He left me, then, as he had to watch the men on deck. I felt, when he went on deck, that the morning had been a nightmare; but now I was to be flunkey well as slave, a new humiliation. I did not think how many times I had humiliated others by letting them do such things for me. I had done so all my life without a thought. Now, forsooth, I was at the point of tears at having to do it for others, even though one of the others was my rightful King. Grubbing about among the lockers, I found a canvas table-cloth, which had once been part of a sail. I spread this cloth with the breakfast gear, imitating the arrangements made at home at Oulton. The mate came down some minutes after I had finished. He caught me sitting down on the top of the lockers, looking out at the ships through the open port.
“Here,” he said roughly. “You've got to learn manners, or I'll have to teach you. Remember this once for all, my son. No one sits in the cabin except a captain or a passenger. You'll take your cap off to the cabin door before I've done with you. Nor you don't sit down till your work's done. That's another thing. Why ain't you at work?”
“Please, sir,” I said, “I've laid the table. What else am I to do?”
“Do,” he said. “Give the windows a rub. Then clean your hands, ready to wait at table. No. Hold on. Have you called Mr. Scott yet?”
“No, sir. I didn't know I had to.”
“My,” he answered. “Have you any sense at all? Go call them. No. Get their hot water first at the galley.”
I suppose I stared at him; for I did not know that this would be a duty of mine. “Here. Don't look at me like that,” he said. “You make me forget myself.” He went to the locker, in which he rummaged till he produced a big copper kettle. “Here's the hot water can,” he said. “Nip with it to the galley, before the cook puts his fire out. On deck, boy. Don't you know where the galley is?”
I did not know where the galley was in this particular ship. I thought that it would probably be below decks, round a space of brick floor to prevent fire. But as the mate said “on deck” I ran on deck at once. I ran on deck, up the hatch, so vigorously, that I charged into a seaman who was carrying a can of slush, or melted salt fat used in the greasing of ropes. I butted into him, spattering the slush all over him, besides making a filthy mess of grease on the deck, then newly cleansed. The seaman, who was the boatswain or second mate, boxed my ears with a couple of cuffs which made my head sing. “You young hound,” he said, “Cubbadar when your chief passes.” I went forward to the galley, crying as if my heart would break, not only at the pain of the blows, which stung me horribly, but at the misery of my life in this new service, that had seemed so grand only seven or eight hours before. At the galley door was the cook, a morose little Londoner with earrings in his ears. “Miaow, Miaow,” he said, pretending to mimic my sobs. “Why haven't you come for this 'ot water before? 'Ere 'ave I been keepin' my fire lit while you been enjoyin' a stuffin' loaf down in that there cabin.” I was too miserable to answer him. I just held out my kettle, thinking that he would fill it for me. “Wot are you 'oldin' out the kettle for?” he asked. “Think I'm goin' to do yer dirty work? Fill it at the 'ob yourself.” I filled it as he bade me, choking down my tears. When I had filled it, I hurried back to the 'tweendecks, hoping to hide my misery down in the semi-darkness there. I did not pass the second mate on my way back; but I passed some of the seamen, to whom a boy in tears was fair game. One asked me what I meant by coming aft all salt, like a head sea, making the deck wet after he'd squeegeed it down. Another told me to wait till the second mate caught me. “I'd be sorry then,” he said, “that ever I spilt the slush;” with other sea-jests, all of them pretty brutal. It is said that if a strange rook comes to a rookery the other rooks peck it to death, or at any rate drive it away. I know not if this be true of rooks (I know that sparrows will attack owls or canaries, whenever they have a chance), but it is true enough of human beings. We all hate the new-comer, we are all suspicious of him, as of a possible enemy. The seamen did to me what school-boys do to the new boy. I did not know then that there is no mercy for one sensitive enough to take such “jests” to heart. At sea, the rough, ready tom-fool boy is the boy to thrive. Such an one might have spilt all the slush in the ship, without getting so much as a cuff. I was a merry boy enough, but I was sad when I made my first appearance. The sailors saw me crying. If I had only had the wit to dodge the bosun's blows, the matter of the slush would have been turned off with a laugh, since he only struck me in the irritation of the moment. He would have enjoyed chasing me round the deck. If I had only come up merrily that is what would have happened. As it was I came up sad, with the result that I got my ears boxed, which, of course, made me too wretched to put the cook in a good temper; a cause of much woe to me later. The seamen who saw me crying at once put me down as a cry-baby, which I really was not; so that, for the rest of my time in the ship I was cruelly misjudged. I hope that my readers will remember how little a thing may make a great difference in a person's life. I hope that they will also remember how easy it is to misjudge a person. It will be well for them if, as I trust, they may never experience how terrible it feels to be misjudged.
After I had called the two gentlemen, I gave the glass bull's-eyes in the swing ports a rub with a cloth. I was at work in this way when the two gentlemen entered. Mr. Jermyn smiled to see me with my coat off, rubbing at the glass. He also wished me good morning, which Mr. Scott failed to do. Mr. Scott took no notice of me one way or the other; but sat down at the locker, asking when breakfast would be ready. “Get breakfast, boy,” Mr. Jermyn said. At that I put my glass-rag into the locker. I hurried off to the galley to bring the breakfast, not knowing rightly whether it would be there or in another place. The cook, surly brute, made a lot of offensive remarks to me, to which I made no answer. He was glad to have someone to bully, for he had the common man's love of power, with all his hatred of anything more polished than himself. I took the breakfast aft to the cabin, where, by this time, the ship's captain was seated. I placed the dish before Mr. Jermyn.
