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CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
ANNOUNCEMENTS 
 
 WHEN THE TIDE TURNS 
 By Filson Young. 6*. 
 
 EASY MONEY 
 
 By Bertram Atkey. 6s. 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE 
 GUTTER 
 By Arthur Applin. 6s. 
 
 RENlfcE 
 
 By Henry Curties. 6s. 
 
 THE CRIMSON CONQUEST 
 By C. B. Hudson. 6s. 
 
 GET-RICH-QUICK 
 WALLINGFORD 
 
 By G. Randolph Chester. 6*. 
 
 AUNT MAUD 
 
 By Ernbst Oldmeadow. 6s. 
 
 GRANT RICHARDS, LONDON 
 
CAPTAIN 
 
 MARGARET 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN MASEFIELD 
 
 // 
 
 / thought Love lived in the hot sunshine 
 Buty Of he lives in the moony light. 
 
 I 
 
 LONDON 
 GRANT RICHARDS 
 
 1909 
 
A' 
 
 
 Tie cover design of this •volume is taken from 
 Mr. Symington's draiving in ** TAe Inchcape 
 Rock" by permission of Messrs. Burns and 
 Oates. Ltd, 
 
 )''> „■ 
 
 First Printed .... June 1908 
 Reprinted Jan. 1909 
 
TO 
 
 MY WIFE 
 
 ^1 fi479 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The "Broken Heart" i 
 
 II. A Farewell 28 
 
 III. Outwards -52 
 
 IV. A Cabin Council 87 
 
 V. Stukeley 117 
 
 VI. A Supper Party . . . . : .140 
 
 VII. The Tobacco Merchant . . . .178 
 
 VIII. In Port 212 
 
 IX. A Farewell Dinner 236 
 
 X. The Landfall 273 
 
 XI. The Flag of Truce 304 
 
 XII. The End 340 
 
The "BROKEN HEART" 
 
 All this the world well knows ; yet none knows well 
 To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.' 
 
 npHE short summer night was over ; the stars 
 were paling ; there was a faint light above the 
 hills. The flame in the ship's lantern felt the day 
 beginning. A cock in the hen-coop crowed, flapping 
 his wings. The hour was full of mystery. Though 
 it was still, it was full of the suggestion of noise. 
 There was a rustle, a murmur, a sense of prepara- 
 tion. Already, in the farms ashore, the pails went 
 clanking to the byres. Very faintly, from time to 
 time, one heard the lowing of a cow, or the song 
 of some fisherman, as he put out, in the twilight, 
 to his lobster-pots, sculling with one oar. 
 
 Dew had fallen during the night. The decks of 
 the Broken Hearty lying at anchor there, with the 
 lantern burning at her peak, were wet with dew. 
 Dew dripped from her running rigging ; the gleam 
 of wetness was upon her guns, upon her rails, upon 
 the bell in the poop belfry. She seemed august, 
 lying there in the twilight. Her sailors, asleep on 
 her deck, in the shadow, below the break of the 
 quarter-deck, were unlike earthly sleepers. The 
 old boatswain, in the blue boat-cloak, standing at 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 '• •. .- the' gane^way' watching the dawn, was august, sphinx- 
 .. , ,Jikq,. .symbplie. The two men who stood above 
 r :•*; /'h-impn tbe\ quarter-deck spoke quietly, in hushed 
 voices, as though the hour awed them. Even the 
 boy by the lantern, far aft, stood silently, moved by 
 the beauty of the time. Over the water, by Sal- 
 combe, the fishers' boats got under way for the sea. 
 The noise of the halliards creaked, voices called in 
 the dusk, blocks piped, coils of rope rattled on the 
 planks. The flower of the day was slowly opening 
 in the east, the rose of the day was bursting. It 
 was the dim time, the holy time, the moment of 
 beauty, which would soon pass, was even now 
 passing, as the sea gleamed, brightening, lighting 
 up into colour. 
 
 Slowly the light grew : it came in rosy colour 
 upon the ship ; it burned like a flame upon the 
 spire-top. The fishers in their boats, moving over 
 the talking water, watched the fabric as they passed. 
 She loomed large in the growing light ; she caught 
 the light and gleamed ; the tide went by her with a 
 gurgle. The dim light made her larger than she 
 was, it gave her the beauty of all half-seen things. 
 The dim light was like the veil upon a woman's face. 
 She was a small ship (only five hundred tons), built 
 of aromatic cedar, and like all wooden ships she 
 would have looked ungainly, had not her great 
 beam, and the height of her after-works, given her 
 a majesty, something of the royal look which all 
 ships have in some proportion. The virtue of 
 man had been busy about her. An artist's heart, 
 hungry for beauty, had seen the idea of her in 
 dream ; she had her counterpart in the kingdom of 
 vision. There was a spirit in her, as there is in all 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART' 
 
 things fashioned by the soul of man ; not a spirit 
 of beauty, not a spirit of strength, but the spirit of 
 her builder, a Peruvian Spaniard. She had the im- 
 press of her builder in her, a mournful state, a kind 
 of battered grandeur, a likeness to a type of man- 
 hood. There was in her a beauty not quite achieved, 
 as though, in the husk of the man, the butterfly's 
 wings were not quite free. There was in her a 
 strength that was clumsy ; almost the strength of 
 one vehement from fear. She came from a man's 
 soul, stamped with his defects. Standing on her 
 deck, one could see the man laid bare — melancholy, 
 noble, and wanting — till one felt pity for the ship 
 which carried his image about the world. Seamen 
 had lived in her, seamen had died in her ; she had 
 housed many wandering spirits. She was, in her- 
 self, the house of her maker's spirit, as all made 
 things are, and wherever her sad beauty voyaged, 
 his image, his living memory voyaged, infinitely 
 mournful, because imperfect, unapprehended. Some 
 of those who had sailed in her had noticed that the 
 caryatides of the rails, the caryatides of the quarter- 
 gallery, and the figurehead which watched over the 
 sea, were all carven portraits of the one woman. 
 But of those who noticed, none knew that they 
 touched the bloody heart of a man, that before 
 them was the builder's secret, the key to his soul. 
 The men who sailed in the Broken Heart were not 
 given to thoughts about her builder. When they 
 lay in port, among all the ships of the world, among 
 the flags and clamour, they took no thought of 
 beauty. They would have laughed had a man told 
 them that all that array of ships, so proud, so beauti- 
 ful, came from the brain of man because a woman's 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 lips were red. It is a proud thing to be a man, 
 and to feel the stir of beauty ; but it is more 
 wonderful to be a woman, and to have, or to be, 
 the touch calling beauty into life. 
 
 She had been a week in coming from the Pool to 
 the Start. In the week her crew had settled down 
 from their last drunkenness. The smuts had been 
 washed from the fife-rails ; the ropes upon the 
 pins had lost the London grime from the lay of 
 the strands. Now, as the sun rose behind the 
 combes, flooding the land with light, smiting the 
 water with gold, the boy, standing far aft, ran up 
 her colours, and the boatswain, in his blue boat- 
 cloak, bending forward slightly, blowing his 
 smouldering match, fired the sunrise gun, raising 
 his linstock in salute. The sleepers stirred among 
 their blankets; one or two, fully wakened, raised 
 themselves upon their elbows. A block creaked as 
 the peak lantern was hauled down. Then with a 
 shrill wail the pipe sounded the long double call, 
 slowly heightening to piercing sharpness, which bids 
 all hands arise. 
 
 The sunshine, now brilliant everywhere, showed 
 that the Broken Heart was ' by the head,' like most 
 of the ships of her century. Her lines led down- 
 wards, in a sweep, from the lantern on the taffrail 
 to the bowed, inclining figurehead. A wooden 
 frame thrust outward over the sea ; the cutwater 
 swept up to meet it ; at the outer end, under the 
 bowsprit, the figurehead gleamed — the white body 
 of a woman, the breasts bared, the eyes abased, the 
 hands clasped, as in prayer, below the breasts. 
 Beyond the cutwater, looking aft, were the bluff 
 bows, swollen outwards, rising to the square wall of 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 the forecastle, from which the catheads thrust. The 
 chains of the fore-rigging, black with deadeyes and 
 thickly tarred matting, stood out against the dingy 
 yellow of the paint. Further aft was the gangway, 
 with its nailed cleats ; then the main-chains, and the 
 rising of the cambered side for poop and quarter- 
 deck. Far aft was the outward bulge of the coach, 
 heavy with gold leaf, crowned by the three stern- 
 lanterns. The painters had been busy about her 
 after-works. The blue paint among the gilding 
 was bright wherever the twisted loves and leaves 
 left space for it. Standing at the taffrail and looking 
 forward, one could see all over her ; one could com- 
 mand her length, the rows of guns upon her main 
 deck, the masts standing up so stately, the forecastle 
 bulkhead, the hammock nettings, the bitts and 
 poop-rails with their carvings, each stanchion a 
 caryatid, the square main-hatch with its shot rack, 
 the scuttle-butt ringed with bright brass, the boats 
 on the booms amidships, the booms themselves, 
 the broken heart painted in scarlet on their heels. 
 
