“Ah, Master Gilbot, ’twill be a deal quieter than this to-morrow night,
I reckon.”
Master Granger leaned across from his seat in the chimney corner and
jerked his head in the direction of the body of the room where
everything was in commotion.
The _Anny_ was due to sail on the night tide and her crew were
celebrating its departure with rum and song.
One of the long tables had been pulled out, and round this some ten or
twelve men sprawled in more or less comfortable attitudes. Behind these
were others sitting on rum kegs or leaning against the walls. They were
all very merry, and from time to time loud shrieks of laughter shook the
old Ship’s rafters and made them echo again and again.
Round the flickering fire, the first of the season, but a bright one,
sat the Islanders, Joe Pullen, French, Cip de Musset, Granger, Gilbot,
and a few others. They did not mix with the roaring, yelling crowd of
seamen, but sat stolidly, drinking slowly, talking slowly, and enjoying
themselves after their own quiet fashion. Now and again, perhaps, a
young man would leave his seat to go over and split a joke and a pint
with a sailor, but the majority kept themselves to themselves, neither
objecting to, nor wholly approving, the noisy pleasure of the smugglers.
Hal, especially, was very taciturn. He stood quietly in a candlelit
corner, cleaning pewter, and spoke hardly at all. Sue, however, was in a
very good humour; in her best kirtle, and her hair tied with a bow of
scarlet ribbon which French had given her, she flew hither and thither
carrying the liquor.
Anny had not yet appeared, and Blueneck nudged Noah Goody as they sat at
the long table, when the time crept on, and still she did not come.
Little Red sat on French’s knee keeping very still and listening to the
conversation with the utmost interest.
Granger’s remark called forth a chorus of “Ay’s,” some disconsolate, but
mostly cheerful.
Gilbot looked at the reeling crowd out of the corners of his little
red-rimmed eyes; then he chuckled:
“Nish,” he said thickly, a weak, happy smile playing over his big puffy
face. “Nish, oh! very nish indeed. Letsh have a song,” and he struck up
“Mary Loo” in a thin, quavering voice.
At this moment the door was flung open and a wave of cold air blew round
the stifling kitchen; several men from the table turned to swear at the
intruder, but their mouths shut silently and they rose to their feet as
they saw who it was.
Black’erchief Dick stepped lightly into the room, and, shutting the
door behind him, stood smiling on the company, a slim, dapper little
figure in black velvet.
Then he removed his black beaver and called loudly for liquor all round.
His words were received with cheers, and once again the talk broke out,
and the singing restarted.
Dick perched himself on the end of one of the empty tables and looked
about for Anny. The smile faded from his face when he saw she was not
there, and a look of disappointment took its place. He had no doubt she
was preparing to fly with him, but he had expected to see her waiting
for him, her big eyes and wistful little face alight with expectation,
and, he flattered himself, love. His vanity was hurt at her neglect. So
his astonishment and anger when he saw her come in a few minutes later,
in her usual kirtle and serving apron, an unwonted colour in her cheeks
and a sparkle in her eyes as she fluttered to and fro from one knot of
seamen to another, leaving a smile here and a jest there, and a pert,
stinging remark somewhere else, knew no bounds. He looked at her in
amazement; she had not even glanced his way. The disappointed expression
left his face and a smile returned, but it was not the same smile.
In the next half hour Anny surpassed herself for gaiety. Her laugh rang
out loud and clear almost every other second, and the whole company was
at her feet in ten minutes.
Even old Gilbot noticed her and, wagging his head sagely, said that
“good lashes” were “good business.”
But for Dick she had no eyes, not once did she meet his glance, bring
his liquor, or come within five feet of him.
At first his surprise kept him silent and grave, so that Blueneck
observed in a whisper to Goody that it was wont to be the lasses and not
the Captain who were grave when sailing time came, and that times had
changed, but after a while Dick’s smile grew more and more pronounced
and he called for rum again and again.
Still Anny took no notice of him. Louder and louder grew her laugh,
quicker and quicker her retorts, brighter her smile, and more numerous
her admirers.
Hal looked up from his pewter cleaning and sighed.
“She was never so happy when we were sweethearts,” he muttered.
Only Sue looked at Anny strangely; she was a woman and she knew that
there was a false note in the girl’s laughter, and that the light in her
eyes was an almost desperate one. But she was an Islander, and therefore
another lass’s business was none of hers, and she said nothing to her
nor to any one else.
