Give me a kiss,” he said laughing. “You’re a smart little wench,” and kneeling down behind her he bent to kiss her cheek.
Before he realised what had happened he felt a smart blow across the mouth, and Anny sprang to her feet and walked off quickly.
Hal sat back on his heels and passed his hand across his lips.
“You little vixen,” he gasped.
Anny laughed, a bitter, angry little laugh, and went on.
Hal looked after her anxiously for a moment or two, and then as she did not turn back he scrambled to his feet and followed her.
“Anny, you’re not angry?” he said, as soon as he was near enough to speak softly. The words came shamefacedly from his mouth and he slurred them one into another.
Anny gulped; she was very angry and Hal’s attitude annoyed her.
“Indeed I am,” she said, “and turning a slobbering calf won’t make me any better. Oh! go home, Hal Grame.”
Hal was amazed.
“Anny!” he ejaculated.
Anny repressed a howl of disappointment and contented herself with saying wearily:
“Oh, go home—go home!”
The boy looked at her for a moment or two.
“Anny,” he said at last, “are you trying to leave me for the Spaniard?”
This was more than she could stand, and turning to him she broke out into a stream of angry incoherent abuse and denial.
“Why are you for ever plaguing me about the Spaniard? Why does everyone talk of him? I’m sick of hearing his name—if you’re jealous of him go to him, not to me.”
Hal shrugged his shoulders and said with irritating calmness:
“Then there is that for me to go to him about, eh?”
Anny raised her little clenched fists above her head and cried aloud:
“You make me mad, Hal Grame. Of course there isn’t,” and then, as she saw that he didn’t believe her, she went on, “of course not, of course! Oh, Hal! if you were a man you’d do other things than worry a poor lass dead with your foolishness.”
Hal flushed.
“Ah, that’s like a wench!” he said. “What if I haven’t a golden jacobus to my name! I shouldn’t think you’d throw that at me if you loved me.”
Anny did not speak and he went on, “If I were a man—yes, that’s it, if I were a dirty, sneaking, knife-throwing Spaniard, with a fleet of rat-ridden cockle-boats, and a crew of mangy dogs behind me, you’d be content—then I could do other things—bring you gauds and laced petticoats. Faugh! I’m glad I’ve seen you thus; I wouldn’t wed a cormorant and a shrew.”
His anger had carried him away with it, for like most Norsemen he had a strain of bitterness under his usually sunny, peaceful disposition.
Anny winced at his words.
“It’s not that—you know it’s not that, Hal,” she said piteously. “But why worry me? If you’re jealous of him, fight him.”
Hal looked at her in astonishment; he was no coward, but neither was he a hot-head, and he knew some things of Dick’s reputation as a swordsman and a knife-fighter.
Anny shrugged her shoulders.
“Fight him,” she repeated mechanically.
A sneer played round the boy’s mouth when he next spoke, and his eyes had grown cold.
“Marry, Anny Farran, I did not think you capable of it,” he said. “You would have me die on the Spaniard’s knife and so rid of for ever.”
Anny began to cry hopelessly. She felt there was no use in saying anything to him while he was in this mood, but she was very fond of him and he hurt her much more than he knew.
Hal turned on his heel, and as he strode off began to realise how much he loved the wayward beauty. A great wave of self-pity swept over him. He was very young, barely nineteen, and once or twice he bit his lip convulsively, as he imagined the future loneliness, the constraint at the Ship, old Gilbot’s sallies, and then, as he stayed to look out over the glancing, shimmering water, he noticed that the little white-sailed ship was still hovering about the mouth of the Mersea river, and he laughed wildly.
“May you sink the Spanish weasel!” he exclaimed aloud, and then went on, and every step he took he became more miserable and angry with himself and the girl.
“Oh! I’ll go and see Joe,” he thought, as he turned into the lane. “It’s a fine thing to have a mate, so it is, when your lass leaves you for a yellow heathen,” and he turned down towards Pullen’s cottage.
Anny sat on the bank where he had left her. She was very sorry for herself, too, and she looked round her through tearful eyes.