“Why haven't you washed your hands, boy?” he asked, looking at my hands.
“Please, sir, I haven't had time.”
“Wash them now, then. Don't come to wait at table with hands like that again. I didn't think you were a dirty boy.”
I was not a dirty boy; but, having been at work since before six that morning, I had had no chance of washing myself. I could not answer; but the injustice of Mr. Jermyn's words gave me some of the most bitter misery which I have known. For brutal, thoughtless injustice, it is difficult to beat the merchant ship. I stole away to wash myself, very glad of the chance to get away from the cabin. When I was ready, it was time to clear the breakfast things to the galley, to wash them with the cook. Luckily, I had overheard Mr. Jermyn say “how well this cook can devil kidneys.” I repeated this to the cook, who was pleased to hear it. It made him rather more kind in his manner to me. He did not know who Mr. Scott really was. He asked me a lot of questions about what I knew of Mr. Scott. I replied that I'd heard that he was a Spanish merchant, a friend of Mr. Jermyn's. As for Mr. Jermyn, he knew' an uncle of mine. I had helped him to recover his pocket-book; that was all that I knew of him; that was why he had given me my present post as servant. More I dared not say; for I remembered the Duke's sharp sword on my chest. We talked thus, as we washed the dishes; the cook in a sweeter mood (having had his morning dram of brandy); I, myself, trying hard to win him to a good opinion of me. I asked him if I might clean his copper for him; it was in a sad state of dirt. “You'll have work enough 'ere, boy,” he said, tartly, “without you running round for more. You mind your own business.” After this little snap at my head (no thought of thanks occurred to him) he prepared breakfast for us, out of the remains of the cabin breakfast. I was much cheered by the prospect of food, for nearly three hours of hard work had given me an appetite. At a word from the cook, I brought out two little stools from under the bunk. Then I placed the “bread-barge,” or wooden bowl of ship's biscuits, ready for our meal, beside our two plates.
Breakfast was just about to begin, when my enemy, the boatswain, appeared at the galley door. “Here, cook,” he said, “where's that limb of a boy? Oh, you're there, are you? Feeding your face. Get a three-cornered scraper right now. You'll scrape up that slush you spilled, before you eat so much as a reefer's nut.” I had to go on deck again for another hour, while I scraped up the slush, which was, surely, spilled as much by himself as by me, since he was not looking where he was going any more than I was. I got no breakfast. For after the grease was cleaned I was sent to black the gentlemen's boots; then to make up their beds; then to scrub their cabin clean. After all this, being faint with hunger, I took a ship's biscuit from the locker in the cabin to eat as I worked. I did not know it; but this biscuit was what is known as “captain's bread,” a whiter (but less pleasant) kind of ship's biscuit, baked for officers. As I was eating it (I was polishing the cabin door-knobs at the time) the captain came down for a dram of brandy. He saw what I was eating. At once he read me a lecture, calling me a greedy young thief. Let me not eat another cabin biscuit, he said, or he'd do to me what they always did to thieves:—drag them under the ship from one side to another, so that the barnacles would cut them (as he said) into Spanish sennet-work. When I answered him, he lost his temper, in sailor fashion, saying that if I said another word he'd make me sick that ever I learned to speak.
I will not go into the details of the rest of that first day's misery. I was kept hard at work for the whole time of daylight, often at work beyond my strength, always at work quite strange to me. Nobody in the ship, except perhaps the mate, troubled to show me how to do these strange tasks; but all swore at me for not doing them rightly. What I felt most keenly was the injustice of their verdicts upon me. I was being condemned by them as a dirty, snivelling, lying, thieving young hound. They took a savage pleasure in telling me how I should come to dance on air at Cuckold's Haven, or, in other words, to the gallows, if I went on as I had begun. Whereas (but for my dishonest moment in the morning) I had worked like a slave since dawn under every possible disadvantage which hasty men could place in my way. After serving the cabin supper that night I was free to go to my hammock. There was not much to be glad for, except the rest after so much work. I went with a glad heart, for I was tired out. The wind had drawn to the east, freshening as it came ahead, so that there was no chance of our reaching our destination for some days. I had the prospect of similar daily slavery in the schooner at least till our arrival. My nights would be my only pleasant hours till then. The noise of the waves breaking on board the schooner kept me awake during the night, tired as I was. It is a dreadful noise, when heard for the first time. I did not then know what a mass of water can come aboard a ship without doing much harm. So, when the head of a wave, rushing across the deck, came with a swish down the hatch to wash the 'tweendecks I started up in my hammock, pretty well startled. I soon learned that all was well, for I heard the sailors laughing in their rough, swearing fashion as they piled a tarpaulin over the open hatch-mouth. A moment later, eight bells were struck. Some of the sailors having finished their watch, came down into the 'tweendecks to rest. Two of them stepped very quietly to the chest below my hammock, where they sat down to play cards, by the light of the nearest battle-lantern. If they had made a noise I should probably have fallen asleep again in a few minutes; for what would one rough noise have been among all the noise on deck? But they kept very quiet, talking in low voices as they called the cards, rapping gently on the chest-lid, opening the lantern gently to get lights for their pipes. Their quietness was like the stealthy approach of an enemy, it kept a restless man awake, just as the snapping of twigs in a forest will keep an Indian awake, while he will sleep soundly when trees are falling. I kept awake, too, in spite of myself (or half awake), wishing that the men would go, but fearing to speak to them. At last, fearing that I should never get to sleep at all, I looked over the edge of the hammock intending to ask them to go. I saw then that one of them was my enemy the boatswain, while the other was the ship's carpenter, who had eaten supper in the galley with me, at the cook's invitation. As these were, in a sense, officers, I dared not open my mouth to them, so I lay down again, hoping that either they would go soon, or that they would let me get to sleep before the morning. As I lay there, I overheard their talk. I could not help it. I could hear every word spoken by them. I did not want their talk, goodness knows, but as I could not help it, I listened.