At last the Spaniard could bear this lack of notice no longer, and
raising his voice called pleasantly enough:
“Mistress Anny!”
The girl started, and the tray of mugs which she was carrying rattled
nervously, but she recovered herself in a second, and smiled radiantly
at him.
“Will your lordship wait till I put these down?” she said gaily, with
mock deference.
Dick’s smile grew broader, and Blueneck, who was watching him, whistled
softly between his teeth and nudged Goody again.
“Not at all,” Dick was saying, his voice very soft and caressing.
Anny put down the tray with a clatter.
“Oh! there now,” she exclaimed brightly, “if I haven’t spilt one half of
Master French’s sack; I must fill it up. Here, Hal, will ye go to the
Captain for me while I do this? I know he likes being served quickly.”
Hal went over to him obediently.
The Spaniard’s eyelids flickered and his smile broadened as he ordered
more rum, planking down a jacobus in payment.
The time went on, and Gilbot and his customers grew more and more
lively; still Anny avoided the Spaniard, and still he sat on the table
steadily drinking rum.
Suddenly in the middle of a song Dick looked at the clock, and then
rising to his feet shouted:
“Get aboard, dogs!”
The singing died away immediately and all eyes were turned on the clock.
The hands pointed to 8.15.
Then a murmur rose among the crew and one bolder than the rest said
something about orders being a quarter to nine.
Dick sprang to his feet and his hand played round the hilt of his knife.
“A mutiny?” he asked softly.
Instantly there was a shuffle toward the door and they filed out one by
one, and Gilbot, his fuddled brain just realizing that the merriment had
suddenly died down, began to pipe cheerfully:
“_Oh, no one remembers poor Will_
_Who stuck by hish mate at the mill._”
Dick laughed and took it up, and the crew, glad to find him so easily
recovered, joined in eagerly and they filed off down the road singing in
chorus:
“_He ground up more bones_
_Than barley or stones,_
_And more than old Rowley could kill._
_More bones, more bones,_
_More bones, more bones,_
_More bones than old Rowley could kill._”
“Ah, well!” said Joe, rising to his feet, as the last man reeled
drunkenly out of the doorway. “I reckon I’ll be getting down to look to
my boat.”
The others laughed; it was well known that the smugglers would
commandeer any rowing-boat that might come their way to take them to the
brig, and like as not would set it adrift to be carried out to sea.
“I’ll go with ye, lad,” said Granger, and they went out together.
Most of the others followed, leaving only French, Red, and Cip de Musset
sitting with Gilbot round the fire.
Anny and Sue stood by the door talking together, their backs to the
Spaniard, while Hal went on cleaning pewter.
Dick swaggered over to French.
“Master French,” he said softly, his beautiful voice very even and
clear, “hadst thou not better go down to the brig and see to thy goods?”
French looked up, puzzled.
“Goods?” he said wonderingly, and then added as he met the Spaniard’s
steady gaze, “Oh! ah! maybe I had, maybe I had,” and got up hastily.
Red caught hold of his hand.
“Take me,” he whispered.
French looked down at him and laughed as he stroked his honey-coloured
beard.
“Come on, then, young ’un,” he said kindly.
Red whooped joyfully, and the big man and the little boy went to the
door together.
Sue slipped her arm into French’s as he passed her.
“I’ll come a little way with ye, Ezekiel,” she murmured.
French put his arm about her and they went out.
Cip de Musset then rose to his feet.
“Are you coming, Captain?” he said, as he picked up his stick.
Anny caught her breath as she edged round behind the empty table.
Dick smiled sardonically.
“I shall follow,” he said.
Cip looked about him, and then smiled knowingly, and putting on his hat,
went over to the door and out into the dark.
Black’erchief Dick waited until he had gone and then turned and faced
Anny, who was watching him, fascinated. She felt that the time had come
at last when she must shake him off for ever or else go with him.
She had not heard from Nan since Red had taken her message, and she
remembered the old woman’s promise as the one gleam of hope on her
horizon, and every moment she expected to see her hobble into the
kitchen, but it was getting late, and Nan had not come.
Dick walked over to the table behind which she stood and seated himself
upon it without speaking.
The desperate light crept into the girl’s eyes again and she began to
laugh. At least she must keep him in as good a temper as possible. She
realized that. So, dropping a curtsey, she came a little nearer and
leaning over the table she asked him would he drink again. To her
surprise he answered her very pleasantly that he would, and ordered rum.