 The two men on the poop turned as the boat- 
 swain piped. They turned to walk aft, on the 
 weather side, along the wet planks, so trimly par- 
 quetted. They walked quietly, the one from a 
 natural timidity, the other from custom, following 
 the old tradition of the sea, which bids all men 
 respect the sleeper. The timid one, never a great 
 talker, spoke little ; but his wandering eyes were 
 busy taking in the view, noting all things, even 
 when his fellow thought him least alive. He was 
 the friend of Captain Margaret, the ship*s owner. 
 His name was Edward Perrin. He was not yet 
 thirty-five ; but wild living had aged him, and his 
 
CAFF JIN MARGARET 
 
 hair was fast turning grey. He was wrinkled, and 
 his drawn face and drooping carriage told of a 
 sapped vitality, hardly worth the doctoring. It was 
 only now and then, when the eyes lifted and the 
 face flushed with animation, that the soul showed 
 that it still lived within, driving the body (all 
 broken as it was) as furiously as it had ever driven. 
 He suffered much from ill-health, for he was ever 
 careless ; and when he was ill, his feeble brains were 
 numbed, so that he talked with difficulty. When 
 he was well he had brilliant but exhausting flashes, 
 touches of genius, sallies of gaiety, of tenderness, 
 which gave him a singular charm, not abiding, but 
 enough to win him the friends whom he irritated 
 when ill-health returned. In his youth he had run 
 through his little fortune in evil living. Now that 
 he was too weak for further folly, he lived upon a 
 small pittance which he had been unable to spend 
 owing to the forethought of a bequeathing aunt. 
 He had only two interests in life : Captain Mar- 
 garet, whom he worshipped with touching loyalty ; 
 and the memories of his wild youth, so soon spoiled, 
 so soon ended. Among those memories was the 
 memory of a woman who had once refused his offer 
 of marriage. He had not loved the woman, for he 
 was incapable of love ; he was only capable of 
 affection ; but the memory of this woman was sweet 
 to him because she seemed to give some note of 
 splendour, almost of honour, to his vicious courses. 
 He felt, poor wastrel, poor burnt moth, that his 
 life had touched romance, that it was a part of all 
 high beauty, that some little tongue of flame had 
 sealed him. He had loved unavailingly, he thought, 
 but with all the lovely part of him. Now that he 
 
 6 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 was broken by excess he felt like the king in the 
 tale, who, wanting one thing, had given up all 
 things, that the grass might be the sooner over him. 
 Vice and poverty had given him a wide knowledge 
 of life ; but of life in its hardness and cynicism, 
 stripped of its flowers. His one fond memory, 
 his one hopeless passion, as he called it, the one 
 time in his life when he had lived emotionally, had 
 given him, strangely enough, an odd understanding 
 of women, which made him sympathetic to them. 
 His ill-health gave him a distaste for life, particu- 
 larly for society. He avoided people, and sought 
 for individuals ; he hated men, and loved his master ; 
 he despised women, in spite of his memory of a 
 woman ; but he found individual women more 
 attractive than they would have liked to think. 
 Intellectually, he was nothing ; for he had never 
 grown up ; he had never come to manhood. As 
 a boy he had had the vices of a man ; as a man 
 he had, in consequence, the defects of a woman. 
 He was a broken, emotional creature, attractive and 
 pathetic, the stick of a rocket which had blazed 
 across heaven. He was at once empty and full of 
 tenderness, cruel and full of sympathy, capable of 
 rising, on his feelings, to heroic self-sacrifice ; but 
 likely, perhaps on the same day, to sink to depths 
 of baseness. He was tall and weedy-looking, very 
 wretched and haggard. He delighted in brilliant 
 clothes, and spent much of his little store in mercers* 
 shops. He wore a suit of dark blue silk, heavily 
 laced at the throat and wrists. The sleeves of his 
 coat were slashed, so as to show a bright green satin 
 lining ; for, like most vicious men, he loved the 
 colour green, and delighted in green clothes. He 
 
 7 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 drooped forward as he walked, with his head a little 
 on one side. His clumsy, ineffectual hands hung 
 limply from thin wrists in front of him. But 
 always, as he walked, the tired brain, too tired to 
 give out, took in unceasingly, behind the mask of 
 the face. He had little memory for events, for 
 words spoken to him, for the characters of those 
 he met ; but he had instead a memory for places 
 which troubled his peace, it was so perfect. As he 
 walked softly up and down the poop with Captain 
 Cammock that lovely morning, he took into his 
 brain a memory of Salcombe harbour, so quiet 
 below its combes, which lasted till he died. Often 
 afterwards, when he was in the strange places of the 
 world, the memory of the ships came back to him, 
 he heard the murmur of the tide, the noise of the 
 gulls quarrelling, the crying out of sailors at work. 
 A dog on one combe chased an old sheep to the 
 hedge above the beach of the estuary. 
 
 ' I am like that sheep,' thought Perrin, not un- 
 justly, ^and the hound of desire drives me where 
 it will.* He did not mention his thought to Cap- 
 tain Cammock, for he had that fear of being laughed 
 at which is only strong in those who know that they 
 are objects of mirth to others. 
 
 ' I'll soon show you,' he cried aloud, continuing 
 his thought to a rupture with an imaginary mocker. 
 
 * What'll you show me ? ' said Captain Cammock. 
 
 ' Nothing. Nothing,' said Perrin hastily. He 
 blushed and turned to look at the town, so that the 
 captain should not see his face. 
 
 Captain Cammock was a large, surly-looking man, 
 with long black hair which fell over his shoulders. 
 His face, ruddy originally, was of a deep copper 
 
 8 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 colour ; handsome enough, in spite of the surly 
 look, which, at first glance, passed for sternness. 
 There were crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes, 
 from long gazing through heat haze and to wind- 
 ward. He wore heavy gold ear-rings, of a strange 
 pattern, in his ears ; and they became him ; though 
 nothing angered him more than to be told so. ' I 
 wear them for my sight,' he would say. ' I ain't 
 no town pimp, like you.' The rest of his gear 
 was also strange and rich, down to the stockings 
 and the buckled shoes, not because he was a town 
 pimp like others, but because, in his last voyage, 
 he had made free with the wardrobe of the Governor 
 of Valdivia. A jewel of gold, acquired at the same 
 time, clasped at his throat a piece of scarlet stuff, 
 richly embroidered, which, covering his chest, might 
 have been anything, from a shirt to a handkerchief. 
 The Spanish lady who had once worn it as a petti- 
 coat would have said that it became him. His 
 answer to the Spanish lady would have been, ' Well, 
 I ain't one of your dressy ducks ; but 1 have my 
 points.' Those who had seen him in ragged linen 
 drawers, pulling a canoa off the Main, between 
 Tolu and the Headlands, with his chest, and bare 
 arms, and naked knees, all smeared with fat, to 
 keep away the mosquitoes, would have agreed with 
 him. 
 
 ' There's one thing I wish you'd show me,' said 
 Captain Cammock, glancing at the schooners at 
 anchor. 
 
 ' What's that ^ ' said Perrin. 
 
 ' Well,' said Captain Cammock, turning towards 
 the harbour entrance, ' why has Captain Margaret 
 put into Salcombe } Wasting a fair wind I call it. 
 
 9 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 We could a-drove her out of soundings if we'd 
 held our course.* 
 
 ' I don't think I ought to tell you that, Captain 
 Cammock. I know, of course. It has to do with 
 the whole cruise. Personal reasons.* 
 
 Captain Cammock snorted. 
 
 ^A lop-eared job the cruise is, if you ask me,' 
 he growled. 
 
 M thought you approved of it.' 
 
 * I'll approve of it when we're safe home again, 
 and the ship's accounts passed. Now, Mr. Perrin, 
 I'm a man of peace, I am. I don't uphold going 
 in for trouble. There's trouble enough on all 
 men's tallies. But what you're going to do beats 
 me.' 
 
 Perrin murmured a mild assent. The pirate's 
 vehemence generally frightened him. 
 
 ^ Look here, now, Mr. Perrin,' the captain went 
 on. * One gentleman to another, now. Here am 
 I sailing-master. I'm to navigate this ship to 
 Virginia, and then to another port to be named 
 when we leave England. I don't know what you 
 want me to do, do I, James .'' Well, then, can't 
 you give me a quiet hint, like, so I'll know when 
 to shoot } If you don't like that, well, you're my 
 employers, you needn't. But don't blame me if 
 trouble comes. You're going to the Main. Oh, 
 don't start ; I've got eyes, sir. Now I know the 
 Main ; you don't. Nor you don't know seamen. 
 All you know is a lot of town pimps skipping 
 around like burnt cats. Here now, Mr. Perrin, 
 fair and square. Are you going on the account } ' 
 
 'As pirates } ' 
 
 ' As privateers.' 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 * Well, you see, captain,* said Perrin, ' it's like 
 this. Captain Margaret. I don't know. You 
 know that, in Darien, the Spaniards — they — they 
 — they drove out the Indians very brutally.' 
 
 Captain Cammock smiled, as though pleased with 
 a distant memory. 
 
 * Oh, them,' he said lightly. 
 
 * Well,' continued Perrin. * You'd have been 
 told to-day, anyhow ; so it doesn't much matter 
 my telling you now. What he wants to do is this. 
 HefVants to get in with the Indians there, and open 
 up a trade; keeping back the Spaniards till the 
 English are thoroughly settled. Then, when we 
 are strong enough, to cut in on the Spanish treasure- 
 trains, like Sir Francis Drake did. But first of all, 
 our aim is to open up a trade. Gold dust.' 
 
 Captain Cammock's face grew serious. He gazed, 
 with unseeing eyes, at the swans in the reach. 
 ' Oh,' he said. ' What give you that idea } ' 
 
 * Do you think it possible ? ' 
 
 ' I'll think it over,' he said curtly. ' I'm obliged 
 to you for telling me.' He made one or two 
 quick turns about the deck. ' Here you, boy,' he 
 cried, ' coil them ropes up on the pins.' He glanced 
 down at the quarter-deck guns to see if the leaden 
 aprons were secured over the touch-holes. ' Mr. 
 Perrin,' he continued, * about Captain Margaret. 
 Has he got anything on his mind } ' 
 
 ' Yes, captain. He's had a lot of trouble. A 
 woman.' 
 
 ' I thought it was something of that sort. Rum 
 or women, I say. Them and lawyers. They get 
 us all into trouble sooner or later.' 
 
 ' He was in love with a girl,' said Perrin. * He 
 
 II 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 was in love with her for four years. Now she's 
 gone and married some one else.' 
 
 ^ I suppose she was a society lady,' said Cam mock, 
 investing that class with the idea of vices practised 
 by his own. 
 
 ' She was very beautiful,' said Perrin. 
 
 * And now she's married,' said Cammock. 
 
 * Yes. Married a blackguard.' 
 
 ^ Yes.?' said the captain. * And now she'll learn 
 her error. Women aren't rational beings, not like 
 men are. What would a beautiful woman want 
 more, with Captain Margaret } ' 
 
 4t's about done for him,' said Perrin. ^ He'll 
 never be the man he was. And as for her. The 
 man she married was up for rape six months ago.' 
 
 ' What is rape ? ' said Captain Cammock. 
 
 Perrin told him. 
 
 * Ah,' said the captain, shocked. ' His own cook, 
 too. Isn't that damnable ! I've never done any- 
 thing as bad as that.' ' It's a hanging matter, sir. 
 How did he get off.'^' 
 
 * Oh, influence,' replied Perrin. ' But he did a 
 worse thing than that. He cheated a lad out of all 
 his money at cards, and then shot him in a duel.' 
 
 ' I've heard of that being done,' said the captain. 
 
 ^ Oh, but he did a worse thing than that,' said 
 Perrin. ' He'd a child by his cousin ; and when 
 the girl's mother turned her out of doors, he told 
 her she might apply to the parish.' 
 
 ^ Bah ! ' said the captain, with disgust. * I'd like 
 to know the name of that duck. He's a master- 
 piece.' 
 
