WISE JAN PETTIGREW
Gently, very gently, they laid in the earth the body of the Little
Marie, and Wat Gordon said the prayer over her he could not remember
before when she lay a-dying. It was a prayer to the Lord who takes
reckoning with the intents of the heart as well as with the deeds of
the body.
Under the shelter of a great dune they laid her, digging the grave as
deep as they could, using the same tools with which they had intrenched
the citadel she had helped them so well to defend. They laid her on the
landward side, under a huge cliff of sand, so that as the winds blew
and the sand wave advanced, it might bury her deeper and ever deeper
till the trumpet of the archangel should blow _reveille_ upon the morn
of final judgment.
"And then," said Scarlett, with conviction, "I had liefer take my
chance with Marie, the sinner, than with Barra or Kersland, those
precious and well-considered saints."
Wat Gordon said not a word. But he stood a longer space than for his
own safety he ought, leaning upon the long handle of his spade and
looking at the fresh, moist sand which alone marked the grave of the
Little Marie in the waste.
The defeat which had befallen the forces of Haxo was final enough,
for among the rank and file there was not the least desire to pursue
the conflict for its own sake. And, moreover, the death of so many
of their companions was sufficient to intimidate the survivors. Yet
Wat and Scarlett were by no means free from danger. For one thing,
both Haxo and the fugitives from the party of their assailants were
perfectly acquainted with their identity, and the fact of Wat's being
an escaped prisoner of the State was quite enough to bring upon them
more legitimate though not less dangerous enemies.
By following circuitous and secluded paths, Wat and Scarlett found
their way to a wooden shed on the verges of the cultivated land. The
lower floors were evidently used in the winter for cattle, but the
upper parts were still half full of hay, long and coarse, cut from the
polders which lay at the back of the dunes.
Here among the rough, fragrant, pleasant hay the two men lay down, and
Wat fell instantly asleep--the training of his old days in the heather
returning to him, and in combination with the fatigues and anxieties of
the night and morning, causing him to forget the manifold dangers of
his position. Scarlett, having apparently left sleep behind him with
his drowsy regiment, occupied himself dourly in making up the account
of the pays still due to him by the paymaster of his corps, shaking his
head and grumbling as each item was added to the formidable column, not
a solitary stiver of which he could ever hope to receive.
It was again growing dusk when Wat awoke, much refreshed by his sleep.
He found Scarlett leaning on his elbow and watching him with grim
amusement.
"I suppose," he said, "once I was a fool and fathoms deep in love
as well as you. But I do not believe that ever I slept in this
fashion--saying over and over, 'Kate, dear Kate,' all the time, in a
voice like a calf bleating for a milk-pail on the other side of the
gate."
Wat turned his head and pretended not to hear. He was in no mood to
barter windy compliments with Jack Scarlett, who on his part loved
nothing better, save only wine and a pretty woman. The grave of the
girl who had died for love of him was too new under the dunes of Lis;
the fate of his own true-love too dark and uncertain.
So soon, therefore, as it grew dusk enough, Wat and Scarlett betook
themselves without further speech down to the little harbor, to see
what might be obtained there in the way of a boat to convey them out of
Holland. At first they had some thought of getting a fisherman to land
them at Hamburg, whence it would be easy enough to take passage either
to England or to Scotland, as they might decide.
The town of Lis was small, and its harbor but a shallow basin into
which at high-water half a dozen fishing-boats at most might enter.
There were few people about the long, straggling, shoreward street,
and there was none of the cheerful bustle and animation characteristic
of a Dutch town at evening. For many of the men were away serving in
the armies of the States-General, and most of the others were at the
fishing off the banks of Texil. In the harbor itself they saw nothing
to suit their purpose, and none at whom to ask a question. Nor did so
much as a dog bark at them.