“Heigho,” said the boatswain, yawning. “I sha'n't have much to spend on Hollands when I get there. Them rubbers at bowls in London have pretty near cleaned my purse out.”
“Ah, come off,” said the carpenter. “You can always get rid of a coil of rope to someone, on the sly, you boatswains can. A coil of rope comes to a few guilders. Eh, mynheer?”
“I sold too many coils off this hooker,” said the boatswain. “I run the ship short.”
“Who sleeps in the hammock there?” the carpenter asked.
“The loblolly boy for the cabin,” the boatswain answered. “Young clumsy hound. I clumped his fat chops for him this morning.”
“Mr. Jermyn's boy?” said the carpenter, sinking his voice. “There's something queer about that Mr. Jermyn. 'E wears a false beard. That Mr. Scott isn't all what he pretends neither.”
“I don't see how that can be,” the boatswain said, “I wish I'd a drink of something. I'm as dry as foul block.”
“There'd be more'n a dram to us two, if Mr. Scott was what I think,” said the carpenter. “I'm going to keep my eye on that gang.”
“Keep your eye on the moon,” said the boatswain.
“I tell you what'd raise drinks pretty quick.”
“What would?”
“That loblolly boy would.”
“Eh?” said the carpenter. “Go easy, Joe. He may be awake.”
“Not he,” said the boatswain, carelessly glancing into my hammock, where I lay like all the Seven Sleepers condensed. “Not he. Snoring young hound. Do him good to raise drinks for the crowd.”
“Eh,” said the carpenter, a quieter, more cautious scoundrel than the other (therefore much more dangerous). “How would a boy like that?” He left his sentence unfinished.
“Sell him to one of these Dutch East India merchants,” said the boatswain. “There's always one or two of them in the Canal, bound for Java. A likely young lad like that would fetch twenty pounds from a Dutch skipper. A white boy would sell for forty in the East. Even if we only got ten, there'd be pretty drinking while it lasted.”
This evidently made an impression on the carpenter, for he did not answer at once. “Yes,” he said presently. “But a lad like that's got good friends. He don't talk like you or I, Joe.”
“Friends in your eye,” said the other. “What's a lad with good friends doing as loblolly boy?”
“Run away,” the carpenter said. “Besides, Mr. Jermyn isn't likely to let the lad loose in Haarlem.”
“He might. We could keep a watch,” the boatswain answered. “If he goes ashore, we could tip off Longshore Jack to keep an eye on him. Jack gets good chances, working the town.”
“Yes,” said the other. “I mean to put Longshore Jack on to this Mr. Jermyn. If I aren't foul of the buoy there's money in Mr. Jermyn. More than in East Indian slaves.”
“Oh,” the boatswain answered, carelessly, “I don't bother about my betters, myself. What d'ye think to get from Mr. Jermyn?”
The carpenter made no answer; but lighted his pipe at the lantern, evidently turning over some scheme in his mind. After that, the talk ran on other topics, some of which I could not understand. It was mostly about the Gold Coast, about a place called Whydah, where there was good trading for negroes, so the boatswain said. He had been there in a Bristol brig, under Captain Travers, collecting trade, i.e. negro slaves. At Whydah they had made King Jellybags so drunk with “Samboe” (whatever Samboe was) that they had carried him off to sea, with his whole court. “The blacks was mad after,” he said, “the next ship's crew that put in there was all set on the beach. I seed their bones after. All picked clean. But old King Jellybags fetched thirty pound in Port Royal, duty free.” He seemed to think that this story was something laugh at.
I strained my ears to hear more of what they said. I could catch nothing more relating to myself. Nothing more was said about me. They told each other stories about the African shore, where the schooners anchored in the creeks, among the swamp-smells, in search of slaves or gold dust. They told tales of Tortuga, where the pirates lived together in a town, whenever they were at home after a cruise. “Rum is cheaper than water there,” the bo'sun said. “A sloop comes off once a month with stores from Port Royal. Its happy days, being in Tortuga.” Presently the two men crept aft to the empty cabin to steal the captain's brandy. Soon afterwards they passed forward to their hammocks.