 'Tom Stukeley, his name is,' said Perrin. * His 
 wife's Olivia Stukeley. They are stopping in Sal- 
 
 12 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 combe here. They are still wandering about on 
 their honeymoon. They were married two or 
 three months back.' 
 
 * Ah,' said Cammock, ' so that's why the captain 
 put in here. He'll be going ashore, 1 reckon.' 
 He walked to the break of the poop and blew his 
 whistle. * Bosun,' he cried. * Get the dinghy over 
 the side, 'n clean her out.' He walked back to 
 Perrin. ' Much better get him away to sea, sir. 
 No good'll come of it.' 
 
 ' What makes you think that } ' said Perrin. 
 
 * He'll only see her with this Stukeley fellow. 
 It'll only make him sick. Very likely make her 
 sick, too.' 
 
 ' 1 can't stop him,' said Perrin. ' He'll eat his 
 heart out if he doesn't go. It's better for him to 
 go, and get a real sickener, than to stay away and 
 brood. Don't you think that ^, ' 
 
 * As you please,' said Cammock. ' But he ain't 
 going to do much on the Main, if he's going to 
 worry all the time about a young lady. The crowd 
 you get on the Main don't break their hearts about 
 ladies, not as a general act.' 
 
 * No .? ' said Perrin. 
 
 The conversation lapsed. The captain walked 
 to the poop-rail, to watch the men cleaning up the 
 main-deck. He called a boy, to clean the brass- 
 work on the poop. 
 
 ' Not much of that on the Main, sir, you won't 
 have,' he said. 
 
 ' No ? ' said Perrin. 
 
 * No, sir,' said the captain. ' On the Main, you 
 lays your ship on her side on the softest mud any- 
 where's handy. And you gets Indian ducks to 
 
 13 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 build little houses for you. Fine little houses. And 
 there you lays ashore, nine months of the year, 
 listening to the rain. Swish. Your skin gets all 
 soft on you, like wet paper. And you'll see the 
 cabin below here, all full of great yellow funguses. 
 And all this brass will be as green as tulips. It 
 will. And if you don't watch out, you could 
 grow them pink water-lilies all over her. It's 
 happy days when you've a kind of a pine-apple 
 tree sprouting through your bunk-boards.' He 
 paused a moment, noted the effect on Perrin, and 
 resolved to try an even finer effort. * I remember 
 a new Jamaica sloop as come to One Bush Key 
 once. I was logwood-cutting in them times. She 
 was one of these pine-built things ; she come from 
 Ne-grill. They laid her on her side in the lagoon, 
 while the hands was cutting logwood. And you 
 know, sir, she sprouted. The ground was that rich 
 she sprouted. Them planks took root. She was a 
 tidy little clump of pines before I left the trade.' 
 
 ' Eight bells, sir,' said the boy, touching his cap. 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Cammock. ^ Make it. Who's 
 watchman, bosun ? Let him call me at once if any 
 boat comes off.' 
 
 ' Ay ay. Captain Cammock,' said the boatswain. 
 
 The steward, an old negro, dressed in the worn 
 red uniform of a foot-soldier, came with his bell 
 to the break of the poop, to announce the cabin 
 breakfast. The men, with their feet bare from 
 washing down, were passing forward to the fore- 
 castle. Their shirts, of red, and blue, and green, 
 were as gay as flags. The wet decks gleamed ; the 
 banner blew out bravely from the peak. As the 
 bell struck its four couplets, the bosun ran up to 
 
 14 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 the main-truck the house-flag, of Captain Margaret's 
 arms, upon a ground of white. The watchman, in 
 his best clothes, passed aft rapidly to the gangway, 
 swallowing the last of his breakfast. 
 
 * After you, sir,' said Cammock to Perrin, as 
 they made politeness at the cabin door. 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Perrin, with a little bow. 
 
 They passed in to the alley-way, to the cabin 
 table. 
 
 The cabin of the Broken Heart was large and airy. 
 The stern-windows, a skylight amidships, and the 
 white paint upon the beams and bulkheads, made 
 it lighter than the cabins of most vessels. A 
 locker, heaped with green cushions, so that it 
 made a seat for a dozen persons, ran below the 
 windows. Under the skylight was the table, with 
 revolving chairs about it, clamped to the deck. At 
 both sides of the cabin were lesser cabins opening 
 into it. On the port side, the perpetual wonder of 
 Captain Cammock (who, though, like all seamen, 
 a scrupulously clean man, never dreamed of dese- 
 crating it by use), was a bath-room. To starboard 
 was a large, double state-room, with a standing bed 
 in it, where Captain Margaret slept. Forward of 
 the cabin bulkhead (which fitted in a groove, so 
 that it might be unshipped in time of battle) were 
 other quarters, to which one passed from the cabin 
 by an alley-way leading to the deck below the break 
 of the poop. To port, in these quarters, was Perrin's 
 cabin, with Cammock's room beyond. To star- 
 board was the steward's pantry and sleeping-place, 
 with the sail-room just forward of itc The bulk- 
 heads were all painted white, and each cabin was 
 lighted by scuttles from above, as well as by the 
 
 15 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 heavy gun-ports in the ship's side, each port-lid 
 with a glass bull's-eye in it. The cabins were there- 
 fore light and bright, having always an air of cleanly 
 freshness. The great cabin would have passed for 
 the chamber of a house ashore, but for the stands 
 of arms, bright with polished metal, on each side 
 of the book-case. Over the book-case was a small 
 white shield, on which, in red brilliants, was the 
 Broken Heart, When the light failed, at the coming 
 of the dusk, the crimson of the brilliants gleamed ; 
 there was a burning eye above the book-case, 
 searching those at meat, weighing them, judging 
 them. 
 
 The stern-windows were open, letting in the sun- 
 light. The table was laid for breakfast. The 
 steward in his uniform stood bare-headed, waiting 
 for the company. The door of the state-room 
 opened smartly, and Captain Margaret entered. 
 He advanced with a smile, shook hands with the 
 two men, bidding them good morning. Perrin, 
 ever sensitive to his friend, glanced at him for a 
 moment to note if he had slept ill, through 
 brooding on his love ; but the mask upon his 
 friend's face was drawn close, the inner man was 
 hidden ; a sufficient sign to Perrin that his friend 
 was troubled. Captain Cammock looked at his 
 employer with interest, as he would have looked at 
 a man who had been at the North Pole. ' So he's 
 in love with a girl, hey '^ ' he thought. * Gone half 
 crazed about a girl. In love. And the lady give 
 him the foresheet, hey } ' He even peered out of 
 the stern-window over Salcombe, with the thought 
 that somewhere among those houses, or walking in 
 one of those gardens, went the lady Olivia, won- 
 
 i6 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 derfully beautiful, squired by the unspeakable 
 Stukeley. 
 
 * Hope we didn't wake you, sir,' he said politely. 
 * One can't carry on without noise, coming to 
 anchor.' 
 
 ' I thought I heard your voice once,' said Captain 
 Margaret. ' You were talking about grilling the 
 blood of some one.' 
 
 ' They don't understand no other language,' said 
 the captain, with a grin. Then, rapping the table 
 with his knife, at his place as captain, he mumbled 
 out a blessing. * Bless this food, O Lord, for the 
 support of our bodies.' The rest of the blessing 
 he always omitted ; for a jocular shipmate had once 
 parodied it, in a scandalous manner, much appre- 
 ciated by himself. ' He'd had a wonderful educa- 
 tion, that man,' he always maintained. * He must 
 have had a brain, to think of a real wit like that 
 was.' 
 
 Captain Cammock helped the fresh salmon 
 (bought that morning from a fisherman) with the 
 story of the duff. Until the tale was ended, the 
 company hungered. 
 
 * Did y'ever hear of the captain and the passen- 
 ger } ' he asked. ' They was at dinner on Sunday ; 
 and they'd a roll of duff. So the captain asks the 
 passenger, like I'd ask you about this salmon. He 
 asks him, ^* Do you like ends.**" No, he didn't 
 like no ends, the passenger didn't. " Well, me 
 and my mate does," says the captain ; so he cuts 
 the duff in two, and gives the mate one half and 
 eats the other himself.' 
 
 * Strange things happen at sea,' said Perrin. 
 
 * I believe Captain Cammock make., these stories 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 up/ said Margaret. ' In the night-watches, when 
 he isn't grilling seamen*s bloods.* 
 
 * Yes/ said Perrin, ' yes.' 
 
 ' Is that right, captain } ' asked Margaret. ' Do 
 you make these stories up yourself .f^' 
 
 ' No, sir,' said Cammock, ^ I've not got the educa- 
 tion, and I've something else to think about. These 
 writer fellows — beg pardon. Captain Margaret, I 
 don't mean you, sir — they're often very unpractical. 
 They'd let a ship fall overboard.' 
 
 ' So you think them very unpractical, do you, 
 captain ? ' said Margaret. ' What makes you think 
 that ? ' 
 
 ' Because they are, sir,' he replied. ' They're 
 always reading poetry and that. From all I can 
 make out of it, poetry's a lot af slush.' 
 
 'Have you ever read any.''' said Perrin. 
 
 'Who .? Me V said Cammock. ' Bless yer, yes. 
 Reams of it. A book of it called Paradise Lost. 
 Very religious, some of it. I had enough of poetry 
 with that inside me. I can't say as I ever read 
 much since.' 
 
 ' Well, captain,' said Margaret, ' it hasn't made 
 you unpractical.' 
 
 ' No, sir,' said the captain. ' But then I never 
 give it a chance to. I've always had my work to 
 see to.' 
 
 ' And what has been your work .? Always with 
 ships } ' 
 
 ' No, sir, I was logwood-cutter one time.' 
 
 ' And what is logwood-cutting like } ' 
 
 ' Oh, it's hard work, sir. Don't you forget it. 
 You're chopping all the forenoon, and splitting 
 what you chopped all afternoon, and rolling the 
 
 i8 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 pieces to the lagoon all evening. And all night 
 you drinks rum and sings. Then up again next 
 morning. Your arms get all bright red from log- 
 wood, and you get a taste for sucking the chips. 
 A queer taste.' 
 
 ' And who buys your logwood } ' said Margaret. 
 * Who uses it } What's it used for } ' 
 
 ' I don't rightly know about that, except for 
 dyeing,' said Cammock. ' A Captain Brown bought 
 all we cut. But we'd great times along the banks 
 of the lagoon.' 
 
