Mr. Wicker's Window

by Carley Dawson

  CHAPTER 25

  As soon as the night was dark enough, Chris loudly complained of notfeeling well--of being hot and dizzy, and in no time Captain Blizzardhad, as loudly, told him he was to go to bed on a cot in the Captain'scabin. Captain Blizzard closed the door behind him, and in Amos's andNed Cilley's hearing, told Mr. Finney that he was much afraid thatChris had a touch of the sun and was coming down with a tropicalfever.

  Chris remained alone in the cabin from that time. Soon, in the cool ofthe night, the sailors of the _Mirabelle_ set out in dinghies to acascade of fresh water that emptied itself into the cove at itsfarther end, taking with them casks and barrels to replenish theship's water supply. Their deep voices swept back over the water towhere Chris stood by the open port of the Captain's cabin. He wasforcing himself toward the moment when he must board the _Vulture_.His resolve was held back by his mounting anxiety as to how best tocarry out what would be necessary, and a strong natural reluctance toleave the _Mirabelle_.

  Leave it he must. He stood pondering on what shape to assume, and whenhe heard the cry of a belated night bird, and saw it coast by onsilent wings to vanish in the night, he decided to take that shape. Ittook all his courage and determination, but this was the first steptoward what he had trained for so long to do, and he knew he must doit, and at once. The boy looked a last time around the cabin, thenspoke the magic formula in his mind, and, with a sudden enjoyment inthe sense of flight, he soared away from the ship out over the cove.

  The bird swept twice around the _Mirabelle_, rising higher as it went.Below, the few lights of the ship had been carefully hooded away fromthe sea, and the bird, spiraling lightly on air currents, drifted outfrom land.

  The black bulk of the _Vulture_ was easy to find in the clearness ofthe night. She was riding at anchor close inshore farther down thecoast, and final boatfuls of men were returning from the merchantmancarrying the last of the spoils. Sweeping by toward the beach Chrissaw that most of the bandit crew were already drunk, shouting andcarousing around fires where they roasted wild creatures they hadearlier killed. He noticed that a few Tahitians stood apart at thejoining of the palm forests and the sand, watching the coarse faces ofthe drunken men. The Tahitians, fitting so well into the beauty oftheir island, gold of skin and crowned with flowers, carryingthemselves with dignity, were as far removed as could be imagined fromthe idea of pagan men. They contrasted sharply at that moment withthose from "civilization," who in filthy rags of clothes and wilddisorder of gestures and voices staggered about aimlessly gorgingfood and drinking. The watching pagans glanced from the brawlingpirates back a short distance down the beach where already a fewbodies had been washed ashore from the fight. Their distaste andbewilderment were plain.

  Chris soared high above the din and the smoke of the fires, and thenseeing Osterbridge Hawsey being rowed back to the _Vulture_, followedafter.

  Osterbridge Hawsey had two baskets at his feet. One was filled withcarefully chosen fruits, and the other with the exotic flowers of theisland. Hastily changing himself into a green parakeet, Chris alightedon the rail of the _Vulture_ just as Osterbridge Hawsey reached thetop of the ladder. Determined to make a good impression and perhapscatch Osterbridge's fancy, Chris, in his bright parakeet plumage,bobbed his head and sidled up and down the ship's rail, eyeingOsterbridge Hawsey with his head on one side as he had seen parakeetsdo.

  The maneuver succeeded, for Osterbridge, with a little cry ofpleasure, declared himself enchanted.

  "I must have that little bird!" he exclaimed, and carefully taking offhis fashionable hat--even more out of place in the tropics than it hadbeen on the Georgetown docks--he slapped it quickly over the parakeetwhich allowed itself to be captured.

  This, Osterbridge Hawsey's own prize, made him crow with delight.Clambering as gracefully as possible over the battle-scarred side ofthe _Vulture_, he took the parakeet gently out from under histricorne.

  "A parakeet--as I _live_!" he shrilled, sounding very like a parakeethimself. "My soul--what a prize!" he rattled on, entirely to himselfas it turned out, for the sailors were not at all interested in a pet.Exhausted from the battle or drunk from captured wine, and alldespising the fastidious ways of Osterbridge Hawsey, they paid not theslightest attention. They obeyed occasional orders from him, for theyknew they would be whipped by Claggett Chew if they did not, and sohauled up the baskets of fruits and flowers, dumped themunceremoniously in the Captain's cabin, and left as quickly as theycould to rejoin their shipmates on shore.

  Holding the parakeet firmly, Osterbridge Hawsey tied a long silk cordto its right leg, fastening the other end to the arm of his chair sothat he could closely observe his new pet.

