Black Bartlemy's Treasure

by Jeffery Farnol

  CHAPTER XXXI

  I TRY MY HAND AT POTTERY

  Next morning, having bathed me in the pool, I descended thence to findbreakfast a-cooking, two noble steaks propped before the fire onskewers stuck upright in the ground, a device methought very ingenious,and told her so; the which did seem to please her mightily.

  "Are you hungry, Martin?"

  "'Tis a poor word for it!" says I, sniffing at the roasting steaks.

  "Alas! Our poor turtle-shell is all perished with the fire. Martin, ifyou could but contrive me a pan with handles! I have found plenty ofclay along the river bank yonder." Here she gives me my steak on apiece of wood for platter, and I being so sharp-set must needs burn mymouth in my eagerness, whereon she gravely reproves me as I had been aravenous boy, yet laughs thereafter to see me eat with such hugeappetite now a bite of plantain, and now a slice of steak cut with myknife.

  "As to your pan with handles," says I, my hunger appeased somewhat, "Iwill set about it as soon as I have made my bow and arrows--"

  "There is no need of them," quoth she, and rising, away she goes andpresently comes back with a goodly bow and quiver full of arrows.

  "Lord love you!" says I, leaping up in my eagerness. "Here's mightygood weapon!" As indeed it was, being longer than most Indian bows andof good power. Moreover it was tufted with feathers rare to fancy andgarnished here and there with fillets of gold-work, very artificiallywrought as were also the arrows. Nine of these there were in a quiverof tanned leather, adorned with featherwork and gold beads, so that Idid not doubt but that their late owner had been of some account amonghis fellows.

  "I found them two days ago, Martin, but kept them until you should bewell again. And this I found too!" And she showed me a gold collar oftwisted wire, delicately wrought. All of the which put me in high goodhumour and I was minded to set off there and then to try a shot atsomething, but she prevailed upon me to finish my meal first; the whichI did, though hastily.

  "There was a knife also," says I suddenly.

  "Yes, Martin, but I threw it into the lagoon."

  "O folly!" says I.

  "Nay, we have two knives already, and this as I do think was poisoned."

  "No matter, 'twas a goodly knife--why must you throw it away?"

  "Because I was so minded!" says she, mighty serene and regarding mewith her calm, level gaze. "Never scowl, Martin, though indeed 'twasgoodly knife with handle all gold-work." At this I scowled the moreand she must needs laugh, calling me Black Bartlemy, whereon I turnedmy back on her and she fell a-singing to herself.

  "Think you these arrows are poisoned also?" says she as I rose. Atthis, I emptied them from the quiver, and though their iron barbslooked innocent enough, I held each in the fire until I judged I hadrendered them harmless if poisoned they were indeed.

  And now, though sore tempted to try my skill with this good bow, Ifollowed her down to the river-bank to try my hand at pottery, thoughtaking good care to carry my bow with me.

  Being come to the river I laid aside bow and quiver, and cutting diverslumps of clay (the which seemed very proper to my purpose) I fell tokneading these lumps until I had wrought them to a plastic consistency,and so (keeping my hands continually moistened) I began to mould andshape a pot to her directions. And now, since I was about it, Idetermined to have as many as need be and of different sizes. My firstwas a great ill-looking thing, and my second little better, but as Iprogressed I grew more skilful so that after some while I had six potsof varying size and shape, and each with handles; and, though illthings to look at, my lady found them all she desired.

  "Surely they are very clumsy?" says I, viewing them doubtfully.

  "But very strong, Martin!"

  "And very ponderous!"

  "But they have handles, Martin!"

  "And very ill-shaped!"

  "'Tis no matter so long as they will hold water, Martin."

  Hereupon, heartened by her encouragement, I tried my hand at a set ofdishes, platters and the like, for as I grew more expert at the art, myinterest increased. So I laboured all the morning, working 'neath atree upon the river-bank, and my pots set out to dry in the full glareof the sun all of a row, and I, in my heart, not a little proud ofthem. But turning to look at them after some while I saw divers ofthem beginning to crack and gape here and there with the sun's heat,whereon my vain pride gave place to sudden petulant anger, and leapingup I demolished them, one and all, with a couple of savage kicks.