When they had gone, I lay awake, wondering I was to avoid this terrible danger of being sold to the Dutch East India merchants. I wondered who Longshore Jack might be. I feared that the carpenter suspected our party. I kept repeating his words, “There's money in Mr. Jermyn,” till at last, through sheer weariness, I fell asleep. In the morning, as cleared away breakfast, from the cabin-table, I told Mr. Jermyn all that I had heard. The Duke seemed agitated. He kept referring to an astronomical book which told him how his ruling planets stood. “Yes,” he kept saying, “I've no very favourable stars till July. I don't like this, Jermyn.” Mr. Jermyn smoked a pipe of tobacco (a practise rare among gentlemen at that time) while he thought of what could be done. At last he spoke.
“I know what we'll do, sir. We'll sell this man as carpenter to the Dutch East India man. We'll give the two of them a sleeping draught in their drink. We'll get rid of them both together.”
“It sounds very cruel,” said the Duke.
“Yes,” said Mr. Jermyn, “it is cruel. But who knows what the sly man may not pick up? We're playing akes, we two. We've got many enemies. One word of what this man suspects may bring a whole pack of spies upon us. Besides, if the spies get hold of this boy we shall have some trouble.”
“The boy's done very well,” said the Duke.
“He's got a talent for overhearing,” Mr. Jermyn answered. “Well, Martin Hyde. How do you like your work?”
“Sir,” I answered, “I don't like it at all.”
“Well,” he said, “we shall be in the Canal to-night, now the wind has changed. Hold out till then, think, sir,” he said, turning to the Duke, “the boy has done really very creditably. The work is not at all the work for one of his condition.”
The Duke rewarded me with his languid beautiful smile.
“Who lives will see,” he said. “A King never forgets a faithful servant.”
The phrase seemed queer on the lips of that man's father's son; but I bowed very low, for I felt that I was already a captain of a man-of-war, with a big blazing decoration on my heart. Well, who lives, sees. I lived to see a lot of strange things in that King's service.
I will say no more about our passage except that we were three days at sea. Then, when I woke one morning, I found that we were fast moored to a gay little wharf, paved with clean white cobbles, on the north side of the canal. Strange, outlandish figures, in immense blue baggy trousers, clattered past in wooden shoes. A few Dutch galliots lay moored ahead of us, with long scarlet pennons on their mastheads. On the other side of the canal was a huge East Indiaman, with her lower yards cockbilled, loading all three hatches at once. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was so bright that all the scene had thrice its natural beauty. The clean neat trimness of the town, the water slapping past in the canal, the ships with their flags, the Sunday trim of the schooner, all filled me with delight, lit up, as they were, by the April sun. I looked about me at my ease, for the deck was deserted. Even the never-sleeping mate was resting, now that we were in port. While I looked, a man sidled along the wharf from a warehouse towards me. He looked at the schooner in a way which convinced me that he was not a sailor. Then, sheltering behind a bollard, he lighted his pipe.
He was a short, active, wiry man, with a sharp, thin face, disfigured by a green patch over his right eye. He looked to me to have a horsey look, as though were a groom or coachman. After lighting his pipe, he advanced to a point abreast of the schooner's gang-way, from which he could look down upon her, as she lay with her deck a foot or two below the level of the wharf.
“Chips aboard?” he asked, meaning, “Is the carpenter on board?”
“Yes,” I said. “Will you come aboard?”
He did not answer, but looked about the ship, as though making notes of everything. Presently he turned to me.
“You're new,” he said. “Are you Mr. Jermyn's boy?” I told him that I was.
“How is Mr. Jermyn keeping?” he asked. “Is that cough of his better?” This made me feel that probably the man knew Mr. Jermyn. “Yes,” I said. “He's got no cough, now.” “He'd a bad one last time he was here,” the man answered. For a while he kept silent. He seemed to me to be puzzling out the relative heights of our masts. Suddenly he turned to me, with a very natural air. “How's Mr. Scott's business going?” he asked. “You know, eh? You know what I mean?” I was taken off my guard. I'm afraid I hesitated, though I knew that the man's sharp eyes noted every little change on my face. Then, in the most natural way, the man reassured me. “You know,” he said. “What demand for oranges in London?” I was thankful that he had not meant the other business. I said with a good deal too much of eagerness that there was, I believed, a big demand for oranges. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose so many young boys makes a brisk demand.” I was uneasy at the man's manner. He seemed to be pumping me, but he had such a natural easy way, under the pale mask of his face, that I could not be sure if he were in the secret or not. I was on my guard now, ready for any question, as I thought, but eager for an excuse to get away from this man before I betrayed any trust. “Nice ship,” he said easily. “Did you join her in Spain?” “No,” I answered. “In London.” “In London?” he said. “I thought you'd something of a Spanish look.” “No,” I said. “I'm English. Did you want the carpenter, sir?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I do. But no hurry. No hurry, lad.” Here he pulled out a watch, which he wound up, staring vacantly about the decks as he did so. “Tell me, boy,” he said gently. “Is Lane come over with you?” To tell the truth, it flashed across my mind, when he pulled out his watch, that he was making me unready for a difficult question. I was not a very bright boy; but I had this sudden prompting or instinct, which set me on my guard. No one is more difficult to pump than a boy who is ready for his questioner, so I stared at him. “Lane?” I said, “Lane? Do you mean the bo'sun?”
