Part 13

Anthony thought he knew this voice; he cocked an eye over the shoulder of the straining Frenchman in its direction and saw the big young man of the New York packet.

"Hah!" said Anthony, "it was half in my mind that you'd be here, my friend." The hostler, whom he had ordered to make ready his sleigh, stood in the barn-door, the harness in his hands, his mouth open. "Don't waste my time, good friend," Anthony called to him. "Get the horses to the sleigh; for after I've finished here I'll want to take to the road in the wake of the person who just left."

The Frenchman was proceeding in a methodical, workman-like manner; his thick arms were contracting steadily about Anthony's body; under their pressure the young man felt his ribs bending, his vitals crushed, and his breath grow short. And all the time the Frenchman growled like a surly dog.

"We shall see in a moment," he wheezed. "We shall see how you'll talk when I've done with you, my high-stepper!"

But Anthony had a plan in his mind, and his thoughts were now on it alone. He threw his weight forward, and the Frenchman gave back; the tavern yard was thick with snow, frozen over in a rough crust; at one place where much water had been thrown there was a smooth ice, and it was upon this that the young man forced the wrestler. To put forward the effort needed in his bone-crushing the man needed good footing; and here he had none. Once upon the glassy spot he began to slip, and his grip grew slack. Anthony's right knee instantly came up, short, sharp, vicious; once, twice, thrice it struck the Frenchman in the stomach, and he went a deathly green. Anthony tore himself from the weakened grip, and lashed out with his fist; it struck the wrestler on the side of the head, and he fell and lay without motion.

"My sleigh in two minutes," said Anthony as he glanced toward the barn; then he stepped to where the onlookers were grouped, and his lowering eyes marked each one. They were mostly young, or in the prime of life, sailormen, or having the look of mercantile pursuits, hardy of body, keen of eye, and of ready manner.

"My life," said Anthony, "has been put in danger in this place, and until I have good and sufficient proof to the contrary I shall believe that each man of you had a knowledge of it." He lifted his gaze to the windows, some of which had been thrown up despite the bitter weather. "I don't know why this is," said he to them, "but," and with his chin out he defied them, "it would give me a great deal of pleasure to go into the matter with you."

"It's an honest inn," said the big young man, as he smiled good-humoredly at Anthony. "And filled with honest people. Your romantic disposition and instinct for situations, if you'll let me say so, sir, are leading you astray."

"I waken in the early morning," said Anthony, "and see a man with whom I talked the night before holding a pistol pointed at me. A few minutes later I see him about to drive off, assisted by the landlord. I attempt to follow; the landlord tries to prevent me, and you all stand about and agree that he's in the right." Out of the tail of his eye he saw his horses being put into the sleigh; and he went on: "I think I could remain here to good advantage for an hour or two," said he, "but the gentleman who just now took to the road has the first claim to my attention." He moved with a long stride toward the sleigh, and helped the hostler with the traces and reins; also he looked sharply to the buckles; and while doing so he continued, "However, I shall keep this place in mind, and the questions I have to ask I will ask some of you when we meet again."

"You think, then, there will be another meeting," laughed the big young man.

"At any rate," said Anthony, "you and I shall meet." He got into the sleigh, wrapped the robes about him, and took up the reins. "So give thought to it; I've had you in mind for some time, and want no advantage over you."

And then he spoke to the horses; in a moment they were out of the inn yard, and Anthony was facing toward New Castle in the track of the man with the patch over his eye.

XIX

Anthony had a feeling that the one-eyed man had taken the road toward Wilmington; so he put the sorrels to their best, and the miles spun behind them. The man ahead had no such horses, and Anthony felt he'd bring up with him before the next few hours went by. His first halt was at a decent-looking tavern on the verge of Wilmington. While giving his horses time to blow, he ate a little food and talked with the landlord.

"It's early for travel at this time of year," said he, as he munched the boiled beef and the good white bread. "I suppose I'm the first of the morning."

"Oh, no," said the host, an honest, stout man, who looked as though his judgment of ale was of the best; "there have been several passed before you."

"None you knew, however," said Anthony.

"I knew them all," said the stout tavern-keeper. "There was old Ned Dance with his bags of meal from the miller's, and Simon, the cabinet-maker's man, from Chadd's Ford; and then there was the master of the French ship--"

"What French ship?" asked Anthony.

"She that lies a few miles below; an armed ship she is, too, perhaps a letter-of-marque, but with only a few men aboard of her."

"What appearing man is her master," asked Anthony with interest.

