“Ho, there, you mange-struck dogs, broach a keg and drink to your
captain’s lady!”
Black’erchief Dick, his eyes flashing and his face showing bright and
triumphant in the flickering lantern light, shouted the words over the
side of Ben’s boat to a little knot of picked men of the _Anny’s_ crew,
who were ranged on the sand below.
They were present to witness their captain’s marriage to Anny Farran,
and incidentally to carry the rum which was the price of his bride.
The worn deck of the _Pet_ had been cleaned and partially cleared for
the occasion. Dick had insisted on this, and, in spite of the
protestations of the two old people, Ben and Pet, the work had been done
and the place presented a fairly tidy aspect.
The empty kegs were ranged in neat rows round the gunwale, the
clothes-line had been removed and the rest of the litter swept down the
hatchway.
It was almost dark, and the cloudless sky was a pale blue shading off to
rose and green in the west where the first two or three stars shone
faintly.
On deck a big ship’s lantern stood on the stump of the main-mast while
two smaller ones hung on each side of it; they showed sick and yellow
in the half-light.
Standing before this improvised altar was a man dressed as a priest. He
held a book in his hand and was mumbling to himself nervously in a
foreign tongue. On either side of him were Blueneck and Noah Goody;
their knives were drawn and their faces set like wooden masks.
Before them, in a gorgeous ill-fitting gown of yellow Lyons silk which
Dick had brought and insisted on her wearing, stood Anny. Her cheeks
were flushed and her eyes dancing with excitement. Round her neck hung a
great silver pendant studded with garnets, and every now and then her
hand would stray up to this and her fingers caress it lovingly, half
wonderingly. On the little brown hand shone a ring; it was an
extraordinary jewel, consisting of a little gold hoop supporting a large
flower, each petal of which was a different kind of stone: diamond,
ruby, emerald, onyx, pearl, and sapphire, with a little piece of amber
for the centre.
Dick had told her that it was very old when he had put it on her finger,
and she looked at it with something very like awe.
Behind her stood Ben and Pet; the old man swayed to and fro drunkenly,
taking little or no interest in the proceedings, but the old woman
watched eagerly, half enviously, her bleared eyes following Anny’s every
movement and each gleam of the jewels, her quick ears catching each word
that was spoken. Nothing escaped her, and she noticed that the priest’s
garments were made for a much larger man, and that his book was upside
down, but she said nothing and merely smiled wickedly to herself as the
ceremony went on.
The men on the beach below were not long in obeying their captain’s
order, and in a minute the toast was given.
“Health and good fortune to the Captain’s lady!”
Everybody drank heartily, the priest more than any one, and Dick, his
brocaded coat and soft lace ruffles shining in the dim light, and his
black curls showing a little more than usual from under his black
kerchief, raised his glass above his head and taking Anny by the hand
threw back his head and laughed joyously. He had once again got his own
way in spite of difficulties. He drained off his liquor, and throwing
the empty glass over his head began to sing:
“_Fair as the Island, and proud as the sea,_
_As naught in the world is sweet Anny to me._”
The rich musical voice echoed round the old boat and floated out over
the marshes.
Anny caught her breath and her grip on the Spaniard’s pulsing white hand
tightened. She was carried out of herself by the excitement of the
moment, the wonderful frock, the jewels, and above all the singing.
Dick felt her emotion, and his arm slid round her waist much like a
snake slips round a tree stem, and, as her pretty head fell back on his
shoulder, the song grew louder, sweeter, and a triumphant note crept
into it.
“_So gentle, so tender, so wise without guile,_
_Oh, where is another like Ann of the Isle?_”
Anny sighed deliriously and she shivered with pure excitement; the
Spaniard’s full red lips brushed her hair before the wonderful voice
rang out again in the chorus:
“_Ann, Oh! Ann of the Island,_
_Where is another like Ann of the Isle?_”
The crew took up the strain, and Dick and Anny stood together in a
circle of singing men, each with his rumkin held high above his head and
his foot keeping time to the rhythm.