 * When you say great times,' said Margaret, 
 ' what do you mean exactly .? What was it, in 
 logwood-cutting, which seems great to you } And 
 ,was it great to you then, or only now, when you 
 
 look back on it } ' 
 
 ' Did y'ever hear tell of the " last ship," sir } ' 
 said Cammock. With another man he might have 
 resented the continual questioning ; but Captain 
 Margaret always made him feel that he, old pirate 
 as he was, had yet, even in spite of, perhaps by 
 reason of, his piracies, a claim upon, an interest for, 
 the man of intellect and the man of culture. ' Did 
 y'ever hear tell of the " last ship," sir } ' said Cam- 
 mock. 
 
 ' No,' said Margaret. ' Tell us about the last 
 ship.' 
 
 ' Do you mean Noah's ark V said Perrin. 
 
 * The public-house '^ ' asked the captain. 
 
 ' No. A ship. I'll tell you of the last ship.' 
 ' What has the last ship got to do with the great 
 
 times on the lagoon ^ ' asked Margaret. 
 
 ' Just this. Captain Margaret. When a growler. 
 
 A pug, you understand ; one of the hands forward 
 
 19 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 there. When a seaman comes aboard a new ship, 
 he always blows at the rate of knots about his last. 
 You'll never hear of the ship he's in. No, sir. 
 She's hungry. Or wet. Or her old man's a bad 
 one. But so soon as he leaves her. Oh, my love, 
 what a ship she was, my love. Bacon for break- 
 fast ; fires to dry your clothes at ; prayers and rum 
 of a Sunday forenoon. Everything. That's what 
 I mean by a last ship. So when I says we'd great 
 times on the lagoon, why, it's only a way of speak- 
 ing. I mean as it seems just beautiful, now it's 
 over. I'll just trouble you, Mr. Perrin, if there*s 
 any more beer in the jug.* 
 
 ' So that's the last ship. Captain Cammock,' said 
 Margaret. 'Well, and now tell us what seems 
 great to you, when you think of — of your last ship, 
 in the lagoon, as you call it.' 
 
 Captain Cammock looked at Perrin, who seldom 
 spoke at meals, perhaps because his intellect was 
 too feeble to allow him to do more than one thing 
 at a time. Perrin, who hated to be looked at when 
 he was eating, from some shy belief that no one 
 looked at him save with a desire to laugh, gulped 
 what he had in his mouth at the moment, choked, 
 and hid his confusion in his tankard. Captain 
 Cammock did the same, lest he should appear 
 rude. 
 
 ' Now that's no easy question. Captain Mar- 
 garet,' he said. ' It wasn't great, now I come to 
 think of it. It was hard work. As hard as 
 shovelling coal. And hot. Oh, it's hot in them 
 lagoons. Sometimes our shirts would be wringing 
 wet with perspiration. And often we were up to 
 our knees in mud, where we worked, and little red 
 
 20 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 devils biting us, besides musquitoes. And there 
 were thorns on the logwood ; spikes as sharp as 
 stings.' 
 
 ' What were your amusements ? ' said Margaret. 
 
 ' Oh, as to them,' replied the captain. ' We'd 
 go hunt a wild cow on Saturdays. Or perhaps 
 fish. Or sometimes we'd go a lot of us among 
 the Indians, to a paw-waw. And then ships 
 come. We'd great times when ships come. In 
 the moonlight. We'd sing and drink rum. And 
 firing off pistols and cheering. Oh, we'd great 
 times.' 
 
 ' Why don't you go back to it } * asked Captain 
 Margaret. * You don't go back to it. Why not ? * 
 
 ' It wouldn't be the same,' said Cammock, as he 
 prepared his morning's pipe. ' The men I knowed 
 are gone. They'd have new ways, the new lot. 
 Besides, that sort of thing only goes when you're 
 young. When you get the salt in your bones, 
 you find the young devils don't like having you 
 around. And the girls get particular. You can't 
 get a wife no longer for a yard of blue baize and 
 a stick of sealing-wax. Excuse me, captain. I'm 
 a sailor. I sometimes talk rough. But there it 
 is. All a sailor has at the end is just what he can 
 remember. What I can mind of logwood-cutting 
 is the same as a trader's money-bags is to him. I 
 must be off forward, to have my morning draw.' 
 He spun his chair round, and rose, pressing the 
 tobacco into his clay pipe. * Give me my hat, 
 stooard.' He bowed to the two friends, walking 
 slowly to the cabin door. ' By the way, sir,' he 
 called back. ' I forgot to ask. I suppose you'll 
 be going ashore this fine morning } ' 
 
 21 
 
CAFFAIN MARGARET 
 
 * Yes,* said Margaret, ' I am going ashore. I 
 shall want the boat, captain.' 
 
 'Very good, sir,' said Cammock. 'Will you 
 want to fill our water, sir ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Margaret. ' I shall sail before sunset, 
 if the wind holds. We shall fill no more water 
 till we make Virginia.' 
 
 'Very good. Captain Margaret,' said Cammock. 
 ' If you don't want the hands, I'll try them at the 
 guns. It's time they got into the way of doing 
 things.' 
 
 He spun upon his heel, leaving the two friends 
 together. The steward, gathering up the gear, 
 retired to the pantry to wash up. 
 
 Captain Charles Margaret, the owner of the 
 Broken Hearty sitting there in his chair, in the quiet 
 cabin, was not yet forty ; but his brown hair was 
 grizzled, and his handsome face, so grave, so full 
 of dignity, was marked austerely with lines. He 
 gave one, at first, the impression of a man who had 
 lived fully, grandly, upon many sides of life ; with 
 a nobility inherent, not to be imitated. It was only 
 after long months of friendship that the observer 
 could learn the man's real nature. He would see 
 then that the real nature, ripened, as it was, on so 
 many sides, ready, as it was, to blossom wonder- 
 fully, had never come to flower, still less to fruit. 
 It was a great nature, checked by some hunger of 
 the soul, which (this is the sorrow of all beautiful 
 desire) would perhaps have destroyed the soul, had 
 it been satisfied. He was one who had loved for 
 many years. He had paid away all the gold of his 
 life, for a sorrow and a few copper memories. He 
 had loved nobly, like a man of the heroic time, 
 
 22 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 letting life go by him with a smile, so long as the 
 woman whom he loved might be spared one little 
 moment's annoyance, one little wrinkling of the 
 beautiful brow. He had said to himself that he 
 had worn this woman's glove, and that he would 
 wear no other woman's petticoat. And from long 
 brooding on this wayward beauty who had spoiled 
 his life, he had learned much of women. He un- 
 derstood them emotionally, with a clearness which 
 sometimes frightened him. He felt that he took a 
 base advantage of them in allowing them to talk 
 to him. Their hearts were open books to him. 
 Though the woman said, ' Look on this page, or on 
 this,' his instinct, never wrong, revealed to him the 
 page she tried to hide ; and his indulgence of this 
 sense made him, at times, of little use in conversa- 
 tion ; for the revealed truth amused him more than 
 its polite screen. At times its possession saddened 
 him, for he knew that he would never exercise 
 that sense in the tenderness of the accepted lover, 
 reading the unspoken thought in the beloved eyes. 
 In his person he was tall and finely built, but a 
 certain clumsiness in his walk made his appearance 
 ungraceful when he left his chair. His hands were 
 singularly beautiful. His eyes were grey and 
 deep-set. His face was pale, inclining to sallow, 
 but bronzed by the wind and sun. He was 
 careful, but quiet in his dress. He wore a black 
 suit, precisely cut, like the clothes of a Puritan, 
 but for its fine lace collar and elaborately carved 
 buttons of scarlet ivory. 
 
 He had, as he felt, failed in life, because he had 
 failed in love ; a point of view common among 
 women, in a man a confession of self-praise, selfish- 
 
 23 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ness, almost of vanity. He had allowed his passion 
 to keep him from action ; by which, alone, growth 
 or worth can be determined. He, as a lover, having, 
 as he thought, created a life for himself, more 
 beautiful, because intenser, than the lives of others, 
 even of artists, had lived retired, judging, as all 
 retired men will, all actions, all life, all things, by 
 an arbitrary standard, his own standard, the value 
 of which he was incapable of judging. He had 
 been certain, led away, as he had been, by wild 
 love, that his way was the way of self-perfection, 
 to which all ways assisted, rightly used. In so far 
 as his passion had fitted him for the affairs of the 
 world, by adding graces, or accomplishments to a 
 nature rich already, he had profited. He had 
 studied arts, some half a dozen different kinds, so 
 that his mind might have the more facets to 
 twinkle agreeably for his mistress's pleasure. But 
 with the confidence of various skill had come, also, 
 intellectual pride ; for to the man who knew a little 
 of many things, many things seemed little, since 
 none, save a hopeless passion, seemed great. With 
 this had come a shrinking from the world, a toler- 
 ance of it that was half contempt, a distrust of it 
 that was half sorrow for it. He lived away from 
 the world, in a fanciful chamber, where the kings 
 of his imagination offered precious balms for ever 
 to the aloof lady, queen and saint. It was his 
 fancy, in the latter years of his passion, to sublime 
 all human experience, to reduce all action to 
 intellectual essence, as an offering to her. This 
 had begun from a desire to amuse her in conver- 
 sation. Later, as his aloofness from the world 
 drove him still more upon his folly, he had one day 
 
 24 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 trembled lest she should ask him something that 
 he did not know, or could not resolve. It had 
 given to him a new interest in the world ; but a 
 fantastic interest ; he saw it only for her, to some 
 extent through her. He searched the measure of 
 his friends* experience, trying to find, as he had 
 tried that morning with Captain Cammock, some 
 purpose or delight, some glory or dignity in the 
 various tale, which might, in his own hands, be- 
 come beauteous to her, and to himself sweet, being, 
 as he never doubted it would prove, less glorious, 
 less grand, than his daily experience of high 
 emotion. 
 
 Now that the two friends were together in the 
 cabin, there was a silence. Throughout the meal 
 Margaret had kept the old pirate talking, in order 
 to divert Perrin from the protests which he knew 
 would come. Now that they were alone, the pro- 
 tests were long in coming. Perrin fidgeted between 
 the table and the book-case, biting his thumbs, 
 evidently waiting for his friend to speak. At last, 
 feeling that he could wait no longer, and speaking 
 crudely because he spoke from his own initiative, 
 he began — 
 
 ' Look here, Charles, you ought not to go ashore 
 to-day.* 
 
 ' Why not ? ' said his friend. ' It's the end of 
 everything.' 
 
 ' Her marriage was the end of everything,' said 
 Perrin. ' Look here, man, you're coming this cruise 
 to get rid of your sorrow. Don't go ashore and 
 begin it all over again. You'll only upset yourself, 
 and very likely give her pain.' 
 
 ' You don't understand, Edward,' said Margaret. 
 
