_In Which the Clerk of the Trader Tax Yarns of a Madman
in the Cabin_
THE trading-schooner _Tax_ of Ruddy Cove had come down from the
Labrador. She was riding at anchor in the home harbour, with her hold
full of salt fish and the goods in her cabin run sadly low. Billy
Topsail, safely back from Feather's Folly, and doomed by the wreck of
the _Fish Killer_ to spend the summer in the quieter pursuits of Ruddy
Cove, had gone aboard to greet the crew. There was hot tea on the
forecastle table, and the crew was yarning to a jolly, brown grinning
lot of Ruddy folk, who had come aboard. It was Cook, the clerk, a
merry, blue-eyed little man, who told the story of the madman in the
cabin.
"We were lying in Shelter Harbour," said he, "waiting for a fair wind
to Point-o'-Bay. It was coming close to night when they saw him leaping
along shore and kicking a tin kettle as though 'twas a football. I was
in the cabin, putting the stock to rights after the day's trade. I
heard the hail and the skipper's answering, 'Ay ay! This is the trader
_Tax_ from Ruddy Cove.' Then the skipper sung out to know if I wanted a
customer. Customer? To be sure I wanted one!
"'If he has a gallon of oil or a pound of fish,' said I, 'fetch him
aboard.'
"'He looks queer,' said the skipper.
"'Queer he may look,' said I, 'and queer he may be, but his fish will
be first cousins to the ones in the hold, and I'll barter for them.'
"With that the skipper put off in the punt to fetch the customer; but
when he drew near shore he lay on his oars, something puzzled, I'm
thinking, for the customer was dancing a hornpipe on a flat rock at the
water's edge, by the first light of the moon.
"'Have you got a fish t' trade?' said the skipper.
"'Good-evenin', skipper, sir,' said the queer customer, after a last
kick and flourish. 'I've a quintal or two an' a cask o' oil that I'm
wantin' bad t' trade away.'
"He was rational as you please; so the skipper was thrown off his
guard, took him aboard, and pulled out.
"'You're quite a dancer,' said he.
"'Hut!' said the man. 'That's nothin' at all. When the moon's full an'
high, sir, I dances over the waves; an' when they's a gale blowin' I
goes aloft t' the clouds an' shakes a foot up there.'
"'Do you, now?' said the skipper, not knowing whether to take this in
joke or earnest.
"'Believe _me_, sir,' said the man, with the gravest of faces, 'I'm a
wonderful dancer.'
"I was on deck when they came aboard. It was then dusk. I noticed
nothing out of the ordinary in my customer's appearance. He was a
large, big-boned man, well supplied with fat and muscle, and capable,
as I thought at the moment, of enduring all the toil and hardship to
which the men of that coast are exposed. The skipper handed him over to
me without a word of warning, and went below to the forecastle, for the
wind was blowing cold and misty."
"Oh, well," the skipper broke in from his place in a bunk, "how could I
tell that he was mad?"
"Whatever, Skipper Job," the clerk resumed, with a twinkle in his eye,
"I took him into the cabin, and the crew and you were snug enough in
the forecastle, where no hail of mine could reach you. It was not
until then," he resumed, "when the light of the cabin lamp fell full
upon him, that I had a proper appreciation of my customer's size and
strength--not until then that I marked the deathly pallour of his face
and the strange light in his eyes. He was frowsy, dirty, dressed in
ragged moleskin cloth; and he had a habit of looking to right and left
and aloft--anywhere, it appeared, but straight in my face--so that I
caught no more than a red flash from his eyes from time to time. I felt
uneasy, without being able to account to myself for the feeling; so,
anxious to be well rid of him, I asked, abruptly, in what I could serve
him.
"'I'm thinkin' you'll not be havin' the thing I wants,' said he.
"That touched me on a tender spot. 'I'm thinking,' said I, 'that we've
a little of all that you ever thought of.'
