CHAPTER XXIII

DIRK TAKES ME IN HAND

For a few days my troubles were forgotten, for immediately on my return to the _Dolphin_ Dirk marched me away to the shore. At Ebb-Tide Pool we found his boat in waiting, and it was only a matter of a few strokes of the oar before we were aboard his brig, the _Revenge_.

As we drew alongside he jerked his head up to the name.

"Used to be the _Sailor's Lass_," he said.

The anchor was hauled in, and the dream of my life began. I was like a mad thing on board there. I couldn't grow weary questioning the hands on the use of this and that, though they probably grew weary answering me. For the most part they were kindly enough, though they dashed my enthusiasm somewhat by their oaths and scolding. But they seldom laid hands on me. It may have been that they were afraid to do so knowing me under the protection of Dirk, a master to daunt the boldest. But I think too I was popular on my own account. I was hardy and bold, and could swarm a back-stay as easily as run up the ratlines. Also I was willing and eager to take my share of the work, and so relieved the lazier ones of many a climb aloft. And my precocity with the knife and pistol amused them, and I could talk of strange things when we lounged about the galley in the dog-watches which appealed to their sailor-sense of the mysterious.

For a few days the world was an enchanted playground. The sky was a serene blue, with here and there lazy woolly clouds floating over us like argosies from fairyland. The wind was steady enough to swell the sails without rolling us boisterously amid toppling waves. And the water cutting away from the bows in a gush of leaping white, and foaming out in a double wake to either side; the slapping of the waves against the vessel, and spurting up in little fountains to the deck; the long racing lines of the rollers, glittering with innumerable greens and blues, and in the evening catching the colours of the west and flaming suddenly into orange and red and purple; the mist on the sea's face in the morning, like a white veil filmy and shifting and translucent, and gleaming like cloudy mother-of-pearl as the sun strengthened and shot it through with colour, to furl it up like a banner of gauze till it melted and left the skyline clear, so that once again to the sweep of the horizon were the dancing waters and the wide free kingdom of the air; all these things which were the wonder and beauty of the sea caught at my heart like a passion, till I thought I should like to live for ever amid this inconstant wavering mystery, this intangible fluctuant loveliness, which teased my spirit like a thirst and fired it like a wine.

But this has little to do with my story, though I should like to dilate on the joy of it all. For even when the sky clouded and the storm caught us, the thunder rolling ponderously overhead like a caravan of the giants, and the lightning stabbing at us out of the black heavens, ripping the clouds across in savage jagged gashes, I still exulted, being ignorant, and fighting on the high unsteady yards with the stiff kicking sails thought that life was a wonderful game.

But with familiarity, though I never lost my enthusiasm, I had leisure to return upon myself and take measure of the calamity which had befallen me. The fumes had cleared from my mind by now, and I began to understand that I should never see my father again. "He is dead, dead, dead!" was no longer an ominous knocking from without; it was a sorrow that had come to live with me for ever. My father, who had been my whole world to me! He had gone. And I had been longing to see him, counting the days, in an agony when the misadventure of the officers and the later misadventure at Sunset Towers had threatened to hold us apart. And yet, so malignant was the fate that had dogged us, it was at the very moment of reunion that the blow had been struck. It was an added pain to know that I hadn't even heard the last words of his love. They had been spoken to another, while I, blind in my rage, had forgotten him and left him to lie there, not even staying to staunch his wound. I had leisure to think of all this, and it was agony unspeakable while the mood lasted; but with the first of the morning, for it was usually at night-time that the dark humour caught me, I was out on deck and glorying in the shifting splendours of the dawn; for I was still a boy, eager, romantic and leaping to the call of beauty with an ardent and I think a poetic nature.

So the days passed.

I took no heed of where we were steering. At this time Dirk gave me a free hand, not attempting so soon to break me in to the stern discipline of the sea, consequently I wasn't called upon to take note of our course. So I was surprised one day when dropping anchor off shore Dirk lowered a boat, and getting in said to me, "Wull, you'd better keep close, kiddy. If they catch you hereabouts they mightn't be kind to you."

I looked questionably at the land, and asked, "Why, where are we?"

"Ho," he laughed, "you're a fine sailor, Tommy, my lad. I'd a thought you'd a known the Rancey."

"The Rancey!" I exclaimed.

And sure enough there was the channel running into the land. But I had never been as far as the mouth before.

