Hicks did not join the others at breakfast. They talked of what Lydia
had seen at Gibraltar, where Staniford had been on a former voyage.
Dunham had made it a matter of conscience to know all about it
beforehand from his guide-books, and had risen early that morning to
correct his science by his experience in a long entry in the diary which
he was keeping for Miss Hibbard. The captain had the true sea-farer's
ignorance, and was amused at the things reported by his passengers of
a place where he had been ashore so often; Hicks's absence doubtless
relieved him, but he did not comment on the cabin-boy's announcement
that he was still asleep, except to order him let alone.
They were seated at their one o'clock dinner before the recluse made
any sign. Then he gave note of his continued existence by bumping and
thumping sounds within his state-room, as if some one were dressing
there in a heavy sea.
“Mr. Hicks seems to be taking his rough weather retrospectively,” said
Staniford, with rather tremulous humor.
The door was flung open, and Hicks reeled out, staying himself by the
door-knob. Even before he appeared, a reek of strong waters had preceded
him. He must have been drinking all night. His face was flushed, and
his eyes were bloodshot. He had no collar on; but he wore a cravat and
otherwise he was accurately and even fastidiously dressed. He balanced
himself by the door-knob, and measured the distance he had to make
before reaching his place at the table, smiling, and waving a delicate
handkerchief, which he held in his hand: “Spilt c'logne, tryin' to
scent my hic--handkerchief. Makes deuced bad smell--too much c'logne;
smells--alcoholic. Thom's, bear a hand, 's good f'low. No? All right,
go on with your waitin'. B-ic--business b'fore pleasure, 's feller says.
Play it alone, I guess.”
The boy had shrunk back in dismay, and Hicks contrived to reach his
place by one of those precipitate dashes with which drunken men attain a
point, when the luck is with them. He looked smilingly round the circle
of faces. Staniford and the captain exchanged threatening looks of
intelligence, while Mr. Watterson and Dunham subordinately waited their
motion. But the advantage, as in such cases, was on the side of Hicks.
He knew it, with a drunkard's subtlety, and was at his ease.
“No app'tite, friends; but thought I'd come out, keep you from feeling
lonesome.” He laughed and hiccuped, and smiled upon them all. “Well,
cap'n,” he continued, “'covered from 'tigues day, sterday? You look
blooming's usual. Thom's, pass the--pass the--victuals lively, my son,
and fetch along coffee soon. Some the friends up late, and want their
coffee. Nothing like coffee, carry off'fee's.” He winked to the men, all
round; and then added, to Lydia: “Sorry see you in this state--I mean,
sorry see me--Can't make it that way either; up stump on both routes.
What I mean is, sorry hadn't coffee first. But _you're_ all right--all
right! Like see anybody offer you disrespec', 'n I'm around. Tha's all.”
Till he addressed her, Lydia had remained motionless, first with
bewilderment, and then with open abhorrence. She could hardly have seen
in South Bradfield a man who had been drinking. Even in haying, or other
sharpest stress of farmwork, our farmer and his men stay themselves with
nothing stronger than molasses-water, or, in extreme cases, cider with
a little corn soaked in it; and the Mill Village, where she had taught
school, was under the iron rule of a local vote for prohibition. She
stared in stupefaction at Hicks's heated, foolish face; she started
at his wild movements, and listened with dawning intelligence to his
hiccup-broken speech, with its thickened sibilants and its wandering
emphasis. When he turned to her, and accompanied his words with a
reassuring gesture, she recoiled, and as if breaking an ugly fascination
she gave a low, shuddering cry, and looked at Staniford.
“Thomas,” he said, “Miss Blood was going to take her dessert on deck
to-day. Dunham?”
Dunham sprang to his feet, and led her out of the cabin.
The movement met Hicks's approval. “Tha's right; 'sert on deck, 'joy
landscape and pudding together,--Rhine steamer style. All right. Be
up there m'self soon's I get my coffee.” He winked again with drunken
sharpness. “I know wha's what. Be up there m'self, 'n a minute.”
“If you offer to go up,” said Staniford, in a low voice, as soon as
Lydia was out of the way, “I'll knock you down!”
“Captain,” said Mr. Watterson, venturing, perhaps for the first time in
his whole maritime history, upon a suggestion to his superior officer,
“shall I clap him in irons?”
“Clap him in irons!” roared Captain Jenness. “Clap him in bed! Look
here, you!” He turned to Hicks, but the latter, who had been bristling
at Staniford's threat, now relaxed in a crowing laugh:--
“Tha's right, captain. Irons no go, 'cept in case mutiny; bed perfectly
legal 't all times. Bed is good. But trouble is t' enforce it.”
“Where's your bottle?” demanded the captain, rising from the seat in
which a paralysis of fury had kept him hitherto. “I want your bottle.”