"'I don't think you has,' said he, 'but 'twould be best for you if you
had.'
"There was a hidden meaning in that. Why should it be best for me?
"'And what is it?' said I.
"''Tis a spool o' silk thread,' said he, soberly, 't' bind the fairies
with--the wicked fairies that tells me t' do the things I don't want
t'. If you've any o' _that_, sir, I'll take all you got aboard, for I
wants it bad.'
"'Come, now, my man,' said I sharply, 'stop your joking. I'm tired, and
in no humour for it. What is it you want?'
"'I'm not jokin', sir,' said he. 'I wants a spool o' green silk thread
t' lash the wicked fairies t' the spruce trees.'
"I could not doubt him longer; there was too much longing, too much
hopelessness, in his voice for that. He was demented; but there are
many men of that coast whom lonely toil has driven mad, but yet who
live their lives through to the natural end, peaceable folk and good
fishermen, and I thought that this poor fellow had as good a right to
trade with me as the sanest man in Shelter Harbour.
"'We've no green silk thread, sir,' said I, 'that will securely lash
fairies to spruce trees. But if you want anything else, and have fish
to trade, I'll take them.'
"'I wisht you had the thread,' said he.
"'Why?' said I.
"''Twould be best for you,' said he with a sigh. 'If I could tie the
wicked fairies up, I wouldn't have t'--have t'--do it. But,' he went
on, 'as you haven't any thread, I'll take some calico t' make a new
dress for my brother's little maid.'
"A certain look of cunning, which overspread his face at that moment,
alarmed me. I thought I had better find out what the wicked fairies had
to do with me.
"'Did you meet the fairies to-night?' said I.
"'Ay,' said he. 'I met the crew o' wicked ones on my way through the
bush.'
"'And what did they tell you?' said I.
"He signed to me to be silent; then he closed the cabin door and came
close to the counter, behind which I stood, with no way of escape open.
"'Has you got a loaded gun?' he whispered hoarsely.
"His face was close to mine. In his eyes, which were now steady, two
live, red coals were glowing. I fell back from him, frightened; for
I now knew what work the wicked fairies had assigned to him for that
night. Poor fellow! Frightened though I was, I pitied him. I saw his
distress, and pitied him! He was fighting manfully against the impulse;
but it mastered him, at last, and I realized that my life was in grave
danger. I was penned in, you know, and--they call me 'little Cook'--I
was no match for him.
"'No,' said I. 'I've no gun.'
"'Has you got a knife?' said he.
"'Sorry,' said I; 'but I'm sold out of knives.'
"'Has you got a razor?' said he.
"It was high time to mislead him. I saw an opportunity to escape.
"'Is it razors you want?' I cried. 'Sure, I've some grand ones--big
ones, boy, sharp ones, bright ones. I keep them in the forecastle where
'tis dry. So I'll just run up to fetch the lot to show you.'
"His eyes glistened when I spoke of the brightness and sharpness of
those razors. With a show of confidence, I jumped on the counter and
swung my legs over. But he pushed me back--so angrily, indeed, that I
feared to precipitate the encounter if I persisted.
"'Don't trouble, sir,' said he. 'I'll find something that'll answer.
Ha!' said he, taking an axe from the rack and 'hefting' it. 'This will
do.'
"'But I'm wanting to wash my hands, anyway,' said I.
"''Twill make no difference in the end,' said he quietly.
"I speak of it calmly now; but when I found myself alone in the cabin
with that poor madman--found myself behind the counter, with no
defensive weapon at hand, with my life in the care of my wits, which
are neither sharp nor ready--I was in no condition for calm thought. To
hail the skipper was out of the question; he would not hear me, and the
first shout would doubtless excite the big man in the moleskin clothes
beyond restraint. My hope of escape lay in distracting his attention
from the matter in hand until the skipper should come aft of his own
notion. But I made one effort in another direction.
"'Did you say _green_ silk thread or _blue_?' said I.
"'I said green, sir.'
