Blackkerchief Dick Page 2

  The boy laughed.

  “Saucy minion! when we are married you will not wish me angry. Faith, lass, you would not make another Ben Farran of me, surely?”

  The girl shuddered.

  “Peace, prithee,” she said. “I do not like to hear you jest so. Oh, that he had died with my father.”

  “Marry, sweetheart, fie upon thee speaking of thy grandsire so,” Hal laughed merrily.

  The girl looked about her uneasily.

  “Hush!” she said. “I would not have him hear us.”

  The boy’s laugh rang out again and he bent as he kissed her, although her height was unusual in the island, for he was very tall.

  “Look, Anny, lass,” he said laughingly, “see how far we are from the Pet,” and he pointed ahead of them to where an old mastless hull lay moored in a little bay, about a quarter of a mile from where they stood.

  Anny glanced up at him and he stopped to look at her. Although they had lived in the same house since they could remember, he was never tired of gazing at that wonderful face of hers, and praising it till it reddened to the colour of the rough, canvas shirt to which he pressed it.

  It was plump and oval in shape, white, but delicately touched with a colour in the cheeks, and her hair of that intense blackness which seems to absorb the light, curled over her low forehead. But her eyes were wonderful. Of a deep sea-green, they caught light and shadow from her surroundings. The girl was certainly a beauty and of no common type.

  Hal caught his breath.

  “Anny,” he said, his young eyes regarding her solemnly, “you are as beautiful as the sea at five o’clock on a summer’s morning. Look, sweetheart, over there, see—your eyes are as green as that sea, and your hair black as yon breakwater that starts out of it.”

  The girl laughed, well-pleased, but she looked over at the old hull again quickly.

  “Will we go back now?” she asked at last.

  The boy looked at her, astonished.

  “Go back!” he said. “Why, what for—art not tired, surely?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Nay,” she said, “but——” she stopped and looked at the hull again.

  Hal followed the direction of her eyes before he spoke again. Then he laughed.

  “Why, Anny, you are afraid to pass your grand-sire’s boat.”

  Then, as she did not speak, he took her little chin in his brown hand and raised her face to his.

  “What are you feared of when I am with you, sweetheart?” he asked.

  The girl shivered slightly.

  “They say,” she began hesitatingly, “that Pet Salt is a witch.”

  Hal’s face became grave.

  “Ay,” he said, “they do say so, but, Lord,” and he smiled, “they said the same of Nan Swayle.”

  “Ah! but that’s a lie,” said the girl hotly.

  Hal laughed.

  “Ay,” he said, “and maybe so is the tale of Pet Salt. Anyway, thy grandsire seems to thrive beneath her care, be she witch or no. Fie, Anny, for shame,” he added, “you would not haste back yet. Master French will not thank us if we get in so soon, stopping his love-talk with Mistress Sue.”

  Anny wrapped her shawl a little closer about her head and shoulders, and slipped her arm through the boy’s, and they walked on for a while without speaking.

  About three hundred yards from the old hull Anny stopped.

  “Look!” she said, “he’s on deck.”

  Hal looked in the direction she pointed and saw the stubby figure of old Ben Farran, a long telescope to his eye, leaning against the remnant of what had once been a neat deck-house. Lumber of different kinds—mostly empty rum kegs—lay strewn all round him, while, from the shattered stump of the main-mast to the painted ear of the fearsome green and red dragon which served as a figure-head, was stretched a clothes-line, on which a few rags leaped and fought in the cold breeze.

  Hal studied him critically for a few moments.

  “He’s not so deep in liquor as usual,” he said at last.

  “Oh! poor Pet Salt!” exclaimed the girl involuntarily. “I wonder where she is?”

  “Stowed away safely under hatches, I reckon,” said Hal, with a laugh.

  “You should not jest, Hal. I have not known him able to stand so, these three months. I fear he may have kilt her. He would if she could beg him no more rum.”

  “Oh! what soft heart it is,” said the boy gently. “How long ago was it that you shivered when I spoke her name, and now you fear for her—shall we go back?”

