, my beauty-spot. I’m ambitious. I want to make my Livy proud. See? If I see these Governors, and bring off some arrangement. You see? It’s a big matter, Livy. It’s knighthood. It may be a seat on the Trade and Plantations Board. It may be all sorts of things.”

“Yes,” she said. “Tom, I quite see that. I’m ambitious for you, too. There, dear, I know you’ve set your heart on it. Oh, Tom, though, I hate the thought of it all. And I’m sure there’s something hidden. I’m sure there is. I wish I knew.”

“Nonsense,” he said, taking her in his arms. “Where’d you like to be kissed? I’m going to kiss your nose because you’ve got it turned up in the air to-day.”

“I haven’t, Tom.”

“Come here,” he said, catching her as she wriggled free. “None of your wriggles. Come and be kissed. You’re not going to dress till your nose is kissed.”

An hour later, they stood in the Governor’s house waiting for the Governor to receive them. They fidgeted about the large, cool, rather bare room; now staring through the window at the ships, now fingering the books, turning up the pictures to the light. Stukeley took a pistol from the wall, and examined the engraved silver of the butt. Olivia chatted with Perrin about the rambler roses trailing round the window.

“We must take some slips to Darien,” said Perrin. “But I don’t much like this dark red kind.”

“We have them at home,” she answered quietly. “I shall take home some slips from Darien; for everything will grow with us. I expect lots of things would transplant.”

“Yes, lots,” he answered.

“Olivia,” said Margaret, “have you seen this Rembrandt?”

“Why,” she said. “It’s the Hundred Guilder Print. It’s like meeting an old friend.”

“Yes,” said Margaret, peering. “It’s a very beautiful state, too. What’s the etching beyond you there, Edward?”

“One of Hollar’s.”

“Ah, yes,” said Margaret. “It’s interesting to put a Hollar beside the real thing. No artist can make a ship wonderful to us. A ship is a wonderful work of art without him. Just look at them there, Olivia.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said, looking at the ships. “Why. The _Broken Heart’s_ under sail.”

“Her topsails are on the caps. Ready for us to go.”

“In case we do go?”

“Yes. In case.” Olivia looked at him steadily, noting that, for all his self-control, he seemed uneasy at her look. The situation was saved by the entrance of an orderly, in the white coat and blue scarf of the Virginia troop. He saluted.

“The Governor presents ’s compliments ’n’ ’ll join you d’rec’ly.”

“Thank you,” said Margaret. “I suppose the mails have arrived? Do you know?”

“Yes, sir,” said the man, as he stood in the doorway. “In the summer fleet, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“What have you got there, Tom?” said Olivia.

“A little pretty pistol,” he said.

“Nice silver chasing,” said Perrin.

“Spanish,” said Margaret. “They make those at Toledo.”

“Let me see,” said Olivia.

“Yes. Spanish,” said Stukeley. “Wheel-lock. Loaded. Priming-cup lidded. A very nice little gun. See the Spanish motto?”

“What does the Spanish mean?” asked Olivia. “_Se nada, pero._ I can’t read it.”

“It means, ‘I know nothing. But I talk well.’ I wonder if I’ve forgotten my pistol shooting. Eh? I used to be able to nail the ace of diamonds at a dozen yards. Let’s make Pilly back up against the wall, and do the William Tell act.”

“Tom, dear. Don’t play with that. It’s loaded. You might hurt somebody.”

“Yes. Put it down, Stukeley,” said Margaret. “It’s one of old Howard’s treasures. Put it down.”

“Put it down?” said Stukeley. “You’ve got a nerve to tell me to put it down. I want this little gun. I like it. I’m going to bag it. If anybody interferes with me at dinner, Livy, I shall just plug him. Pop. In between the eyes. You see if I don’t.” He slipped the pistol into his pocket.

Margaret smiled to see Olivia’s face of horror.

“Why,” said Stukeley. “Why, Livy, that’s what they do in this country. What are old what’s-his-name’s swords like? Look here, for a sword. Eh? There’s a temper. Look here. See?”

“That’s a fine piece of steel,” said Margaret. “Is it Milanese?”

“Milanese? Milanese? Milanese in your eye. Are you touched? It’s Spanish. Comes from a place called Toledo, if you’ve ever heard of it. Spanish motto like the other. Old Howard must collect Spanish things.”

“What is the motto?” Olivia asked.

“_No me saques sin razon_: well. Do not draw me without reason. Unless he spits in your face, for instance. _No me envaines sin honor_: Nor sheathe me till. Well. Till you’ve made sure.”

“Made sure?”

“Seen that the other fellow’s juice is pink. Stand still, Maggy, till I see if you’ve got red blood in you. I could prod you from here just under your fourth rib. Ping. Eh? This sword just suits me. Look, Olivia. Look how they’ve inlaid this hilt.”

“What beautiful work, Tom. And what a waste. To put all that beautiful work on to a sword.”

“A sword’s a knight’s weapon,” said Margaret. “How could we defend Olivia Stukeley if our swords weren’t worthily made.”

“There’s the question,” said Stukeley. “Look at old Pilly there. What book have you got there, Pilly? Read it out to us.”

“It’s a book of sick man’s meditations,” said Perrin. “I won’t read it out. Look at it. It’s all thumbed to dog’s ears.”

“Howard’s,” said Margaret. “What an extraordinary book for him to have.”

“Oh,” said Perrin, “that’s the secret of an Englishman’s success. He’s nothing better than a pirate, grabbing all he can get. Oh, I’m not English, myself. But the secret of his success is in this book here. He makes his peace with God as he goes on. The other people. I don’t know about the Dutch. They beat you; so they must be like you, only better. The other people try to make their peace before or after; and so they lose, either way. But you know, Olivia, you are----”

“The Dutch didn’t beat us,” said Stukeley. “We beat them. So you’re out of it there, little Taffy with the Leek.”

“How about the Medway? Look, Olivia. Look at Jamestown. This is the capital of our chief colony. Would any other nation in the world produce a capital of twenty wooden houses, a fort, a church, and a Governor’s mansion? This is the mansion. Look at it.”

“A better mansion than you’ve got at home,” said Stukeley. “What are you talking of?”

“Suppose the Dutch were here. Think what a city they’d have built.”

“What a hot head it is,” said Margaret gently. “I don’t agree with you a bit, Edward. You’re all wrong. The Dutch haven’t done much in the East.”

“At least, they’ve worked; and made the Indians work.”

“And the English here. Have they worked?”

“Not so much.”

“Isn’t that an argument against you? It tells just the other way. Work is often one of the most degrading things in the world. All work that gives no rapture of creation is degrading. That is why the merchant is poor company, and the professional a conservative. The Dutch built Batavia; but their system has ruined the spice trade. The Spaniards built San Domingo; but their system ruined the island. They’ve built Panama and Lima; but they’ve destroyed both Costa Rica and Peru. A city can only be the growth of a civilization. You can only build a colonial city by agreeing to ruin the colony. So here. There may be a time when all the trees in sight will have sailed out to sea. This harbour may be crowded with ships. Who knows? This place may be another Athens some day.”

“There’s not much Athens here now. The colonials aren’t much like Athenians.”