It was seven o’clock on the following Wednesday evening and there was an
air of expectation in the Ship’s kitchen.
The _Coldlight_ was due to sail under a new name at the late tide.
Anny was upstairs preparing herself for Dick’s coming, while in the room
below the talk ran high and many conjectures as to the Captain’s
intentions were put forward and withdrawn as the company drank round the
fire.
“Osh, where’s the man as can withstand a pretty lass?” said Gilbot,
smiling and hiccoughing over his sack.
“Ah, maybe, maybe, but ’tis a wonderful risky thing, this changing names
o’ crafts,” put in Granger, wagging his head. “I don’t hold with it
myself.”
“Ah, I reckon the Captain knows what he’s about; there ain’t many like
him to a mile,” remarked another man.
“You’re right there,” said old Cip de Musset, who had been sitting
silently in a corner for some time. “He ain’t no crab, but I’d not let a
lass o’ mine have much to do with him.”
“What do you mean?” said Hal, firing up and coming over from the
doorway where he had been standing.
Old Gilbot began to laugh.
“Hark to th’ lad,” he gurgled. “One would think he loved her hisself.”
Hal turned away from the light before he spoke, and no one saw the deep
flush which crept up over his features even to the roots of his hair,
making his scalp tingle uncomfortably.
“We look after our wenches at the Ship, Master Gilbot,” he said hastily.
Gilbot nodded happily.
“Ay,” he said, “wesh do, wesh do!” And the talk continued.
Just as the clock by the chimney-piece struck the quarter steps were
heard coming across the yard, and Black’erchief Dick, flanked by
Blueneck and Habakkuk Coot, and backed by some nine or ten hardy
ruffians, marched in at the door.
In an instant the little Spaniard was the centre of an enthusiastic
group, for, since his first coming to the Ship, Dick had done much to
make himself popular, and now his deep musical voice was raised
good-naturedly above the din calling for rum all round and sack for
those who wished for it.
Hal and Sue darted about in obedience to his order and soon the company
stood, silent, mugs in hand, waiting for the toast. At this moment the
inner door opened and Anny, dressed in the purple gown that Sue had
given her, stepped into the kitchen.
Dick was at her side in a moment, and respectfully taking her hand led
her into the centre of the room.
“Ann of the Island, her health and beauty for ever!” he shouted, his
tankard high above his head. The toast was given boisterously, and Anny
blushed and smiled shyly.
Old Gilbot was enjoying himself thoroughly and took advantage of a lull
in the conversation to exclaim:
“Let’sh have a shong,” and then without any more ado began to quaver
“Pretty Poll” at the top of his voice.
The company took up the burden and the final “Lost in the rolling sea”
was bellowed till the rafters shook.
“More rum,” called Dick, and then as though obeying an impulse of the
moment he sprang upon one of the forms and resting one foot on the
tresselled table, exclaimed,
“Hark ye, dogs, here is a new song, mine own song, a song of Dick
Delfazio’s own composing.”
And then throwing back his head he began to sing in a remarkably true
tenor voice, swaying his body in tune to his own music:
“_Fair as a seagull and proud as the sea,_
_As naught in the world is fair Anny to me,_
_So gentle, so tender, so wise without guile,_
_Oh! Where is another like Ann of the Isle?_
_Ann! oh! Ann of the Island,_
_Where is another like Ann of the Isle?_”
By this time the rumkins were all replenished and the chorus of the song
was taken up and repeated to the accompaniment of jingling pewter.
Dick still kept his position and took up the song again, his dark eyes
flashing and smiling at the girl who watched him, fascinated.
“_Avaunt ye fine ladies of France and of Spain,_
_So wayward, so wanton, so proud, and so vain._
_No sweet pleading look, no trick, or no wile,_
_Shall ever more tempt me from Ann of the Isle._
_Ann! oh! Ann of the Island,_
_Where is another like Ann of the Isle?_”
And then he added before any one could speak, “To the brig, dogs,” and
skipping lightly off the table he offered his hand to Anny and led the
way out into the yard, the whole company following, roaring as they
went,
“_Ann! oh! Ann of the Island,_
_Where is another like Ann of the Isle?_”
Anny looked up shyly at the Spaniard, her heart beating quickly with
excitement. He was strolling jauntily along, her hand lightly held in
his own; the starlight touched the jewelled hilt of his knife, and his
big mournful black eyes winked and smiled happily.
He loved display, pageant, parade; she could see that by the way his men
marched around him in regulated order, and by his gorgeous clothes, and
she herself became a little intoxicated by the air of excitement and the
singing of the laughing, jostling crowd.
Glancing at him under her lashes, she slipped her hand through his arm
and laughed a little self-consciously.
A curious, self-satisfied, but half-regretful smile passed over his face
and he bent toward her.
“Give me a kiss, little one,” he said softly.
A wave of cold water seemed to dash over Anny’s pleasure and she drew
her arm away stiffly, saying, “Prithee, sir, I would return to the
Ship.”
Again the curious smile spread over Dick’s lips but this time there was
no regret.