"Not a Frenchman, though you'd expect him to be. He's American, right enough, and one that I'm not fond of because of a kind of slithering laugh he's got. And he wears a patch over one of his eyes."

Anthony smiled and seemed to enjoy the bread and beef much more than before.

"So that's who my gentleman is!" he said to himself. "And with an ice-locked ship." Then he said aloud, "I suppose he was on his way to his vessel when he went by?"

"Where else?" asked the host. "He never goes further south than that; and no further north than the Brig Tavern, which is off the road, some miles from here."

"I have heard that is an excellent place of entertainment," said Anthony.

"It was for many years," said the host, with a nod of the head, "and, as far as food and drink and such-like go, is so still. But," and here the nod turned to a shake, "in other ways it seems different now. I've heard ill reports of it."

"It's a place for shipmen to stop, I've been told," said Anthony. "If that is so, there cannot be a great deal wrong with it."

"There are shipmen and shipmen," said the stout tavern-keeper. "Some are honest and give their minds to bringing their ships home, all snug and trim, and carrying profitable merchandise; others again have never sailed an honest voyage and never stowed an item of cargo that was properly come by."

"Pirates," smiled Anthony. "But there are none such in these waters."

"Where there is gain to be had there will your villains gather," said the host. "There is a rich city up the river, and in that city there are many crafty rascals."

"I'll not deny that," said Anthony. "But cunning roguery and open plunder are different things; many a man would venture one who would fear the other."

"Things have altered since my grandfather's day," said the host. "Then there was Kyd and Teach and Avery, sailing into the bay when ever it pleased them, trafficking with the merchants, being friends of governors, having in their ships' companies those who were members of state assemblies, walking the streets of towns, with their heads up brazenly, and known to every man and woman who met them. To-day, of course, things are different," added the man. "They are quite different."

"And better?" said Anthony, and there was an expectant look in his eye.

"As to that I'll not say," answered the tavern-keeper. "For I'm not sure. We have our own officials now, if that's any gain for us. But men are the same as they've always been; they crave money still and will use dark practices and outlawed ways to get it. There's many a fine ship that passes out beyond these capes that's never heard of again."

"Storms blow at sea as they've always done," said Anthony.

"True; and the knowledge of that is what keeps people's minds from other things; they place all to the discredit of wind and wave. But, sir, there are ships still at sea that can't show papers; even now there are lonely headlands and reefs and sandspits that could harbor bands of ruffians. And more than that: there are merchants and traders and agents--the rascals of whom I just now spoke--who can market loot and communicate intelligence."

"Is it your thought," asked Anthony, "that the Brig Tavern is being used as a means of furthering some such traffic as this?"

The man shook his head.

"I could not go before the authorities and so swear," said he. "But odd things are said of the place; it seems much used just now by those who are forwardest with their talk of arming American ships and sending them out under the French flag against the British."

"I've heard whispers of that purpose, but nothing to give attention to," said Anthony.

"This war in Europe will give excuse to many a rascally thing in our waters before we are done with it," warned the landlord. "Mark you that."

Anthony finished his bread and beef, and drank the mug of ale which had been brought to him; and, after some further talk with the landlord, he paid his score, took to his sleigh once more, and in the course of some few hours was in New Castle. He gave no more thought to the man with the patch over his eye; he now knew where to find him and would attend to him later on. The _General Stark_ was pointed out to him as she lay ice-locked about a hundred or more yards from the shore; and he lost no time in getting aboard of her. He talked with the second mate and spent that night in the ship. Next day he went briskly to work collecting sledges for the work in hand; messengers ran roads, notices were posted at stores and taverns, and by the third morning upward of a hundred stout teams were drawn up on the river-bank, ready to carry through the project. The hatches were off the _General Stark_, and the merchandise was hoisted cheerily out of her; spans of horses did the hauling at the tackle; the sledges were brought to the ship-side and received the cargo as it was swung out of the hold. By night all the valuable parts of the vessel's cargo were transferred; and by dawn next day the caravan, one sledge behind the other, started up the river road. Corkery had rejoined the ship by this; and he stood on deck, his elbows on the rails, watching the long file of laden vehicles as they plodded onward.

"That is the kind of enterprise this river knows little of," said he. "You'll make a stir when that merchandise gets to the market, Mr. Stevens; they'll open their eyes."

The gray of early morning was upon the leaden river, with its ridges of dirty snow and its dispirited, helpless ships. Anthony's eyes were fixed upon a schooner about a mile away, from the galley of which smoke was arising.