 25 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' She has been my whole life for four years. If 
 I could. I don*t know. If I could, it might be 
 wiser to go away without a word. Ah no, no. 
 I can't. You can't cut off a part of your life like 
 that. I must go.' 
 
 ' Well, then,' said Perrin, ' I insist on coming 
 with you. You'll just see her, and come away. 
 I'm weak, I know, and all that ; but I will save you 
 from making ducks and drakes of your life. If 
 you see her, you'll see her with me. But I think 
 you're very unwise, Charles. If you weren't owner, 
 I'd clap you in irons and put to sea. I know one 
 thing. If you see her, no good'll come of it. Look 
 here, man ; do drop her, and let's get away while 
 the wind holds.' 
 
 ' No. I must see her,' said Margaret stubbornly. 
 *And I couldn't have you with me. That's im- 
 possible.' 
 
 ' Why impossible ? ' 
 
 'Because. Well, we won't talk of that. My 
 mind is made up. By the way, Edward, you were 
 up very early, weren't you .'' ' 
 
 ' I couldn't sleep. I wanted to see the sunrise. 
 I've heard so much about sunrise at sea. And I 
 got into talk with the captain. I told him a little 
 about our plans. I hope you don't mind.' 
 
 * No. I'm glad. We shall have to go into that 
 to-night. By the way, Edward, I want you, after 
 this, to stand two watches a day. I shall do the 
 same. We must learn what stuff our men are made 
 of before we reach Virginia ; for in Virginia we 
 shall have to weed out our crew. We can have 
 no skulkers where we are going.' 
 
 ' All right, Charles. I'm going on deck now. I 
 
 26 
 
The ''BROKEN HEART'' 
 
 think you're very foolish. Your going to see her 
 will do no good. So 1 tell you. Remember me 
 to her.' He picked up his hat, and walked out of 
 the cabin to the deck. 
 
 Captain Margaret rose from his chair, glanced 
 through the stern-port at the harbour, and sighed 
 a little. 
 
 * Well,* he said abruptly, shrugging his shoulders, 
 ' what must be, must be. Perhaps they'll be out 
 when I get there. Perhaps she'll refuse to see 
 me.' 
 
 His mind, which now made none save romantic 
 images, imaged for him the Broken Heart at sea, 
 under her colours, going over the water, her owner 
 looking astern at land he would never again tread. 
 It imaged for him a garden ashore, full of roses 
 and tall white campanulas. A lady walked there, 
 looking seaward, regretting that she had not seen 
 him, that she had not bidden him good-bye. Oh, 
 very sweet, very tender, were the images which 
 rosie up in him, for the ten thousandth time, as 
 he stared out over Salcombe harbour. And each 
 image, each romantic symbol imagined or created, 
 was a heavy nail, a heavy copper bolt, nailing him 
 within the coffin of his past, among the skeletons 
 of starved hopes and strangled passions. 
 
 27 
 
II 
 
 A FAREWELL 
 
 * Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing.' 
 
 Sonnet Ixxxviu 
 
 * Here take my picture ; though I bid farewell, 
 Thine, in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall dwell.' 
 
 John Donne. 
 
 TN a little room ashore, in a private suite of a big 
 -■" inn near the church, Tom Stukeley sat alone at 
 breakfast, staring down the garden, across the sea, 
 to the moored ships. He was a tall, powerful, 
 well-made man, of a physical type more common 
 in Ireland than in England, but not rare here. He 
 was, above all things, a creature of the body. One 
 had but to look at him to realize that when he died 
 there would be little for Rhadamanthus. One 
 could not like the man ; for though his body had 
 a kind of large splendour, it was the splendour of 
 the prize cabbage, of the prize pig, a splendour 
 really horrible. It is horrible to see any large 
 thing without intelligence. The sight is an acqui- 
 escence in an oifence against nature. Tom Stukeley 
 was designed by nature for the position of publican. 
 He had the vulgarity and the insolence of a choice 
 English bagman, in the liquor line, together with 
 
 28 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 this handsome body, red face, and thick black hair. 
 By the accident of birth he was a gentleman. In 
 seeing him one realized the tragedy of life's 
 apportionments. One realized that to build up this, 
 this mass of mucous membrane, boorishly informed, 
 lit only by the marsh-lights of indulged sense, the 
 many toiled in poverty, in enforced though hated 
 ignorance, in life without ease, without joy. 
 
 His coarsely coloured face passed for beauty, his 
 insolence for strength of character, even for wit, 
 among those men and women with whom he con- 
 sorted. His outward manner had something of the 
 off-handed ease of the inferior actor, who drinks, 
 and tells tales, and remarks upon the passing 
 women. But he had little of the actor's good 
 humour. He had, instead, that air of insolent 
 superiority which makes the inferior soul, arrogant 
 always, like the dunghill cock, clamorous of the 
 glory of dung. In company he was rude to all 
 whom he did not fear. He was more rude to 
 women than to men, partly because he feared them 
 less ; but partly because his physical tastes were 
 gross, so that he found pleasure in all horse-play — 
 such as the snatching of handkerchiefs or trinkets, 
 or even of kisses — in gaining which he had to 
 touch or maul his victims, whether protesting or 
 acquiescent. Women were attracted by him, per- 
 haps because he frightened them pnysically. His 
 love affairs were not unlike the love affairs of 
 python and gazelle. * They like it,* he would say. 
 *They like it. And if they're ugly (or chaste, 
 which comes to the same thing) they have the 
 satisfaction of learning about men. And that's 
 very good for them.' 
 
 29 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 To men whom he did not fear, to those of them, 
 that is, who had no advantage of fortune or position 
 from which he could hope to profit, he acted with 
 studied rudeness, with the unintellectual unvaried 
 rudeness of a school bully, particularly if they dis- 
 played any little sally of wit, any fondness for art, 
 any fineness of intelligence beyond him. It is 
 possible to think of him with pity, as of one born 
 out of his due time and out of his right circle. 
 He was a cad, born a gentleman. 
 
 He sat alone at breakfast, with the breakfast 
 dishes pushed far away from him ; for he had 
 risen late, and had sat late at wine the night before. 
 The thought of food was nauseous to him ; he 
 drank small beer thirstily ; and damned his wife 
 under his breath for being risen from table, as he 
 would, perhaps, have damned her aloud had she been 
 present. He had been married for some three months 
 and had begun to find the simulation of virtue 
 tedious. His head ached ; and he was very angry 
 with his wife. He had married her for her money, 
 and he now found that the money was so tied that 
 her husband had no power over it ; but that the 
 trustees of her father's estate, who viewed him 
 with no favour, had powers which he had not sus- 
 pected. Much as he had ever hated the law, he had 
 
 never He rose up from his seat with an oath, 
 
 believing for a wild moment that the marriage 
 might be set aside. She had misled him ; she must 
 have known that all he wanted was her money. 
 The marriage had been a secret one. But that 
 belief only lasted for a moment ; he was ^ married 
 and done for,' and here was the lawyer's letter 
 refusing supplies. He had run through their 
 
 30 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 ready money at cards the night before. All that 
 remained to him was a handful of small change, 
 and a handful of tradesmen's bills. All through 
 breakfast the bills had been arriving, for the word 
 had spread abroad that the Stukeleys were leaving 
 Salcombe at the end of their third week's stay. 
 He had been in awkward corners before ; but 
 never in the country, and never before had he been 
 involved with a wife. He could not think what to 
 do, for his head ached furiously. He had made too 
 free with the common purse in the certainty of 
 receiving money that morning. ^ Your obedient 
 servants,' ran the letter. He stamped up and down 
 the room, swearing and biting his nails. He could 
 not return to London without money ; nor did he 
 dare to return ; for he had many debts, and feared 
 arrest. He wondered whether Olivia had any 
 friends in those parts from whom he or she might 
 borrow money. 'It's time Olivia got broken in,' he 
 thought. 
 
 A servant entered with a letter. He took it 
 from her, staring at her with the hard insolence of 
 his class. The girl dropped her eyes, looked con- 
 fused, and then smiled at him. 
 
 ' Aha,' he said lightly. He caught her hand and 
 pressed it, still looking into her eyes. 
 
 * No,' said the girl hurriedly. * There's some one 
 coming.' ♦ 
 
 * You're my little duckling, aren't you ? ' he said 
 softly, catching her round the waist. 
 
 ' Be quiet,' she answered, frightened. ' I'm sure I 
 hear some one coming.' 
 
 He listened for a second, maintaining his hold. 
 * Nonsense,' he said. 'Nonsense, Amy.' ^ 
 
 31 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 *■ My name's Jessie,' she said pertly. 
 
 His hand roved about her throat, caressing her. 
 He bent and kissed her lips ; the girl made some 
 show of virtue by calling him a bad man. 
 
 ' Where do you sleep, Jessie } ' he murmured. 
 * Which is your room } ' 
 
 ' Oh law,' said Jessie, breaking from him hastily, 
 
 ^ There's some one ' She seized two plates upon 
 
 the table, and made a bustling pretence at clearing 
 away. On learning that it was a false alarm, she 
 looked at him with a sort of slinking grace. 
 
 ' You've made my hair untidy,' she said reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 He walked up to her, laughing. She backed 
 from him with a grin. 
 
 ' Jess-ie,' came a cry from without. 
 
 * It's missus,' she said, terrified, going to the door. 
 'Yes, mum.' 
 
 * The man wants an answer for that letter he 
 brought.' 
 
 ' Yes, mum,' she cried. ' In a minute, mum. 
 There's an answer, sir. What's the answer, sir } ' 
 
 Stukeley tore the paper open. A bill fell out. 
 
 ' Oh damn,' he exclaimed. ' Tell him I'll look 
 in in the morning.' 
 
 Jessie carried the message to the bearer ; and 
 returned with another. 
 
 * Please, sir, the man says he won't go unless 
 he has his money, sir.' 
 
 'Won't he?' said Stukeley angrily. 'I'll see 
 whether he won't.' 
 
 He picked up his cane and walked out swiftly. 
 The servant listened at the door for the details of 
 the quarrel. 
 
 32 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 * Hark-ee/ came Stukeley*s voice. ' Here's your 
 bill. D'ye sec it } There ! * — there came a sound 
 of tearing paper — ' Now take that back to your 
 master. Next time you disturb me at breakfast 
 I'll break your head. Get out of this.' 
 
 The haberdasher's clerk withdrew. The land- 
 lady aided his retreat with a few words about not 
 having her guests disturbed. 
 
 Stukeley returned to his breakfast-room. Jessie 
 looked at him admiringly. 
 
 ^Aha, Jessie,' he said. 'What nice arms you've 
 got. Eh } Haven't you } Eh } I wish I was 
 in them. Beautiful arms.' He pinched them, 
 following her about as she backed to avoid him. 
 