“No,” he said. “The Colonel. You know? Eh?”
“No.” I said. “I don't know.”
“Oh well,” he answered. “It's all one. I suppose he's not come over.” At this moment the mate came on deck with the carpenter, carrying a model ship which they had been making together in their spare time. They nodded to the stranger, who gave them a curt “How do?” as though they had parted from him only the night before. The mate growled at me for wasting time on deck when I should be at work. He sent me down to my usual job of getting the cabin ready for the breakfast of the gentlemen. As I passed down the hatchway, I heard the carpenter say to the stranger, “Well. So what's the news with Jack?” It flashed into my mind that this man might be his friend, the “Longshore Jack” who was to keep an eye upon me as well as upon Mr. Jermyn. It gave me a most horrid qualm to think this. The man was so sly, so calm, so guarded, that the thought of him being on the look-out for me, to sell me to the Dutch captains, almost scared me out of my wits. The mate brought him to the cabin as I was laying the table. “This is the cabin,” he was saying, “where the gentlemen messes. That's our stern-chaser, the gun there.”
“Oh,” said the stranger, looking about him like one who has never seen a ship before. “But where do they sleep? Do they sleep on the sofa (he meant the lockers), there?”
“Why, no,” said the mate. “They sleep in the little cabins yonder. But we musn't stay down here now. I'm not supposed to use this cabin. I mustn't let the captain see me.” So they went on deck again, leaving me alone. When the gentlemen came in to breakfast, I had to go on deck for the dishes. As I passed to the galley, I noticed the stranger talking to the carpenter by the main-rigging. They gave me a meaning look, which I did not at all relish. Then, as I stood in the galley, while the cook dished up, I noticed that the stranger raised his hand to a tall, lanky, ill-favoured man who was loafing about on the wharf, carrying a large black package. This man came right up to the edge of the wharf, directly he saw the stranger's signal. It made me uneasy somehow. I was in a thoroughly anxious mood, longing to confide in some one, even in the crusty cook, yet fearing to open my mouth to any one, even to Mr. Jermyn, to whom I dared not speak with the captain present in the room. Well, I had my work to do, so I kept my thoughts to myself. I took the dishes down below to the cabin, where, after removing the covers, I waited on the gentlemen.
“Martin,” said Mr. Jermyn. “This skylight over our heads makes rather a draught. We can't have it open in the morning for breakfast.
“Did you open it?” the captain asked. “What made you open it?”
“Please, sir, I didn't open it.”
“Then shut it,” said the captain. “Go on deck. The catch is fast outside.”
I ran very nimbly on deck to shut the skylight, but the catch was very stiff; it took me some few moments to undo. I noticed, as I worked at it, that the deck was empty, except for the lanky man with the package, who was now forward, apparently undoing his package on the forehatch. I thought that he was a sort of pedlar or bumboatman, come to sell onions, soft bread, or cheap jewellery to the sailors. The carpenter's head showed for an instant at the galley-door, He was looking forward at the pedlar. The hands were all down below in the forecastle, eating their breakfast. The other stranger seemed to have gone. I could not see him about the deck. At last the skylight came down with a clatter, leaving me free to go below again. As I went down the hatchway, into the 'tweendecks gloom, I saw a figure apparently at work among the ship's stores lashed to the deck there. I could not see who it was; it was too dark for that but the thing seemed strange to me. I guessed that it might be my enemy the boatswain, so I passed aft to the cabin on the other side.
Soon after that, it might be ten minutes after, while the gentlemen were talking lazily about going ashore, we heard loud shouts on deck.
“What's that?” said the captain, starting up from his chair.
“Sounds like fire,” said Mr. Jermyn.
“Fire forward,” said the captain, turning very white. “There's five tons of powder forward.”
“What?” cried the Duke.
At that instant we heard the boatswain roaring to the men to come on deck. “Aft for the hose there, Bill,” we heard. Feet rushed aft along the deck, helter-skelter. Some one shoved the skylight open with a violent heave. Looking up, we saw the carpenter's head. He looked as scared as a man can be.
“On deck,” he cried. “We're all in a blaze forward. The lamp in the bo'sun's locker. Quick.”
“Just over the powder,” the captain said, rushing out.
“Quick, sir,” said Jermyn to the Duke. “We may blow up at any moment.”
“No,” said the Duke, rising leisurely. “Not with these stars. Impossible.”
All the same, the two men followed the captain in pretty quick time. Mr. Jermyn rushed the Duke out by the arm. I was rushing out, too, when I saw the Duke's hat lying on the lockers. I darted at it, for I knew that he would want it, with the result that my heel slipped on a copper nail-head, which had been worn down even with the deck till it was smooth as glass. Down I came, bang, with a jolt which shook me almost sick. I rose up, stupid with the shock, so wretched with the present pain that the fire seemed a little matter to me. Indeed, I did not understand the risk. I did not know how a fire so far forward could affect the cabin.
A couple of minutes must have passed before I picked up the hat from where it lay. As I hurried through the 'tweendecks some slight noise or movement made me turn my head. Looking to my right. I saw the horsey man, the stranger, rummaging quickly in the lockers of the Duke's cabin, As I looked, I saw him snatch up something like a pocketbook or pocket case, with a hasty “Ah” of approval. At the same moment, he saw me watching him.