  "O Martin!" cries my lady, desponding, "Is all your labour wasted? Areyou done?"

  "No!" says I, clenching my teeth, "I begin now!" And down I sat to myclay-kneading again. But this time I worked it more thoroughly, and sobegan to mould my pots and pipkins over again, and she aiding me aswell as she might. This time the thing came easier, at the which mycompanion did admire and very full of encouragement as the vessels tookshape under my hands.

  "Come, Martin," says she at last, "'tis dinner-time!"

  "No matter!" quoth I.

  "Will you not eat?"

  "No!" says I, mighty determined. "Here sit I nor will I go eat till Ican contrive you a pot worthy the name." And I bent to my work again;but missing her from beside me, turned to see her seated upon thegrassy bank and with two roasted steaks set out upon two great greenleaves, a delectable sight.

  "Pray lend me your knife, Martin."

  "What, have you brought dinner hither?" says I.

  "To be sure, Martin."

  "Why then--!" says I, and laving the clay from my hands came beside herand, using our knife alternately, a very pleasant meal we made of it.

  All that afternoon I wrought at our pots until I had made a dozen or soof all sizes, and each and every furnished with one or more handles;and though I scowled at a crack here and there, they looked none theless serviceable on the whole, and hardening apace.

  "And now, comrade," quoth I, rising, "now we will fire them." Sohaving collected wood sufficient, I reached for my biggest pot (thewhich being made first was the hardest-set), and taking it up withinfinite care off tumbled the handles. At this I was minded to dashthe thing to pieces, but her touch restrained me and I set it down,staring at it mighty discomfited and downcast; whereat she laughs rightmerrily.

  "O Martin," says she, "never gloom so, 'tis an excellent pot evenwithout handles, indeed I do prefer it so!"

  "No," says I, "handles you wanted and handles you shall have!" Sotaking a stick that lay handy, I sharpened it to a point and therewithbored me two holes beneath the lip of the pot and other two opposite."This pot shall have iron handle," says I, "unless it perish in thefire." Then setting the pots as close as might be, I covered them withbrushwood and thereupon (and with infinite caution) builded a fire andpresently had it a-going. Now I would have stayed to tend the fire butmy companion showed me the sun already low, vowed I had done enough,that I was tired, etc. So, having set upon the fire wood enough toburn good time, I turned away and found myself weary even as she said.

  "Goat's-flesh," says I as we sat side by side after supper,"goat's-flesh is an excellent, wholesome diet and, as you cook it,delicious."

  "'Tis kind of you to say so, Martin, but--"

  "We have had it," says I, "we have had it boiled and baked--"

  "And roast and stewed, and broiled across your iron bolts, Martin, andyet 'tis always goat's-flesh and I do yearn for a change, and so doyou."

  "Lord!" says I, "You do read my very thoughts sometimes."

  "Is that so wonderful, Martin?"

  "Why, a man's thoughts are but thoughts," says I, watching where shebraided a long tress of her hair.

  "Some men's thoughts are so easily read!" says she.

  "Are mine?"

  "Sometimes, Martin!" Now at this I blenched and well I might, and shesmiled down at the long tress of hair she was braiding and then glancesat me mighty demure; quoth she: "But only sometimes, Martin. Now, forinstance, you are wondering why of late I have taken to wearing my hairtwisted round my head and pinned
with these two small pieces of wood infashion so unsightly!"

  "Aye, truly," says I wondering, "indeed and so I was! Though I do notthink it unsightly!"

  "I wear it so, Martin, first because my hairpins are yet to make, andsecond because I would not have you find my hairs in your baked goat,boiled goat, roast, fried or stewed goat. And speaking of goat bringsus back where we began, and we began yearning for a change of food."

  "As to that," says I, taking her half-finished hairpin from my pocketand drawing my knife, "the lagoon is full of fish had I but a hook--"

  "Or a net, Martin."

  "How should we contrive our net?"

  "In the woods all about us do grow vines very strong and pliable--wouldthese serve, think you?"

  "Ha--an excellent thought!" says I. "To-morrow we will attempt it. Asto fish-hooks, I might contrive them out of my nails hammered small,though I fear they'd be but clumsy. Had I but a good stout pin--"

  "I have two, Martin, here in my shoe-buckles."

