Blackkerchief Dick Page 3

  They had walked briskly and the cool air had brought the colour to the girl’s face and, as she stood there, the men at the fireside, instead of clamouring for the door to be shut and the draught stayed, sat looking at her in silent admiration.

  Hal Grame, standing just behind her, was the first to speak. He stepped forward, shutting the door behind him.

  “Blackkerchief Dick, aboard the Coldlight, will be putting into the Creek inside of an hour,” he said.

  Big French looked at him for a moment.

  “Blackkerchief Dick coming here?” he said at last.

  Sue came forward to listen, and several men left the fireplace and joined the little group near the door.

  “Ay,” said Hal, “he couldn’t get down the fleet with the tide like this.”

  “Ah!” said French.

  “He couldn’t rest in the Channel for twelve hours or so, now could he?” continued Hal.

  “Ah, you’re right there, lad,” said one of the men pressing forward. “Blackkerchief Dick would risk most things, but he’s no fool.”

  Big French scratched his head thoughtfully.

  “Ah,” he said slowly, “he’s no fool, that’s right enough.” Then he looked at Sue furtively out of the corner of his eye. “He’ll be coming up here I reckon,” he said.

  Sue shrugged her shoulders.

  “Well,” she said, “we’ve rum enough for any foreigner, and, if we ain’t as fine as the Victory, our liquor’s as good.”

  “Eh, what’s that?” Old Gilbot pricked up his ears, the pewter-pot half-way to his lips.

  “Not as fine as the Victory, lass? Who says we ain’t as fine as the Victory, any day? Eh? Anywaysh,” he added, his face hidden in the nearly empty tankard, “anyway sh, we’ve prettier wenches.”

  “You’re right, host—here, rum all round and drink to the wenches,” Big French, his hand in his breeches pocket, spoke loudly and the coins jingled as he planked them down on the table, and the two girls hastened to draw the rum.

  “The wenches!” shouted French, one big foot on the form and his tankard held high above his head.

  “The wenches!” roared the company.

  “The wenches!” piped Gilbot happily from his corner.

  This pleasant ceremony took some minutes, and Sue and Anny stood together smiling at each other, neither giving a thought to the little dark-skinned, white-handed Spaniard who was sailing under full canvas towards their home.

  “I’ll go down to the hard to meet Blackkerchief,” said French at last, wiping his beard with a green handkerchief.

  “I’ll with you.” “And I.” “And I.” Most of the company rose and followed the young Goliath to the door.

  “Goo-bye,” said Gilbot, waving his pot. “Come back soon.”

  The men laughed and promised.

  “The owd devil,” said one man to another as he shut the door behind them. “The owd devil hasn’t been sober these four years.” And they went off laughing.

  “What manner of fellow is that they call Blackkerchief Dick?” said Anny, as she collected the empty tankards from the tables.

  “A devil,” said one of the men at the fireside.

  “Oh!” Anny was not impressed. She had met many strangers who had been described to her as devils, and not one to her mind had lived up to the description.

  “Oh!” said Hal, as he piled fresh logs in the open grate, “’tis only a foreigner, some Spanish dog or other.”

  The man who had spoken before shook his head.

  “Ah, you be careful, lad. Dick ain’t the chap to make a foe of in a hurry,” he said.

  Anny paused for a moment.

  “Is he a big man, sir?” she asked.

  Sue interposed quickly.

  “Not as big as Master French, I reckon,” she said defiantly.

  The man laughed.

  “Big as French?” he said. “Lord! he ain’t no bigger than you, Anny.”

  “Oh!” the two girls looked at one another and laughed.

  “Marry, I reckon he’s a devil without horns then, Master Granger,” said Sue.

  Granger spat before he spoke again.

  “I don’t know about horns, Mistress,” he said, “but I reckon his knife is good enough for him—ah! and for me too for that matter,” he added.

  Anny laughed again.

  “’Twould not be enough for me, anyway,” she said, fixing a stray curl over her ear as she spoke.

  Sue looked at her strangely. It was impossible not to like this beautiful, wild little creature, in whom her uncle, Gilbot, had taken such an interest. Yet she could not help wishing that the younger girl had been more careful. She was so young, so very beautiful, and the company which came to the Ship was not the best in the world.

