“THERE, look, there now, will that be theColdlight—Anny, I mean?”
Anny paused in her walk and stared out across the bay. Hal followed the direction of her hand and then shook his head.
“Nay,” he said, “’tis too small.”
Anny sighed and moved on, but the boy still stared out at the white-sailed boat on the horizon.
“Last time I saw a craft like that,” he began reflectively, “was when the Preventative folk chased Fen de Witt halfway up the Pyfleet and then got stuck.”
Anny stopped quickly.
“Lord! It won’t be them, will it?” she said, a note of fear creeping into her voice.
Hal shrugged his shoulders.
“Like as not,” he said carelessly.
The girl stared, fascinated, at the white speck in the distance.
“And the captain coming back this very day!” she said.
Hal reddened at her words, and wheeled round fiercely, but she was not looking at him and he turned away again.
“Hal, what if the Preventative folk got any one?” she asked.
“They’d die, that’s all,” he replied laconically.
The girl looked round at the early summer landscape and shuddered.
“Look again, are you sure about the boat?” she commanded anxiously.
Hal threw a casual glance over his shoulder.
“Sure? Sure of what?” he asked gruffly.
“That it’s the Preventative folk!” Anny shook his sleeve as she spoke.
Hal wrenched his arm out of her grasp, and replied irritably:
“No, of course I’m not sure; don’t be stupid, girl; I only said ’twas like one.”
Anny looked at him in surprise.
“What’s the matter?” she laughed; they had come to a part where the wall melts into the high-lying fields and the path is very wide, and Hal stepped back a pace or two and turned a red and angry face toward the girl.
“Look here, Anny,” he said, his voice shaking with anger. “I’m tired of this hankering and whining after that dirty little Spaniard. You know we’re going to be married as soon as I can get some money; then I’ll be able to give you things—better things than him—aren’t you going to wait for me? See here, I won’t have this carrying on with the foreigner.”
Anny’s blood was up and she turned to her lover as fierce as a tiger-cat.
“Indeed, and will you not, Master Hal Grame?” she said bitingly. “I’ll have you know that you have no authority over me you—you tapster!”
Hal blinked; he had never seen Anny like this before and he stood staring at her in amazement, his mouth half open.
“I have not hankered after the Spaniard, as you call it.”
Anny’s eyes were bright with tears at his injustice, but she spoke firmly, and with great intensity.
“And as for you being tired, master Lord of the Island, so is Anny Farran, your servant—very, very tired of this fooling. Lord! you child—is it me that hankers,” the word seemed to have stuck in her mind, for she repeated it, “hankers for the Captain? Is it me? Oh, Hal Grame—I—I hate you.”
Hal stepped back another pace or two and looked round him vaguely. This was a new departure of Anny’s. He had never seen her so indignant, and he thrust his hands in his pockets and turned on his heel.
“I hope that is the Preventative folk then,” he remarked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “then they’ll catch the little dog.”
Anny reddened.
“Hal Grame, you’re a jealous coward,” she said clearly, and then her tears began to fall and she sat down on the grass, looking out over the cloud-shadowed water.
Hal did not speak but stood idly kicking the dust with his foot.
“You’re not saying that you don’t love me?” he said confidently.
Anny bit her lip.
“I’ve told you I hate you,” she said clearly; she was still very angry for the boy’s mistrust had hurt her.
He turned round slowly.
“Don’t be silly, Anny,” he said not unkindly.
Anny furtively wiped her eyes; his confident attitude annoyed her, and she spoke clearly.
“Go away, Hal Grame; I won’t ever marry you.”
Hal gasped.
“Anny, you’re bewitched,” he exclaimed. He couldn’t have chosen a more unfortunate remark, for Anny was more irritated than ever.
“Nay, not now, but I was, ever to think at all on the likes of you,” she snapped. “Oh, go away.”
Hal wavered; his little sweetheart sat on the grass, her face turned away from him, but he felt that she was crying, so came a little nearer.
“Give me a kiss,” he said, laughing. “You’re a smart little wench,” and kneeling down behind her he bent to kiss her cheek.
Before he realized what had happened he felt a smart blow across the mouth, and Anny sprang to her feet and walked off quickly.
Hal sat back on his heels and passed his hand across his lips.
“You little vixen,” he gasped.
Anny laughed, a bitter, angry little laugh, and went on.
Hal looked after her anxiously for a moment or two, and then as she did not turn back he scrambled to his feet and followed her.
“Anny, you’re not angry,” he said, as soon as he was near enough to speak softly. The words came shamefacedly from his mouth and he slurred them one into another.
Anny gulped; she was very angry, and Hal’s attitude annoyed her.
“Indeed I am,” she said, “and turning a slobbering calf won’t make me any better. Oh! go home, Hal Grame.”
Hal was amazed.
“Anny!” he ejaculated.
Anny repressed a howl of disappointment and contented herself with saying wearily:
“Oh, go home—go home!”
The boy looked at her for a moment or two.
“Anny,” he said at last, “are you trying to leave me for the Spaniard?”
This was more than she could stand, and turning to him she broke out into a stream of angry, incoherent abuse and denial.
“Why are you for ever plaguing me about the Spaniard? Why does everyone talk of him? I’m sick of hearing his name—if you’re jealous of him go to him, not to me.”
Hal shrugged his shoulders and said with irritating calmness:
“Then there is that for me to go to him about, eh?”
Anny raised her little clenched fists above her head and cried aloud:
“You make me mad, Hal Grame. Of course there isn’t,” and then, as she saw that he didn’t believe her, she went on, “Of course not, of course! Oh, Hal! if you were a man you’d do other things than worry a poor lass dead with your foolishness.”
Hal flushed.
“Ah, that’s like a wench!” he said. “What if I haven’t a golden jacobus to my name! I shouldn’t think you’d throw that at me if you loved me.”
Anny did not speak and he went on, “If I were a man—yes, that’s it, if I were a dirty, sneaking, knife-throwing Spaniard, with a fleet of rat-ridden cockle-boats and a crew of mangy dogs behind me, you’d be content—then I could do other things—bring you gauds and laced petticoats. Faugh! I’m glad I’ve seen you thus; I wouldn’t wed a cormorant and a shrew.”
His anger had carried him away with it, for like most Norsemen he had a strain of bitterness under his usually sunny, peaceful disposition.