  "Show me!" Stooping, she slipped off one of her shoes and gave it tome; and turning it over in my hand I saw the poor little thing all cutand torn and in woeful estate.

  "I must contrive you other shoes and soon!" says I.

  "Can you make shoes, Martin?"

  "I'll tell you this to-morrow."

  "O Martin, 'twould be wonderful if you could, and a great comfort tome."

  "Why then, you shall have them, though unlovely things they'll be, Ifear."

  "No matter so long as they keep out sharp stones and briars, Martin."

  "Your foot is wonderfully small!" says I, studying her shoe.

  "Is it, Martin? Why 'tis a very ordinary foot, I think. And the pinsare behind the buckles." Sure enough I found these silver bucklesfurnished each with a good stout pin well-suited to my design; sobreaking them from the buckles, I had soon bent them into hooks and(with the back of my knife and a stone) I shaped each with a small ringa-top whereby I might secure them to my line; and though they had nobarbs I thought they might catch any fish were I quick enough.

  "How shall you do for a line, Martin?"

  "I shall take the gut of one of our goats and worsted unravelled frommy stocking."

  "Will worsted be strong enough?"

  "I shall make it fourfold."

  "Nay, I will plait it into a line for you!"

  "Good!" quoth I. And whipping off one of my stockings I unravelledtherefrom sufficient of the worsted.

  "But what shall you do for stockings?" says she, while this was a-doing.

  "I will make me leggings of goat's-skin." So she took the worsted andnow, sitting in a patch of radiant moonlight, fell to work, she weavingour fish-line with fingers very quick and dexterous, and I carving awayat the pin for her hair.

  "How old are you, Martin?" says she suddenly.

  "Twenty-seven."

  "And I shall be twenty-six to-morrow."

  "I judged you older."

  "Do I look it, Martin?"

  "Yes--no, no!"

  "Meaning what, Martin!"

  "You do seem older, being no silly maid but of a constant mind, and oneto endure hardship. Also you are very brave in peril, very courageousand high-hearted. Moreover you are wise."

  "Do you think me all this?" says she softly. "And wherefore?"

  "I have never heard you complain yet--save of me, and I have never seenyou afraid. Moreover you caught a goat and killed it!"

  "You are like to make me vain of my so many virtues, Martin!" laughsshe; yet her laugh was very soft and her eyes kind when she looked atme.

  "This hairpin shall be my birthday gift to you," says I.

  "And surely none like to it in the whole world, Martin!"

  After this we worked a great while, speaking no word; but presently sheshows me my fish-line very neatly plaited and a good five feet long,the which did please me mightily, and so I told her.

  "Heigho!" says she, leaning back against the rock, "Our days grow evermore busy!"

  "And will do!" quoth I. "Here is strange, rude life for you, days ofhardship and labour unceasing. Your hands shall grow all hard andrough and yourself sick with longing to be hence--"

  "Alas, poor me!" she sighed.

  "Why, 'twill be no wonder if you grieve for England and ease," says I,"'twill be but natural."

  "O very, Martin!"

  "For here are you," I went on, beginning to scowl up at the waningmoon, "here are you bred up to soft and silken comfort, very dainty anddelicate, and belike with lovers a-plenty, courtly gallants full up offine phrases and eager for your service--."

  "Well, Martin?"

  "Instead of the which you have this island!"

  "An earthly paradise!" says she.

  "And myself!"

  "A foolish being and gloomy!" says she. "One that loveth to be woefuland having nought to grieve him for the moment must needs seeksomewhat! So will I to bed ere he find it!"

  "Look now," quoth I, as she rose, "in losing the world you do loseeverything--."

  "And you also, Martin."

  "Nay," says I, "in losing the world of yesterday I may find more thanever I possessed!"

  "Meaning you are content, Martin?"

  "Is anyone ever content in this world?"

  "Well--I--might be!" says she slowly. "But you--I do fear you willnever know true content, it is not in you, I think."

  And off she goes to bed leaving me very full of thought. Howbeit themoon being very bright (though on the wane) I stayed there until I hadfinished her hairpin, of the which I give here a cut, viz.:--

  (Sketch of a hairpin.)