  The girl hesitated for a moment, then she said, “Nay, she may have need of help, poor soul. Come with me, Hal.”

  “Come with thee, lass! Think you I’d let you go alone—thy grandsire sobered?” His voice rose in indignation as he put his arm about her shoulders protectingly.

  They came within twenty yards of the boat before the swaying figure on the deck became aware of them. Then, however, to their extreme surprise he hailed them affably, and called to Hal.

  “Hey, you boy there, be your eyes good?”

  “Ay, none so bad, sir.”

  “Ah, I doubt it, come up here, will ’ee, and see if you can make out this craft.” Then, his eyes falling on the girl, “Is it that slut Anny you have with you?”

  “’Tis Anny Farran, sir,” she said, speaking for herself.

  “Ah! you run down to Pet Salt, girl, she may need thee.”

  Anny climbed up the rope-ladder which dangled over the side, and Hal after her.

  “Is Pet Salt sick, grandsire?” she ventured timidly.

  Anny had been a serving-maid at the Ship Tavern some three years and her acquaintance with profane language was not limited, but she quailed visibly and the red blood mounted from her throat to the ebony curls on her forehead before the stream of abuse levelled at the head of the unfortunate woman in the hold. She fled down the hatchway and Hal stood looking after her, undecided whether to follow his love and protect her from the aged witch below deck, or to remain and attempt to pacify the wrathful man by the deck-house.

  Ben decided for him.

  “Here you are,” he said fiercely, “take this telescope. Now”—as Hal took it from the old man’s unsteady fingers—” what do you see?”

  The young Norseman, his yellow hair curling over his ears, and one dark blue eye screwed to the rim, swept the glass to and fro once or twice, then he held it still.

  “She’s a brig,” he said at last.

  “Ah!” assented the old man.

  Hal looked again. “Light’s very bad,” he remarked.

  “I could ha’ told you that—here, give me the thing.” Ben regained possession of the glass and, unable to hold it steady, broke into another flood of profane language, cursing the woman, Pet Salt, again and again.

  “She has vexed thee, sir?”

  The young man put the question timidly.

  “The ronyon burnt my rum-cup,” Ben Farran gulped with rage. “Oh lad! the defiling of good, Heaven-sent rum with burnt eggs and honey!”

  He spat on the deck at the thought of it.

  The boy grinned, but he said nothing.

  Once again the old man handed him the telescope.

  “Now look! Be she Captain Fen de Witt’s Dark Blood?”

  Hal began to understand the old drunkard’s interest in the brig. If this was the Dark Blood, the whole of the East end of the Island would run rum for a night or so, and as he guessed Ben’s stock was getting low.

  “Nay,” he said at last, “’tis not she. Why, Master Farran, Captain Fen de Witt isn’t expected for a week or more.”

  The old man mumbled curses for a while before he spoke.

  “Ah! but who be she?” he said, pointing out to the horizon.

  “Why,” said the boy in some surprise, “’tis someone making for the West.”

  The old man seized the glass.

  “’Tis impossible with the tide out like this,” he said.

  Hal strained his eyes.

 
; “Ay,” he said, “but she’s trying it.”

  “But I tell thee, lad,” Ben’s voice rose shrilly, “’tis impossible. Why, down there in the fleet there ain’t no more ’an four feet o’ water when the tide’s like this.”

  “Ay,” said Hal, “I know there ain’t, but she’s trying it,” he added stubbornly.

  “Why, so she be,” Ben Farran put the glass at last safely to his eye and spoke in amazement. “But she won’t do it,” he added with a certain enjoyment. “She can’t do it. There’s only one man as I’ve heard of who’d try it,” he continued, “and it ain’t likely to be him at this time o’ day.”

  “Ah!” said Hal, “and who’s that?”

  “Dick Delfazio—him as they call Blackkerchief—but it ain’t likely to be him, as I said.”

  Hal nodded.

  “I’ve heard of him,” he said, “lands his stuff at the Victory, don’t he?”

  The old man grunted.

  “I don’t know that,” he said. “All I know is I don’t see any of it. Lord,” he added, as he had another look through the glass, “’tis the Coldlight, though—sithering fool. He’ll lead the preventative men on the Island after him one o’ these days.”