“Where's Mr. Scott?” he cried, darting out on me. “We may all blow up in another moment.”
“He's on deck,” I said. “Hasn't he gone on deck?”
“On deck?” said the man. “Then on deck with you, too.” He pushed me up the hatch before him. “Quick,” he cried. “Quick. There's Mr. Scott forward. Get him on to the wharf.
He gave me a hasty shove forward, to where the whole company was working in a cloud of smoke, passing buckets from hand to hand. A crowd of Dutchmen had gathered on the wharf. Everybody was shouting. The scene was confused like a bad dream. I caught sight of the pedlar man at the gangway as the stranger thrust me forward. In the twinkling of an eye the stranger passed something to him with the quick thrust known as the thieves' pass. I saw it, for all my confusion. I knew in an instant that he had stolen something. The pedlar person was an accomplice. As likely as not the fire was a diversion. I rushed at the gangway. The pedlar was moving quickly away with his hands in his pockets. It all happened in a moment. As I rushed at the gangway, with some wild notion of stopping the pedlar, the horsey man caught me by the collar.
“What,” he said, in a loud voice. “Trying to desert, are you? You come forward where the danger is.” He ran me forward. He was as strong as a bull.
“Mr. Jermyn,” I cried. “Mr. Jermyn. This man's a thief.”
The man twisted my collar on to my throat till I choked. “Quiet, you,” he hissed.
Then Mr. Jermyn dropped his bucket to attend to me.
“A thief,” I gasped. “A thief.” Mr. Jermyn sprang aft, with his eyes on the man's eyes. The stranger flung me into Mr. Jermyn's way, with all the sweep of his arm. As I went staggering into the fore-bitts (for Mr. Jermyn dodged me) the man took a quick side step up the rail to the wharf. I steadied myself. Mr. Jermyn, failing to catch the man before he was off the ship, rushed below to see what was lost. The crowd of workers seemed to dissolve suddenly. The men surged all about me, swearing. The fire was out. Remember, all this happened in thirty seconds, from the passing of the stolen goods to the stranger's letting go my throat. The very instant that I found my feet against the bitts, I jumped off the ship on to the wharf. There was the stranger running down the wharf to the right, full tilt. There was the lanky pedlar slouching quickly away as though he were going on an errand, with his black box full of groceries.
“That's the man, Mr. Scott,” I cried. “He's got it.”
The captain (who, I believe, was a naval officer in the Duke's secret) was up on the wharf in an instant. I followed him, though the carpenter clutched at me as I scrambled up. I kicked out behind like a donkey. I didn't kick him, but some one thrust the carpenter aside in the hurry so that I was free. In another seconds I was past the captain, running after the pedlar, who started to run at a good speed, dropping his box with a clatter. Half a dozen joined in the pursuit. The captain had his sword out. They raised such a noise behind me that I thought the whole crew was at my heels. The pedlar kept glancing behind; he knew very little about running. He doubled from street to street, like a man at his wits' ends. I could see that he was blown. When he entered into that conspiracy, he had counted on the horsey man diverting suspicion from him. Suddenly, after twisting round a corner, he darted through a swing door into a stone-paved court, surrounded by brick walls. I was at his heels at the moment or I should have lost him there. I darted through the swing door after him. I went full sprawl over his body on the other side. He had, quite used up, collapsed there.
“Give it me,” I said. “Give it me, Longshore Jack. Before they catch us.” To my horror, I saw that the creature was a woman in a man's clothes. She took me for one of her gang. She was too much frightened to think things out. “I thought you were one of the other lot,” she gasped, as she handed me a pocketbook.
“Didn't he get the letters, too?” I asked at a venture. “No,” she said, sitting up, now, panting, to take a good look at me. I stared at her for a moment. I, myself, was out of breath.
“They're going,” I said, hearing the noise of the pursuit passing away in the check. “I'll just spy out the land.” I opened the door till it was an inch or two ajar, so that I could see what was going on outside. “They're gone,” I said again, still keeping up the pretence of being on her side. As I said it, I glanced back to fix her features on my memory. She had a pale, resolute face with fierce eyes, which seemed fierce from pain, not from any cruelty of nature. It was a pleasant face, as far as one could judge of a face made up to resemble a dirty pedlar's face.
Seeing my look, she seemed to watch me curiously, raising herself up, till she stood unsteadily by the wall. “When did you come in?” she said, meaning, I suppose, when did I join the gang.
“Last week,” I answered, swinging the door a little further open. Footsteps were coming rapidly along the road. I heard excited voices, I made sure that it was the search party going back to the schooner.
“Digame, muchacho,” she said in Spanish. It must have been some sort of pass-word among them. Seeing by my face that I did not understand she repeated the words softly. Then at that very instant she was on me like a tigress with a knife. I slipped to one side instinctively. I suppose I half saw her as the knife went home. She grabbed at the pocket-book, which I swung away from her hand. The knife went deep into the door, with a drive which must have jarred her to the shoulder. “Give it me,” she gasped, snatching at me like a fury. I dodged to one side, up the court, horribly scared. She followed, raving like a mad thing, quite ghastly white under her paint, wholly forgetful that she was acting a man's part. When once we were dodging I grew calmer. I led her to the end of the court, then ducked. She charged in, blindly, against the wall, while I raced to the door, very pleased with my success. I did not hear her follow me, so, when I got to the door, I looked back. Just at that instant, there came a smart report. The creature had fired at me with a pistol; the bullet sent a dozen chips of brick into my face. I went through the door just as the shot from the second barrel thudded into the lintel. Going through hurriedly I ran into Mr. Jermyn, as he came round the corner with the captain. “I've got it,” I said. “Look out. She's in there.”
