At length I came out of the fit of laughter, and we walked apart down the quay, discussing matters. When I told Low how I had been homesick for the King Sagamore, he began to bellow again.
His news struck me with incredulity, but a glad man I was for the carouse of the night before, since I appeared to have landed a good berth with a man I liked. Ned Low was fully as tall as I, and even wider in the shoulder; a lean man, his face brown and hard as if carven from mahogany, but ever ready to slip into the cheeriest laughter man ever heard. He had a whimsical touch about him, and I think had run away from Oxford for love of the sea, since he could quote the classics by the hour and spoke sometimes of Magdalen Towers.
Well, he speedily made it clear to me that I was signed with him, and that he had all morning supposed me to be aboard, at which we laughed again.
“Russel came back and dragged me from table just as I was sitting down to breakfast with word that you were standing on the quay like a man in a dream,” he concluded with a final chuckle. “So I came along to see—”
“Russel!” I said, and frowned. “Does he sail with us?”
“Aye.”
Low took my arm frankly and turned me eye to eye with him.
“Listen, Roberts! We’ve scant time to talk—I must get aboard and see to things. But you’re a man after my own heart; I drank you under the table last night to make certain, since rum brings out the worst of a man!
“I know you and Russel must fall out. That’s as it should be; but look out that Russel doesn’t slip a knife into you. Understand? I have to take him as second mate, willy-nilly, and as we explained last night—Well, run along and get your things, and don’t miss the tide on your life! I must aboard.”
He turned, calling to a wherry just leaving the landing-stairs and made her with a swift run and a leap. I marveled at his catlike agility, responded to his wave of the hand, and turned to seek my own clothes at the Hare and Hounds, fortunately close by.
For all that I was a happy-go-lucky young devil this morning’s affair left me in somewhat of a daze. Or perhaps the rum punch contributed to that effect. However, I was gradually coming to an understanding of things. Russel had come up to me in an evil humor, thinking that I was shirking my duty by loafing ashore; which would well account for his attitude.
Not until I had nearly reached my lodgings did I recall that extraordinary meeting with the man Dennis Langton, and clapped hand to pocket with an exclamation. I had clear forgotten to speak of him to Ned Low!
However, no matter now. It was evident that he must have seen Low that morning, or have heard from him that I was in charge of the ship.
I packed my trunk and stepped in to the ordinary to pay off my landlord. Just then a number of men came crowding in with much high talk, amid which I caught the name of Langton. At that I turned and listened, while the landlord gaped likewise.
“And to think that Langton has all this while been a merchant in Lombard Street!” cried one man with a volley of oaths. “A pretty pass we’re coming to in London town!”
“They say,” chimed in another, “that he has already sold out his business and was in shape to skip the city—”
“All by accident he was betrayed,” spoke up another, a late comer. “You’ve not heard? Zounds, a ripping story! In Lombard Street itself, only this morning, gentlemen! He came face to face with a shipman whom he’d plundered years ago, was recognized, dodged the hue and cry and broke clear away. Now the constables are searching the city for him, and the waterside as well. A pirate at loose—zounds!”
I paid my score, engaged a man to carry down the trunk and went my way somewhat thoughtfully.
This Dennis Langton, known for a pirate, was a friend of Low and was hoping to get aboard the King Sagamore. I was going as mate aboard that ship. So was John Russel; and my words had stung Russel that morning. Russel like Langton, had been on the Account, as those who take to piracy term the profession.
What about Ned Low? He was one of them; no use shirking the fact. This fine Virginia ship was going a-sailing on a mighty queer cruise, in ballast at that!
And what about me, George Roberts of Virginia?
Why, that was simple enough! Duty lay clear and straight before me—inform the authorities, have everyone aboard the King Sagamore laid by the heels, and become a popular hero! The ship would be saved to its owners and everybody happy.
Against this there balanced Ned Low’s frank and keen blue eyes, the clap of his hand on my shoulder, the comradely liking I bore him. Aye, because I liked him I laughed at duty! Besides I was never a great hand at informing. If I want a thing done, I go do it; this running to catch-polls and constables is not to my mind.