  She shrugged her shoulders. It was not her business she told herself, but her eyes followed Anny almost pityingly as the little maid moved across the room to speak to Gilbot.

  “Master Gilbot,” Anny said. “Should we prepare a bedchamber for the gentleman?”

  Old Gilbot looked at her over the rim of the tankard; then he took one of her hands.

  “Thou art a pretty wench, Anny,” he observed solemnly. “Will ’ee fetch me another stoup of liquor, lass?” he added, brightening up in anticipation.

  Anny did as she was told and then repeated her question.

  “Eh? Bedchamber? Eh? What?” said the old man, his brows screwed into knotted lines, and he seemed troubled; after a few minutes, however, “Oh! ask Hal,” he said, his face clearing. “Ashk Hal, everything.”

  He looked across at the boy affectionately.

  “Shly dog,” he murmured, “keeps me in liquor all day long sho he can get the Ship. Ho-ho-ho!” he laughed, shaking all over. “Shly dog—shly dog.”

  Hal laughed with him and then discussed with Anny and Sue the various arrangements for the reception of the visitors. Having settled everything to their satisfaction they joined the group about the fire, where the talk was still running on the Spaniard.

  “Wonderful fighter,” one man was saying. “Oh, a wonderful fighter, take my word for it.”

  “Ah, you’re right,” said another. “I saw him kill a man with a knife throw, one time. From right the other side of the room it was. That was in a house in Brest, in ’59,” he added reminiscently.

  “How old do you reckon him?” said the first man curiously. “I’ve not known him more’n a year or so.”

  “Well,” the other man’s tone was dubious, “He says he’s thirty, and I shouldn’t say more; no, I shouldn’t say so much—though it’s wonderful the way he manages them foreign dogs he mans his brig with.”

  Hal joined in the conversation.

  “They’re a rough lot I expect,” he said.

  The men round the fire laughed.

  “You’re right there, lad,” said one. “Keep your eye on the rum and lasses to-night. Wonderful rough lot they are,” he added. “Oh, wonderful rough!”

  Hal flushed.

  “I reckon the lasses can look after theirselves,” he said gruffly.

  Anny put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Ay,” she said, “maybe we can, but where’s the need of us troubling when you’re by?”

  “Bravo, Anny, lass. The girl has wit as well as beauty,” said the man addressed as Granger from his seat in the chimney corner, whence he had moved to make room for Sue.

  “Ay, a fine wench,” said Gilbot, waking for a moment; the others laughed and the talk continued cheerily.

  “Evening to you all,” the speaker was a man, dressed in the usual fisherman’s guernsey and breeches. He stood in the doorway, looking in on the company round the fire and smiling affably.

  Hal looked up quickly and seeing who it was rose at once to meet him.

  “Evening, Joe,” he said cheerily. “Come, sit down; what’11 you drink?”

  Joseph Pullen smiled and took the seat offered him, and named his choice.

  Anny was up in a moment to serve him, and his eyes f
ollowed her as she flitted hither and thither, with a smile for one and a jest for another, laughing happily the while. He looked across at Hal.

  “Ah, you’re a lucky one, mate,” he observed in a hoarse whisper.

  The boy smiled.

  “Amy been at you again?” he enquired.

  It was well known that Joe and his wife, Amy, were not a happy couple.

  The other looked round him.

  “She’s a shrew and no mistake, Hal,” he said softly.

  Hal laughed.

  “You’re right,” he said, “but cheer thyself,” he added, as Anny brought a tankard. “Look’ee, Joe, did ever you set eyes on a man called Blackkerchief Dick?”

  “I did that,” Joe’s face appeared red above the pot, “and I set eyes on one of his mange-struck crew as well,” he said fiercely.

  “Ah, and who might that be?” Granger enquired.

  “A black-bearded old Spanish villain called Blueneck. Yes, and what’s more, I set eyes on him kissing my wife.”

  A roar of laughter greeted this outburst, and Joe looked discomfited.

  “I stopped it, of course,” he remarked.

  Another roar shook the building. Joe reddened again.