Anny winced at his words.
“It’s not that—you know it’s not that, Hal,” she said piteously. “But why worry me? If you’re jealous of him, fight him.”
Hal looked at her in astonishment; he was no coward, but neither was he a hot-head, and he knew something of Dick’s reputation as a swordsman and a knife-fighter.
Anny shrugged her shoulders.
“Fight him,” she repeated mechanically.
A sneer played round the boy’s mouth when he next spoke, and his eyes had grown cold.
“Marry, Anny Farran, I did not think you capable of it,” he said. “You would have me die on the Spaniard’s knife and so rid of for ever.”
Anny began to cry hopelessly. She felt there was no use in saying anything to him while he was in this mood, but she was very fond of him and he hurt her much more than he knew.
Hal turned on his heel, and, as he strode off, began to realize how much he loved the wayward beauty. A great wave of self-pity swept over him. He was very young, barely nineteen, and once or twice he bit his lip convulsively, as he imagined the future loneliness, the constraint at the Ship, old Gilbot’s sallies, and then, as he stayed to look out over the glancing, shimmering water, he noticed that the little white-sailed ship was still hovering about the mouth of the Mersea River, and he laughed wildly.
“May you sink the Spanish weasel,” he exclaimed aloud, and then went on, and every step he took he became more miserable and angry with himself and the girl.
“Oh! I’ll go and see Joe,” he thought, as he turned into the lane. “It’s a fine thing to have a mate, so it is, when your lass leaves you for a yellow heathen.” And he turned down toward Pullen’s cottage.
Anny sat on the bank where he had left her. She was very sorry for herself, too, and she looked round her through tearful eyes.
No one was in sight. Behind her the bright sun lit up the countryside with beautiful green and yellow light, while in front, the sea, clear and smooth as glass, sparkled and glittered peacefully. She got up slowly, and started back for the Ship, and for the first time a sense of insecurity came upon her, and she realized rather fearfully that she was very much alone. Hitherto, she had always relied on Hal to take care of her, but now he was angry, very angry, she could see that; perhaps he would never forgive her. She shivered involuntarily. Old Ben was her only relative, and the thought of him and Pet Salt frightened her. Sue and Gilbot were very kind, but would they trouble themselves to protect a little serving-wench from a wealthy customer?
All these questions ran through her head, and the image of the dark, wanton-eyed, debonair little captain rose up in her mind like a spectre. She knew now that she did not like him, and she began to be afraid. She remembered the times he had tried to kiss her; and how each time at the thought of Hal she had repulsed him successfully. Now Hal would be indifferent. A sob stuck in her throat, and she swallowed painfully.
Then an idea struck her. There was always Nan Swayle—poor, disappointed Mother Swayle had always a soft spot in her hard-crusted heart for littleAnny Farran, her old lover’s grandchild. She would go to Nan—but then the picture of the lonely old woman living with her cats in a tumble-down shed on one of the many small dyke-surrounded islands in the marshes presented itself to her, and she began to cry afresh as she walked wearily up to the Ship.
Meanwhile, out in the river’s mouth, alone between sea and sky, the little white-sailed craft patrolled steadily to and fro, as Master Thomas Playle, a telescope to his eye, swept the horizon anxiously and impatiently.
THE sun was just about to set over the Island in a blaze of glorious colour when theAnny, sailing peacefully under half canvas, came in sight of Bradwell Point.
Blueneck and Habakkuk Coot were below deck in a little bunk-hole which they had fitted up as a sort of wash-house. It was one of Black’erchief Dick’s fads to have his linen always spotless and marvellously laundered, and, as this was a luxury hardly dreamed of on the Island, during his visits to England the valiant Captain had to have his washing done aboard. The job of laundryman had almost naturally fallen to Habakkuk, who had accepted the office joyfully, and he now stood, clad in nothing but his breeches, in front of an emptied Canary tub immersed up to the elbows in soapy water.
Blueneck leaned against the doorway watching him.
“Santa Maria! what an occupation,” he remarked contemptuously.
Habakkuk sniffed.
“It’s very nice when you’re used to it,” he said without looking up from the garment he was pounding and squeezing with a kind of vicious delight.
Blueneck shrugged his shoulders.
“Maybe,” he said, “anyway, I’m going on deck; this here rat-hole’s too stinking for me.”
Habakkuk sniffed again but took no other notice of his friend, who presently lumbered off up the hatchway.
The water was very green and the waves rolled lazily after one another as though it were hot even for them, while theAnnydipped and rolled gently among them at about one third her usual speed.
They were early, and, careless though he was, Dick did not like landing until it was at least dusk.
Blueneck strode across the deck and stood staring toward the Island, now just a streak on the flaming horizon.
Suddenly he started, and, speaking sharply, ordered one of the sailors who was sprawling on the deck to bring him a telescope.
The man went off at once and returned in a second, bringing a long brass spy-glass with him.
As the mate of theAnnyclapped it to his eye an exclamation of surprise escaped him.
“Mother of Heaven, what will that be?” he murmured, and putting the glass under his arm went down the deck in search of the Captain.
As usual the little Spaniard was standing against the main mast, his arms folded across his chest, and his heavy-lidded eyes half closed.
Blueneck approached him deferentially and reported—“Ship ahead, Capt’n.”
The deeply sunken eyes opened at once and Dick put out one delicately scented hand for the glass.
“She’s sighted us, dogs,” he remarked calmly a second or so later.
Blueneck gasped.
“I’ll go and head her round, Capt’n,” he said at once.
Dick lowered the telescope and looked over it in quiet surprise.
“That you will not, son of a snipe,” he said, his soft voice playing musically with the words.
Blueneck began to expostulate.
“The Preventative folk?” he said fearfully.
Dick swore.
“And since when have you been feared of the Preventative folk, dog?” he asked, and his fingers played round the hilt of his knife.
Blueneck flushed.
“I’m not feared,” he said stoutly, “but ’tis madness to go on.”
Dick laughed happily, putting the glass up again. Suddenly his whole manner changed. His bright black eyes lost their sleepy indifference and became alight with interest and excitement, his slender white hand ceased to play with his knife, and his voice, no longer caressing, adopted a note of command as he wheeled round and strode off down the deck shouting orders here and there.