 ' You've got a wife,' said Jessie. * What do you 
 want with arms } Don't ! Don't ! You'll make me 
 scream out.' 
 
 Again came the voice of the mistress. 
 
 * Jessie ! Jessie ! Drat the girl.' 
 
 The amorous by-play ceased ; Jessie went swiftly. 
 
 She soon returned, bri^nging a visitor, a coarse fair- 
 haired man, with a face not unlike a horse's face, but 
 without the beauty. His cheeks were rather puffy ; 
 his eyelids drooped down over his eyes, so that he 
 gave one the impression of extreme short sight, or 
 of some eye-disease. He peered out under his 
 eyelids. One felt that the house so lit was a dark, 
 narrow, mean little thieves' house. 
 
 ' Mr. Haly to see you, sir,' said Jessie. 
 
 Mr. Haly entered, to find his friend Stukeley 
 retiring through the other door. He turned back 
 in the doorway on hearing the name. 
 
 'Oh, it's you, Monty,' he said. 'What brings 
 you to Salcombe } ' 
 
 D 33 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' You took me for a dun/ said Mr. Haly, with a 
 jocular whine peculiar to him. ' You took me for a 
 dun. I'll sit down, if this pretty charmer here ' — 
 he ogled Jenny, with a look which would have 
 made a wanton chaste — ' will give me a chair. 
 Thank you, my dear.' He sat down ; Jessie left 
 the room. 
 
 * I've come down with young Killigrew,' he said. 
 ^ He offered to pay my exes. So I thought I'd look 
 you up, to see how married bliss looks. Hey, 
 Tom 1 How's the wife } Hey, Tom } How's 
 Cupid's dove 1 Hey } I suppose she's making little 
 clothes already } Hey .f^ ' 
 
 He laughed pursily ; helped himself, unbidden, 
 to the beer, cut himself a snack from his friend's 
 untasted breakfast, buttered it thickly, and began to 
 eat. His friendships were selfish always. * Give 
 nothing, but take all you can get,' would have been 
 his motto, had he had sufficient intellect to think it 
 out. It had helped him in the world ; but his 
 greed, never sated, had perhaps helped him less 
 than his power of flattering those who were richer, 
 but no more intelligent than himself. Stukeley 
 ignored his friend's questions, not because he ob- 
 jected to them, but because he expected some- 
 thing more from Mr. Haly. 
 
 'There was another reason why I called,' said 
 Haly after a pause. ' I travelled down from town 
 with old Bent, your landlord that was.' 
 
 ' With old Bent } ' said Stukeley, becoming more 
 attentive. 
 
 ' Yes,' continued Haly. * He'd heard you were 
 In Salcombe. I believe he wants to see you.' 
 
 ' Damn it. He does,' said Stukeley. 
 
 34 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 * Well,' said Haly, * then I hope it's not a large 
 sum. But still, now youVe married to an heiress, 
 you lucky dog, why, you can laugh at old Bent, I 
 should think/ 
 
 ' Yes,' said Stukeley quietly. ^ What time is old 
 Bent coming here } ' 
 
 Haly shrugged his shoulders. * We're not in 
 town now,' he said. * He might come any time.' 
 
 Stukeley offered his friend some more beer. 
 
 * By the way, Tom,' said Haly, ' I don't want 
 to rob you, but could you lend me a fiver, just to 
 go on with ? ' 
 
 * I'm sorry, Monty,' said his friend ; * I never 
 lend money.' 
 
 'Oh, come, Tom,' said Haly. * Don't be a swine, 
 man. I'd lend it to you fast enough. I'd not see a 
 friend in want.' 
 
 ' I know you wouldn't,' said Tom. ' But I never 
 lend money.' 
 
 ' Damn it,' said Haly, lowering his voice to a 
 whining reproachful tone. ' Well, I wouldn't be 
 a mean swine. Lord, man ! I gave you the office 
 about Bent. You might have a little gratitude. 
 What's a fiver to you } Don't be a swine, man. I 
 wouldn't refuse you, I know.' 
 
 Stukeley stared insolently at Haly's blinking 
 eyes. He seemed to relish the man's disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 ' No ! Can't be done, Monty,' he said. ' Have 
 some more buttered toast, instead — with sugar 
 on it.' 
 
 Haly had already eaten plentcously of this dainty ; 
 he was not to be comforted with flagons. 
 
 ' You are a swine,' he said angrily. ' Now you're 
 
 35 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 married, I suppose you're going back on your pals. 
 You dirty swine. My God ! I wouldn't be mean 
 like that. Well, keep your fiver. But old Bent 
 shall hear something. Yes, and my new wife shall 
 hear something. My wife Olivia, Olivia.' 
 
 Stukeley watched his friend with careless toler- 
 ance, ringing the bell meanwhile, with a hand 
 stretched idly behind him. He laughed lightly, 
 bidding Haly to be of good cheer. When Jessie 
 came, in answer to the bell, he bade his friend good 
 morning, and bowed him out. Haly disappeared, 
 cursing. 
 
 When he had gone, Stukeley wondered if he had 
 done wisely in choking off Haly so soon. He had 
 made up his mind, during the months of his honey- 
 moon, to break with his old circle ; for his wife's 
 friends were rich and powerful, and his own friends, 
 being men about town, had never been more to 
 him than flash companions. Besides, he realized 
 that a man like Haly was hardly likely to bring 
 him credit with his new acquaintances. And 
 anyhow his headache made him devilish, and he 
 had had pleasure in seeing the horse-face flush, 
 and the little mean eyes blink with anger. He did 
 not set much store by the man's threats. If old 
 Bent had come to Salcombe after him, he would 
 see his victim, whether Haly helped or refused to 
 help. He did not rightly know what he could say 
 to old Bent, and his head was throbbing and in 
 pain ; he could not think. Jessie returned to clear 
 away ; but even Jessie would not comfort him, for 
 missus was in the next room and could hear every 
 word. 
 
 ' Perhaps after dinner,' said Jessie. 
 
 36 
 
A FAREIVELL 
 
 Something in the girl's coyness stirred his lust. 
 He caught hold of her, shutting the door with his 
 disengaged hand. His back was against the door, 
 and the girl was pressed to him. 
 
 ' You are a naughty man,' said Jessie reprovingly. 
 
 He drew her head back and kissed her lips and 
 throat. Something in the girl amused him and 
 excited him. He was conscious of a sudden anger 
 against Olivia. She needed some devil of wanton- 
 ness, he thought. She never moved him as this 
 tavern trollop moved him. 
 
 * Do you love me } ' said Jessie. 
 
 * Yes,' he said passionately. 
 
 * I seen you look at me,' said Jessie. 
 
 It had been love at first sight. While they 
 kissed, Olivia's voice sounded clearly in the passage. 
 ' I'll see him in the breakfast-room, with Mr. 
 Stukeley.' 
 
 ' Oh law ! ' said Jessie, wrenching herself free. 
 *Go inside, Mr. Stukeley. Don't let's be seen 
 together.' 
 
 * Bent already,' said Stukeley, slipping into the 
 inner room. 
 
 He went so quickly that Jessie's question, ' Is 
 my hair tidy } ' was unanswered. As Jessie dabbed 
 at her hair before the mirror, Olivia entered. She 
 thought that Jessie's heightened colour and nervous 
 manner were signs that she was ashamed of being 
 caught at a glass. She smiled at the girl, who smiled 
 back at her as she hurried to remove her tray. Had 
 Olivia looked at Jessie as she left the room with the 
 tablecloth, the trollop's gaze of confident contempt 
 would have puzzled her ; she might, perhaps, have 
 found it disquieting. 
 
 37 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 She had only been married a few weeks ; and 
 she loved her husband so dearly that to speak of 
 him to any one, to an inn-servant, for example, 
 seemed sacrilegious to her. She felt this very 
 strongly at this moment, though she longed to ask 
 Jessie where her husband might be found. She 
 felt some slight displeasure at her husband's absence, 
 for he had never before left her for so long. This 
 breakfast had been the first meal eaten apart since 
 the day of their marriage. When Jessie had left 
 the room, she looked at her image in the mirror, 
 straightening the laces at her throat and smoothing 
 the heavy hair, one of her chief beauties. She 
 loved her husband. All other men were mere 
 creatures to her — creatures with no splendour of 
 circling memory, creatures of dust. But the 
 announcement that Captain Margaret was even 
 then without, waiting to be admitted, was some- 
 how affecting. She felt touched, perhaps a little 
 piqued. He had loved her, still loved her, she 
 felt. She had never much cared for him, though 
 she had found a sort of dreadful pleasure in the 
 contemplation of her power over him. At the 
 moment, she felt a little pity for him, and then a 
 little pity for herself Now that she was married, 
 she thought, she would be unattractive to him ; her 
 power would be gone ; and as that was the first 
 time the thought had come to her, it made her 
 almost sad, as though she were parting with a 
 beautiful memory, with a part of her youth, with a 
 part of her youthful beauty. Her look into the glass 
 was anxious. She was eager to look her best, to make 
 the most of her pale beauty ; for (like less intelli- 
 gent women) she believed that it was her beauty 
 
 38 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 which most appealed to him. As a matter of fact 
 it was the refinement of her voice which swayed 
 him, her low voice, full of music, full of intensity, 
 of which each note told of an inner grace, of some 
 beauty of mind unattainable by men, but some- 
 times worshipped by them. She was not a clever 
 talker. Her power lay in sympathy, in creating 
 talk in others, for when she was of a company it 
 was as though music were being played ; the talk 
 showed fine feeling ; at least, the talkers went away 
 delighted. She had a little beauty. Her eyes were 
 beautiful ; her hair was beautiful ; but beautiful 
 beyond all physical beauty was the beauty of her 
 earnest voice, so unspeakably refined and pure, 
 coming holy from the inner shrine. 
 
 She had not waited a minute, before Captain 
 Margaret entered. She had expected to see him 
 troubled, and to hear the ring of emotion in his 
 voice as he greeted her. She had half expected to 
 be surprised by some rush of frantic passion. But 
 he entered smiling, greeting her with a laugh. She 
 felt at once, from his manner, from his obvious 
 dislike for her hand, which he scarcely touched and 
 then dropped, an implied shrinking from her hus- 
 band. It gave her firmness. He looked at her 
 eyes a moment, wondering with what love they had 
 looked at Stukeley during the night-watches. The 
 thought came to him that she was a beautiful soiled 
 thing, to be pitied and tenderly reproved. The 
 image of Stukeley cast too dark a shadow for any 
 brighter thought of her. When she began to speak 
 she had him bound and helpless. 
 