“Who?” they said. “The thief? A woman?” They did not stay, but thrust through the door.
Mr. Jermyn dragged me through with them. “You say you've got it, Martin?”
“Yes,” I answered, handing him the book. “Here it is.”
“That's a mercy,” he said. “Now then, where's the thief?”
I had been out of the court, I suppose thirty seconds; it cannot have been more. Yet, when I went back with those two men, the woman had gone, as though she had never been there. “She's over the wall,” cried the captain, running up the court. But when we looked over the wall there was no trace of her, except some slight scratches upon the brick, where her toes had rested. On the other side of the wall was a tulip bed full of rows of late flowering tulips, not yet out. There was no footmark on the earth. Plainly she had not jumped down on the other side. “Check,” said captain. “Is she in one of the houses?”
But the houses on the left side of the court (on the other side the court had no houses, only brick walls seven feet high) were all old, barred in, deserted mansions, with padlocks on the doors. She could not possibly have entered one of those.
“They're old plague-houses,” said Mr. Jermyn.
“They've been deserted twenty years now, since the great sickness.”
“Yes?” said the captain, carelessly. “But where can she have got to?”
“Well. It beats me,” Mr. Jermyn replied. “But perhaps she ran along the wall to the end, then jumped down into the lane. That's the only thing she could have done. By the way, boy, you were shot at. Were you hit?”
“No,” I answered. “But I got jolly near it. The bullet went just by me.”
“Ah,” he said. “Take this. You'll have to be armed in future.”
He handed me a beautiful little double-barrelled pocket pistol. “Be careful,” he said. “It's loaded. Put it in your pocket. You musn't be seen carrying arms here. That would never do.”
“Boy,” said the captain. “D'ye think you could shin up that water-spout, so as to look over the parapet there, on to the leads of the houses?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think I could, from the top of the wall.”
“Why,” Mr. Jermyn said. “She couldn't have got up there.”
“An active woman might,” the captain said. “You see, the water-spout is only six feet long from the wall to the eaves. There's good footing on the brackets. It's three quick steps. Then one vigorous heave over the parapet. There you are, snug as a purser's billet, out of sight.”
“No woman could have done it,” Mr. Jermyn said. “Besides, look here. We can't go further in the matter. We've recovered the book. We must get back to the ship.”
So the scheme of climbing up the water pipe came to nothing. We walked off together wondering where the woman had got to. Long afterwards I learned that she heard all that we said by the wall there. While we talked, she was busy reloading her pistol, waiting. At the door of the court we paused to pull out her knife from where it stuck. It was a not very large dagger-knife, with a small woman's grip, inlaid with silver, but bound at the guard with gold clasps. The end of the handle was also bound with gold. The edge of the broad, cutting blade curved to a long sharp point. The back was straight. On the blade was an inscription in Spanish, “Veneer o Morir” (“To conquer or die”), with the maker's name, Luis Socartes, Toledo, surrounded by a little twirligig. I have it in my hand as I write. I value it more than anything in my possession. It serves to remind me of a very remarkable woman.
“There, Martin,” said Mr. Jermyn. “There's a curiosity for you. Get one of the seamen to make a sheath for it. Then you can wear it at your back on your belt like a sailor.”
As we walked back to the ship, I told Mr. Jermyn all that I had seen of the morning's adventure. He said that the whole, as far as he could make it out, had been a carefully laid plot of some of James the Second's spies. He treated me as an equal now. He seemed to think that I had saved the Duke from a very dreadful danger. The horsey man, he said, was evidently a trusted secret agent, who must have made friends with the carpenter on some earlier visit of the schooner. He had planned his raid on the Duke's papers very cleverly. He had arrived on board when no one was about. He had bribed the carpenter (so we conjectured, piecing the evidence together) to shout fire, when we were busy at breakfast. Then, when all was ready, this woman, whoever she was, had gone forward to the bo'sun's locker, where she had set fire to half a dozen of those fumigating chemical candles which she had brought in her box. The candles at once sputtered out immense volumes of evil smelling smoke. The carpenter, watching his time, raised the alarm of fire, while the horsey man, hidden below, waited till all were on deck to force the spring-locks on the Duke's cabin-door. When once he had got inside the cabin, he had worked with feverish speed, emptying all the drawers, ripping up the mattress, even upsetting the books from the bookshelf, all in about two minutes. Luckily the Duke kept nearly all his secret papers about his person. The pocket-book was the only important exception. This, a very secret list of all the Western gentry ready to rise, was locked in a casket in a locked drawer.