  “I don’t see why you’re a laughing,” he said gruffly.

  The men round the fire laughed again.

  “I can manage my wife better nor any man here and I’m willing to prove it with these,” he said, putting up two bony fists.

  The laughter died away and no one spoke for a moment or so. Then Joe, all his anger vanished as suddenly as it had come, remarked, “Blackkerchief Dick, eh? Where did you hear of him? I didn’t know he ever came up East.”

  “Nor don’t he as a rule,” said Hal, “but he has had to put in here owing to the tide. I reckon he’ll up here soon.”

  “Ah, will he now?” Joe’s eyebrows rose expressively, then he put down his mug. “Did you say he was putting in here—crew and all?” he asked, wiping his mouth.

  “Ay,” said Hal, “I reckon so.”

  “Ah,” said Joe again, “I’ll be going back to home,” he announced suddenly.

  Then, as some knowing smiles appeared on the faces in the firelight; he added, “Ah, you can laugh, but take my word for it, you keep your wenches clear of Spaniards. They have wonderful ways with women.” He walked to the door. “See you afore the night’s over, Hal,” he called cheerily as he went out.

  Under cover of the laughter which burst out as he shut the door behind him, Anny whispered to Hal, who was making up the fire, “I would not change thee for the King o’ the Spaniards, lad,” and he turning suddenly to look at her knew that she spoke truth.

  Chapter IV

  “Marry ! Fortune favours her lovers ! Greetings, Master French. Damn my knife ! there is not another on the Island I would rather see than thee at this moment.”

  Blackkerchief Dick stepped out of the open row-boat which had conveyed him from the Coldlight and gave a small, white hand to Big French, who assisted him on to the board pathway which was laid over the soft mud.

  “Greetings to you, Captain,” said the young man, and then added slowly, “you’re somewhat before your time, ain’t you?”

  Blackkerchief Dick broke into a storm of curses.

  “Ay,” he said at last, “Ay, too early for the tide and so forsooth compelled—I, Dick Delfazio, compelled mark you—to put in at this God-forsaken corner”—he took in the marshland with a comprehensive wave of a graceful arm, and continued sneering—” which is as flat and empty as a new-washed platter.”

  The big man at his side smiled.

  “Nay prithee, Captain,” he said, “’tis none so bad.”

  The Spaniard turned to him fiercely, but Big French went on quietly. “If you be a wanting to stay the brig here for the next tide,” he said, “best to take her up the Pyfleet round to the back o’ the Ship—plenty o’ water up there,” he added.

  Blackkerchief Dick shrugged his shoulders.

  “The Pyfleet?” he said. “Surely that is Captain Fen de Witt’s haven? I would not take advantage of his hiding-place.”

  The smile on the big man’s face vanished.

  “Lord, Captain!” he said quickly, “you cannot leave the brig in open channel all the night. The preventative folk may not be very spry hereabouts, but they ain’t all dead yet—no not by a long way they ain’t.”

  The Spaniard replied with another shrug.

  “As you wish,” he said, and then with a smile, his teeth flashing in the dusk, he added: “But that I need thee to-night, Master Hercules, I would not so easily have yielded.”

  Big French flushed, but he spoke quietly.

  “Ah, and what will you be wanting to-night, Captain?” he said.

  “Passage in thy cart to the Victory, friend,” replied the Spaniard.

  “Oh!” Big French spoke dubiously. “Why do you not rest at the Ship?” he enquired.

  “The Ship?” the thin lips curled in contempt. “Dick Delfazio stay at a wayside tavern? This moon hath made thee mad, friend French.”

  Big French sighed involuntarily and the Spaniard laughed.

  “A wench?” he asked.

  “Nay,” the blood suffused the young man’s handsome face and he spoke shortly.

  “Well, take me to the Victory,” repeated the Spaniard.

  An anxious snuff sounded at his elbow as he spoke. He turned quickly just in time to seize Habakkuk Coot by the neck of his guernsey.

  “You evil-smelling son of a rat,” he began slowly, giving the little man a shake at every word, “get thee back to the brig and tell Blueneck I would speak to him.”

  With the final word he jerked the wretch off the board pathway and watched him flounder in the deep oozing mud.