No one was in sight. Behind her the bright sun lit up the countryside with beautiful green and yellow light, while in front, the sea, clear and smooth as glass, sparkled and glittered peacefully. She got up slowly, and started back for the Ship, and for the first time a sense of insecurity came upon her, and she realised rather fearfully that she was very much alone. Hitherto, she had always relied on Hal to take care of her, but now he was angry, very angry, she could see that; perhaps he would never forgive her. She shivered involuntarily. Old Ben was her only relative, and the thought of him and Pet Salt frightened her. Sue and Gilbot were very kind, but would they trouble themselves to protect a little serving-wench from a wealthy customer?
All these questions ran through her head, and the image of the dark, wanton-eyed debonair little Captain rose up in her mind like a spectre. She knew now that she did not like him, and she began to be afraid. She remembered the times he had tried to kiss her; and how each time at the thought of Hal she had repulsed him successfully. Now Hal would be indifferent. A sob stuck in her throat, and she swallowed painfully.
Then an idea struck her. There was always Nan Swayle—poor, disappointed Mother Swayle had always a soft spot in her hard-crusted heart for little Anny Farran, her old lover’s grandchild. She would go to Nan—but then the picture of the lonely old woman living with her cats in a tumble-down shed on one of the many small dike-surrounded islands in the marshes presented itself to her, and she began to cry afresh, as she walked wearily up to the Ship.
Meanwhile, out in the river’s mouth, alone between sea and sky, the little white-sailed craft patrolled steadily to and fro, as Master Thomas Playle, a telescope to his eye, swept the horizon anxiously and impatiently.
Chapter XVI
The sun was just about to set over the Island in a blaze of glorious colour when the Anny, sailing peacefully under half-canvas, came in sight of Brad-well Point.
Blueneck and Habakkuk Coot were below deck in the latter’s little bunk-hole which he had fitted up as a sort of wash-house. It was one of Blackkerchief Dick’s fads to have his linen always spotless, and marvellously laundered, and, as this was a luxury hardly dreamed of on the Island, during his visits to England, the valiant Captain had to have his washing done aboard. The job of laundryman had almost naturally fallen to Habakkuk, who had accepted the office joyfully, and he now stood, clad in nothing but his breeches, in front of an old emptied canary tub, immersed up to his elbows in soapy water.
Blueneck leaned against the doorway watching him.
“Santa Maria! what an occupation,” he remarked contemptuously.
Habakkuk sniffed.
“It’s very nice when you’re used to it,” he said, without looking up from the garment he was pounding and squeezing with a kind of vicious delight.
Blueneck shrugged his shoulders.
“Maybe,” he said, “anyway, I’m going on deck; this here rat-hole’s too stinking for me.”
Habakkuk sniffed again but took no other notice of his friend, who presently lumbered off up the hatchway.
The water was very green and the waves rolled lazily after one another as though it were hot even for them, while the Anny dipped and rolled gently among them at about one-third her usual speed.
They were early, and, careless though he was, Dick did not like landing until it was at least dusk.
Blueneck strode across the deck and stood staring towards the Isl
and, now just a streak on the flaming horizon.
Suddenly he started and speaking sharply ordered one of the sailors who was sprawling on the deck to bring him a telescope.
The man went off at once and returned in a second bringing a long brass spy-glass with him.
As the mate of the Anny clapped it to his eye an exclamation of surprise escaped him.
“Mother of Heaven! what will that be?” he murmured, and putting the glass under his arm went down the deck in search of the Captain.
As usual the little Spaniard was standing against the main-mast, his arms folded across his chest, and his heavy-lidded eyes half-closed.
Blueneck approached him deferentially and reported: “Ship ahead, Capt’n.”
The deeply sunken eyes opened at once and Dick put out one delicately scented hand for the glass.
“She’s sighted us, dogs,” he remarked calmly a second or so later.
Blueneck gasped.
“I’ll go and head her round, Capt’n,” he said at once.
Dick lowered the telescope and looked over it in quiet surprise.