“Put on full canvas and keep her straight,” Blueneck heard him say, and he groaned inwardly.
Under the extra load of canvas theAnnyplunged and righted herself, speeding through the water at her full speed.
The other brig was well in sight now, and she hailed the smugglers several times.
Dick took the wheel himself and shouted an order for the cannon to be looked to.
The other brig had turned her head straight for theAnnyas soon as she saw that her salute was ignored, and now a ball from one of her several brass cannon fell some two yards short of the smuggler’s bows.
“Fire!” shouted Dick, and Noah Goody, theAnny’sold gunner, lit the match; the shot cleared the pursuing brig and Noah loaded again.
Nearer and nearer came the brig until Blueneck could read the name on her bows, theRoyal Charles.
Faster and faster went theAnny, but theCharlesgained on her every second. They were well inside the bay by this time, but escape seemed impossible, for the tide was barely past the turn and between them and the Island lay a great gray field of soft slushing mud. Any moment they might strike a bank of it and be compelled to stay there, an easy prey to the Preventative men.
Dick looked behind; theCharleswas very near. For a moment he hesitated. He knew the Western creeks like the back of his hand, but in order to reach that side of the Island he would have to cross in front of the enemy, and although he was a daringlittle man Black’erchief Dick was no fool. The only course left open to him, then, was to make for the East. He knew there were two creeks that were deep enough to take the brig, but they were no more than thirty feet in their widest part and that was dangerous going. Besides, he was not nearly so familiar with these as with those on the Western side.
At this moment a ball from theCharlesdropped through the little deck-house and then rolled off the deck harmlessly.
Dick made up his mind.
“Send Habakkuk Coot hither,” he shouted, for he remembered that the man had spent his boyhood in the East of the Island.
Everyone had forgotten Habakkuk in the excitement of the moment and now he was nowhere to be found.
Dick cursed him for a skulking rat and in other terms.
Blueneck went down the hatchway to look for him; the smell of steaming soap and water still came from the dirty little hole where he had left him.
Blueneck looked in; Habakkuk was there, his arms still in the soapy water. He was singing in a high nasal voice and sniffing at frequent intervals.
He listened to Blueneck’s incoherent account of the chase in profound astonishment, but nevertheless went steadily on with his washing, and refused to leave it until Blueneck in desperation took him by the scruff of the neck and the seat of the breeches andcarried him before the Captain, his arms still wet and soapy, and a dripping shirt clutched in his hand.
But the situation was too serious for Dick, or, indeed, any one else, to notice any little irregularities of this sort.
TheRoyal Charleswas within a musket shot of theAnny’sbows and every second the mud flat in front grew nearer.
Habakkuk, however, had a very good memory, and under his guidance theAnnyshot down a wide, river-like stream of water, the mud forming banks on either side.
Dick looked at it in surprise.
“I did not know that there were any creeks as wide as this on the East,” he said.
“Ah,” said Habakkuk wisely, “this ain’t no more ’an twenty foot wide—it’s very deceiving. Look over the side, Captain, there’s about six inches of water on the starboard—an’—they don’t know that, do they?” he chuckled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to where theRoyal Charleshad just turned after them. “It’s only about twenty wide a bit farther along,” he announced cheerfully a little later. “I hopes I ain’t forgot where.”
Dick stood watching theCharlesas she followed them down the treacherous creek. She must have a pilot who knows the place, he thought, for she still gained on them.
At last, when they were within five hundred yards of the shore, Habakkuk gave a short exclamation.
“We’re stuck,” he cried.
“What?” Dick sprang round on his heel.
Habakkuk grinned foolishly.
“Little tiny channel’s silted up, I reckon,” he said. “We’re aground.”
Dick struck him off his feet with an oath.
“Out with your knives,” he shouted.
It was beginning to get dusk and theCharlesbore down upon theAnnylike a great gray tower; nearer she came and nearer until they could plainly hear the voices of the men on her deck.
And then it happened. In his excitement the man at her tiller let it swerve a little, a very little, but enough; there was a soft swishing sound, and theCharles’snose cut deep into the soft cheesy mud—she also was aground.
Exciseman Thomas Playle swore with disappointment as he ran forward and saw the very little distance between the two brigs, but he loosened the broad-bladed cutlass at his hip and, shouting to his men to follow, swung himself into one of the boats.
“Maria! they’re trying to board us,” shouted Blueneck, whipping out his knife and running to the side.
Instantly there was confusion, the greater portion of the crew running after their mate to the still floating side of the brig.
This sudden change of weight saved the situation. With a lurch, a roll, and a quiver, theAnnyjerked off the mud, Habakkuk seized the tiller just in time, and the brig slid on down the creek.
A yell of disappointment rang out from the first boatload of Preventative men and echoed over the fast-darkening mud-flats. The tide was coming in like a mill-stream, and any moment theCharlesmight also swing clear, but Playle would not wait; springing into a second boat, he urged his men to row the faster in a vain attempt to catch theAnny.
Old Noah Goody did his best with the cannon, but the progress of the little rowboats was so irregular that he could never get the exact range.
TheAnnyshot away from the boats at first, but as she came nearer into the shore the channel grew narrower and narrower and she was forced to take in most of her canvas.
Dick stood on the bows looking at the fast-gaining boats, and thinking. If on reaching the shore he abandoned the brig and he and his men ran to hide on the Island, the Preventative men would scuttle theAnnyand confiscate her cargo, which was an extra valuable one of Jamaica rum and fine Brussels lace. His only alternative was to fight.
By this time the brig was within twenty yards of the beach, and in another moment her keel grated on the muddy shingle.
The excise men were not far behind.
Dick seemed suddenly to come to life; leaping out into the centre deck, he shouted:
“To the shore, lads, and fight the liverish dogs on land!” Then, agile as a monkey, he slid down the hawser and pulled in a boat—the crew followed,some wading through the shallow water and others in the boats.
Once on shore they ranged themselves in a double line along the beach, waiting, with drawn knives, for the boats. It had grown almost dark by now, and one by one the stars had come out in the fast-deepening sky, but there was a big moon and the line of rugged, rum-stamped faces on the shore showed clearly in the yellow light. Their brutal expressions and the flicker of steel about their belts might have frightened many a man older and more tried than Master Playle, but the little boats came on undaunted, and just as the first keel touched the shingle a musket shot rang out and the man next to Blueneck dropped silently.
