I MAKE A DISCOVERY
I have been brief with our adventure so far, because it only began to be
adventurous after we had left the Cape leagues behind us. Up to that
time, though the voyage was full of wonders for me, it was but one
voyage with another for those who use the sea. But when the adventure
did begin it began briskly, and having once made a beginning it did not
make an end for long enough, nor without great changes of fortune. Yet
it began, as a big business often does begin, in a very little matter.
One night, somewhat late, Captain Amber wished for a word with Jensen.
Yet, as it was not the Dutchman's watch, and he might be sleeping,
Captain Amber bade me go to his cabin--for Jensen, being a man of
consideration upon the ship, had a cabin to himself--to see if he were
stirring, commanding me, however, if he were resting, not to arouse him.
Jensen's cabin lay amidships, and as I proceeded warily because of the
Captain's caution, I came to it quietly and listened at the door before
lifting my finger to knock. As I did so I noticed that the door was not
fastened. Whoever had drawn it to had not latched it, and it lay open
just a chink, through which a line of light showed from within. Thinking
that if I peeped through this chink I might learn if Jensen were astir
or no, I put my eye to it and saw what I saw.
The cabin was not a very large one, and though the lamp that swung from
the ceiling gave forth but a dim light, yet it was enough to enable me
to see very clearly all that there was to see. At the first blush,
indeed, there seemed to be nothing out of the way to witness. At the
further end of the cabin two men were sitting at a table together, with
a chart before them. Nearer to me, and in front of the men, a woman
stood, and held up for their inspection a piece of needlework. The two
men were Cornelys Jensen and William Hatchett; the woman was Barbara
Hatchett. It might have made a very pleasing example of domestic peace
but for one queer fact, which notably altered its character.
The needlework at which women are wont to labour is nine times out of
ten white work or brightly-coloured work. Women are like the best
kind of birds, and love snowy plumage or feathers that are bravely
tinted. But the work with which Barbara Hatchett was occupied was
neither white nor coloured, but black--the deepest, darkest black. Now
there was no cause as yet, thank Heaven! for man or woman to mourn on
board of the Royal Christopher, and there was no need for Mistress
Barbara to deal with mourning. So I marvelled, but even as I marvelled I
noted, as she shifted her position slightly and shook out the black
stuff over her knees, that it was not all and only black. There was
white work in it too, a kind of patch or pattern of white work in the
midst which I could not make out, for the stuff was still bunched up in
the woman's hands. But now, as I watched, I saw her shake it out over
her knees for the others to view, and I saw that the thing she displayed
was a large square of black worsted, and that in the centre were sewn
some pieces of white material into a very curious semblance. For that
semblance was none other than the likeness of a grinning human skull,
with two cross-bones beneath it--just such an effigy as I had seen many
times on the tombstones in the churchyard at Sendennis.
[Illustration: "HELD UP FOR THEIR INSPECTION A PIECE OF NEEDLEWORK."]
It was not, however, of the tombstones at Sendennis that I thought just
then. No; that ugly image in the girl's fingers carried my fancy back
to the place where I had first seen her--to the hostelry of the Skull
and Spectacles--and I fancied somehow, I scarce knew why, that the work
of Barbara's fingers had some connection with her father's inn. Only for
a second or so did I think this, but in honest truth that was my first,
my immediate belief, and it brought me no thought of fear, no thought of
danger with it. I was only conscious of wondering vaguely to what
service this sad piece of handicraft could be put, when suddenly, in a
flash, my intelligence took fire, and I knew what was intended; and I
felt my knees give way and my heart stand still with horror.
The thing I was looking at, the ill-favoured thing that was hanging from
my old love's hand, was none other than a flag of evil omen--a pirate's
flag, the barbarous piece of bunting that they call the Jolly Roger.
There could be no doubt of that--no doubt whatever. I had heard of that
flag and read of it, and now I was looking at it with my own eyes; and a
light seemed to be let in upon my mind, and I trembled at the terror it
brought with it. That piece of handicraft meant murder; meant outrage;
meant violence of all kinds to those that were so dear to me--to those
who were all unconscious of their imminent doom. For I was as sure now
as if those three had told it to me with their own lips that I had come
upon a conspiracy.