  “He’ll never get down to the fleet with the tide like this, whoever he is,” said the boy, staring out curiously at the white-sailed craft.

  “Ah! you’re right there,” said Ben. “Curse the fool, he’ll get her stuck fast in the mud and have to stay all night. Lord!” he added, “when these wars be over there’ll be a deal more care taken in the trade, take my word for it. Why, this ain’t smuggling, it’s free trading.”

  But the boy was not listening to him; his eyes were fixed on the Coldlight, now well in view.

  “Look!” he said suddenly, “look, she’s turning.”

  “Eh? What? Eh? So she is!” ejaculated the old man in a frenzy of excitement. “Do ’ee think she be coming here—eh?”

  Hal spoke slowly, his eyes on the brig.

  “Ay,” he said, “you’re right, she’s making for East—who did you say she was?”

  “The Coldlight—the Coldlight, lad, commanded by the finest man in the trade—oh, my boy, the Island will swim in good Jamaica this night,” and he dropped the telescope, which fell clattering to the boards.

  Hal picked it up and turned to give it to the old man, but he was off, tottering to the hatchway. There, kneeling on the deck and poking his head down, he called whiningly, “Pet! Pet! my own, will you come up and hear what I have to tell you? Great—great news, Pet.” Receiving no answer he tried again while the boy stood looking at him.

  “Pretty old Pet, queen of my heart, Pet, my Pet, come up.”

  Still no answer, save for the patter of raindrops on the boat.

  “I’m sorry I beat you, Pet—although I’m damned if I am, the ronyon!” he added to himself. Still all beneath the hatches was silent as the grave.

  Swearing softly the old man crawled over to the ladder and began to descend.

  Hal heard him reach the bottom and stumble off.

  The boy looked out to sea, where the brig was making slowly for the Eastern Creek. He stood looking at her for a second or two and then sprang round suddenly as though someone had called him.

  Where was Anny? In the excitement of watching the brig he had forgotten her. His face flushing with remorse he raced to the hatchway and was just in time to help his sweetheart, pale and frightened, up on to the deck.

  “Oh, Hal, how he has beaten her!” she said, as she moved quickly over to the rope-ladder and climbed hastily down without once looking behind.

  “Could she speak to thee?” he asked as he slid to the ground after her.

  “Ay,” she nodded her head fearfully.

  “Did she curse thee much?”

  “Ay!” she nodded again.

  Hal smiled.

  “Art afraid?” he enquired tenderly.

  Anny looked up at him before she pulled his arm about her waist.

  “Nay,” she said, “not while I have thee, Hal.”

  He kissed her before he spoke again.

  “I suppose Ben was plaguing her to meet the Coldlight and beg a keg?” he said.

  Anny nodded again. Then she said quickly. “Come, lad, we must back to the Ship if company be expected.”

  “Wouldst rather serve rum to the company than walk to the shore with me, lass?”

  The grip round her waist tightened and she laughed.

  “If thou wert a wench, Hal, thou wouldst be a jade,” she said. “Come, Master Gilbot will be scuttering this way and that, and Mistress Sue, loath to leave Big French, will have the skin flayed off everyone in the place if we’re not there to help her.”

  “Thou’rt a great lass, Anny,” said the boy smiling. “When we’re married there’ll not be an inn in the country to equal ours.”

  The girl laughed happily.

  “Ay, when we are married, Hal,” she said.

  Chapter III

  “Oh, I called her Mary Loo,

  And she shwore that she’d be true,

  Until I took to rum and went to shea,

  Then she goed along wi’ he,

  And forgot all love for me,

  Sho I stayed wi’ me rum and me shea,

  Sho I stayed wi’ me rum and me shea.”

  Gllbot, landlord of the Ship, sat before a roaring fire in his comfortable kitchen, singing in a quavering, tipsy voice, and beating out the accompaniment with an empty pot on one podgy knee.