Hal, who was still cleaning pewter, looked up from his work, and watched
the little scene with a growing sense of despair.
To know that his love was lost to him was bitter enough, he told
himself, but to see her happy in the Spaniard’s company, to see her
hang upon the Spaniard’s words, and wait for his smile, was too much; he
turned away quickly.
When Anny came back with the rum, Dick caught her wrist and held her
firm with one hand while he raised the tankard to his lips with the
other.
“Why are you not ready to come with me?” he whispered as he set down the
empty rumkin.
Anny began to laugh again.
“Lord! how you talk, Captain!” she said, trying to pull her arm from out
his grasp.
The Spaniard’s grip tightened, and his smile grew more grim.
“Ann, this is not the time to jest,” he said, his voice growing softer
and more musical at every word. “The brig waits us.”
Anny noticed that his voice was gentle, and began to giggle again.
“Well, Master Dick, let it wait,” she said, tossing her head. “It can
wait till Doomsday before you’ll see me aboard,” and she broke into a
little nervous laugh.
To her surprise Dick joined in with her, and his long, low laugh echoed
through the kitchen.
Hal looked up quickly and then turned away as though the sight had stung
him, while Gilbot, thinking that it was a signal for general joyfulness,
began to sing again:
“_Pretty Poll, she loved a sailor,_
_And well she loved he---- _”
“Peace, damn you, peace,” roared Dick, suddenly gripping Anny’s arm so
hard that she cried out.
Gilbot sat spellbound. Never had any one so spoken to him in his life
before, and he was about to reply, but one look at the furious face of
the little Spaniard calmed him and he subsided, muttering:
“No offensh, no offensh.”
This outburst had surprised Anny quite as much as Gilbot, and she looked
at Dick with new fear. If only Nan would come, she thought, if only Nan
would come!
At this moment the door opened and she turned eagerly, her eyes alight
with hope, but it was Sue who came in softly and sat down quietly by the
fireside opposite her uncle.
Dick turned his head without letting Anny go, and called for more rum.
Hal brought it, without looking at either of them, and set it on the
table.
The Spaniard drained it at a gulp.
“So you will not come with me, my beautiful one?” he said, still
smiling, and leaning across the table toward the girl.
Anny looked at him and her spirits rose; he was only playing with her,
after all, she thought, as she saw his dark eyes smiling at her.
Yet she wished that Nan would come, although she was still vague in her
mind as to what she expected the old woman to do when she did come.
“Nay, sir,” she said, smiling, “not this time.”
The Spaniard laughed again.
“Not this time, my Ann? Not this time?” he questioned in an almost
threatening note, which crept into his laughing tone.
“Here, boy, more rum,” he called over his shoulder.
Hal brought the liquor; the Spaniard drew his knife from his belt and
held it up by the blade so that the flickering light fell on its
jewelled hilt.
“‘Tis a fair blade,” he said admiringly.
“Ay, it is,” agreed Anny, as she took the rum from Hal, who nearly cried
out as he saw her bright, eager face lifted to the foreigner’s.
Dick took the tankard and drained it; then he began to smile again and
to twist the knife through and about his fingers with that peculiar,
smooth movement his crew knew so well.
The girl watched him for a second and then looked up at the clock. Why
had not Nan come, she wondered?
“‘Tis late, Captain, you will miss the tide an you do not hasten,” she
said.
Dick’s eyelids dropped a little lower over his dark eyes, but his knife
slipped through his fingers with a faster motion than before. Yet still
he smiled, and when he spoke Anny thought that she had never heard so
beautiful a voice.
“Ah! señora, I would not leave the Island without that jewel which is
mine by right,” he said softly.
“Oh! I had forgot,” said Anny, feeling in her apron pocket, “here is the
ring, sir, I had it ready for you,” and she drew out a little muslin
packet, and unfolding it disclosed the flowered ring which he had given
her. She held it out to him.
Sue, who had been watching them, gasped at the sight of such a jewel,
and looked at Anny wonderingly.
The girl was over-lucky, she thought.
Dick took the ring and slipped it over the blade of his knife; it slid
up to the hilt and there stuck, a band of gold and gems round the blue
steel.