“That you will not, son of a snipe,” he said, his soft voice playing musically with the words.
Blueneck began to expostulate.
“The Preventative folk?” he said fearfully.
Dick swore.
“And since when have you been feared of the Preventative folk, dog?” he asked, and his fingers played round the hilt of his knife.
Blueneck flushed.
“I’m not feared,” he said stoutly, “but ’tis madness to go on.”
Dick laughed happily, putting the glass up again. Suddenly his whole manner changed. His bright black eyes lost their sleepy indifference and became alight with interest and excitement, his slender white hand ceased to play with his knife, and his voice, no longer caressing, now adopted a note of command, as he wheeled round and strode off down the deck shouting orders here and there.
“Put on full canvas and keep her straight,” Blueneck heard him say, and he groaned inwardly.
Under the extra load of canvas the Anny plunged and righted herself, cutting through the water at her full speed.
The other brig was well in sight now, and she hailed the smugglers several times.
Dick took the wheel himself and shouted an order for the cannon to be looked to.
The other brig had turned her head straight for the Anny as soon as she saw that her salute was ignored, and now a ball from one of her several brass cannon fell some two yards short of the smuggler’s bows.
“Fire!” shouted Dick, and Noah Goody, the Anny’s old gunner, lit the match; the shot cleared the pursuing brig and Noah loaded again.
Nearer and nearer came the brig until Blueneck could read the name on her bows, the Royal Charles.
Faster and faster went the Anny, but the Charles gained on her every second. They were well inside the bay by this time, but escape seemed impossible for the tide was barely past the turn, and between them and the Island lay a great grey field of soft slushing mud. Any moment they might strike a bank of it and be compelled to stay there an easy prey to the Preventative men.
Dick looked behind; the Charles was very near. For a moment he hesitated. He knew the Western creeks like the back of his hand, but in order to reach that side of the Island he would have to cross in front of the enemy, and although he was a daring little man Blackkerchief Dick was no fool. The only course left open to him then was to make for the East. He knew there were two creeks that were deep enough to take the brig, but they were no more than thirty feet in their widest part and that was dangerous going. Besides he was not nearly so familiar with these as with those on the Western side.
At this moment a ball from the Charles dropped through the little deck-house and then rolled off the deck harmlessly.
Dick made up his mind.
“Send Habakkuk Coot hither,” he shouted, for he remembered that the man had spent his boyhood in the East of the Island.
Everyone had forgotten Habakkuk in the excitement of the moment, and now he was nowhere to be found.
Dick cursed him for a skulking rat and in other terms.
Blueneck went down the hatchway to look for him; the smell of steaming soap and water still came from the dirty little hole where he had left him.
Blueneck looked in; Habakkuk was there, his arms still in the soapy water. He was singing in a high nasal voice and sniffing at frequent intervals.
He listened to Blueneck’s incoherent account of the chase in profound astonishment, but nevertheless went steadily on with his washing, and refused to leave it until Blueneck in desperation took him by the scruff of the neck and the seat of the breeches and carried him before the Captain, his arms still wet and soapy, and a dripping shirt clutched in his hand.
But the situation was too serious for Dick, or, indeed, anyone else, to notice any little irregularities of this sort.
The Royal Charles was within a musket shot of the Anny’s bows and every second the mud flat in front grew nearer.
Habakkuk, however, had a very good memory, and under his guidance the Anny shot down a wide, river-like stream of water, the mud forming banks on either side.
Dick looked at it in surprise.
“I did not know there were any creeks as wide as this on the East,” he said.
“Ah,” said Habakkuk wisely, “this ain’t no more ’an twenty foot wide—it’s very deceiving. Look over the side, Captain, there’s about six inches of water on the starboard—an’—they don’t know that, do they?” he chuckled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to where the Royal Charles had just turned after them. “It’s only about fifteen wide a bit further along,” he announced cheerfully a little later. “I hopes I ain’t forgot where.”
Dick stood watching the Charles as she followed them down the treacherous creek. “She must have a pilot who knows the place,” he thought, for she still gained on them.