Dick swore in Spanish and, raising his pistol—the one he had taken from Mat Turnby—fired at the man nearest him, a fat elderly servant of Master Francis Myddleton’s. The man was almost out of range, but the shot wounded him, for he screamed and dropped into the water. For half a second there was no sound, and then with a yell the crew of theCharlescharged over the soft, slithering mud at the solid line of grim, taut figures who awaited them.
“Pick out your men!” Dick rapped out the order, and as he spoke the handle of his knife slipped into the hollow of his soft white palm as if it had suddenly grown there, and the slender hand and delicate weapon quivered as one living thing.
There were fully ten more excise men than smugglers and they came on with such a rush that the crew of theAnnywas forced to give way a little, but they rallied immediately, and although the Preventative folk had the advantage of numbers Dick’s people had the priceless knowledge of the ground they were fighting on. The wiry grass which covered the unlevel saltings that lay the other side of the narrow beach was very slippery, and in the pale light the ridges and dykes were almost invisible.
Dick soon realized that if the fight was to be fought to a finish the sooner they got to level ground the better, as his own people found the light deceptive. So he worked his way round to Blueneck, slashing right and left as he went.
Blueneck was apparently enjoying himself for, although the moonlight showed a gash across his temples about six inches long, from which the blood poured freely, it also showed a smile on his ragged mouth and a dripping cutlass in his sinewy hand.
Dick spoke to him quickly, just a few muttered words, and almost immediately the smugglers began to give way. Back, back, they went until they were flying across the saltings over the meadows and straight for the Ship, with the Preventative men in full pursuit.
Once the mocking voice of Playle called out to theAnny’screw to surrender, and the flying smugglers paused and half-turned with many oaths, but Dick’s voice dragged them on again with, “On, dogs, on, for your damned lives,” and the chase continued.
Suddenly, as they reached the Ship yard, Dick vanished: Blueneck, looking round for further orders, could not see him, and his heart sank. Was it possible that a knife-thrust from behind had killed the Captain? He dismissed that idea almost as soon as it came to him. The Spaniard was too wary to be the victim of such a mishap. The only other alternative was that he had deserted his crew.
Blueneck feared Dick, but he had no love for him, and this last seemed to be the only possible explanation. He spat on the ground contemptuously.
But by this time the Preventative folk were well upon them and Blueneck realized that it was a case of each man for himself, so calling a halt he turned on the oncoming force.
The smugglers were only too glad to obey, and with a redoubled force they turned on their enemy and hewed their way into them.
The Preventative men were not sorry to fight, however, and young Playle threw himself into the thick of the scrap with something very like pleasure.
The smugglers fought like wild beasts, preferring to close in and kill, but the others liked to thrust and parry, pricking and wounding, giving way here and pressing there, and as they had longer weapons than the smugglers they found their method an excellent one.
Back went the smugglers down the Ship yard, Blueneck slashing wildly, Noah Goody defending himself only, and little Habakkuk, his bare chest andshoulders a perfect network of cuts, darting here and there like a robin.
Onward pressed young Playle until he had the smugglers with their backs against the kitchen door, which opened suddenly from the inside.
Blueneck put himself on the step in the way of the excise men and shouted to his mates to get into the kitchen and form a guard. When the last man was in he retired also, but the excise men pressed on; first one of their men fell, on attempting to enter the kitchen, then a second, and a third, but before the fourth was struck down in response to a great crush behind him he broke through the smugglers’ guard and the Preventative men swarmed in.
Hal Grame suddenly darted forward out of the darkness. He carried an old sword which had hung over the kitchen shelf for years, and he now laid about him with great strokes, but a certain recklessness distinguished his fighting, and his red shirt was soon dyed a still deeper shade.
In spite of his help, however, the excise men drove on.
“God! if the Captain was only here!” groaned Blueneck aloud. The man next him caught his words and looked round, so did his neighbour, and in a moment all that was left of theAnny’screw realized that their captain had deserted them, and a certain hopelessness crept into the fighting from that time on, and in a minute or two the smugglers retreated in a body, knocking over the barrels andbenches as they went. They scuttled into the inner room and then slammed the heavy oak door behind them.
Habakkuk alone was left behind and he, finding the door shut upon him, turned to fly through the other door into the yard, but a Preventative man’s sword ran him through just as he reached the threshold, and with one last sniff the brave little laundryman fell prone in a pool of his own blood.
The kitchen was very dark, there being no fire, as it was summer-time, and the only light was the moonlight which showed in through the windows and fell on the floor in two bright patches.
So when the door slammed on them, Thomas Playle took the opportunity of counting his forces. He found to his deep disappointment that he had lost a great many more men than he had dreamed, and those around him in the kitchen numbered at the most no more than six or seven.
“We must get them yet,” he said, speaking to his few remaining followers in a low tone. “An you two stay here and I and Jacques go round to the other door we——” Suddenly he caught his breath, his voice trailed away into silence, and he started back, his drawn sword put up to shield his body.
The man to whom he had been principally speaking had quietly dropped without a cry, and as he touched the ground his head and shoulders rolled into the patch of moonlight, and his horrified comrades saw a thin spurt of blood shooting out from aclean small wound in his neck just over the collar-bone.
Before they could collect their wits after this shock there was a faint patter of feet behind them and another man staggered, tried to speak, reeled, and fell.
Instantly there was confusion; men slashed about in the darkness striking anything and any one, shouting, and screaming. A terrible fear of something unknown and horrible possessed them and each man made for the yard, but one by one as they approached the doorway the unseen terror caught them and they fell. At last there were but three left, young Playle himself, his mate, Jacques, and theCharles’sgunner, a tall, powerful man called Rilp.
These three stood back to back in the centre of the kitchen, making a triangle, their swords drawn before them, so that it was practically impossible for anything to harm them from behind.
They stood there for some moments holding their breath; everything was silent. Then there was a light patter of feet again and a small bent shape darted through the patch of moonlight. It seemed to Playle’s terrified eyes to be an evil spirit not three feet high from the ground and to have its head almost level with its waist while its back was bent into a monstrous hump. Instinctively he put up his sword to shield his head and at that moment something brushed passed him; he slashed at it and fanciedthat he had wounded it, but the next moment he felt Jacques grunt and stumble. He was just going to spring away when he felt the man right himself and once again a man’s back was firm against his own.