Old Pet spat on the deck and an envious light came into her evil old
face. All her life she had longed to be the centre of a scene like this,
the magnet of an admiring crowd of hard-drinking, hard-fighting,
hard-loving men. All her youth had been spent in dreams of a night like
this. Now in her age it was bitter to see it come to another woman.
As for Anny, she was intoxicated with it all; any sense of prudence had
left her. She was supremely happy. Now and again a faint regret that she
could not marry Hal rose in her mind, but she dismissed it promptly.
The future had no being for her, and the past was a dream; the thing
that counted was the present, the laughing, pulsing, living present.
And as the _Anny’s_ crew roared out their captain’s own love-song, and
Dick, his Spanish blood on fire with love triumphant, kissed her hair,
her eyes, and mouth, she laughed as freely and as joyously as he had
done.
The shadows were deepening by this time and the deep blue sky was
studded with stars, and Anny, looking up from the Captain’s shoulder,
said suddenly:
“It is late, sir; I must go back to the Ship now.”
Dick looked at her in astonishment for a moment, and a contemptuous
cackling laugh broke from between Pet Salt’s thin, blackened lips.
At the sound of it Anny shuddered involuntarily and drew a little closer
to the Spaniard, who, noting her agitation, turned on the old woman
angrily, his eyes suddenly losing their dreamy love-heaviness, and
becoming hard and bright.
“Peace, hag!” he rapped out, “get thee down thy rat-hole, and take thy
sodden man with thee, or nothing shall you see of me or my cargoes from
this night on.”
Pet began to mumble and curse under her breath, but nevertheless she
obediently hobbled across the deck toward the hatchway, half carrying,
half dragging the drunken Ben along with her. The company watched them
in silence and Anny, as with fascinated eyes she followed them to the
dark hole down which they disappeared, could not help being reminded of
one big muddy crab dragging its prey after it into its noisome hole,
there to feast.
Dick, too, watched them and shrugged his shoulders.
“So may all evil creatures drag themselves out of thy path, my Ann of
the Island,” he said, and then as though a new idea had struck him:
“Thou art right, dear heart, get thee back to the Ship. That will be the
best way, and then I will come for thee. Until then say nothing of
this.”
Anny smiled happily and ran to the hatchway to change her frock again,
and as she laid by the soft silk she felt in her childish,
happy-go-lucky way that she had laid by the whole evening’s business
with it.
She had been half afraid that Dick would not let her go back to the
Ship. Now it seemed that he wanted her to. She had some sort of vague
idea that she was to be his wife on the Island only, when she would see
him in the ordinary way at the Ship.
She sighed relievedly; the matter did not seem to be as important as she
had imagined.
When she came on the deck again dressed in her usual kirtle and bodice,
the crew were rolling several unopened kegs onto the deck, and the
priest was helping them, but Anny did not notice this, for Dick was
waiting for her.
“I will go with thee along the way,” he said gallantly, his soft eyes
seeking hers and his slim white hand closing on her little brown one.
Anny smiled at him and he helped her down the rope ladder and on to the
beach. Once again his silk-sleeved arm slid round her, and she laid her
head on his shoulder. They walked on in silence.
Suddenly the Spaniard stopped and his other arm encircled her, pulling
back her head and raising her little white face to his.
Anny could see him strangely earnest and grave in the moonlight.
“You are my first love, Ann of the Island, though there be many others I
have sported with,” he said in a strangely quiet, even voice, “and I am
a strange man; take care how you use me.”
Anny looked at him with frank, innocent eyes; he was very handsome, she
thought.
“I pray you kiss me, sir,” she said softly.
They did not move for a second or so, and the wind rose over the sea and
whistled through the long grass at the sides of the path, and rustled
the seaweed at their feet. Suddenly they became aware that someone was
coming toward them.
Anny grew suddenly rigid; it was a step she knew.
Dick looked up quickly, and they began to walk on.
The figure came nearer and nearer. Dick strained his eyes to see who it
was, but the man was in the shadow, and he passed without speaking.
When they had gone on a little way, Dick paused.
“Didst see who ’twas passed us, Ann?” he asked.
Anny swallowed, and then said as carelessly as she could:
“Oh! ’twas no one of any account; ’twas the tapster from the Ship.”