A PIECE OF PIE
At two bells there sounded the sonorous call, "Sail ho!"
"Where away?" cried Mr. Falk.
"One point off the larboard bow."
In all the days since we had lost sight of land, we had seen but one other
sail, which had appeared only to disappear again beyond the horizon. It
seemed probable, however, that we should speak this second vessel, a brig
whose course crossed our own. Captain Whidden came on deck and assumed
command, and the men below, getting wind of the excitement, trooped up and
lined the bulwarks forward. Our interest, which was already considerable,
became even keener when the stranger hove out a signal of distress. We took
in all studding-sails and topgallantsails fore and aft, and lay by for her
about an hour after we first had sighted her.
Over the water, when we were within hailing distance, came the cry: "Ship
ahoy!"
Captain Whidden held the speaking trumpet. "Hullo!"
"What ship is that, pray?"
"The ship Island Princess, from Salem, bound to Canton. Where are you
from?"
"The brig Adventure, bound from the Straits to Boston. Our foretopmast was
carried away four hours ago. Beware of--"
Losing the next words, the Captain called, "I didn't hear that last."
"Beware,"--came again the warning cry, booming deeply over the sea while
one and all we strained to hear it--"beware of any Arab ship. Arabs have
captured the English ship Alert and have murdered her captain and fifteen
men."
Squaring her head-yards, the brig dropped her mainsail, braced her cross
jack-yard sharp aback, put her helm a-weather and got sternway, while her
after sails and helm kept her to the wind. So she fell off from us and the
two vessels passed, perhaps never to meet again.
Both forward and aft, we aboard the Island Princess were sober men. Kipping
and the second mate were talking quietly together, I saw (I saw, too, that
Captain Whidden and some of the others were watching them sharply) Mr.
Thomas and Roger Hamlin were leaning side by side upon the rail, and
forward the men were gathering in groups. It was indeed an ominous message
that the brig had given us. But supper broke the tension, and afterwards a
more cheerful atmosphere prevailed.
As I was sweeping down the deck next day, Roger, to my great surprise,--for
by now I was accustomed to his amused silence,--came and spoke to me with
something of the old, humorous freedom that was so characteristic of him.
"Well, Bennie," said he, "we're quite a man now, are we not?"
"We are," I replied shortly. Although I would not for a great deal have
given him the satisfaction of knowing it, I had been much vexed, secretly,
by his rigidly ignoring me.
"Bennie," he said in a low voice, "is there trouble brewing in the
forecastle?"
I was startled. "Why, no. I've seen no sign of trouble."
"No one has talked to you, then?"
"Not in such a way as you imply."
"Hm! Keep your eyes and ears open, anyway, and if you hear anything that
sounds like trouble, let me know--quietly, mind you, even secretly."
"What do you mean?"
"We are carrying a valuable cargo, and we have very particular orders. All
must be thus and so,--exactly thus and so,--and it means more to the
owners, Bennie, than I think you realize. Now you go on with your work. But
remember--eyes and ears open."
That night, as I watched the restless sea and the silent stars, my
imagination was stirred as never before. I felt the mystery and wonder of
great distances and far places. We were so utterly alone! Except for the
passing hail of some stranger, we had cut ourselves off for months from all
communication with the larger world. Whatever happened aboard ship, in
whatever straits we found ourselves, we must depend solely upon our own
resources; and already it appeared that some of our shipmates were scheming
and intriguing against one another. Thus I meditated, until the boyish and
more natural, perhaps more wholesome, thought of the cook's promise came to
me.
Pie! My remembrance of pie was almost as intangible as a pleasant dream
might be some two days later. With care to escape observation, I made my
way to the galley and knocked cautiously.
"Who's dah?" asked softly the old cook, who had barricaded himself for the
night according to his custom, and was smoking a villainously rank pipe.
"It's Ben Lathrop," I whispered.
"What you want heah?" the cook demanded.
"The pie you promised me," I answered.
"Humph! Ain't you fo'got dat pie yet? You got de most miraculous memorizer
eveh Ah heared of. You wait."
I heard him fumbling inside the galley; then he opened the door and stepped
out on deck as if he had just decided to take a breath of fresh air. Upon
seeing me, he pretended to start with great surprise, and exclaimed rather
more loudly than before:--
"What you doin' heah, boy, at dis yeh hour o' night?"