 * Well, Olivia,' he said gaily, ' I'm glad I came in 
 time to catch you.' 
 
 39 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * Yes/ she answered, 'we were just going. We 
 
 have been And how did you come here ? * 
 
 She found it harder to talk to him than she had 
 expected. 
 
 ' I came here in my ship/ he answered. ' I 
 wanted to see you, to wish you, to hope — to wish 
 you all happiness. Before I leave England.* 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 'Thank you very much,' she said. 'Are you 
 leaving England for long } ' 
 
 ' It may be a long time. If all goes well, it will 
 be a very long time.' 
 
 ' I had not heard that you were going abroad. 
 To what part are you going 1 Italy again } ' 
 
 ' No. I'm going to Darien.' It seemed to him 
 to be almost tragical that she really did not know 
 where Darien lay. ' The Spanish Main,' he added. 
 
 ' Ah, yes,' she said. 
 
 He covered her retreat by saying that he was 
 going to Virginia first. She looked at him with 
 quickened interest. 
 
 ' Going in your ship,' she said. ' That sounds 
 very grand. Is she in Salcombe here ? Which is 
 she among all those schooners ? ' 
 
 ' That one,' he answered, pointing through the 
 window. ' The ship with the flag.' 
 
 * And you're leaving England at once } ' 
 ' Yes. This afternoon's tide.' 
 
 ' But what are you going to do when you get 
 there } ' 
 
 'Oh, don't let's talk about that,' he answered. 
 ' Tell me about yourself, and your plans. What 
 are you going to do, now you're leaving Salcombe } 
 Will you go home to Flaxley } ' 
 
 40 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 ^ No,' she answered, colouring slightly. ' Uncle 
 Nestor was rather rude to Tom, to my hus- 
 band.' 
 
 The captain bit his lip, and gazed out absently 
 over the sea. He had heard why Uncle Nestor 
 had been rude. The knowledge made him doubt- 
 ful of Olivia's future happiness. 
 
 ' So I suppose you'll go back to town,* he 
 answered, *and settle down. What do married 
 people do, when they settle down } ' 
 
 * Oh,' she said, ' I've great schemes for Tom. 
 He's going to stand for Parliament. But I want to 
 know what you're going to do in Darien. What is 
 your scheme } ' 
 
 'Just to help the Indians,' he answered. 'The 
 Spaniards have robbed them and ill-treated them, 
 and I thought that if some Englishmen settled on 
 the Isthmus, and opened up a trade with them. 
 For you see, we could trade with both Jamaica and 
 Virginia. And if we opened up a trade there, we 
 could check the Spanish power there, making the 
 Indians our allies.' 
 
 ' And what would you trade for, or with ? It 
 sounds very romantic' 
 
 ' The country is very rich in gold. Gold is 
 found in all the rivers. But of course the gold is 
 not to be our aim. I want, really, to found an 
 English colony ; or a colony of workers, at any 
 rate. The Spanish colony is just a press, which 
 squeezes the land. Now the land ought, in a sense, 
 to squeeze the colonists. It ought to bring out all 
 their virtues. That is what I want. The country 
 will have to be cleared. And then we shall plant 
 
 cacao, or whatever the land Is fit for, and The 
 
 41 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 scheme is thought out, in detail. Vm confident; but 
 I won't talk about it.* 
 
 ^ And the Indians will be your allies } ' repeated 
 Olivia ; ' and the Spaniards will probably fight you V 
 
 ' Yes/ he answered. ' And you will be in a town- 
 house in London, going to the play, or dancing at 
 a ball, in grey silk.' 
 
 ' Blue, or grey.' 
 
 ' And you will give sprigs of verbena to those 
 who see over your garden in the country.' 
 
 * And when will you come for some } ' 
 
 * Ah ! I shan't see that garden again, for a long, 
 long time.' 
 
 ' We're going to plant all sorts of things, when 
 we get home. You must send some roots from 
 Darien.' 
 
 ^ I should like to do that. We have been such 
 — such friends.' 
 
 ' In the old days.' 
 
 * Yes,' he said, rising. ' Now I must be off.' 
 ' Oh, but you ought not to go yet.' 
 
 ' I only just came ashore to see you.' 
 
 *Oh, you must stay to see my husband. He 
 wants to see you. He'll be so disappointed if you 
 don't stay to see him.' 
 
 ^ You must make my apologies. Good-bye, 
 Olivia.' 
 
 She held out her hand without emotion of 
 any kind. She would have shaken hands with 
 any other acquaintance with just so little feeling. 
 Margaret wondered what it was that would get 
 within her guard. He took her hand. He tried 
 hard to say no more, but failed, being sorely 
 tempted. 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 ^ God bless you/ he said. * I hope you will be 
 very, very happy. God bless you, dear. I 
 wonder if I shall hear of you ever. Or see 
 you again.' 
 
 ^ If you want to, you will,' she said simply, glad 
 that it had gone no further. 
 
 ' Yes, I shall see you again,' he said. 
 
 ' Of course you will,' she answered, ' I hope 
 your colony will be a success.' 
 
 Something in her voice made the conventional 
 words beautiful. Captain Stukeley, on the other 
 side of the door, hearing that quality in his wife's 
 voice, wished that the keyhole were bigger. With 
 an effort. Captain Margaret rewarded that moving 
 tone. 
 
 * When I come back,' he said, ' I hope that I 
 shall get to know your husband. Make my apolo- 
 gies to him.' 
 
 ' Good-bye again,' she said. 
 
 Her voice seemed to come from her whole 
 nature. All that her lover could remember after- 
 wards was the timbre of the voice ; he had no 
 memory of her face. Her eyes he remembered, 
 and her heavy antique ear-rings. * Eyes, ear-rings, 
 and a voice,' he repeated, walking down to the 
 jetty. He wondered what she was. * What is 
 she } What is she } Oh Lord, what is she } ' He 
 could not answer it. She was beautiful. Most 
 beautiful. Beautiful enough to drive him mad. 
 Her beauty was not a bodily accident ; but a quality 
 of soul, the quality of her nature, her soul made 
 visible. But what was she } She had talked com- 
 monly, conventionally. She had said nowise thing, 
 no moving thing. Never once had she revealed 
 
 43 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 herself; she was only kind, fond of flowers, fond 
 of music, a lover of little children. But oh, she 
 was beyond all beauty, that dark, graceful lady with 
 the antique ear-rings. It was her voice. Any con- 
 ventional, common word her voice made beautiful. 
 He wondered if she were, after all, divine ; for if 
 she were not divine, how came it that her voice had 
 that effect, that power } He felt that human beings 
 were all manifestations of a divine purpose. Per- 
 haps that lovely woman was an idea, an idea of 
 refinement, of delicate, exquisite, right grace, 
 clothed in fitting flesh, walking the world with 
 heavenly intention. But if that were so, how the 
 devil came Stukeley there, that was the puzzle 1 
 The blood came into that pale face sometimes ; 
 and oh, the way she turned, the way she looked, 
 the way of that voice, so thrilling, so infinitely 
 beautiful. Ah well ; he had played and lost, and 
 there was his ship with her flag flying ; he was 
 bound down and away 
 
 Along the coast of New Barbary. 
 
 But he had loved her, he had seen her, he had 
 been filled with her beauty as a cup with wine. He 
 would carry her memory into the waste places of 
 the world. Perhaps in the new Athens, over yon- 
 der, among the magnolia bloom, and the smell of 
 logwood blossom, he would make her mxemory 
 immortal in some poem, some tragedy, something 
 to be chanted by many voices, amid the burning of 
 precious gums, and the hush of the theatre. On 
 the way, he stopped, thinking of her personal tastes. 
 He, too, would have those tastes. Little things 
 for which she cared should come with him to the 
 
 44 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 Main. He gave the merchant the impression that 
 he was dealing with one melancholy mad. 
 
 Drums sounded in the street, for troops were 
 marching west, to a rousing quick-step. They 
 marched well, with their heads held firm in their 
 stocks. The sergeants strutted by them, handling 
 their halberds. Captain Margaret paused to watch 
 them, just as a sailor will stop to watch a ship. 
 * They are like the world,' he thought. ' The 
 men drop out, but the regiment remains. It still 
 follows the rags on the broomstick, and a fool com- 
 mands it, and a halberd drills it, and women and 
 children think it a marvellous fine thing. Well, 
 so be it. Fve bought my discharge.' The fifes 
 and drums passed out of hearing. * They'll never 
 come back,' he said to himself. ' Perhaps twenty 
 years hence I shall meet one of those men, and be 
 friends with him. Why not now } And why 
 should I see that regiment now } What does it 
 mean } It is a symbol. All events are symbols. 
 What does it mean } What is it a symbol of? 
 Why should that regiment pass to-day, now, after 
 I've bidden my love good-bye } And what ought 
 I to learn from it } What message has it for me ? ' 
 He was convinced that it had a message. He stood 
 still, looking down the road, vacant as a British 
 statue. 
 
 He woke up with a start, remembering that he 
 had to buy some materials for the practice of one of 
 his amusing handicrafts. A little gold, some silver, 
 and a few stones of small value, together with glass 
 beads, were all that he needed. He was planning 
 to make jewels for the Indian princesses. * Beads 
 is what they goes for,' so Cammock had said. He 
 
 45 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 bought large stores of beads. He also bought 
 materials for a jewel for Olivia, thinking, as he 
 examined the gems, of the letter he would send 
 with the gift. ' It will be written under palm- 
 thatch,' he thought, * in the rains.' He was able to 
 plan the jewel in all its detail. People stared at 
 him with curiosity. He was speaking aloud as he 
 walked. * Nothing matters very much to me,' he 
 said. ^ I know the meaning of life. Life and 
 death are the same to me.' So saying he arrived 
 upon the jetty, and hailed his boat, which lay at a 
 little distance, her oarsmen playing dice in the 
 stern-sheets. His purchases were stowed between 
 the thwarts, a few grocer's boxes made an obelisk in 
 the bows. As they shoved oiF, there came a flash 
 of fire from the side of the Broken Heart. White 
 smoke-rings floated up and away, over her top- 
 gallant-masts. Grey smoke clung and drifted along 
 the sea. The roar of the cannon made the Salcombe 
 windows rattle. The boat's crew grinned. Being 
 boatmen, they had escaped the gun-drill. They 
 knew what all hands were getting from the stalwart 
 Cammock. 
 
 He stepped quickly up the side, acknowledging 
 Cammock's salute and the pipe of the boatswain. 
 Perrin met him at the break of the poop. He 
 noticed that Perrin stared rather hard at him. He 
 grinned at Perrin cheerfully. 
 