"That, I think, is a French armed vessel of which I have heard," said he.

"She is French, and she is armed," answered Corkery.

"I have a trifle of business aboard of her," said Anthony.

The deck was littered with broken bits of timber, thrown down in the hurried work of hoisting the cargo; and from this Anthony selected a stout cudgel. He threw it over the ship's side; then, without another word to Corkery, he slid down a rope, put the cudgel under his arm, and, with hands thrust deeply into his pockets, set off across the ice to the other ship.

As he reached its side a voice called in French.

"Well, my early morning friend, what is your wish?"

Anthony looked up. A small man, dark of skin, and in a red mob-cap, leaned over the rail amidships and eyed him with disapproval.

[Illustration: "A SMALL MAN ... LEANED OVER THE RAIL AMIDSHIPS, AND EYED HIM WITH DISAPPROVAL."]

"To come aboard," said Anthony.

There were some steps let down from the schooner's side, and he quietly climbed them. The small man met him at the rail and put out a protesting hand.

"It is forbidden!" said he. "This is the French republican ship _Le Mousquet_, and not a merchantman."

Anthony put the hand aside.

"I desire to see the captain," he said.

"The citizen captain is at breakfast in his cabin," said the small man. "He will see no one."

But Anthony was knocking at the cabin-door in another moment.

"Enter," said a voice. Anthony went in, and there he found the man with the patch over his eye engaged in pouring chocolate from a pot into a silver cup. Surprised, the man put down the pot; then he smirked at Anthony, collected enough, and said:

"Ah! so it is you! I have heard news of you and your ship. You are a man of purpose, sir. Allow me to congratulate you."

"Citizen," said the small man, putting his head in at the cabin, "it was against my directions that you are intruded upon."

"It is no matter," said the captain. "The gentleman will be going in another moment." He took up the silver cup and sipped the chocolate. "To what, sir, do I owe this visit?"

Anthony kicked aside the little table which sat before the one-eyed man, and the things it held crashed to the floor. Alertly the small man seized him.

"My friend," said Anthony tolerantly. "I have no business with you, and less desire to do you harm. So go outside like a decent fellow."

He threw the little man from the cabin, and shut and locked the door; and as he turned about he saw the schooner's master taking a pistol from the cupboard. The pistol exploded as the cudgel struck it; and the bullet tore through the housing. Then Anthony gathered the man's neck-cloth in his grip and beat him until his knees grew limp and the blood ran from him; then he dropped him upon the floor and went upon the deck. The small man was there; and with him were the black ship's cook and a boy who had round, surprised eyes and held a cutlass as probably one had never been held before. Anthony smiled as he looked at them.

"Citizens of the republican ship _Le Mousquet_," said he, "I have every sympathy with your cause and great respect for your vessel. But your captain had earned a beating at my hands, and has received it. You'll find him inside there, looking a deal worse than he actually is. A little water thrown upon him will be all he'll need; but you'd do well to get that at once. And so: good day to you!"

Then he went down the steps at the schooner's side and trudged away toward the spot on the river-bank where he could see his sleigh awaiting him.

The journey up to the city was much slower than the one down. The heavily laden sledges, some of them drawn by oxen, kept constantly moving, but their day's accomplishment was not great. And, then, the men of the caravan must be provided for, the cattle must be fed, watered, and rested, and a guard must be kept all night through. In these things Anthony's experience with pack-trains in the deserts and mountains served him well; and the morning of the fifth day saw the sledges drawn up at the door of the warehouses and a score of porters busy carrying and trundling the merchandise within.

"Well," said Charles when Anthony finally came into the counting-room, "here you are, and there is your work very well done, my boy: I'm proud of you."

Anthony slept soundly that night and until noon next day. When he reached the counting-room once more, he found it bustling actively.

"There's been more real buying and selling in an hour to-day than there has been in the last month," said Whitaker, rubbing his hands, much pleased. "Captain Weir has been at the City Tavern since morning, and you never saw such a stirring as he has around him. The news of the cargo has spread about like a breeze; every one knows of it and seems to want hides and drugs and coffee."

That evening, as Anthony was examining some tally-sheets which Twitchell had given him, word came that Charles desired to see him before he left. A few minutes later Anthony went into his uncle's room; Charles sat in the corner of his small sofa which was drawn up to the fire, nursing his lame foot and watching the flames as they licked at the hickory logs. He bade Anthony sit down, which the young man did.