“Pardon, mistress, methinks thy beauty and mine own singing hath made my
brain whirl. Prithee, prithee, fair one, give me thy hand again.”
Anny looked at him and held out her hand without a word. He seemed so
debonair, so gracious, such a fine gentleman, and his soft eyes sought
hers almost beseechingly, she thought.
“_Ann! oh! Ann of the Island_
_Where is another like Ann of the Isle?_”
sang the company as the little procession neared the waterside.
Sue, who walked between French and Cip de Musset, looked at the two
small figures and sighed involuntarily. She also thought the Spaniard
was a fine gentleman and she also had seen his dark eyes fixed
mournfully on the other girl’s face, and she began to laugh and talk
noisily to hide her vexation.
Gallantly Black’erchief Dick led the little serving-wench down over the
planked way to the rowboat, helped her in, and then stepped lightly
after her. Several of the company crowded in behind them and they pushed
off. The rest of the band seized other boats that were anchored near the
shore and followed as best they could.
Once on board the brig, Anny looked about her with delight; the shrouded
sails and spiderweb-like rigging pleased her immensely; the swinging
lanterns overhead showed the clean boards and newly painted sides, and
she laughed with satisfaction as she noted first one thing and then
another.
Dick was no less pleased; he loved his boat and derived more pleasure
from showing it off than from anything else in the world. He took her
from end to end, telling her tales of hairbreadth escapes and secret
cargoes of papers and documents. Indeed, carried away by his own
enthusiasm he even hinted that good King Charles owed more to Dick
Delfazio’s courage than His Majesty was aware of.
Anny listened to him open-mouthed, as he talked on, embroidering his
tales with a network of fine and polished phrases, and interrupting them
here and there to shout an order or swear at an unhandy sailor as the
man hurried to obey him.
When at last the greater part of the company which had followed Dick
from the Ship stood on the deck of the _Coldlight_, he opened the
proceedings after the custom of the Island by calling for rum all round.
After the toast, the whole crowd, which was by this time very
boisterous, congregated in the forepart of the ship to inspect the
figurehead which was at the moment covered with a piece of sail-cloth.
Dick with his inborn love of dramatic effect had seen to this, and now
stepping forward he whipped it off with a flourish and stepped back,
observing with delight the impression it was making.
Old Ned Hutton, the ship’s carpenter, was certainly not an artist, but
he had done his best, and all that paint and a chunk of rough-hewn wood
could do had been done. The figure was undoubtedly meant to represent
Anny and that was enough for Mersea folk. Everybody cheered loudly, and
Dick called for more rum. Then he and the girl went forward to examine
the figurehead more closely.
The ugly awkward thing was profusely decorated with gold paint; so much
Anny could see by the light of the lantern which Dick gallantly held for
her, and her name, “ANNY,” was painted on the bright blue band that went
round the figure’s black head.
“‘Tis lovely,” she whispered half to herself as she ran her fingers over
the great arms and breasts on which the paint was hardly dry.
Dick smiled and made her the obvious compliment, and they went down to
the bows and leaned over the gunwale so as to see the four great white
letters, “ANNY,” painted on the smooth brown sides.
The girl was delighted, and her infectious gurgling laugh rang out
clearly several times on the cold air as she listened to Dick’s
sparkling conversation.
“Tide’s full and wind fair,” sang out a voice suddenly from the
watch-tower.
Instantly there was confusion: Dick shouted orders here and there but
did not take his hand from Anny’s arm. Everyone made for the boats
shouting farewells to the crew which responded cheerfully.
Dick bent nearer to the girl.
“I will come again,” he said softly.
Anny smiled and nodded.
“We are ever pleased to see company at the Ship,” she said demurely,
slipping her arm out of his grasp and moving over to the side where
French, Sue, and Hal waited for her.
Dick followed her.
“Give us your blessing, mistress,” he said loudly. There was silence at
once: the sailors attached much importance to a blessing and they stood
quietly.
Anny looked round desperately; she had never had a blessing in her life,
much less given one, and for a moment she was entirely at a loss. No one
spoke, however, so at last she crossed herself devoutly and said as
clearly as her nervousness would permit, “I pray God bless this ship,
Amen.”
“Amen,” repeated the crew solemnly, and then dashed off on their
business and the bustle recommenced.
Sue climbed over the side of the boat, French followed her, and then
Hal.
“Farewell, Ann of the Island,” said the Spaniard softly. “I will return
to thee.”
Anny looked at him and he seemed to her very comely. She held out her
hand and he raised it to his lips.
“Farewell, sir,” she said, and then followed her lover into the little
boat.
“Farewell!” came the deep and almost beautiful voice again; there was
the clink of chains and the anchor was weighed, and then the brig, her
sails all set, glided out into the channel.
Hal bent his back to the oar he was plying and spoke to the other three
in the little rowboat without looking up.
“There goes a damned nuisance off the Isle for a bit,” he said.
French grunted and pulled hard. Sue sighed and looked out to sea, while
Anny laughed a little ruefully, and patted Hal’s broad shoulders with
her little brown hand.