  Chris did not disappoint him. As the parakeet, he played the clown forall he was worth. He strutted up and down, and bobbed his headwhenever Osterbridge Hawsey spoke, so that it appeared that thebrightly feathered bird was in constant agreement with his captor. Orhe would cock his head to one side as if weighing one of Osterbridge'sremarks, in a truly comical manner.

  Looking about meanwhile with his black beady eyes, Chris saw thatClaggett Chew was lying in a bunk against one wall, nursing his leftleg which had been given a sword thrust in the fight. He was obviouslyin pain and perhaps feverish, and Osterbridge Hawsey's childish talkirritated and bored him so that he turned his face to the wall. Lightfrom the swinging lamp that Chris remembered from many weeks beforethrew black hollows into Claggett Chew's eye sockets and deeply linedface. Now and again he could be heard grinding his teeth at the painof his wound, but Osterbridge Hawsey, throwing his fine coat andplumed hat to one side, lightheartedly amused himself by trying totempt his new pet with some fruit.

  "Claggett!" he cried, as if Claggett Chew could possibly be interestedin a parakeet at that point, "do look at what I captured! This is myvery own spoils of war!" he crowed.

  Claggett Chew made an impolite noise and said nothing. "Well,"Osterbridge Hawsey gave a shrug as answer to the noise, "you know howI _detest_ fighting. It is vulgar, messy, and noisy. I can imagine nopossible good word to say for it. And I see no reason why you couldnot have made them give up their cargo without a skirmish. Ugh!" hesaid, at the remembrance.

  "Now, a good gentlemanly fight with a rapier is _quite_ anotherthing," he went on. He smirked and made a face at the parakeet who didits best to smirk back. "_That_ is a graceful and fine art. Refined,and not at all degrading to one's character."

  No sound from Claggett Chew. Osterbridge Hawsey rattled on and Chris,pecking at the fruit proffered him, thought that sometimes OsterbridgeHawsey might quite possibly talk just as gaily to himself as he did tothe unresponsive Claggett Chew.

  "Claggett--your men!" his voice rose. "_Really._ They are making an_exhibition_ of themselves on the beach. Just as well there is no oneto see but some aborigines. _Quite_ revolting. _How_ can you bear toassociate with such _types_, when you are so much above themyourself--but there, I must not pique you, must I, poor Claggett? Iexpect your wound smarts a trifle?"

  Claggett Chew turned his face toward Osterbridge Hawsey, his eyesblazing with rage and his mouth working with the fretful annoyance ofan ill man, but he only muttered and turned away again.

  "Do you know," his more delicate friend pursued, stretching out a longfinger for the parakeet to perch on, which to his evident pleasure itinstantly did, "Do you know, Claggett, this dear little creature seemsfearless and almost human? _Quite_ touching."

  He paused, admiring the vivid colors of the feathers which perhapsawoke a kindred feeling in Osterbridge Hawsey, loving a fine displayas he did.

  "I shall give you a name, my little feathered captive," he said, andpondered. "I wonder what would be suitable? Something French,undoubtedly." He waved a hand and the lace at his wrist fell forwardin a not overly clean frill. "Louis, after the dear king? No--thatwould be too great an honor for so small a bird, gaudy though you are.I think, 'Monsieur,' after the king's brother. That's it. LittleMonsieur." He broke off, dreamily. "To think that I once knew such aroyal, such a di
stinguished man!" He sighed reminiscently.

  For the first time words came from Claggett Chew. He bit them off asif the saying of them cost him very great effort.

  "More _ex_tinguished than _dis_tinguished, I would say."

  Osterbridge Hawsey permitted a sad condescending smile to cross hisface and he shook his finger at Claggett Chew. "Ah, Claggett--younever knew him, you see. I am _sure_ you would have liked him--suchcharm! So _distingue_. Oh dear me yes. A most _unusual_ royalpersonage," Osterbridge Hawsey said, smiling happily at his parakeet."Most of them are so _much_ alike--"

  He singled out several fresh fruits, peeling some for Claggett Chew.Silence fell over the cabin except for Osterbridge Hawsey's delicatelysmacking lips as he finished the fruit and licked his fingers one byone, the increasingly heavy breathing of Claggett Chew, who fellasleep, and the distant sound of shouts and clamor from the shore.Osterbridge Hawsey made a pouting face at the sleeping figure of Chew;evidently Osterbridge was bored. He went to the door and clapped hishands, but no one responded. Except for the two men and the parakeet,the _Vulture_ was deserted.

  Osterbridge Hawsey came back into the cabin holding a bottle of winewhich he uncorked and poured into a glass. Chris, foreseeing whatwould follow, hopped up to the back of his new master's chair where hehoped he would be forgotten, and tucked his head under his wing incase Osterbridge should look at him.

  Waiting for the right moment was the hardest thing Chris had to do,but he knew, as Osterbridge Hawsey drank glass after glass and hisbook fell from his fingers, that the right moment would not be long incoming.