Then there was silence again for a second.
Suddenly Rilp staggered, shivered, and dropped.
Playle immediately darted forward, when to his amazement and horror the man whom he thought was Jacques darted after him; something sprang on his shoulders from behind, a streak of silver light darted before his eyes and plunged down into his neck; he felt the blood well up in his throat, his breath failed him, a dark cloud passed over his eyes, and he died, crashing face downward into the little patch of moonlight.
In the scullery Blueneck, his shoulders against the door, turned to his comrades and urged them to pull themselves together; put forward every excuse for Black’erchief Dick’s extraordinary behaviour and besought them to get ready to fight again.
Inside the kitchen they could hear the Preventative men talking together, and by their low tones came to the conclusion that they were planning the next attack.
Suddenly Blueneck started.
“Marry! they’re fighting among themselves,” he whispered. “Hark!”
From inside the kitchen came the sounds of clashing steel, and angry oaths and ejaculations, followed by screams and groans. Then there was silence fora while immediately followed by footsteps, mutterings, and one terrible yell.
Then all was silent again.
“Shall we go in?” whispered Hal.
“Nay, ’tis a trap,” said another man, whose hand and cutlass were one red mass.
“Nay, I’ll go,” said Hal stubbornly.
“I shouldn’t, lad,” said Blueneck, staunching the bleeding wound on his forehead as best he could.
Hal put his hand to a dark patch at his side and brought it away wet and sticky.
“Oh, what does it matter?” he said; taking a candle from the table he opened the door, holding the light above his head. Then he gasped and threw the door wide.
“Mother o’ God!” he exclaimed weakly. “Look!”
Blueneck and the others crowded behind him and they, too, gasped and fell back in astonishment.
In the centre of the room the flickering light showed a terrible bent little figure; it was a man, but the crouching attitude in which he stood suggested rather a beast of prey. He was literally surrounded with bodies, and he looked down at them with an almost ghoulish delight which was terrible to see. But only for a second; as soon as he became conscious of the little group in the doorway he straightened himself and stood smiling at them.
He was clothed only in his breeches and immaculate white shirt; his black kerchief was half off,showing the black curls beneath, while his white hands were clean and undyed.
Dick Delfazio smiled again and then began to clean his knife on a dainty lace-edged handkerchief.
Then his crew entered, and he looked up casually as they filed in and turning to the least wounded man he pointed to a chair over the back of which his black silk coat was hung.
“Prithee, friend, help me into my surcoat,” he said, his voice caressing and honey-like as ever. “For see,” he added, turning round, “I am much hampered.”
The crew started.
The sleeve of the white shirt was split from the shoulder to the elbow, displaying a terrible ragged wound which at one place had laid bare the bone, and from the bend in the elbow the warm blood trickled on to the floor.
This was the last act of Thomas Playle’s hand and he had done his best.
Dick slipped into his coat and then surveyed the crew.
“Wash yourselves, friends,” he admonished, “the wenches will come down now and may be feared at the sight of blood.” He staggered a little and his face grew ashy pale, but he rallied himself and with some of his usual jauntiness said loudly, “Bring me some wine.” Already the black silk sleeve of his coat was sodden and sticky, and the arm inside it hung limply from its socket; once again he staggered,tried to recover himself and failed, and then, very faint from loss of blood, Black’erchief Dick rolled over on his side, unconscious.
Blueneck picked him up like a child and stripping off the coat called loudly for Anny.
“Surely the girl knows somewhat of physicking. The Captain may bleed to death,” he said sharply in answer to Hal’s suggestion that they didn’t want wenches about the place.
Hal put his hand over his own wound and, shrugging his shoulders, a gesture which cost him a great deal of blood, went off to find Anny and beseech her to attend to his rival’s arm.
Late the same evening a tumbril borrowed from a neighbouring farmer carried a gruesome burden from the Ship door down to the beach, and along the road it stopped from time to time to collect additions to its load.
A little later a party of men in three rowing-boats loaded a terrible cargo into a lonely ship which rode at anchor not far from the shore where a brig lay aground, and then that same lonely ship sailed off out of the bay, and later, after three boats had left her side, broke into flames.
And later still widows and children in Brightlingsea wept to see charred spars and planks cast up on the beach outside their homes.
“THERE, there, Master Dick, don’t fluster yourself so; ’twill only smart your arm the more.”
Anny spoke timidly and shrank behind one of the high-backed seats in the old Ship’s kitchen as Black’erchief Dick, his eyes dark with anger, raved up and down the room. It was some three weeks after the affair with the Preventative folk and the Island had once more regained its usual serenity.
“You are bewitched, girl; what are you to refuse the love of a man like me?” Dick said angrily, and then as she did not answer, he continued more softly, “Why not come with me, beautiful Ann of the Island? We will leave this God-forsaken mud heap and sail away to Spain, cross the great river to the beautiful country beyond, where all the grass is green and all the plants have bright flowers. What is there about this rum-sodden drinking hut that you will not leave it for Utopia?”
“I never heard of Utopia and Mersea is good enough for me,” said Anny stolidly. “Besides, if you want to marry me, why not tell everybody and have a proper wedding by the parson from the West, but even then I wouldn’t marry you; I don’t love you, sir!”
The Spaniard paused suddenly in his walk up and down and looked at her.
“Never has a woman said so much to me before,” he said slowly, his voice soft and smooth as ever.
Anny shrugged her shoulders.
“’Tis time then one should,” she laughed. “Rest your arm, sir, and leave worrying a poor girl that has work and enough to do, now that Mistress Sue be for ever out along the beach with Big French.” She turned away.
The Spaniard was beside her in a second and his slim white fingers fastened round her wrist.
“Oh, you silly little wench,” he said with a laugh in his voice, “do you think you can turn off Dick Delfazio easily like that? Mistress, I am of some account on the Island. Is a man who kills six Preventative folk single-handed to be stayed in his heart’s desire by a little serving-maid, think you?”
“What would you do?” Anny, her big green eyes wide with apprehension, and her back against the wall, jerked out the question fearfully.