“Oh, bottle's all right! Bottle's under pillow. Empty,--empty's Jonah's
gourd; 'nother sea-faring party,--Jonah. S'cure the shadow ere the
substance fade. Drunk all the brandy, old boy. Bottle's a canteen;
'vantage of military port to houseless stranger. Brought the brandy
on board under my coat; nobody noticed,--so glad get me back. Prodigal
son's return,--fatted calf under his coat.”
The reprobate ended his boastful confession with another burst of
hiccuping, and Staniford helplessly laughed.
“Do me proud,” said Hicks. “Proud, I 'sure you. Gentleman, every time,
Stanny. Know good thing when you see it--hear it, I mean.”
“Look here, Hicks,” said Staniford, choosing to make friends with the
mammon of unrighteousness, if any good end might be gained by it. “You
know you're drunk, and you're not fit to be about. Go back to bed,
that's a good fellow; and come out again, when you're all right. You
don't want to do anything you'll be sorry for.”
“No, no! No, you don't, Stanny. Coffee'll make me all right. Coffee
always does. Coffee--Heaven's lash besh gift to man. 'Scovered
subse-subs'quently to grape. See? Comes after claret in course of
nature. Captain doesn't understand the 'lusion. All right, captain.
Little learning dangerous thing.” He turned sharply on Mr. Watterson,
who had remained inertly in his place. “Put me in irons, heh! _You_ put
me in irons, you old Triton. Put _me_ in irons, will you?” His
amiable mood was passing; before one could say so, it was past. He was
meditating means of active offense. He gathered up the carving-knife and
fork, and held them close under Mr. Watterson's nose. “Smell that!” he
said, and frowned as darkly as a man of so little eyebrow could.
At this senseless defiance Staniford, in spite of himself, broke into
another laugh, and even Captain Jenness grinned. Mr. Watterson sat with
his head drawn as far back as possible, and with his nose wrinkled at
the affront offered it. “Captain,” he screamed, appealing even in this
extremity to his superior, “shall I fetch him _one?_”
“No, no!” cried Staniford, springing from his chair; “don't hit him! He
isn't responsible. Let's get him into his room.”
“Fetch me _one_, heh?” said Hicks, rising, with dignity, and beginning
to turn up his cuffs. “_One_! It'll take more than one, fetch _me_.
Stan' up, 'f you're man enough.” He was squaring at Mr. Watterson,
when he detected signs of strategic approach in Staniford and Captain
Jenness. He gave a wild laugh, and shrank into a corner. “No! No, you
don't, boys,” he said.
They continued their advance, one on either side, and reinforced by Mr.
Watterson hemmed him in. The drunken man has the advantage of his sober
brother in never seeming to be on the alert. Hicks apparently entered
into the humor of the affair. “Sur-hic-surrender!” he said, with a smile
in his heavy eyes. He darted under the extended arms of Captain Jenness,
who was leading the centre of the advance, and before either wing could
touch him he was up the gangway and on the deck.
Captain Jenness indulged one of those expressions, very rare with him,
which are supposed to be forgiven to good men in moments of extreme
perplexity, and Mr. Watterson profited by the precedent to unburden his
heart in a paraphrase of the captain's language. Staniford's laugh had
as much cursing in it as their profanity.
He mechanically followed Hicks to the deck, prepared to renew the
attempt for his capture there. But Hicks had not stopped near Dunham
and Lydia. He had gone forward on the other side of the ship, and was
leaning quietly on the rail, and looking into the sea. Staniford paused
irresolute for a moment, and then sat down beside Lydia, and they
all tried to feign that nothing unpleasant had happened, or was still
impending. But their talk had the wandering inconclusiveness which was
inevitable, and the eyes of each from time to time furtively turned
toward Hicks.
For half an hour he hardly changed his position. At the end of that
time, they found him looking intently at them; and presently he began to
work slowly back to the waist of the ship, but kept to his own side. He
was met on the way by the second mate, when nearly opposite where they
sat.
“Ain't you pretty comfortable where you are?” they heard the mate
asking. “Guess I wouldn't go aft any further just yet.”
“_You're_ all right, Mason,” Hicks answered. “Going below--down cellar,
's feller says; go to bed.”
“Well, that's a pious idea,” said the mate. “You couldn't do better than
that. I'll lend you a hand.”
“Don't care 'f I do,” responded Hicks, taking the mate's proffered arm.
But he really seemed to need it very little; he walked perfectly well,
and he did not look across at the others again.
At the head of the gangway he encountered Captain Jenness and Mr.
Watterson, who had completed the perquisition they had remained to make
in his state-room. Mr. Watterson came up empty-handed; but the captain
bore the canteen in which the common enemy had been so artfully conveyed
on board. He walked, darkly scowling, to the rail, and flung the canteen
into the sea. Hicks, who had saluted his appearance with a glare as
savage as his own, yielded to his whimsical sense of the futility of
this vengeance. He gave his fleeting, drunken laugh: “Good old boy,
Captain Jenness. Means well--means well. But lacks--lacks--forecast.