But all this was only crafty by-play. Having made sure, so he thought,
that no one was in sight, he grabbed me by the collar and yanked me into
the galley, at the same time shutting the door so that I almost stifled in
the rank smoke with which he had filled the place.
Scowling fiercely, he reached into a little cupboard and drew out half an
apple pie that to my eager eyes seemed as big as a half moon on a clear
night.
"Dah," he said. "Eat it up. Mistah Falk, he tell stew'd he want pie and he
gotta have pie, and stew'd he come and he say, 'Frank,' says he, 'dat
Mistah Falk, his langwidge is like he is in liquo'. He _gotta_ have pie.'
'All right,' Ah say, 'if he gotta have pie, he gotta wait twill Ah make
pie. Cap'n, he et hearty o' pie lately.' Stew'd he say, 'Cap'n ain't had
but one piece and Mistah Thomas, he ain't had but one piece, and Mistah
Hamlin, he ain't had any. Dah's gotta be pie. You done et dat pie yo'se'f,'
says he. 'Oh, no,' says Ah. 'Ah never et no pie. You fo'get 'bout dat pie
you give Cap'n foh breakfas'.' Den stew'd he done crawl out. He don' know
Ah make two pies yestidday. Dat's how come Ah have pie foh de boy. Boys dey
need pie to make 'em grow. It's won'erful foh de indignation, pie is."
I was appalled by the hue and cry that my half-circle of pastry had
occasioned, and more than a little fearful of the consequences if the truth
ever should transpire; but the pie in hand was compensation for many such
intangible difficulties in the future, and I was making great inroads on a
wedge of it, when I thought I heard a sound outside the window, which the
cook had masked with a piece of paper.
I stopped to listen and saw that Frank had heard it too. It was a scratchy
sound as if some one were trying to unship the glass.
"Massy sake!" my host gasped, taking his vile pipe out of his mouth.
Although it was quite impossible for pallor to make any visible impression
on his surpassing blackness, he obviously was much disturbed.
"Gobble dat pie, boy," he gasped, "gobble up ev'y crumb an' splinter."
Now, as the scratchy noise sounded at the door, the cook laid his pipe on a
shelf and glanced up at a big carving-knife that hung from a rack above his
head.
"Who's dah?" he demanded cautiously.
"Lemme in," said a mild, low voice, "I want some o' that pie."
"Massy sake!" the cook gasped in disgust, "ef it ain't dat no 'count
Kipping."
"Lemme in," persisted the mild, plaintive voice. "Lemme in."
"Aw, go 'long! Dah ain't no pie in heah," the cook retorted. "You's
dreamin', dat's what you is. You needs a good dose of medicine, dat's what
you needs."
"I'm dreaming, am I?" the mild voice repeated. "Oh, yes, I'm dreaming I am,
ain't I? I didn't sneak around the galley yesterday morning and hear you
tell that cocky little fool to come and get a piece of pie tonight. Oh, no!
I didn't see him come prowling around when he thought no one was looking.
Oh, no! I didn't see you come out of the galley like you didn't know there
was anybody on deck, and walk right under the rigging where I was waiting
for just such tricks. Oh, no! I was dreaming, I was. Oh, yes."
"Dat Kipping," the cook whispered, "he's hand and foot with Mistah Falk."
"Lemme in, you woolly-headed son of perdition, or I swear I'll take the
kinky scalp right off your round old head."
"He's gettin' violenter," the cook whispered, eyeing me questioningly.
Saying nothing, I swallowed the last bit of pie. I had made the most of my
opportunity.
Kipping now shook the door and swore angrily. Finally he kicked it with the
full weight of his heel.
It rattled on its hinges and a long crack appeared in the lower panel.
"He's sho' coming in," the African said slowly and reflectively. "He's sho'
coming in and when he don't get no pie, he's gwine tell Mistah Falk, and
you and me's gwine have trouble." Putting his scowling face close to my
ear, the cook whispered, "Ah's gwine scare him good."
Amazed by the dramatic turn that events were taking, I drew back into a
corner.
From the rack above his head the cook took down the carving-knife. Dropping
on hands and knees and creeping across the floor, he held the weapon
between his even white teeth, sat up on his haunches, and noiselessly
drew the bolt that locked the door. Then with a deft motion of an
extraordinarily long arm he put out the lantern behind him and threw the
galley into darkness.