So we came down again to the quay, and as I pocketed my pipe my hand touched the black snuffbox. I drew out the thing and looked at it, pressed the catch and opened it. Inside there was no snuff, but a folded, bone-hard bit of vellum. I put the thing away once more.
“Let sleeping dogs lie!” I reflected. “Dennis Langton may be caught. If he’s been posing as a merchant here in London, he’ll be well known and should be caught in an hour’s time. That may simplify matters a bit.
“As for Ned Low, I trust him more than a little, and he should have sense enough to know that I’m not going on the Account. Perhaps that’s not his own intention, either! I may be wronging him.”
I called a wherry and was taken out toward the ship. As we approached her I fell to laughing again; for I had not the least notion whither she was bound or on what errand. And I remembered that featherbed going aboard, so that the whole affair struck me afresh with such whimsical humor that I could not refrain from laughing. Captain Low looked over the rail as we drew near, and he caught the infection and began to roar again with mirth, and was still grinning as I came over the side.
“Welcome!” he cried, and struck hands again, a hearty grip. “What’s so merry?”
“Why, I can’t remember where we are bound for,” I said. “Guinea or the plantations?”
“It wasn’t mentioned,” and Low chuckled. “The Verde Islands, if you want to know, and then Barbados or elsewhere.”
“Then we stow salt at the islands, do we?”
Low glanced around, saw that we were alone and gave me a straight look.
“Nay, Roberts—we stow gold! Art satisfied? And not on the Account neither.”
I nodded, and once again forgot about Dennis Langton’s message.
CHAPTER II
After stowing my duffel away in one of the stern cabins I came on deck again and inspected things. Captain Low had everything shipshape, and now there was little to do save to await the tide. Russel had not come aboard as yet, either.
Truly a sweet ship was the King Sagamore! Built originally for the India trade, she had much of the black teak in her making, and this was ever kept oiled and waxed, in neat contrast to her white deck and varnished spars and the new canvas stowed aloft. At her bow the torso of a feathered savage was set for figurehead; glass eyes the Sagamore had in his painted visage, and I have heard said that the evil eye was entered into him.
The men were clumped in groups forward. And to my disgust one of them was standing on the rail, exhorting several around him with a voice of wild fervor; a tall, thin man, hair flying in the wind, cheeks like yellow parchment and a godly eye. Gunner Basil was this, who had a true preaching whine to his Puritan voice.
“No place for you, gunner!” I said when I understood who he was. “Get you aft!”
He rolled his eyes at me and shook his head.
“Nay, nay, sir! It is time that one officer of this ungodly heathen vessel should be able to think for the souls o’ these poor men!”
“Your argument may be sound, gunner,” I said, “but you had best learn that your place is to obey first and argue later.”
With which I clipped him under the ear and took his place at the rail.
“Douse him with a bucket, lads,” I said to the men, “and look alive! Where’s the
bosun? Ah! Damn me if it isn’t Bosun Pilcher out of the Merry Thought! Bose, remember our voyage in the Guineaman, do you? Glad to find you here, old friend. Watches made up, are they? All taut?”
“Aye, sir, all taut,” and Pilcher grinned. A savage brown fellow he was, with golden earrings dangling against his cheeks; short and squat, powerful of build, he was worth dozen men in a pinch.
“What are these preachers we have aboard, bose?” I demanded, looking at he men who stood about. A long-haired lot, with sanctimonious faces and rolling yes.
“Puritans,” said Pilcher, and spat over the rail. “Damned if they ain’t, sir! It was Mr. Langton shipped the lot. I said ’twas no luck to let a crew be shipped by a Lombard Street merchant, nor is it. Not an oath all mornin’, and us a-working like blacks!”
The crew shipped by Langton! I whistled at that. Obviously no one aboard knew anything about Langton’s adventures of the morning. Leaving my perch, I took Pilcher’s arm and led him forward into the bows, where we might have a quiet word.
“What’s this, bose?” I asked. “Say no word of it, but the merchant Langton is being hunted through the city for a pirate. Russel has been on the Account, or I’m a liar! And I’m not so sure about the master—”
“Cap’n Low is the bloodiest of the lot,” said Pilcher gloomily. “I’m not s’prised to hear about Langton; not me! Low was piratin’ around Madagascar last year. Oh, I’m a wise man, I am! But nobody aboard knows it, d’ye mind, sir! If ’twas not for what we’ve got stowed aft I’d ha’ jumped ship.”