Black’erchief Dick looked at her in admiration, and, swinging her toward him, he put his arm round her waist, and Hal, passing the window at that moment, suddenly changed his mind about entering the kitchen and marched off down the garden coughing and swearing to himself.
Anny freed herself in a moment and stood with her arms akimbo.
“An you were not wounded and a customer, Ishould smack you across the mouth,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
Dick laughed.
“Come, we should not quarrel, sweetheart,” he said. “When you are aboard theAnny——”
“I pray God I shall be dead before,” the girl interrupted angrily, her tears overflowing and rolling down her cheeks.
Dick caught her hand again and looked at her fiercely.
“I have played enough, lass,” he said. “You must come off secretly with me or——”
Anny laughed.
“Must?” she said. “Must, indeed! And whyfore? I tell you, sir, I hate you, and if you pursue me more I’ll have the landlord at you.”
“The landlord!” Dick sneered.
Anny was desperate.
“Or Hal Grame,” she said.
Dick threw back his head and laughed aloud.
“A tapster! Oh, pretty, pretty little wench, you are very amusing!”
The girl wrenched her hand away.
“Master Black’erchief Dick,” she said slowly, her little face very white and grave, “will you understand please that I do not love you, I do not even like you, and I will never go anywhere with you of my own will?”
The Spaniard stepped back a pace or two. He seemed to have realized at last that she was speakingthe truth, for he looked at the earnest little face in front of him with a mixture of amazement and anger.
“You do not like me?” he said, his voice losing all its music and becoming almost childish in its extreme surprise.
Anny nodded.
“No, I don’t like you. Will you please go away and leave me to my work, sir?”
Dick’s anger rose up and boiled over in a moment.
“I tell you, you shall come, you pretty little fool,” he swore. “Or——” he paused suddenly. “Is there some other man you love? Tell me, tell me!”
Anny cowered before his angry, distorted face.
“No, sir, of course not, no, sir!” she lied vehemently. “Let go my wrist, sir. Marry, how you hurt me!”
“This great hulking French, now, have you set your heart on him? Speak out, girl!”
“No, sir, of course not!” Anny’s amazement was too genuine to be mistaken.
“Yet you will not marry me?” Dick spoke sharply.
“No—no—no, sir! Go away!”
Dick turned on his heel and went to the door.
“By this knife,” he said, turning on the threshold, “you shall come with me. I wish it, and never yet have I been prevented from my desires.”
“Lord! you’re mad!” Anny flung after him.
“Ay, mad for you, mistress.”
Dick’s voice had grown soft again and he laughed unpleasantly as he strolled off down the yard.Anny watched him go and then turned back to her work.
“Now I wonder will I ever be married at all?” she said to herself, as she picked up a broom from the chimney-corner and began to sweep away the dirty sand which lay all over the floor.
Blueneck was sitting on the sea-wall, thinking regretfully of Habakkuk Coot, when Black’erchief Dick strode up and without speaking dropped down beside him.
Blueneck looked at his captain slily and without turning his head.
Dick was smiling sardonically and his knife slid in and out the slim white fingers of his right hand.
Blueneck considered it prudent to sit still and say nothing.
Dick did not speak for some time, and Blueneck began to get uneasy. Finally he rose to his feet as nonchalantly as he was able and started to stroll off down the beach.
Dick raised his eyes.
“Sit where you are, dog!” he said sharply.
Blueneck slid back to his place without a murmur.
The silence continued. At last, however, Dick put the knife back in his belt and turned his sharp eyes on his mate.
“The lass refuses me,” he said.
Blueneck shrugged his shoulders.
“These country wenches be mighty particularabout marrying their husbands and so forth,” he observed.
Dick raised his eyebrows.
“I have said I will wed her,” he said stiffly.
Blueneck’s jaw dropped.
“Wed her?” he ejaculated. “Why, Cap’n, you must——” He broke off lamely.
Dick snapped out the question, “Must what?”
Blueneck did not vouchsafe an answer, and they sat in silence for a minute or two.
Dick began to speak, slowly and carefully, as though he was thinking out each word separately.
“There is a thing on this earth, my friend, called love. And a very vile and evil thing it is. It descends upon a man unawares like a shower of rain, and soaks through to his very marrow. It takes away his energy, his pride in his work and person,” he looked down at the lace ruffles at his cuff and stroked them lovingly, and then added, “and I have reason to think that great men feel it more sharply than others.”
Blueneck glanced quickly at the dapper little figure by his side, and shrugged his shoulders.
The Captain was showing signs of strain, he thought.
“Must the wench be willing?” he asked. “Why not carry her off?”
Dick shrugged his shoulders.
“I would rather she were willing,” he said.
Blueneck looked at him, exasperated.
“Well, if you can’t persuade her I don’t know who can,” he muttered, but Dick did not hear him. He was smiling, his eyes half shut.
Blueneck spat.
“Bewitched!” he commented silently to himself. Then an idea struck him and he turned to the Captain.
“There’s Pet Salt,” he said. “She might do much.”
“Pet Salt?” Dick turned to him quickly. “Who’s she?”
Blueneck told the story of his night on Ben Farran’s boat with as much credit to himself as was possible.
Dick listened in silence until he had finished; then he rose to his feet.
“I will go to see this crone,” he said grandiloquently. “Lead me, dog!”
Pet Salt sat on the deck of her boat mending a net. She was mumbling to herself, and her old knotted finger-joints cracked as she fumbled about with the rough twine she was using. Beneath the hatches she could hear old Ben swearing loudly as he hunted among the empty rum kegs for one that still contained a little of the precious stuff. To judge from his language he had been so far unsuccessful and the woman shifted uneasily as she sat thinking of the beating he would give her if he found nothing.
It was then that she heard a voice calling her from the beach.
“Pet Salt! Pet Salt!”
Noisily she scrambled to her feet and hobbled over to the side of the hull, and looked down.
Dick and his mate stood together staring up at her.
“Good morning, mistress,” Dick began in his best manner.
Pet stared at him open-mouthed, her yellow teeth looking like fangs. She had never seen such finery.
Dick, although himself rather taken aback at Pet’s appearance, could not but feel flattered at her evident approval of his own.
Pet’s bleared eyes now fell on Blueneck and a shade of recognition passed over her wrinkled, spirit-sodden face.