A sudden desire set my heart thumping. I had hardly given a thought to Jenny during the whole of the voyage. But I knew now by the uneasy catching of my breath that a strange longing for her had suddenly possessed me.

"Dirk," I cried, "take me with you."

"Orders!" he said sharply. "You stay here."

"Dirk," I cried again coaxingly.

He merely looked at me, and I knew I mustn't argue with him. So I watched him lower away with a couple of hands and row off to shore.

The thought of Jenny set my heart strangely working. Though I knew well I badly wanted to see her, yet there was a shrinking uneasiness at my heart as though I were half afraid. The prospect of facing Jenny again seemed more like an ordeal than a pleasure. Yet I wanted her, and was tempted to put all to the hazard, dive in and swim to shore, and go and find her. It wasn't so much the fear of disobeying Dirk that made me hesitate as the knowledge that I hadn't yet accomplished my mission, indeed didn't seem to have made the first step in its accomplishment. I was ashamed to go to Jenny and say I had done exactly nothing, and in fact didn't know what to do.

However, the desire to see her grew intense. Perhaps she would forgive me when I told her of my father's death. And at that thought I felt a longing for sympathy, so that the tears came to my eyes and I blubbered like a girl. But I couldn't restrain the shaking sobs, and crept into hiding so that I shouldn't be seen. All I knew was that I was lonely and miserable, and I wanted Jenny to comfort me. But the only consolation I had was the golden guinea she had given me. I pierced it, and threading it with a piece of twine hung it about my neck like a charm.

I waited for Dirk to return, intending to ask him again to let me go ashore. But he didn't return, and the evening grew dark, and the sun set over the land. So I crept into my bunk, and still sniffing a little curled myself up and went to sleep. But with the morning Dirk was still away. And then I suddenly knew why he had vanished, and cursed myself for a fool for not having guessed before. He was on the track of the King's Man. Probably he would be away some days. In any case if he captured the fellow it would have to be at night-time. I would be safe for the day then. I gobbled down some breakfast and taking my knife, but leaving my pistol behind, I slipped on deck and waited for a chance to drop overboard unobserved.

It wasn't long before the chance came. The men were resting, as there was little work to do while the ship lay at anchor. The lookout wasn't paying too much heed to his job. I was over the side, sliding down the anchor chain, without a soul being any the wiser. And soon I was ashore, and making for a fisherman's hut changed my wet clothes for a jersey and a pair of breeches, on the understanding that I should return that night and receive my own clothes back again. I remember feeling a touch of shame at the untidy ill-fitting gear I had been obliged to borrow, but there was no alternative, for I couldn't wait for my own things to dry. So I set off, making tracks across country for Sunset Towers.

It was a longer journey than I had anticipated; but I obtained a lift here and there, and before the sun had set I had crept into the grounds from the back, and was scouting for a clear run in. For now that I was at the old haunt again my fear of the officers returned upon me.

For a while I lay low watching and listening, hoping that chance would send Jenny my way. I was sentimental enough to wonder whether she would instinctively divine my presence. I half expected her to come creeping to me with my name on her lips. But either fate was very perverse or Jenny's instinct very dull; for she didn't come. So it was for me to go to her.

I ran across the bare space which divided me from the ruins, and was soon in among shelter again, climbing and threading my way through the tumble-down stonework to the main part of the building. I entered through the archway at the top of the main stairs, for I found the boarding loose as though some one had been there before me. But perhaps it had never been properly replaced since it had been opened for Worthing. I couldn't remember. I didn't stay to question the matter. I was so near now to my goal that all my mind was concentrated on the coming meeting. Jenny would be there, a room or two away, or perhaps just downstairs at her supper. I listened, but couldn't hear a sound. I decided I would break in upon her assuming her to be in her room. If she were downstairs after all I would hide and wait for her.

I crept across the landing to her room and laid my hand on the door-knob. It creaked, and I thought I heard a movement within. I listened, but all was still again. But I dared not enter at once, for the thought of what awaited me on the other side made my heart leap stupidly. I could almost see Jenny standing there with wide eyes waiting for the door to open. I was obliged to stand still to recover my composure, for my brain seemed to reel and I felt half choked with excitement, deafened by the beating of my heart. Why the meeting with Jenny should throw me into such an unnerved trembling, I didn't know; for I wasn't old enough to analyse my emotions. But there I stood, fluttering like a rag, with all the strength ebbed out of my muscles, and knowing full well that if I tried to speak I should merely stammer like a booby. Also I was painfully aware of my disreputable clothes.