"What you've just done," said Charles, "shows me you are of the outdoor breed, and one who can bring off victory in the face of stern conditions. As I said to Weir a while ago, a man like you would be wasted in a counting-room; and I'd not like to see that. In a month," and he looked at Anthony speculatively, "the ice will be out of the bay and the _General Stark_ can put to sea. A cargo will be awaiting her at New York for Havana; at Havana there'll be tobacco and rum and sugar for Liverpool; and at Liverpool there'll be ironmongery, woolens, and piece-goods for the East."

"Well?" said Anthony.

"Word has come that the _Stark's_ captain is dead," said Charles.

"I saw him twice while at New Castle," said Anthony, shocked; "and they thought him improved."

"He was a steady, good seaman," said Charles, "and we shall miss him much;" and then, the speculative look still in his eye, "Would you care to take the ship and sail in his place?"

"No," said Anthony.

"Don't be hasty," said Charles. "Let your mind work with the thought a little. Think."

"I have no need to think," said Anthony. "I stay in this counting-room until I've mastered its history."

"You surprise me," said Charles; "for I felt sure the blood of your grandfather would speak there."

"Perhaps it has," said Anthony quietly.

"Weir said you wouldn't take the ship; indeed, he said you shouldn't." Charles laughed and nodded his head. "I never saw the captain agree with any one as he does with you. He seems to be always of your mind exactly. Whatever you think best, he consents to at once."

And Anthony, as he listened to this, felt a stirring of unrest in his mind; it was a vague thing, yet it left him questioning, and, somehow, insecure.

XX

February passed, and, midway in March, the ice broke in the river and bay, and ships began to move up and down. But while waiting for this Anthony had gone on with his study of the old books of Rufus Stevens' Sons; and the deeper he got into them the more thoughtful and puzzled he seemed, the more elaborate were the notes he took, the more he frowned as he went about his business during the day, and the more he felt a desire for some one with whom to talk and compare judgments.

But, also, there was another interest looming during the late winter and early spring. This was the first of the new ships which Charles had ordered; all winter the work had gone forward at the Siddons yard in Shackamaxon; shipwrights, joiners, blacksmiths, worked under the sheds and in the open; the huge ways were the wonder of the waterfront, and as the oaken hull grew and began to rear people formed parties of a Sunday or a holiday and drove up the river road to see it. The work had reached this stage about the time the ice broke up; and then, with the sight of the moving shipping to stir his blood, Charles began to urge haste.

"The _Rufus Stevens_ must be launched, have her masts placed, the rigging bent, and be in the dock receiving cargo by the last week in June," said he.

"That will be six months' building time," said Siddons. "I know vessels have been put into the water in that space, but they were not of this one's quality and substance, seasoned timbers and excellent joining. Six months! Why, sir, the like has never been done on this river. Here we've gone through a severe winter; come wet or dry, cold or snow, we've not missed a day; if we couldn't work on the structure, we've worked under the sheds at making ready the timbers or forging the ironmongery. My calculations were the middle of September at the earliest, and that was promising much, Mr. Stevens."

But Charles insisted; and so the hum of the Siddons yard increased as the spring warmed. Such a hammering and sawing as there was; such a chipping and shaving and boring and fitting the clever old place had never seen before. It had been Anthony's practice, at least twice a week, all winter through, to make a visit to the yard, for the growing might of the _Rufus Stevens_ fascinated him. He had been there the day the keel was laid--a keel of solid, seasoned, toughened oak, as surely fitted, as strongly braced as old Rufus' spine had been. And to this grew the ribs, powerful, graceful, bent cunningly to waste the impact of the sea and to give space to the ship's cargo. Then the beams went in to brace the frame--mighty, weighty, strong beams, of live-oak that was like iron; beams that had been nursed and molded and cut to fit by shrewd joiners. Live-oak had been Charles's highest demand--live-oak that had been felled in proper time, and seasoned in the sun and rain and wind. The stem was made of it--a great, cutting stem that would throw the seas lightly apart; the stern-post was of it, and also the transoms, aprons, knight-heads, hawse-timbers, and keelson; and it was all clean and without defects.

And now, in April, the hull towered like a monster against the background of low sheds; workmen swarmed eagerly over it; their hammers _rat-tat-tatted_ like the beaks of woodpeckers; the clean smell of wood was everywhere. In a dock at one side floated huge round timbers; the dark mouth of a shed opened down to the water's edge, and here other timbers of a like kind had been drawn out, and workmen, each with a deftly used adze, were shaping the new ship's masts.