“Oh! it’s you again, ronyon, hey?” she cried in her cracked crooning voice into which an eager note had crept. “You have no rum kegs slung about you, eh?”
Blueneck waved his hand impatiently.
“Throw down the ladder, that we may come up and talk with thee, hag,” he ordered peremptorily.
Pet hobbled off to obey him without a word, and Dick turned to his mate in something like admiration.
“You have been well schooled, friend,” he said approvingly. “Yours is an excellent way of dealing with crones.”
“Have a care!” called Pet from above as shethrew the rope ladder over the side. The end passed within an inch of Blueneck’s shoulders and he looked up angrily.
Pet was leering at him from the deck.
“Come up, ronyon,” she said coaxingly.
Blueneck scaled the ladder in a minute and clambered on to the rolling deck beside her.
Dick followed, more dignified but not a whit less agile.
Once on deck he looked about him in disgust. The worm-eaten boards, the empty kegs and other lumber, and the general filthiness of the place disgusted the little Spaniard. His own brig was always kept neat and fastidiously clean.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“A very vile place in truth,” he observed, and then, turning to Pet, he raised his hat as gallantly as if she had been a duenna.
“I would descend and talk with thee on the shore, if you please, mistress,” he said. “This ship distresses me.”
He went again to the ladder, picking his way daintily across the dirty deck; slowly he climbed down again. Pet and Blueneck followed him without a word on to the sand again.
“Prithee, mistress, be seated,” said Dick, indicating a bank of seaweed and seating himself on a breakwater some four feet away.
Pet sat down heavily and looked from Dick to Blueneck in a half-witted, puzzled way, her bigloose mouth sagging open, on one side showing the large yellow teeth, which so irritated Blueneck.
Suddenly she stretched out a bony hand toward Black’erchief Dick and began in a droning whine:
“May the Lord bless ye, fine gentleman; could ye spare a drop o’ rum for a poor woman to take to her man who is dying of cold? Old Pet Salt knows you, pretty sir. Old Pet don’t forget a generous face when she sees one. Pet remembers when she came to the Ship and you gave her a keg. Could you spare a little, fine gentleman?”
Dick stared at her; he remembered her now, and instinctively drew a little farther away.
“Hold thy peace, hag, and hark to me,” he said sharply, “and much rum may come of it—nay,” he continued as the old woman struggled to get to her feet and come toward him, “keep thy distance and let thy dull wit take in as much of this as it can. You have a granddaughter?”
A cunning light crept into the old bleared eyes.
“Ah!” she said, putting on a pathetic whine. “I have, God bless her pure heart and body. One my man loves dearly! What would you have with her, fine gentleman?”
Dick waved his hand.
“Woman,” he said softly, his voice taking on that musical quality which his enemies knew so well. “It would be well if thou and I knew each other’s mind a little more clearly—rum is a precious thing to you, eh?”
Pet’s eyes glistened and her lips moved without sound.
“I have much rum,” Dick went on, looking at the old woman steadily, “and I would wed your granddaughter.”
“Wed?” The exclamation escaped her before she could stop it.
Dick went on as though he had not heard her.
“At your boat and by a priest that I shall bring with me, I would wed her.”
“Oh!” Pet said, and smiled knowingly.
“But so far the lass will have none of me,” Dick continued, noting Pet’s amazement, “and so, mistress, I would wish you to persuade her to wed me here secretly.”
“Ay, and if I do?” Pet broke in.
“If you do, you earn enough rum to keep you and your husband in liquor for the rest of your life.”
Dick put his hands on his belt and looked at the old wretch quizzically.
Pet began to laugh. It was a terrible sound, half a wheeze and half a choke.
“I’ll persuade her,” she muttered.
Dick quickly put up one white beringed hand.
“Nay, mistress, you must use no violence on her,” he said, “neither must you harm her with spirit charms or other bedevilments; I would not have her hurt.”
Pet Salt looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
“I’ll not hurt your love, master,” she laughed. “She shall marry thee—and by a priest you bring—ha—ha!”
Blueneck had never seen his captain blush before and he now regarded the little Spaniard with great interest. The usually sallow skin was stained with a vermilion as he turned on the woman in anger.
“Keep to your promise then and be silent,” he said softly, “or by Heaven I’ll blow your pig-sty of a rat-ridden hulk off the Island.”
The woman looked at him, frightened for a moment, but soon she began to laugh.
“She shall wed thee, my pretty, fine gentleman, she shall wed thee—I’ll see to that,” she said, scrambling to her feet—“and the rum shall be paid, you promise, master?”
Dick nodded.
“I swear it,” he said. Then he got up and beckoned to Blueneck to follow him.
“Good-morrow, mistress,” he said, taking off his hat.
Pet stood looking after them.
“I’ll coax her,” the woman called. “I’ll coax her,” and all the way as they went down the beach they could hear her cracked, horrible laughter.
“RUM! rum! ru-u-m-m!”
Nan Swayle sat in her miserable little cabin with her knees drawn up to her chin; her cat was perched on a rum keg beside her and there was no light save for the cold gleam of stars coming in from the open door. She sat there, a tall, gaunt figure steadily rocking herself to and fro as though keeping time to some monotonous rhyme. She was talking to herself in a deep, weary voice, and the words she uttered were always the same, “Rum—rum—ru-u-m-m!”
Outside on the marshes everything was very quiet, and she rocked on, undisturbed for a while. Then from the direction of the Stroud she heard the squeak of a frightened gull as it flew up, disturbed from its rest, and then another a little nearer, and again nearer still.
The woman did not cease her rocking; she knew someone was coming over the dykes to see her, but what mattered that?
Suddenly she stopped, however, leaned her head forward to listen, and then sprang from her chair with surprising agility and hurried to the door.
“Nan—Nan, where are you?” called a girlish voice out of the darkness.
“Stay where ye are, Anny lass, till I get ye a light.”
Nan’s stentorian tones boomed over the flat bogs. Hurriedly she crossed to the darkest corner of the little hut where she fumbled for a minute or two. There was the sound of soft scraping of flint on steel then the tinder caught fire and Nan lit a tallow dip and carried it to the door, holding it high above her head.
There was no breath of wind in the cloudless night and the flame burned steadily.
“Oh! Nan, I’m so glad ye’re here,” came the same voice out of the darkness, this time a good deal nearer.