“Eh?”
I stared at him.
“What’s stowed aft, then?” I asked. He gave me a grin.
“Oh, you don’t know, sir? Well, I’ll not tell ye. Why Langton went and shipped these here psalm-whining fish I don’t know, but that bleedin’ Gunner Basil ain’t the soapy fool he looks nor acts, Mr. Roberts! You and me are honest men, and the score up for’ard are honest fools; but Gunner Basil ain’t one or t’other. D’ye know where I heard tell of him? Far and away it was, last v’yage—”
We leaned against the rail, filled and lighted our pipes, and Bosun Pilcher told me what he knew about our zealous gunner. It was worth the telling.
“D’ye mind, sir, last v’yage ’twas in a Bristol brigantine, to Madeira and the Verde Islands, and back with wine and salt, and a weary time it was, for she leaked like a sieve all the while. We hove out o’ Funchal and made for the Isle o’ Sal to take our salt aboard, that was in the making; and got safe into the north end of Palmera Roads, and anchored with the palm-trees east-and-by-north, in that spot o’ clear sand bottom, five fathom.
“A man came off to us, a white man, marooned there, he had been, by a Frenchman named Maring or some such name, a pirate it was. He told us of a great fight there had been aboard o’ the Frenchy six months back, and how there was a famous gunner aboard of her, a gunner by the name o’ Basil, full of all pirate learning and a very law-shark for all them that were on the Account. And he said the Frenchy had shot off the lobe of this gunner’s ear with a pistol and had set him ashore, all from some dispute over a woman.
“And sink me if this here preacher ain’t the identical scoundrel, sir! You look at his ear, and there it be.
“Well, that’s not the whole of it neither. This chap told us a long story, which I disremember in the main, but ’twas all about this here Gunner Basil and some wild tale that lay along of he. D’ye mind the pirate Avery? Gunner Basil had sailed with him, and talked in his cups about Avery’s treasure that lay buried at one of the Verde Islands; he knew where the place was, and there be not another living man knew of it, and he was all for going after it. A wild tale enough!”
“Wild, but it might hold truth,” I commented. “Avery burned down one of the towns in those islands, and cruised about there. However, what matter to us? This Gunner Basil, you think, is pretending to be a preaching Puritan just now?”
“Aye, to save his neck, belike.”
Pilcher shook his earrings.
“Folks do call me a pirate because I wear hoops, and have a roll to my legs on dry land, and have use for an honest oath or two; but zounds! You know me, Master Roberts. I had liefer be me than this cutthroat devil of a Gunner Basil, with his Scripture and Psalms and whine!”
I had to laugh at this, which was true enough. Bosun Pilcher had the looks of a pirate and the life of an honest man; a wife and six children in Jamestown, and a sober, careful record. Gunner Basil, on the other hand, with all the earmarks of a fanatical blue-nosed Puritan, was by repute a devil on the leash.
“Well, bose,” I said, knocking out my pipe, “keep a close tongue and wait for what turns up. You’d best look over the capstan and hawse and be ready to up anchor. Tide’s almost at the turn, and I see a boat yonder with Mr. Russel coming aboard.”
I turned and started aft, having now remembered something mighty important. As I went I encountered Gunner Basil, who touched his forelock to me as I passed and made no comment on my lesson in obedience. Russel’s boat was hailing us, and at the break of the poop I found Captain Low waiting for me. I was up the ladder and had him by the arm, fumbling in my pocket.
“Ha, cap’n! I met a friend of yours ashore, and he charged me with word for you—”
Before I could say more, Russel was over the rail and leaping up to us, his dark face all ablaze with fury and excitement.
“The word’s out after Dennis!” he cried, but low-voiced that the men might not hear. “Devil’s luck, Ned, devil’s luck! Some fool recognized him this morning; put the catch-polls after him! Zounds, if we don’t get up the hook and into the Channel they’ll twig the whole affair! Up and away, I tell you!”