The red-haired ruffian and the black-haired ruffian were in a tale
together; their purpose was to seize the poor Royal Christopher that
sailed on so gentle an errand and make her a pirate ship, with that
devil's ensign flying at her forepeak. My soul sickened in my body at
the thought of the women-kind at the mercy of these desperadoes. There
was one name ever in my heart, and as I thought of that name I shivered
as if the summer night had suddenly been frozen. I believe that if I had
had a brace of pistols with me I should have taken my chance of sending
those two villains out of the world with a bullet apiece, so clearly did
their malignity betray itself to my observation. But I was unarmed, and
even if I had been I might have missed my aim--though this I do not
think likely, in that narrow place, and with my determination steadying
my hand--and, moreover, I had no notion as to how many of the ship's
crew were sworn to share in the villainy. Besides, I have never killed a
man in cold blood in my life, and on that night so long ago I had never
lifted hand and weapon against any man, and had only once in my life
seen blood spilt murderously. But I stayed there, with my heart
drumming against my ribs and my breath coming in gasps that seemed to me
to shake the ship's bulk, staring hard at the two men and the woman with
her work.
She held out the banner at arm's length, and looked down at it lovingly,
as women are wont to look at any piece of needlework that they have
taken pains over with pleasure in the pains. I had seen women smile over
their work many and many a time--good women that have worked for their
kin, mothers that have laboured to fashion some bit of bodygear for a
cherished child--and I have always thought that the smile upon their
faces was very sweet to see. But in this case there was the same smile
upon the woman's face as she looked upon her unholy handiwork, and there
was something terrible in the contrast between that look of housewifely
satisfaction and the job upon which it was bestowed. Many an evil sight
have I seen, but never, as I think, anything so evil as this sight of
that beautiful face smiling over the edge of that hideous thing, the
living radiant visage above that effigy of death. The black flag covered
her like a pall, ominously.
'Well,' she said, 'is it well done?'
She spoke in a low tone, but I could hear what she said quite well where
I crouched.
Cornelys Jensen nodded his head approvingly.
The red-bearded man spoke. 'Time it was done, too, and that we should be
setting to work. I am sick of this waiting.'
'Patience, my good fellow, patience,' said Cornelys Jensen. 'All in good
time. Trust Cornelys Jensen to know the time to act. The fiddle is
tuned, friend. I shall know when to play the jig.'
'My feet ache for the dancing,' the red beard growled. Barbara laughed;
dropping her hands, she drew the black flag close to her, so that it
fell all in folds about her body and draped her from throat to toe. Her
beauty laughed triumphantly at the pair from its sable setting.
'Put that thing away,' said Jensen. 'You have done your work bravely,
Mistress Hatchett, and Bill may be well proud of you.'
He clapped his hand as he spoke on Red Beard's shoulder, and the fool's
face flushed with pleasure.
Barbara laughed, and slowly folded the flag up square by square into a
small compass. Jensen took it from her when she had finished and put it
into a locker, which he closed with a key that he took from his pocket.
I began to find my position rather perilous. It was high time for me to
take my departure, before the conspirators became aware of my
whereabouts. It would not trouble either of the men a jot to ram a knife
into my ribs and to jerk me overboard ere the life was out of me. And
then what would become of my dear ones, and of all the honest folk on
board, with no one to warn them of their peril?
I drew back very cautiously, creeping along the passage and holding my
breath, stepping as gingerly as a cat on eggs, for fear of making any
sound that should betray me. As I crept along I kept asking myself what
I was to do. The first course that came to my mind was to go to Captain
Marmaduke and tell him of what I had seen. But then, again, I did not
know, and he did not know, how many there were of crew or company tarred
with Jensen's brush, and I asked myself whether it would not first be
more prudent to consult with Lancelot. For I knew that with Captain
Marmaduke the first thing he would do would be to accuse Jensen to his
face, without taking any steps to countermine him, and then we should
have the hornets' nest about our ears with a vengeance.
But while I was creeping along in the dark, straining my ears for every
sound that might suggest that Jensen or Hatchett were following me, and
while my poor mind was anxiously debating as to the course I ought to
pursue, that came to pass which settled the question in the most
unexpected manner.