But on the shingle outside of the harbor, at a place where a ledge of
rock ran up out of the sea, with the waves gently washing one side of
it, there was drawn up a ship's boat of moderate dimensions, and beside
it, seated on the stern with his legs dangling over the painted name,
lounged a curious-looking individual, smoking a short, small-bowled
pipe. He was a youth, of years numbering somewhere between eighteen
and thirty--of the sleek-faced, beardless sort that does not change
much for twenty years. The most boundless self-sufficiency marked his
appearance and attitude. When he saw Wat and Scarlett approach he rose
lazily, stretched his long, lank legs, turned his back on them in a
marked manner, and gazed seaward from under the level palm of his hand.
"I bid you good-evening," said Scarlett, saluting Sir Stork as politely
as if he had been the stadtholder of Lis; "can you tell us if in this
town there are any boats that may be hired to take certain passengers
to Rotterdam?"
For they thought it well, in any bargaining, to give out that city as
their port, and to change the destination after they had got to sea--by
persuasion or by force of arms, if necessary.
"That do I not," replied the unknown, promptly, in good English, though
Scarlett had spoken in Dutch.
"But the boat upon which you are leaning?" pursued Scarlett, "is she
not a vessel which a man may hire for a just price?"
The lad took three draws of his pipe in a consequential way before
answering. He tapped the bowl meditatively on his thigh.
"This boat," he said, at length, "of which I am in charge, is the
property of Captain Smith, of the _Sea Unicorn_, a distinguished
English merchantman, burgess of the town of Poole--and I am responsible
for her safekeeping till such time as she can be conveyed to that town."
"It is indeed both an onerous and an honorable task," quoth Scarlett,
"and one that could only be intrusted to a man of sense and
probity--and I am sure from your appearance that you are both."
Wat Gordon was getting tired of this bandying of words, and showed
symptoms of breaking in. But as the youth looked seaward Scarlett dug
his companion in the side with his elbow, in token that he was to be
silent. Old Jack had an idea.
"Captain Smith was perhaps overtaken by the late storm," he said,
warily, "and so compelled to leave his long-boat behind him?"
"Aye, and Wise Jan Pettigrew (for so I am nominated in all Poole
and Branksea) was left in charge of it," said the youth, with proud
consequence. "An important cargo was taken out to the _Sea Unicorn_ in
this boat, I warrant, and one that will bring a high price when Captain
Smith comes to reckon charges with the owner of that pretty thing."
"Ah, Wise Master Jan Pettigrew, but you carry as pretty a wit and as
shrewd a tongue in that head of yours as I have met with for many a
day," said Scarlett, in a tone of high admiration.
"So--so," said Jan Pettigrew, complacently crossing his legs again on
the boat and taking deeper and deeper whiffs of his refilled pipe.
"Aye, marry! a shrewd tongue and a biting. And whither might this
treasure be going?" asked Wat, with more anxiety on his face than he
ought to have shown. Scarlett darted an angry glance at him, and the
tallowy youth, taking his pipe out of his mouth and holding it in his
hand, regarded him with slowly dawning suspicion.
"The matter is naturally a secret of my noble employer's," he replied,
with dignity, "and of Captain Smith's. It has not been communicated to
me with the idea of my retailing it to any chance idler on the beach
who happens to come asking insolent questions."
"Certainly you are right, and very well said, Master Pettigrew,"
said Scarlett, with admiration. "Wat, my lad, that settles you, I am
thinking. The gentleman has his secrets, and he means to keep them. And
mightily prudent of him, too. But as to this boat," he went on, "your
master cannot mean you to take her along the coast by yourself all the
way to meet him in Hamburg?"
"My master has not gone to Hamburg," cried Jan Pettigrew, "but first
of all to his own town of Poole, or at least to a place near by, which
is also a secret with himself and with those who have the honor to
serve him, and in whom he reposes confidence."
Scarlett once more glanced round reprovingly at Wat.
"Ah, let this be a lesson to you, young sirrah," he said; "see how
carefully and yet how politely this gentleman can keep his master's
secrets? Truly, this is a fellow to be trusted."