Ned Low flung a glance at the after companion. His eyes were suddenly stricken.
“Damn me, this is bad news!” he murmured. “And at the last minute!”
“Up and away!” snarled Russel, still panting.
“No, no, I’ll not run and leave him!” exclaimed Low warmly; but I intervened.
“Langton isn’t nabbed, and won’t be,” I said, coolly enough, while they stared at me. “I met him ashore, and he had time to give me a message for you, cap’n, before the constables set him running afresh. Said for you to drop downstream with the tide, and he’d come aboard—this side Gravesend, most likely.”
“Good!” cried Low.
He snapped erect as if this news had put fresh life into him, and his smile leaped out once more.
“Trust Dennis to come clear! Mr. Russel, be ready to shake out those topsails in five minutes; the tide’s nearly at the turn. Mr. Roberts, take charge for’ard and see the anchor’s well stowed.”
Russel gave me one look that was like a stab; then his white teeth flashed in a laugh.
“So you know Langton, Mr. Roberts!” he said, and nodded. “Good enough. We’ll pull together after all.”
Oddly, it seemed that his ill will toward me had vanished; this was all seeming, however, because he thought that I was a friend of Langton, and bore this latter some well-founded fear. He was soon enough snarling again.
I went forward while the bosun’s whistle shrilled and the men jumped to stations. Everything was shipshape; the men began to stamp about the windlass, capstan bars of dark teak all ashine in the sun, pawls clinking as the ship walked up on her hook, and the canvas aloft beginning to loose. A sweet ship was the King Sagamore! Every little detail of her was sweet and natty. Even the fife-rail was of red teak, and the belaying pins of black, heavy as iron.
Now she leaned over to wind and tide and began to slip through the water, while Cap’n Low himself conned her through the river traffic; six bells was struck from the brass bell, and I minded the cabinboy struck them; a slim lad, a guttersnipe of the town, his face pinched and marked with deviltry beyond the ken of most men.
And I noted an odd enough thing. Shoving on the black capstan bars of teak, or hauling on the lines, there was no singing from those men of ours. Instead, not a sound from them until we were brac
ing the yards a bit, and then one long-nosed rascal began to chant out a psalm, in which they all joined. Damn me, but I can still hear the roar of mirth that went up as a barge passed us and caught the words!
I sent the gunner down to see that all the ports were closed; she carried four guns to a side and six patteroes—a well armed jade! Or, should I say, warrior? The matter of sex is all a jumble when it comes to the King Sagamore. Pocahontas would have been a better name for her. This psalm singing was too much for me, however.
“Belay that singing!” I ordered at length. “Bose, pipe ’em the old bowline! Join in you Newgate rascals, or you’ll taste trouble!”
So presently Pilcher led them, and the voice of Gunner Basil boomed up the words from below, and the rascals stamped the deck to a right tune:
“Oh, haul upon the bowline, the fore and maintop bowline!
Oh, haul upon the bowline—the bowline, haul!”
And so we had everything snugged down for the present, and I joined Cap’n Low on the quarterdeck, while Russel and the gunner stood at the rail, watching the riverbanks slide past us. Now I went up to Low, who stood at the wheel, and spoke to him softly.
“Ned, I said nothing of it before Russel, but Dennis Langton gave me more than a word for you. Hold out your hand and take the little box.”
He dropped a hand to his side, and I put the little black snuffbox into it; and, not taking his eyes from the water ahead, he nodded.
“Good, Roberts!” he said quietly. “So Dennis is playing fair with us, eh? Fine. Ah! Look there, behind those fishing-smacks—is that a boat? Here take my glass.”
I took the spyglass from his pocket and leveled it.
“Aye! Two oarsmen and Langton himself in the stern. Now they’ve seen us—”
“Stand by with a line, Russel!” cried out Low, “Roberts, stand by those braces and be ready. We’ll pick him up on the jump.”
Pick him up we did, nigh swamping the wherry in the attempt. Langton came up and over the rail, nimble as a cat; but he had not been on the escape for nothing, since his clothes were torn and muddied and his wig clean gone, leaving him bald and shiny.
The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack Page 41