“Why, lass, wherever else would I be? What’s ailing ye, my girl?”
Anny scrambled over the last dyke and staggered breathless into the circle of light thrown by the little flame of the dip.
“Let me come in and talk with ye, Mother,” she said, clutching hold of the elder woman’s ragged kirtle.
Nan put a strong bony arm round the girl’s shoulders, and when she spoke her deep voice had a softer quality in it than before.
“Sit down, lass, sit down, and get your breath, and then I’ll listen to ye as long as my eyes will keep open,” she said kindly.
Anny sat down on the upturned rum keg, after first displacing the cat, who spat at her viciously.
Nan snatched a leather thong from the wall and lashed at the cat savagely, whereupon it slunk into a corner and lay down on a heap of onions, keeping one baleful eye fixed on his mistress’s visitor.
Nan sat down on a three-legged stool, the only other article in the room save for a huge iron bowl which hung on chains over the now empty grate, and several bunches of dried herbs hanging from the roof, and looked at the girl critically.
Anny’s face was very white and drawn, and she looked about her with a hunted expression in her wild green eyes. She had evidently been crying as she came along, for there were tear-marks on her white cheeks.
Nan said nothing, but sat looking at her, her strong, rugged face absolutely expressionless.
“I’ve got to marry Black’erchief Dick, Nan,” Anny said at last. “What will I do?”
Nan’s eyes flickered.
“Got to? Who says Anny Farran’s got to do aught she don’t want to?”
“Pet Salt said——”
“What!” Nan’s face blazed with fury. “That blue-livered, mange-struck ronyon! Truth, lass, you’re mad to think on her! The louse-ridden, thieving, man-stealing, spirit-sodden devil,” she muttered to herself.
Anny shook her head.
“She says I’ll be took to the Castle if I don’t do as she bids,” she said hurriedly.
Nan lashed the earthen floor with her strip of leather.
“The woman’s a lying fiend,” she said quickly and intensely.
The girl laid her hand on the other woman’s trembling arm.
“I know she is, Mother, I know she is, but what will I do?” she said softly.
Nan looked up impatiently.
“Do? Why, do naught, the old hell-kite, the sithering——”
“Ay, but listen, Mother! Listen!” The girl’s voice was so insistent that the older woman allowed her voice to die away to a muttering.
Anny went on.
“If I don’t wed Master Dick, Nan, Pet Salt—” Nan began to mumble again, but Anny took no notice—“saith that he will carry me off without him marrying me—and, Mother, I would be wed.”
Nan paused in her muttered imprecations to look at the girl. This was a new side of the affair, and she realized the importance to the girl’s mind. She began to consider it carefully, while Anny watched her face with almost painful eagerness.
But Nan’s hatred for Pet Salt was too great to allow her to think clearly on any subject connected with her old enemy for more than two minutes at a time, and she soon broke forth into low, tense reviling.
“Look!” she said, suddenly springing up and standing between Anny and the open doorway, a tall black figure against a background of stars. “Look at me, child—do you know how old I am?—forty-three! You’re surprised? Of course, I look sixty, don’t I?—tell me—tell me.”
Anny looked at the rugged face that had evidently once been so beautiful; the light from the dip flickered over it and accentuated each wrinkle and hollow. She nodded.
“Ah!” Nan lifted her clenched fist above her head. “That is her work, the woman of hell. Once my cabin was the sweetest, cleanest, and neatest on the Island, my lips were the reddest, my hair the blackest, my smile the most prized—— Oh, that crawling filcher, would I might feel these hands about her scabby neck!”
Anny sighed. She knew it was no use to attempt to stop Mistress Swayle in this mood, so she crouched back in her corner, while the cat, which had at first objected to her, now came to hide in the folds of her kirtle. He also knew his mistress’s vagaries.
Nan went on, her voice rising higher and higher, and her words coming faster and faster until she seemed to be repeating some frenzied chant.
“She took my man—your grandsire—she stole him from me with promises of rum to rot his soul with—God curse her. I, a sweet milk lass working all day in my dairy with a flowered kirtle to my back and shoes to my feet—and she a dirty, mange-eatenquean. Oh! may the red-plague fall on her and her rat-eaten boat. And he a simple, kind-hearted lad with a liking for the spirit! Oh! that kite shall go through torments in her time! But he loved me—not her, devil baste her.”
Anny rose to her feet and the cat ran away squealing.
“Mother Swayle,” she said pleadingly, “what will I say to her?”
Nan seemed to come to herself again, for she patted the girl kindly on the shoulder.
“You run back to the Ship, lass. I’ll see the ronyon,” she said.
Anny took her hand.
“You’re good to me, Mother,” she said.
Nan pulled her hand away sharply.
“Go off with you, child,” she ordered harshly, and as Anny sped over the marshes, she heard the deep voice behind her getting fainter and fainter calling—“Rum—rum—rum!”
Early on the next morning Mistress Swayle set out for Pet Salt’s boat. The sun, rising red out of the sea, tinged her black gown and flying elf-locks with a certain rustiness as she bent her head before the salt morning wind and strode down the ill-made road. She walked along with sweeping strides, a five-foot bramble stick in her hand. On either side of her stretched the gray-green, dyke-patterned saltings, while ahead gleamed fields of ripening wheat and blue vetches.
She was murmuring to herself as she went along and often paused to shake her stick at some unseen adversary.
Her cat followed her at a respectful distance, always keeping one eye on the bramble stick.
As it was some way to Pet Salt’s boat, Nan was tired by the time she reached the Ship and would have gone in and rested there had she not been beset by a pack of young urchins, Tant Pullen and little Red among them, who danced round her in a ring calling “Witch!” and “Devil’s Aunt!” and so forth.
The old woman—for she looked old—laid about her vigorously with her stick and as she was very strong soon prevented them from barring her way, but they followed her for a long distance along the wall.
Pet Salt lifted a tousled head above the hatchway, sniffed the cool clean salt air, and shivered. Then hastily wrapping a piece of old sail-cloth round her mouth and nose she scrambled on to the dirty deck and hurried across to a heap of kegs piled up high. Under these she at last unearthed a partially full one and hugging it to her bosom ran back to the hatchway, her bare feet sounding oddly on the rotten boards.