CHAPTER XVI
I MAKE A DISCOVERY
I have been brief with our adventure so far, because it only began to beadventurous after we had left the Cape leagues behind us. Up to thattime, though the voyage was full of wonders for me, it was but onevoyage with another for those who use the sea. But when the adventuredid begin it began briskly, and having once made a beginning it did notmake an end for long enough, nor without great changes of fortune. Yetit 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 ofconsideration upon the ship, had a cabin to himself--to see if he werestirring, commanding me, however, if he were resting, not to arouse him.Jensen's cabin lay amidships, and as I proceeded warily because of theCaptain's caution, I came to it quietly and listened at the door beforelifting my finger to knock. As I did so I noticed that the door was notfastened. Whoever had drawn it to had not latched it, and it lay openjust a chink, through which a line of light showed from within. Thinkingthat if I peeped through this chink I might learn if Jensen were astiror 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 fromthe ceiling gave forth but a dim light, yet it was enough to enable meto 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 thefurther end of the cabin two men were sitting at a table together, witha chart before them. Nearer to me, and in front of the men, a womanstood, and held up for their inspection a piece of needlework. The twomen were Cornelys Jensen and William Hatchett; the woman was BarbaraHatchett. It might have made a very pleasing example of domestic peacebut for one queer fact, which notably altered its character.
The needlework at which women are wont to labour is nine times out often white work or brightly-coloured work. Women are like the bestkind of birds, and love snowy plumage or feathers that are bravelytinted. But the work with which Barbara Hatchett was occupied wasneither white nor coloured, but black--the deepest, darkest black. Nowthere was no cause as yet, thank Heaven! for man or woman to mourn onboard of the Royal Christopher, and there was no need for MistressBarbara to deal with mourning. So I marvelled, but even as I marvelled Inoted, as she shifted her position slightly and shook out the blackstuff over her knees, that it was not all and only black. There waswhite work in it too, a kind of patch or pattern of white work in themidst which I could not make out, for the stuff was still bunched up inthe woman's hands. But now, as I watched, I saw her shake it out overher knees for the others to view, and I saw that the thing she displayedwas a large square of black worsted, and that in the centre were sewnsome pieces of white material into a very curious semblance. For thatsemblance 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 manytimes on the tombstones in the churchyard at Sendennis.
"HELD UP FOR THEIR INSPECTION A PIECE OF NEEDLEWORK."]
It was not, however, of the tombstones at Sendennis that I thought justthen. No; that ugly image in the girl's fingers carried my fancy backto the place where I had first seen her--to the hostelry of the Skulland Spectacles--and I fancied somehow, I scarce knew why, that the workof Barbara's fingers had some connection with her father's inn. Only fora 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 ofdanger with it. I was only conscious of wondering vaguely to whatservice this sad piece of handicraft could be put, when suddenly, in aflash, my intelligence took fire, and I knew what was intended; and Ifelt my knees give way and my heart stand still with horror.
The thing I was looking at, the ill-favoured thing that was hanging frommy old love's hand, was none other than a flag of evil omen--a pirate'sflag, 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 thatflag and read of it, and now I was looking at it with my own eyes; and alight seemed to be let in upon my mind, and I trembled at the terror itbrought with it. That piece of handicraft meant murder; meant outrage;meant violence of all kinds to those that were so dear to me--to thosewho were all unconscious of their imminent doom. For I was as sure nowas if those three had told it to me with their own lips that I had comeupon a conspiracy.
The red-haired ruffian and the black-haired ruffian were in a taletogether; their purpose was to seize the poor Royal Christopher thatsailed on so gentle an errand and make her a pirate ship, with thatdevil's ensign flying at her forepeak. My soul sickened in my body atthe thought of the women-kind at the mercy of these desperadoes. Therewas one name ever in my heart, and as I thought of that name I shiveredas if the summer night had suddenly been frozen. I believe that if I hadhad a brace of pistols with me I should have taken my chance of sendingthose two villains out of the world with a bullet apiece, so clearly didtheir malignity betray itself to my observation. But I was unarmed, andeven if I had been I might have missed my aim--though this I do notthink likely, in that narrow place, and with my determination steadyingmy hand--and, moreover, I had no notion as to how many of the ship'screw were sworn to share in the villainy. Besides, I have never killed aman in cold blood in my life, and on that night so long ago I had neverlifted hand and weapon against any man, and had only once in my lifeseen blood spilt murderously. But I stayed there, with my heartdrumming against my ribs and my breath coming in gasps that seemed to meto shake the ship's bulk, staring hard at the two men and the woman withher 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 havetaken pains over with pleasure in the pains. I had seen women smile overtheir work many and many a time--good women that have worked for theirkin, mothers that have laboured to fashion some bit of bodygear for acherished child--and I have always thought that the smile upon theirfaces was very sweet to see. But in this case there was the same smileupon the woman's face as she looked upon her unholy handiwork, and therewas something terrible in the contrast between that look of housewifelysatisfaction and the job upon which it was bestowed. Many an evil sighthave I seen, but never, as I think, anything so evil as this sight ofthat beautiful face smiling over the edge of that hideous thing, theliving radiant visage above that effigy of death. The black flag coveredher 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 whereI crouched.
Cornelys Jensen nodded his head approvingly.
The red-bearded man spoke. 'Time it was done, too, and that we should besetting to work. I am sick of this waiting.'
'Patience, my good fellow, patience,' said Cornelys Jensen. 'All in goodtime. Trust Cornelys Jensen to know the time to act. The fiddle istuned, 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 itfell all in folds about her body and draped her from throat to toe. Herbeauty 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'sface flushed with pleasure.
Barbara laughed, and slowly folded the flag up square by square into asmall compass. Jensen took it from her when she had finished and put itinto 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 totake my departure, before the conspirators became aware of mywhereabouts. It would not trouble either of the men a jot to ram a knifeinto my ribs and to jerk me overboard ere the life was out of me. Andthen what would become of my dear ones, and of all
the honest folk onboard, with no one to warn them of their peril?
I drew back very cautiously, creeping along the passage and holding mybreath, stepping as gingerly as a cat on eggs, for fear of making anysound that should betray me. As I crept along I kept asking myself whatI was to do. The first course that came to my mind was to go to CaptainMarmaduke and tell him of what I had seen. But then, again, I did notknow, and he did not know, how many there were of crew or company tarredwith Jensen's brush, and I asked myself whether it would not first bemore prudent to consult with Lancelot. For I knew that with CaptainMarmaduke the first thing he would do would be to accuse Jensen to hisface, without taking any steps to countermine him, and then we shouldhave the hornets' nest about our ears with a vengeance.
But while I was creeping along in the dark, straining my ears for everysound that might suggest that Jensen or Hatchett were following me, andwhile my poor mind was anxiously debating as to the course I ought topursue, that came to pass which settled the question in the mostunexpected manner.
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