“It shows you,” said Mr. Jermyn, “how well worked, that he did all this in so little time. If you hadn't fallen on the nail, Martin, our friends in the West would have fared badly. It was very clever of you to bring us out of the danger.” When we got back aboard the schooner, we found, as we had expected, that the men in league with the horsey man had deserted. Neither carpenter nor boatswain was to be found. Both had bolted off in pursuit of the horsey man at the moment of alarm, leaving their chests behind them. I suppose they thought that the plot had succeeded. I dare say, too, that the horsey man, who was evidently well known to them both, had given them orders to desert in the confusion, so that he might suck their brains at leisure elsewhere. Altogether, the morning's work from breakfast time till ten was as full of moving incident as a quiet person's life. I have never had a more exciting two hours. When I sat down to my own breakfast (which I ate in the cabin among the gentlemen) I seemed to have grown five years older. All three men made much of me. They brought out all sorts of sweetmeats for me, saying I had saved them from disaster. The Duke was especially kind. “Why, Jermyn,” he said, “we thought we'd found a clever messenger; but we've found a guardian angel.” He gave me a belt made of green Spanish leather, with a wonderfully wrought steel clasp. “Here,” he said. “Wear this, Martin. Here's a holster on it for your pistol. These pouches hold cartridges. Then this sheath at the back will hold your dagger, the spoils of war.”
“There,” said the captain. “Now I'll give you something else to fit you out. I'll give you a pocket flask. What's more, I'll teach you how to make cartridges. We'll make a stock this morning.”
While he was speaking, the mate came down to tell us how sorry he was that it was through him that the horsey man was shown over the ship. “He told me he'd important letters for Mr. Scott,” he said, “so I thought it was only right to show him about, while you was dressing. The carpenter came to me. 'This gentleman's got letters for Mr. Scott,' he said. So I was just taken in. He was such a smooth spoken chap. After I got to know, I could 'a' bit my head off.” They spoke kindly to the man, who was evidently distressed at his mistake. They told him to give orders for a watchman to walk the gangway all day long in future, which to me sounded like locking the stable door too late. After that, I learned how to make pistol cartridges until the company prepared to go ashore. The chests of the deserters were locked up in the lazaret, or store cupboard, so that if the men came aboard again they might not take away their things.
“Before we start,” the Duke said, “I must just say this. We know, from this morning's work, that the spies of the English court know much more than we supposed. We may count it as certain that this ship is being watched at this moment. Now, we must put them off the scent, because I must see Argyle without their knowledge. It is not much good putting to sea again, as a blind, for they can't help knowing that we are here to see Argyle. They have only to watch Argyle's house to see us enter, sooner or later. I suggest this as a blind. We ought to ride far out into the country to Zaandam, say, by way of Amsterdam. That's about twenty miles. Meanwhile Argyle shall come aboard here. The schooner shall take him up to Egmont; he'll get there this afternoon. He must come aboard disguised though. At Zaandam, we three will separate, Jermyn will personate me, remaining in Zaandam. The boy shall carry letters in a hurry to Hoorn; dummy letters, of course. While I shall creep off to meet Argyle—somewhere else. If we start in a hurry they won't have time to organize a pursuit. There are probably only a few secret agents waiting for us here. What do you say?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Jermyn. “I myself should say this. Send the boy on at once to Egmont with a note to Stendhal the merchant there. They won't suspect the boy. They won't bother to follow him, probably. Tell Stendhal to send Out a galliot to take Argyle off the schooner while at sea. The galliot can land Argyle somewhere on the coast. That would puzzle them rarely. She can then ply to England, or elsewhere, so that her men won't have a chance of talking. As for the schooner, she can proceed north to anchor at the Texel till further orders. At the same time, we could ride south to Noordwyk; find a barge there going north. Hide in her cabin till she arrives, say, at Alkmaar. Meet Argyle somewhere near there. Then remain hidden till it is time to move. We can set all the balls moving, by sticking up a few bills in the towns.” I did not know what he meant by this. Afterwards I learned that the conspirators took their instructions from advertisements for servants, or of things lost, which were stuck up in public places. To the initiated, these bills, seemingly innocent, gave warning of the Duke's plan. Very few people in Holland (not more than thirty I believe) were in the secret of his expedition. Most of these thirty knew other loyalists, to whom, when the time came, they gave the word. When the time came we were only about eighty men all told. That is not a large force, is it, for the invasion of a populous kingdom?
They talked it out for a little while, making improvements on Mr. Jermyn's plan. They had a map by them during some of the time. Before they made their decision, they turned me out of the cabin, so that I know not to this day what the Duke did during the next few days. I know only this, that he disappeared from his enemies, so completely that the spies were baffled. Not only James's spies, that is nothing: but the spies of William of Orange were baffled. They knew no more of his whereabouts than I knew. They had to write home that he had gone, they could not guess where; but possibly to Scotland to sound the clans. All that I know of his doings during the next week is this. After about half an hour of debate, the captain went ashore to one of the famous inns in the town. From this inn, he despatched, one by one, at brief intervals, three horses, each to a different inn along the Egmont highway. He gave instructions to the ostlers who rode them to wait outside the inns named till the gentlemen called for them. He got the third horse off, in this quiet way, at the end of about an hour. I believe that he then sent a printed book (with certain words in it underlined, so as to form a message) by the hand of a little girl, to the Duke of Argyle's lodging. I have heard that it was a book on the training of horses to do tricks. There was probably some cipher message in it, as well as the underlined message. Whatever it was, it gave the Duke his instructions.