  It was six o’clock in the evening, and already the tallow dips had been lighted. They cast a flickering, friendly glow over the scene, the long, low room, stone-flagged and small-windowed, the ale barrels and rum kegs neatly arranged side by side on a form which ran nearly all the way round the wall, and the two long, trestled tables, flanked with high-backed seats which were now unoccupied, but were presently to be filled with the best company that the East of the Island could provide.

  Besides Gilbot, who appeared happily oblivious of all around him, four other persons sat in the Ship kitchen; two old men threw dice for pence in one corner, while in another, between two rum kegs, sat a girl. She was about twenty-three years of age, and, although her appearance was not of that uncommon type so marked in Anny Farran, yet she had a certain quiet comeliness and gentle expression which made her almost beautiful. At least the handsome young giant who lounged near her in an ecstasy of shyness appeared to think so, for he eyed her so intently, his mouth partly open, that she was forced to pay more attention to the garment she was patching than was strictly necessary. They sat in perfect silence for some ten minutes before the young man plucked up courage to speak. When he did, his voice came uncomfortably from his throat, and he reddened to the roots of his hair.

  “I reckon I’ll be going up West now, Mistress Sue,” he said, as he half rose to his feet and looked towards the door.

  “Oh!” there was a note of real regret in the girl’s voice, “must you go so early, Master French?”

  Big French sat down again quickly.

  “Nay,” he said shortly, and there was silence again for another minute or so.

  She stitched busily the while.

  “Is it great business you have in the West, Master French?” she said at last, her eyes still on her work.

  French discovered suddenly that it was easier to talk to her if she was not looking at him.

  “Ay,” he said. “Blackkerchief Dick will get in to-morrow.”

  Sue sighed.

  “Ah!” she said, “you have a fine life, Master French, travelling to and fro the way you do.”

  Big French beamed delightedly.

  “Ay,” he said, “a fine life, but dangerous,” he added quickly, “very dangerous.”

  The girl looked at him appraisingly.

  “But you are so strong, Master French, what have you to fear from footpads—you’re in more danger from pretty wenches, I warrant,” she said, as she shot a sidelong glance at him.

  French r
eddened and smiled sheepishly; then he suddenly grew grave and his grey eyes regarded her earnestly.

  “Wenches, Mistress Sue?” he said, “nay! one wench—that’s all.”

  It was Sue’s turn to redden now and she did so very charmingly, and French, noting her confusion, immediately bethought him of his own, and he sat fidgeting, his eyes on the tips of his untanned leather boots.

  “I’ll be forth to Tiptree market this week if Blackkerchief Dick’s brought aught but rum from Brest,” he said at last, “and if there be aught you may be wanting from thence, Mistress——?” His voice trailed off on the question as he studied his boot-toe attentively.

  She smiled as she laid a brown hand on his arm, thereby causing him much nervous disquietude.

  “Come back before you go—er—Ezekiel,” Big French started pleasurably at the sound of his Christian name—” and if I have bethought me of aught we need from Tiptree, I will be glad if you will get it for me,” she said.

  Big French took the hand that was resting on his sleeve in one big fist and his other arm slid round the girl’s waist unhindered.

  “Sue,” he said softly, “will ye——”

  “Sho I stayed wi’ me rum and me shea,”

  sang Gilbot, suddenly waking up from a doze he had fallen into. “Shue,” he called, “more rum, lass.”

  The girl jumped up to obey him, and Big French swore softly under his breath.

  Two or three seamen entered the kitchen at this moment, and, after saluting Gilbot, called for drinks and settled themselves in the high-backed seats on either side of the fire. They began to talk noisily of their own affairs.

  Sue opened an inner door and called for more lights.

  Gilbot, happy with his rum, continued to sing.

  Big French rose slowly to his feet. He was an enormous figure, some six feet five inches tall and proportionately broad; his face as the light from the dripping candles fell on it showed clearly-cut and very handsome. He wore his hair long and his chin had never been shaved, so his beard was as silky as his hair, curly and of the colour of clear honey. He walked over to the door after exchanging greetings with the rowdy crew at the fireside, and lifted the latch. On the threshold he was met by Hal and Anny.