"'Did you, now?' I exclaimed. 'Sure, I thought you said blue. We've no
blue, but we've the green, and you'll be able to lash the fairies to
the spruce trees, after all.'
"As a matter of fact, we had a few spools of silk thread, and one of
them was green--a bad stock, as I knew to my cost, for I had long been
trying to dispose of them.
"''Tis too late,' said he.
"'No, no!' said I. 'You'll surely not be letting the fairies drive you
like that. You can take the green thread and lash them all up on the
way home.'
"'No,' he said doggedly; ''tis too late. What they told me to do I must
do before the clock strikes.'
"'Strikes what?' said I.
"'Twelve,' said he.
"With what relief did I hear this! Twelve o'clock? It was now but
eight. The skipper would come aft long before that hour.
"''Tis a long time to wait,' said I. 'I'll make up my bunk, and you may
lie down a bit and rest.'
"'It lacks but twelve minutes of the hour,' said he. 'They's a clock
hangin' behind you, sir.'
"He indicated a cheap American alarm clock. It was the last of a half
dozen I had kept hanging from the roof of the cabin. I had kept them
wound up, for the mere pleasure of hearing their busy ticking, but
had never set them--never troubled to keep them running to the right
time. When I looked up I was dismayed to find that the clock pointed to
twelve minutes to twelve o'clock!
"''Tis not the right time,' I began. ''Tis far too----'
"'Hist!' said he. 'Don't speak. You've but eleven minutes left.'
"Thus we stood, the fisherman with his back to the door and the axe
in his hand, and myself behind the counter, while the cheap American
alarm clock ticked off the minutes of my life. Eleven--ten--nine! They
were fast flying. I could think of no plan to dissuade him--no ruse
to outwit him. Indeed, my mind was occupied more with putting the
blame on that lying clock than with anything else. I had determined,
of course, to make the best fight I could--to blow out the light at
the moment of attack, dive under the counter, catch my man by the
legs, overturn him and escape by the door or there fight it out. Nine
minutes--eight--seven! At that moment I caught a long hail from the
shore.
"'Schooner ahoy! Ahoy!'
"I do not think the fisherman heard it. It was too faint--too far off;
and he was too intent upon the thing he was to do.
"'Six minutes, sir,' said he.
"I wondered if Job had heard. The hail was repeated. Then I heard
Skipper Job answer from the deck. At that the fisherman started; but
his alarm passed in a moment.
"'Ahoy!' shouted Skipper Job.
"'Has you got a strange man aboard?' came from the shore.
"'Yes, sir,' Job called.
"'Watch him,' from the shore. 'He's mad.'
"'Oh, he's all right,' Job called. 'He's harmless.'
"Then silence. My hope of relief vanished. I should have to make the
fight, after all, I thought.
"'Five minutes, sir,' said the madman.
"Had Skipper Job gone below again? Or would he come aft? For two
minutes not a word was said. My customer and I were waiting for the
first stroke of twelve. Soon I heard voices forward; then the tramp
of feet coming aft over the deck--treading softly. They paused by the
house, and the whispering ceased. Was it a rescue, or was it not? I
could not tell. The men above seemed to have no concern with me. But,
indeed, they had.
"'John, b'y,' a strange voice called, 'is you below?'
"''Tis me brother Timothy,' my customer whispered. 'I must be goin'
home.'
"'John, b'y, is you below?'
"'Ay, Timothy!'
"'Come up, b'y. I'm goin' ashore now, an' 'tis time you was in bed.'
"My customer put up the axe, and, with a sign to me to keep silence,
went on deck, with me following. He jumped in the punt, as docile as a
child, gave us all good-night, and was rowed ashore. We did not see him
again; for the wind blew fresh from the nor'west in the morning, and by
night we were anchored at Point-o'-Bay. Whether or not the fairies had
commanded the poor fellow to kill me at twelve o'clock, I do not know.
He did not say so; but I think they had."