It was the sound of some one moving downstairs that decided me to risk my appearance and enter. I turned the handle and put my head round the door. To my amazement the room was empty. I was both relieved and disappointed. For though the sight of Jenny there would have left me merely gaping and grinning inanely, yet I knew now I should have to prepare myself for the ordeal all over again. I went in and sat down on a chair, and looked about the room. It was strangely empty. Usually there were clothes lying here and there, for Jenny wasn't the tidiest of mortals. And besides there used to be all sorts of odds and ends and gimcracks that I couldn't name dotted about the walls and shelves, and their absence now left a gap in the place. I went to the bed and pulled aside the curtain. The clothes and mattress were rolled up into a bundle. Evidently no one was expected to sleep there that night. I looked blankly around me, feeling bitterly dejected, and knowing, in spite of silly arguments that kept rising to the contrary, that Jenny wasn't there at all. She had gone away. I began to notice other signs of abandonment. The dust lay thickly everywhere. There were odds and ends of paper lying untidily about the floor as though drawers and cupboards had been turned out. As indeed they had been; for when I examined them they were empty.

I sat down on the bed, disheartened and disconsolate. I didn't realize till this moment how keenly I had been looking forward to seeing Jenny. And the stupid trembling left me, and I felt limp with dejection. Again I was alone in the world. And with the sense of loneliness came back in a flood of anguish the memory of my father's death. I was too utterly broken to weep even. I just sat there looking dully before me, saying to myself, "Jenny, Jenny, Jenny!..."

Then I felt a surge of anger against her. Why had she gone away? Gone away without even leaving me a message! Perhaps she had left a message! With quickened feelings I sprang up and gazed about the room, then started turning out all the drawers. Before I had merely glanced idly at them. But though I hunted high and low there was no trace of any message. I even examined the dusty shelves, wondering whether she had thought to write on them with her finger, till it occurred to me that the dust had gathered after she had left. Then I thought there might be a note for me downstairs, or even in my own bedroom.

I turned to the door, but again I heard a noise; and I hesitated. There was somebody on the landing. Instinct told me it was my enemy, for who else should be prowling round the place when the inmates had gone?

For a moment my thought was to fling open the door and hurl myself upon him. I gripped my knife in angry hate, and my hand was on the knob. But the spasm of fury passed, and I felt limp and unnerved again. Somehow I knew the creature was waiting for me outside the door. All was very still but I seemed to feel a presence there just behind the panels. He must be standing motionless, listening, holding his breath, even as I was doing myself; and only that inch of woodwork divided us. But I hadn't the courage to open the door and put all to the hazard. The evening was growing dusky; already the room was full of hovering shadows. If only it had been daylight, I told myself; but all the while I knew I was a coward. Yet I couldn't stiffen my resolution. Indeed the blow of Jenny's absence with no word of where I was to find her had reduced me to a stupid self-pity, and I had no spirit left for fight.

I slunk quietly away, treading with an infinitude of caution; and reaching the window I raised it as noiselessly as I could. Luckily enough it yielded easily to my hands, sliding up quietly without a creak. Every moment I dreaded to see the door flung open, and my enemy upon me. But I kept my knife in my teeth, ready; and always my eyes were turned towards the door.

At length the window was raised, and with a great breath of relief I slipped out and over the edge, clinging to the ivy. And then as my face dipped below the sill I saw the message I had been hunting for. A card was wedged into a crack in the stonework; dirty it is true, and torn, but bearing across it in uneven straggling capitals my own name, though the last letter was missing as the card had been torn away in a ragged slant as though some one had snatched at it in haste only ripping off a corner.

Carefully, though I was still in an agony of fear, I loosened the card, and climbing down to earth I turned it over without waiting to hide. And there I saw written, "Tommy, come to me. Our house is...."

But the precious fragment that alone was of value to me had gone.

I stood gazing at the dirty card with the untidy writing, turning it over and over, wondering what it meant. Why had Jenny hung out this summons for me, and then torn off the heart of the message? "Tommy, come to me." I read that again and again, mechanically, till I seemed to hear the high imperious voice speaking the summons. And with the feeling of Jenny's nearness I realized how like her it was to put the message outside her window, as though she knew I should climb in that way. I reproached myself for not having done so. If I had done so I might have found the card intact.