At last, when they were within five hundred yards of the shore, Habakkuk gave a short exclamation.
“We’re stuck,” he cried.
“What?” Dick sprang round on his heel.
Habakkuk grinned foolishly.
“Little tiny channel’s silted up, I reckon,” he said. “We’ re aground.”
Dick struck him off his feet with an oath.
“Out with your knives,” he shouted.
It was beginning to get dusk and the Charles bore down upon the Anny like a great grey tower; nearer she came and nearer until they could plainly hear the voices of the men on her deck.
And then it happened. In his excitement the man at her tiller let it swerve a little, a very little, but enough; there was a soft swishing sound and the Charles’s nose cut deep into the soft cheesy mud—she also was aground.
Exciseman Thomas Playle swore with disappointment as he ran forward and saw the very little distance between the two brigs, but he loosened the broad-bladed cutlass at his hip and, shouting to his men to follow, swung himself into one of the boats.
“Maria! they’re trying to board us,” shouted Blueneck, whipping out his knife and running to the side.
Instantly there was confusion, the greater portion of the crew running after their mate to the still floating side of the brig.
This sudden change of weight saved the situation. With a lurch, a roll, and a quiver, the Anny jerked off the mud, Habakkuk seized the tiller just in time, and the brig slid on down the creek.
A yell of disappointment rang out from the first boat-load of Preventative men and echoed over the fast-darkening mud flats. The tide was coming in like a mill-stream and any moment the Charles might also swing clear, but Playle would not wait; springing into a second boat he urged his men to row faster in a vain attempt to catch the Anny.
Old Noah Goody did his best with the cannon, but the progress of the little row-boats was so irregular that he could never get the exact range.
The Anny shot away from the boats at first, but as she came nearer into th
e shore the channel grew narrower and narrower and she was forced to take in most of her canvas.
Dick stood on the bows looking at the fast gaining boats, and thinking. If on reaching the shore he abandoned the brig and he and his men ran to hide on the Island, the Preventative men would scuttle the Anny and confiscate her cargo, which was an extra valuable one of Jamaica rum and fine Brussels lace. His only alternative was to fight.
By this time the brig was within twenty yards of the beach, and in another moment her keel grated on the muddy shingle.
The excise men were not far behind.
Dick seemed suddenly to come to life; leaping out into the centre deck he shouted:
“To the shore, lads, and fight the liverish dogs on land!” Then, agile as a monkey, he slid down the hawser and pulled in a boat—the crew followed, some wading through the shallow water and others in the boats.
Once on shore they ranged themselves in a double line along the beach, waiting, with drawn knives, for the boats. It had grown almost dark by now, and one by one the stars had come out in the fast-deepening sky, but there was a big moon and the line of rugged, rum-stamped faces on the shore showed clearly in the yellow light. Their brutal expressions and the flicker of steel about their belts might have frightened many aman older and more tried than Master Playle, but the little boats came on undaunted, and just as the first keel touched the shingle a musket shot rang out and the man next to Blueneck dropped silently.
Dick swore in Spanish and, raising his pistol, the one he had taken from Mat Turnby—fired at the man nearest him, a fat elderly servant of Master Francis Myddleton’s. The man was almost out of range, but the shot wounded him, for he screamed and dropped into the water. For half a second there was no sound, and then with a yell the crew of the Charles charged over the soft slithering mud at the solid line of grim, taut figures who awaited them.
“Pick out your men!” Dick rapped out the order, and as he spoke the handle of his knife slipped into the hollow of his soft white palm as if it had suddenly grown there, and the slender hand and delicate weapon quivered as one living thing.
There were full ten more excise men than smugglers and they came on with such a rush that the crew of the Anny were forced to give way a little, but they rallied immediately, and although the Preventative folk had the advantage of numbers Dick’s people had the priceless knowledge of the ground they were fighting on. The wiry grass which covered the unlevel saltings that lay the other side of the narrow beach was very slippery, and in the pale light the ridges and dikes were almost invisible.
Blackkerchief Dick Page 14