“You give it back to me?” he said, half to himself. “You give it back to
me? No other woman has done so much,” he added suddenly, looking at her
with that peculiar smile playing round his lips. Then his voice dropped,
and he said as though he had just realized something: “But to no other
woman have I given so much,” and he laughed again, unpleasantly and yet
so musically--while the knife fairly sped through his slim, delicate
fingers.
Anny began to feel fairly sure of herself. Why should she wait for Nan
to defy him, she thought? Here he was, laughing and playing; surely
there would be no danger in telling him the truth.
She leaned a little nearer to him and said very softly so that none of
the others could hear:
“I would you would go, sir; you have your ring; what else remains?”
The knife paused for a moment in its unending circle round the thin
white hand, the dark lids flickered, and the thin twisted smile
vanished, but only for a second; then the soft voice said smoothly:
“One thing, Ann, my Ann of the Island, one thing remains that must come
with me; that is my wife.”
Anny began to laugh again nervously, but conquering herself she said
sharply:
“Pest on ye, sir, will ye never stop teasing a poor girl’s life out? I
tell you, I hate you, sir.”
Dick laughed softly, and there was a new note in his voice which no one
could mistake, and Anny drew back a little.
“You said so once before, sweet Ann,” he said, “and I did not believe
you then, as I do not now.”
Anny felt strangely irritated by his attitude, and bending still closer
to him, said in a sharp half-whisper:
“Oh! but, sir, you should; a man who woos unloved is a foolish sight in
my eyes.”
Dick slipped his arm round her waist and held her fast; he was beginning
to realize that he had at last come up against a will which would not
bend before his own, and a wave of uncontrollable anger surged over him;
his smile almost vanished for a moment and the knife quivered in his
hand.
Anny took his silence as a sign that her words were prevailing with him
and determined to play her last card.
“I love another one,” she said softly, drawing away from him as she
spoke.
A ripple of laughter burst from the Spaniard’s lips and he held her
closer to him.
Hal looked up at the sound with a fierce light in his eyes; he made a
step forward, but drew back again almost immediately.
“The lass likes it,” he thought mournfully. “The lass likes it.”
Yet he could not keep his eyes off the two.
Anny pointed to the knife, which was hanging before her, and looked into
the dark smiling face so near her own.
“Put by thy knife, sir,” she said pettishly. “It fears me.”
Once again Dick laughed.
“Nay, ’tis a beautiful thing,” he said, holding it in the palm of his
hand, the point toward her. “Think you not so?”
The girl shrank away and he bent toward her. “You said you loved
another, mistress,” he said suddenly, fiercely. “Is it truth?”
Anny smiled at him fearlessly.
“Ay, sir, truth!” she said quietly.
The Spaniard’s smile returned, and the blue knife with the gold band on
it seemed suddenly to have become part of his hand as with a deft
movement he laid the bright steel against the girl’s bosom.
Hal and Sue leaned forward to see this new foolery of the Captain’s,
each thinking that his love-making was a little too open to be decent.
“Oh! my sweet one, how fair my blade looks against thy white breast,”
said Dick, his eyes holding Anny’s. “You gave me back my ring, but I am
generous; see, I give it back to you.” With the last words the knife
seemed suddenly to quicken and spring from his hand, and Anny staggered
back from the table, her hand clasped to her breast.
“Oh! how you hurt me, sir,” she said simply, the smile still on her lips
and her cheeks still bright with the excitement of a moment before. Then
her eyes closed and she dropped on to the floor, the little thud her
body made on the stone flags echoing all round the kitchen like a
thunder-clap, and the knife Black’erchief Dick held was red blood up to
the hilt.
He looked at it dazedly, a horrified expression on his usually
inscrutable face.
“Dead!” he said hoarsely, his voice sounding old and strained in the
intense silence. “She is sure to be dead; we have never struck twice,
but,” his voice sank to a whisper, “at last we have struck too soon.”
He passed his hand over his forehead and gazed fixedly in front of him;
some of the blood which had spurted off the knife on to his hand now
smeared his forehead. Save for this, his face was ashy pale--then with
slow, deliberate steps he walked to the door, opened it, and went out.
For a second the kitchen was in perfect silence, and then a scream as
high and despairing as a woman’s rang out loud and clear in the suddenly
cold room, and Hal Grame his boyish face distorted with rage and horror,
flung himself across the kitchen and out after the Spaniard.
The night was an exceedingly dark one, and Nan Swayle stumbled once or
twice over the loose stones in her path as she strode over the rough
track which ran from her shanty to the Ship.