That set me thinking instead of sentimentalizing. Who had torn off that precious corner? At first I had thought that Jenny must have done so in some sudden changing whim. But now I said it couldn't have been Jenny. Then who?... With a start I remembered having heard a movement in the room as I had stood outside the door foolishly talking down my thumping heart, too shy to face her. Suppose I had but repeated the manœuvre which my enemy had played on me? Suppose he too, hearing my hand on the knob, had climbed out through the window, and seeing the message there had snatched at it, in too great a hurry to release it carefully, and so had stolen just the fragment that I needed? It was possible. I flushed hotly at the possibility, for the explanation commended itself to me. And then the full meaning of the thing flooded in upon me. It wasn't my enemy. I must have been stupid ever to have supposed it could have been. It was the Captain's enemy. He was hunting for him. And now he would have the clue he wanted.

All fear was forgotten now. I was up the ivy again; and leaping to the door I flung it wide. The landing was empty. With my knife in my hand I rushed into room after room, then down the stairs, hunting everywhere. And assuredly I should have stabbed anyone that had come in my path without staying to see who he might be. But the whole place was deserted. Only the hollow echoing of my feet rang from chamber to chamber, sounding strangely dismal in the gathering twilight. So at last I gave up the search. Standing still there in the great empty hall the abandonment of the place was like a watchful presence as of some listening thing, so that I turned about expecting to see eyes upon me in the shadowy corners. At last I grew really frightened at I know not what, and ran into the open. When I turned to look back the huge house was standing up black against the sunset as I had seen it that evening when hand in hand my father and I had first passed beneath its portals. And still it seemed to be rapt in some dark and evil meditation, gazing in upon itself as though concealing an ugly mystery which it dared not divulge. And I, knowing something of the haunting horror within its walls, and believing that even now an enemy was lurking there, felt an overshadowing dread at my heart as though an immense black bird had covered me with its wings. Then I heard a low sighing that swelled into a moan; and it seemed that the mighty creature were shaken with a sorrow it couldn't ease, crying to be rid of a sickness that was poisoning it to the soul. I clapped my hands to my ears and fled into the darkening night.

It wasn't till I was deep among the heather that I realized I was famishingly hungry. I would have turned back, if I had had the courage, to see if there were any stale leavings in the larder. But I couldn't face the prospect of entering again that lonely dark mansion which seemed more menacing in its desolation than if I had been certain that an enemy was lurking for me there knife in hand. So I tightened my belt and lay down to sleep, and over my head the stars came out, sparkling like flakes of the driven surge in the splendour of the moon. So the night slipped over me and the morning came. With it I was up again, tightening my belt by another hole to kennel in the wolves of hunger that were gnawing so remorselessly within me.

However, I soon struck upon a cart-track, and reaching a farmstead was able to appease my appetite, and so set forth once more, strengthened and invigorated. When clear of Rancey Bridge, for the fear of the officers still made me cautious, I hit out for the main road, obtaining a lift here and there on the way. But it was well towards evening before I heard the washing of the sea, and at last set foot upon the shore.

I broke out on to the open sands without caution, and before I could retrieve my error I saw Dirk in front of me. I started back into hiding, but I heard his voice call me sharply. I went slowly up to him, hanging my head, for he had discovered my truancy, and I feared he would be bitterly angry with me.

Without a word he gripped me savagely by the arm and strode me down to his boat where it tossed at anchor at the water's edge.

"My clothes," I said, not wanting to be stranded with the ragged things I had on.

He said no word, but pushed me forward. And there in the boat lay my own clothes in a bundle. Then he knew all about my escapade.

I was dismissed to my bunk immediately we arrived on board. I heard the anchor hauled in, and the sails run up, and felt the wind take the canvas and swing us out to sea.

I was troubled at Dirk's silence. I expected him to be angry with me, for I had disobeyed him. I knew too that I should be punished. But he seemed more than angry, as though I had done him a personal injury. Well, the morning would bring forth what it might. I was used to living in the hour, and I was soon asleep, rocked by the swaying of the brave ship as she rose to the waves and cut through the furrows.

In the morning I was tied to the mast, and had my first taste of the rope's end. But I knew it was only just, and though the pain was terrible I bore Dirk no ill will. When I was released he sent for me, and looking me steadily in the eyes, said, "Wull, Tommy, kid, that's that. You've lost me a precious day. He's not in this quarter no longer. I must seek otherwhere. But you've given him a start."

I began to protest my repentance, but he cut in, "You've taken your gruelling. Here's my hand."