Wise Jan Pettigrew puffed and blew upon his pipe with such swelling
importance, that finally he choked and went off into a fit of coughing
which threatened to end him once for all. For he was but loosely hung
together, of bilious complexion, and with a weak, hollow chest. But
all the time of his coughing he was struggling to tell something which
pleased him, choking at once with laughter and with the reek which had
gone the wrong way when Scarlett tickled his vanity with flattering
words.
"_Oo-hoo_," he cried, chokingly, "and the cream of the
joke--_oo-hoo_--is that the captain, being a widower, is sure to fall
in love with the lass himself. And at Poole town, when his madcap
daughter comes aboard at Branksea, as she ever does, I warrant it that
she makes the fur to fly. Would that I had been there to see! 'Twill be
a rare lillibullero! She'll pipe up Bob's-a-dying!"
Wat's eyes gleamed like a flame, but Scarlett darted a side-look under
his brows at him, so swift and fierce that he started back and was
silent. "For the love of God," the look said, "hold your fool's tongue
and let me finish what I have begun."
"Master Jan Pettigrew," quoth Scarlett, still more seductively, "you
are a man after my own heart. Fain would I go a little cruise, as it
might be for pleasure, with a man of your wit and discretion. I tell
thee what--Captain Smith cannot be back for a long season. Now we two
are anxious to go on a little pleasure-trip to England. There is a mast
in the boat. The wind and weather are fair. We have both of us got
good Dutch guilders in our pouches. You, like other brave campaigners,
have, I doubt not, both sore need of such and a bonny young lass of
your own in Poole, or elsewhere, to spend them upon. Why should not we
three put the boat's head towards England this fine brisk night, with
the wind in our quarter, and boldly steer our way thither? Would it not
surprise Captain Smith greatly and make much for your advancement if
he should see his long-boat come sailing in after him safe and sound?
And how famous would Master Jan Pettigrew be then! Why, every coastwise
ship-master would be eager to give him a fine vessel to command, on the
strength of such a deed of seamanship!--while all the maids would go
wild for his favor, and the home-staying lads would run crazy for very
green envy for him."
As Scarlett spoke the pursing of Jan Pettigrew's mouth gradually
slackened and the corners widened, till his countenance became in truth
a finely open one--most like that of the monk-fish when he lies at the
bottom of the sea with his jaws wide for sticklebacks and codlings to
venture within. At the picture of his triumphant return his dull eyes
glistened, and when Scarlett spoke of his fortune among the maids, he
slid down from the boat and slapped his thigh.
"Ods fegs, I'll risk it--I have more than half a mind. But"--he
scratched his head and hesitated--"the provisions for such a
cruise--they will cost much?"
He looked cunningly at Scarlett, who motioned with his hand behind him
to Wat. Lochinvar slid an arm about his waist and undid his belt, from
which he took a couple of gold pieces. These he put into Scarlett's
beckoning palm.
"The provisions, sayest thou?" quoth Scarlett, deftly jerking one
of these into his pocket. "Have no care for that. Here is one piece
of gold for you--go into the village of Lis and buy whatever may be
necessary for our voyage. And," he continued, "there is no need to tell
a man of the understanding of Jan Pettigrew that, when talking to the
yokels of Lis, we are only going a little voyage to the Banks to catch
the saith and limber-cod."
Scarlett rubbed his finger along the side of his nose with such
contagious cunning that Jan also rubbed his and leered back at him in
as knowing a manner.
"Trust Wise Jan," he said; "not a word shall they know from me--I am as
deep in counsel as a draw-well. There is no bucket can draw aught from
my mind unless my will be the rope to pull it up withal."
"Haste you, then," said Scarlett; "speak not to the people at all, for
safety's sake, but come back quickly with the provender. And in the
mean time my friend and I will fill the casks and beakers with water,
so that we may be ready to start as soon as you return."