  “Haste thee, dog,” he said, touching him lightly with the blade of his knife.

  Habakkuk screamed and floundered on for the row-boat, where he was hauled in by several of his comrades. The boat then pushed off for the brig.

  “You have a wonderful way with your crew, Captain,” said French, looking after the boat.

  “Ay, of a truth.” the Spaniard laughed. “Cannot Dick Delfazio rule a pack of mangy dogs?”

  French looked at him narrowly, and then took up the conversation where he had left it.

  “The Ship is no wayside tavern,” he said, “the folk be simple but the liquor good and the wenches pretty, and they are waiting for you to come—the maids in their best caps, and the canary warming on the hearth.”

  Dick looked at him for a moment.

  “Master French,” he said, keeping his glittering eyes on the other’s face. “Master French, ’tis strange that thou shouldst be in this part of the Island so ready for my coming, Master French,” he added, his voice assuming the soft caressing quality for which it was so remarkable. “Dare I suppose that it was not to meet me that thou camest to the East? That it was to the Ship thou camest, eh? Master French?”

  Once again the big man blushed to his ears, but he laughed.

  “Ay, Captain,” he said, “you are right there. ’Twas not to meet you I came to the East. Prithee tell your men to take the brig down the Pyfleet and come with me to the Ship.”

  The Spaniard laughed strangely.

  “Friend French,” he said, “are thy horses lame?”

  The young man looked at him for a moment before he spoke.

  “Ay,” he said at last. “Wonderful lame.”

  Blackkerchief Dick threw back his head and laughed heartily.

  “Thou art a brave man, French,” he said, but continued quickly. “There is such a lameness as can be cured to-morrow for a trip to Tiptree, eh, friend?”

  “Ah!” said the big man nodding his head sagely, “’tis a wonderful strange lameness that they have.”

  Dick nodded.

  By this time the row-boat had once more come to the plank across the mud. Blueneck, a shadowy figure in the darkness, stepped out and came towards them.

  Dick gave his orders briefl
y.

  “Take the brig up the Pyfleet,” he said; “any of these fellows will pilot thee,” he added, pointing to the group of Mersea men on the wall. Then as an afterthought, “And bring five kegs from the hold to me at the Ship Tavern.”

  A certain amount of enthusiasm among the volunteer pilots was noticeable after this last remark, and Blueneck smiled as he replied, “Ay, ay, Capt’n.”

  Blackkerchief Dick and his friend Big French the smugglers’ carter turned, climbed the wall and walked together down the lonely road to the Ship Tavern without speaking.

  “Marry!” said Dick, stopping after they had walked for some five minutes, his hand feeling for his knife. “What’s that?”

  Big French stopped also and, standing side by side in the middle of the road, they listened intently. Apparently just behind the hedge on their right a human voice, deep and throaty, said clearly, “Rum—rum—rum—rum,” the sound trailing off weirdly on the last word.

  The Spaniard crossed himself, but his hand was steady.

  “Is’t a spirit?” he said.

  “Nay,” Big French’s voice came stifled from his mouth.

  The Spaniard drew his knife. “Then I’ll have at it,” he said.

  Once again the stifled monosyllable broke from the younger man’s lips.

  Blackkerchief Dick looked at his guide quickly. By the faint light of the winter moon he saw the man’s face was distorted strangely—once again the ghostly voice behind the hedge said distinctly, “Rum—rum—ru——”

  “Ho! ho! ho!” roared French, his laughter suddenly breaking forth, “Peace, Mother Swayle,” he shouted, “by our lakin! you had us well-nigh feared with your greeting.”

  The Spaniard sheathed his knife.

  “If ’tis a friend of thine, Master French,” he said shrugging his shoulders, “’tis of no offence to me. Though by my faith,” he added, as a dark figure in flowing garments bounded over the hedge and stood by the roadside, “’tis strange company you keep.”

  The tall, gaunt woman addressed as Mother Swayle shrank back into the hedge.

  “Who is it with thee, Big French?” she said in her deep tired voice.

  “Blackkerchief Dick, new landed by the wall,” said French.

  “Ah! I know naught of him—Peace, good swine—farewell, Rum!”