Pounds of cure, but no prevention. Not much on bite, but death on bark.
Heh?” He waggled his hand offensively at the captain, and disappeared,
loosely floundering down the cabin stairs, holding hard by the
hand-rail, and fumbling round with his foot for the steps before he put
it down.
“As soon as he's in his room, Mr. Watterson, you lock him in.” The
captain handed his officer a key, and walked away forward, with a
hang-dog look on his kindly face, which he kept averted from his
passengers.
The sound of Hicks's descent had hardly ceased when clapping and
knocking noises were heard again, and the face of the troublesome little
wretch reappeared. He waved Mr. Watterson aside with his left hand, and
in default of specific orders the latter allowed him to mount to
the deck again. Hicks stayed himself a moment, and lurched to where
Staniford and Dunham sat with Lydia.
“What I wish say Miss Blood is,” he began,--“what I wish say is,
peculiar circumstances make no difference with man if man's gentleman.
What I say is, everybody 'spec's--What I say is, circumstances
don't alter cases; lady's a lady--What I want do is beg you fellows'
pardon--beg _her_ pardon--if anything I said that firs' morning--”
“Go away!” cried Staniford, beginning to whiten round the nostrils.
“Hold your tongue!”
Hicks fell back a pace, and looked at him with the odd effect of now
seeing him for the first time. “What _you_ want?” he asked. “What you
mean? Slingin' criticism ever since you came on this ship! What you mean
by it? Heh? What you mean?”
Staniford rose, and Lydia gave a start. He cast an angry look at her.
“Do you think I'd hurt him?” he demanded.
Hicks went on: “Sorry, very sorry, 'larm a lady,--specially lady we all
respec'. But this particular affair. Touch--touches my honor. You said,”
he continued, “'f I came on deck, you'd knock me down. Why don't you do
it? Wha's the matter with you? Sling criticism ever since you been
on ship, and 'fraid do it! 'Fraid, you hear? 'F-ic--'fraid, I
say.” Staniford slowly walked away forward, and Hicks followed him,
threatening him with word and gesture. Now and then Staniford thrust
him aside, and addressed him some expostulation, and Hicks laughed and
submitted. Then, after a silent excursion to the other side of the ship,
he would return and renew his one-sided quarrel. Staniford seemed to
forbid the interference of the crew, and alternately soothed and baffled
his tedious adversary, who could still be heard accusing him of slinging
criticism, and challenging him to combat. He leaned with his back to the
rail, and now looked quietly into Hicks's crazy face, when the latter
paused in front of him, and now looked down with a worried, wearied air.
At last he crossed to the other side, and began to come aft again.
“Mr. Dunham!” cried Lydia, starting up. “I know what Mr. Staniford wants
to do. He wants to keep him away from me. Let me go down to the cabin. I
can't walk; _please_ help me!” Her eyes were full of tears, and the hand
trembled that she laid on Dunham's arm, but she controlled her voice.
He softly repressed her, while he intently watched Staniford. “No, no!”
“But he can't bear it much longer,” she pleaded. “And if he should--”
“Staniford would never strike him,” said Dunham, calmly. “Don't be
afraid. Look! He's coming back with him; he's trying to get him below;
they'll shut him up there. That's the only chance. Sit down, please.”
She dropped into her seat, hid her eyes for an instant, and then fixed
them again on the two young men.
Hicks had got between Staniford and the rail. He seized him by the arm,
and, pulling him round, suddenly struck at him. It was too much for his
wavering balance: his feet shot from under him, and he went backwards in
a crooked whirl and tumble, over the vessel's side.
Staniford uttered a cry of disgust and rage. “Oh, you little brute!” he
shouted, and with what seemed a single gesture he flung off his coat and
the low shoes he wore, and leaped the railing after him.
The cry of “Man overboard!” rang round the ship, and Captain Jenness's
order, “Down with your helm! Lower a boat, Mr. Mason!” came, quick as it
was, after the second mate had prepared to let go; and he and two of
the men were in the boat, and she was sliding from her davits, while the
Aroostook was coming up to the light wind and losing headway.
When the boat touched the water, two heads had appeared above the
surface terribly far away. “Hold on, for God's sake! We'll be there in a
second.”
“All right!” Staniford's voice called back. “Be quick.” The heads rose
and sank with the undulation of the water. The swift boat appeared to
crawl.
By the time it reached the place where they had been seen, the heads
disappeared, and the men in the boat seemed to be rowing blindly about.
The mate stood upright. Suddenly he dropped and clutched at something
over the boat's side. The people on the ship could see three hands on
her gunwale; a figure was pulled up into the boat, and proved to be
Hicks; then Staniford, seizing the gunwale with both hands, swung
himself in.
A shout went up from the ship, and Staniford waved his hand. Lydia
waited where she hung upon the rail, clutching it hard with her hands,
till the boat was along-side. Then from white she turned fire-red, and
ran below and locked herself in her room.