Many strange thoughts came to her as she passed on through the darkness,
her tall, gaunt figure straining against the wind and her ragged
garments flying like streamers out behind her.
The bitter memory of her last encounter with Pet Salt still rankled with
her, and the thought of Anny’s enforced marriage to the Spaniard made
her hate the other old woman more deeply than before. She had sworn to
Anny that she would prevent her sailing with Dick, and it was to fulfil
this promise that she was striding through the night.
To prevent Dick from carrying off Anny!
Nan had thought over her self-allotted task very carefully, and to her
there seemed but one way to accomplish it. She had decided to take that
way. And as she hastened on, her thin brown fingers gripped her long
staff fiercely and from time to time she stopped to feel the heavy round
stone which was bound to the top of it, making a once-harmless
walking-stick a formidable weapon.
On she went, her head held high, and her sharp eyes fixed ahead as if
she were seeking to pierce the blackness which closed in all around her.
“They do not sail till eleven,” she muttered, “and she would not go at
once. I shall be in time to catch them as they come out of the yard.
Ay, that is it, as they come out of the yard; it is dark there,” and,
mumbling to herself, she clambered through a gap in the hedge and
stumbled out into the Ship lane.
She had now a very little way to go, and her grip on her staff tightened
as she hurried on.
A sharp bend in the road brought her in sight of the Ship. She could see
the lights from the kitchen gleaming through the trees. She pressed on
for a few more yards and then stopped suddenly and, holding her breath,
stood rigid for a second, listening.
There was silence everywhere and the old woman shifted uneasily.
“No noise?” she muttered. “No noise? What has come to the Ship on
sailing night that all should be so still?”
Keeping her eyes fixed on the lighted window, she hastened on to the
yard gates. There she paused again. The Ship was silent as before, and
then, as she stood there watching, the door opened and a slim figure
stood silhouetted against the bright background for a second and then
staggered out toward her.
Without further thought Nan strode forward, her staff upraised.
Hardly had she moved, however, when Hal’s terrible scream rang out
through the open doorway.
The old woman sprang forward, a faint inkling of what had happened
flashing through her mind.
Dick did not see her until she was almost on top of him. He came across
the yard dazed and horrified, conscious of one thing only--that in a fit
of rage he had killed the one woman he had ever loved.
The knife, still sticky and uncleaned, hung from his fingers, and the
light from the window fell upon it as Nan came up to him.
When he saw her dark form and shining eyes rising up before him out of
the darkness, he started back, bringing his hands up before his face.
Nan seized her opportunity and without a thought of the possible
consequences dropped her staff and darting forward wrenched the knife
out of his nerveless grasp and plunged at his throat.
Nan was a strong woman, and the knife, glancing on the Spaniard’s
collar-bone, turned and slipped down into his neck, cutting the jugular
vein.
A choking exclamation, “Doña Maria,” fell from his lips, a rush of blood
stifled all other words, and he dropped on the dry stones as dead as the
girl he had left in the Ship’s kitchen.
Nan heard them and laughed bitterly.
“Maria!” she muttered. “You may well call on her. Here, this is thine;
take that with thee to hell, you slithering coward,” and bending down
she slipped the twice-stained knife into the slim white fingers.
Then she straightened her back and looking up, became aware of Hal
Grame’s tall figure standing not two feet away, his eyes fixed upon her.
They stood quite still for several seconds, neither speaking, and then
Gilbot hurried out of the door. The shock had sobered him for once in
his life.
Seeing Hal, he broke out excitedly:
“Have you seen him, lad? Have you caught him? Where is the ruffian?”
Still Hal did not speak, but catching the old man by the arm he pointed
silently to the still figure at their feet; the stream of light from the
open doorway fell across the Spaniard’s face and the white hand which
held the knife.
Gilbot bent down for a moment, and when he looked up his face was even
paler than the boy’s.
“Who?---- What--what happened?” he whispered.
Hal looked silently at Nan.
The old woman faced him without flinching.
“As I come up the road, I see him come out o’ the door waving his arms,
and then suddenly drop like a sack; when I come up to him he was like
this,” she said. “He killed hisself, I reckon,” she added carelessly.
Old Gilbot looked down at the huddled form.
“Twas just what I feared when I come to the door,” he muttered. “Lord!
what things men do because o’ wenches--and in my house, too! What’s to
happen now?”