 * Yes, I saw her,' he said gaily. 
 
 It seemed to Perrin that his gaiety was natural, 
 and that, perhaps, the sight of Mrs. Stukeley, with 
 her husband, had proved an effective cure. A 
 gun's crew swayed the gear out of the boat. The 
 other guns' crews, heaving the heavy trucks, train- 
 
 46 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 ing the guns forward, wished that they might help. 
 'Captain Cammock resumed his drill. 
 
 ' Starboard battery, on the bow ! ' he exclaimed. 
 ' Port battery, upon the beam. Imagine them hulks. 
 Them's the enemy. Bring aft your train tackles. 
 No. No. Oh, what are you playing at } Drop 
 them blocks. What in hell are you thinking of 
 there, number three } Vm not talking to you, 
 port battery. Now. Wait for the word of com- 
 mand. Take heed. Silence. Silence there. Now. 
 Cast off the tackles and breechings. Carry on.* 
 
 The figures by the guns became active. Though 
 they carried on ' in silence,' there was a good deal 
 of noise, many muttered oaths, much angry drop- 
 ping of rammers. Captain Margaret stood by 
 Cammock, waiting till the guns were fired. He 
 had learned the practical part of naval gunnery 
 from a book in Cam mock's cabin. The Manner's 
 Friend^ or Compleat Sea Gunner s Vade Mecum, 
 He watched the drill wearily, knowing how hard 
 and dull a thing it was to the men who swayed 
 the tackles, and hove the trucks along with 
 crows. In the moment of peace after the broad- 
 sides, he felt a pity for his men, a pity for humanity. 
 He had hired these men at four shillings a week 
 apiece. He gave them their food, worth, perhaps, 
 tenpencc a day, with their rum worth twopence 
 more, bought wholesale, out of bond. ' For eleven 
 shillings a week,' he thought, ^ a man will clog 
 his heavenly soul with gun-drill, which his soul 
 loathes ; and refrain from drabs and drams, 
 which his soul hungers and thirsts for.' He 
 felt ashamed that he had not thought more of 
 his men's comfort. 
 
 47 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^YouVe got them into shape already, captain,' 
 he said. 
 
 * I'll get them into trim in time,* answered Cam- 
 mock. ' It takes time.' 
 
 ^ Yes,' said Margaret, *it takes time.' He paused 
 a moment, remembered his kindly feeling, and 
 continued. ' I want to ask you about fresh meat, 
 captain. Shall I get some fresh meat here, to see 
 us well into the Western Ocean } Or flour, now ? 
 I want the hands kept in good trim. I don't want 
 to lose any by sickness.' 
 
 ' Fresh meat is always good at sea,' said Cam- 
 mock. ' But there's better things than meat. For 
 keeping a crew in good shape, you can't beat sugar 
 and flour. It takes the salt out of their bones.' 
 
 Perrin had joined them. ' I've ordered fresh 
 meat and sugar,' he said. ' And three dozen fowls. 
 They'll be off in about an hour's time.' 
 
 ' You oughtn't to have done that,' said Margai et. 
 
 *• I paid for them myself,' he answered. ' There 
 they come.' 
 
 Captain Cammock secured his guns, returned 
 his powder, and piped the boat to be cleared. 
 The hen-coop was lashed down for a full due below 
 the break of the poop. After the meat had been 
 hung in the harness-room, the hands went forward 
 to loaf and stand-by. The two friends walked the 
 poop with Cammock, ten paces and a turn, talking 
 of old times, and of the fortune of the sea. 
 
 They were waiting for the ebb-tide to take them 
 out. The wind was fair, but light ; they needed 
 the ebb. Waiting like that is always a weariness. 
 Captain Margaret wished that he had never put in 
 to Salcombe. He was a fool, he thought. The 
 
 48 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 thing was over, the wound was closed. He had 
 begun it anew ; reopened it. Now he had to apply 
 the cautery. If he had held his course, his ship 
 would have been out of sight of land, going on, 
 under all sail, forty miles south-west from Scilly, 
 bringing him nearer to content at each wave, each 
 bubble. He felt also the discontent of the tide- 
 bound sailor. He felt that he was at liberty wrong- 
 fully ; that it was wrong for him to be there, doing 
 nothing, merely because the tide still flowed. 
 Perrin, though he was eager to talk to his friend 
 about the results of the farewell call, was bored to 
 death by the inaction, by the sudden stoppage of 
 the routine. As for Cammock, he smoked his pipe, 
 and looked out to windward, wondering inwardly 
 at the strangeness of gentlemen. Thinking that they 
 were hipped, he told them his favourite tale of how 
 the cow came at him one time, when he was hunt- 
 ing for beef near One Bush Key. It was an excit- 
 ing story ; but nothing, he said, to what ' happened 
 him ' one time when he was loading live steers at 
 Negril, after the cattle pest at Antigua. 
 
 * So I got into one of the shore-boats,* he con- 
 cluded. ^ rd had enough of them great horns a 
 yard long.' 
 
 ' Every man to his trade,' said Perrin curtly. 
 
 Captain Margaret asked if the long-horns were 
 bred from imported stock. Cammock had expected 
 them to laugh. The situation was saved by the 
 entrance of a sixth-rate, under all plain sail, on the 
 last of the flood. Her blue sides were gay with 
 gold leaf ; her colours streamed out astern ; she 
 broke the water to a sparkle. In her main-chains 
 stood a leadsman crying his melancholy cry of ^ Anci 
 E ^9 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 a half, three,' which another voice repeated harshly. 
 Though she came quietly she came swiftly ; for the 
 flood had strength. She was a lovely thing, sway- 
 ing in there softly. The Broken Heart saluted her. 
 The friends watched her as she passed. Cammock 
 saw his opportunity. He turned to his companions. 
 
 ' What d'ye make of her ^ ' he asked them. 
 
 Perrin called her * a man-of-war ' ; Margaret ' a 
 beautiful thing.' 
 
 ' I'll tell you what /make of her,' said Cammock. 
 * She was built in France, that's easy seen, and she 
 was bought or taken at least three years back. She 
 was re-masted at Deptford, and her captain thinks 
 the masting's spoiled her. She's been in the West 
 Indies within a year, and there she'd a pile of hard 
 times. Lost her topmasts for one of them. Then 
 she came home, and took a big nob of some sort 
 up the Mediterranean, for political reasons, and in a 
 hurry, with a scratch crew. She's made a quick 
 passage, and the captain's cabin is taken up with 
 ladies, probably one big sort of a duchess or that. 
 The Government is short of funds, and the wind's 
 going to draw more westerly. Her lieutenant is a 
 Devonshire man. And I bet I know her captain's 
 name and what her hands think of him. That's 
 what I make of her.' 
 
 * How d'you know all that .? ' said Perrin. 
 
 ' Every man to his trade,' said Cammock. He 
 felt that he had retrieved the honour lost over the 
 cows. 
 
 At this moment four bells were made ; the 
 cabin steward rang them to the cabin supper. 
 
 They found the table heaped with dainties ; for 
 Perrin and Cammock had foraged ashore together, 
 
 50 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 so that the last night in port might be merry. 
 Punch, strawberries, and a pigeon-pie. Captain 
 Margaret proposed the conundrum, why straw- 
 berries would be considered flippant among the 
 bakemeats at a funeral dinner. Captain Cammock 
 gorged the conundrum, hook and all. 
 
 51 
 
Ill 
 
 OUTtFARDS 
 
 * And we are bound to New Barbary 
 With all our whole ship's company.' 
 
 Captain Glen* 
 
 * I have a vessel riding forth, gentlemen, 
 And I can tell you she carries a letter of mart. 
 What say you now to make you all adventurers ? 
 You shall have fair dealing, that I'll promise you.' 
 
 A Cure for a Cuckold. 
 
 A FTER supper, the party went on deck again, to 
 see the last of their country. The two mates, 
 who had their cabins in the after 'tween-decks, where 
 they messed, had made all ready for getting under 
 way. The hands walked to and fro about the 
 fo'c's'le, waiting for the order. The last bum-boat 
 had shoved off for the shore, having sold her last 
 onion and last box of red herrings. Snatches of 
 song came aft to the poop. It was slack water ; the 
 sea seemed to be marking time. Already, further 
 up the harbour, a schooner had swung athwart the 
 stream. One or two boats were hoisting their fore- 
 sails, ready to catch the first ebb. The sun was 
 still strong in the heavens ; there was more than an 
 hour of day to come. 
 
 ' We may as well up hook,' said Cammock, ' if 
 you'll say the word, sir.' 
 
 52 
 
OUTV/ARDS 
 
 'All ready, captain,' said Margaret. 'We'll go 
 as soon as you like.' 
 
 ' Right,' said Cammock, bustling forward to the 
 poop-rail. ' Hands up anchor, bosun.' 
 
 The boatswain's pipe made the call. The fo'c's'le 
 was thronged with hurrying sailors. The trum- 
 peter at the gangway blew a flourish, and sounded 
 his ' Loath to depart.' The men cheered as the 
 bars were shipped. The waisters tended on the 
 messenger with their nippers. Slowly the pawls 
 began to click as the men strained round, heaving 
 on tiptoe. The two capstans hove in, moving the 
 cable. All down the 'tween-decks rang the snapping 
 creak of a cable at a shaking strain. Some one at 
 one of the bars, down in the half-darkness, began 
 to sing. The crowd made chorus together, lifting 
 the tune. Voice after voice joined in. Bar after 
 bar sounded and shouted. The ship rang with 
 song. The music of the tune floated out over the 
 harbour. In the sixth-rate, the men joined in, till 
 the whole crew were singing. Ashore they heard 
 it. In the schooners at anchor, in the inns ashore, 
 in the dance-house up the town, the music made 
 echo, stirring the heart. As the light wind moved 
 or failed, so died the tune or lifted. With a great 
 sweep it rose up, towering on many voices, then 
 drooped to the solo, to soar again when the men 
 sang. They were singing that they would go no 
 more a-roving. To Margaret and Perrin, standing 
 there at the poop-rail, hearkening to them, much 
 moved by the splendour of the song, the coarse old 
 words seemed touching, infinitely sad, the whole of 
 sea-life set to music. 
 
 Now they were moving slowly, making the water 
 
 53 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 talk. Their spritsail was set. Hands were aloft 
 loosing the topsails. On the fo'c's'le head the mate 
 bustled, looking over the rail. Very slowly the 
 ship moved ; but now, as she left her berth, head- 
 ing for the narrows, past the breakers, where Ram 
 Rock gleamed in his smother, the song at the 
 capstan ceased. On deck, a watch gathered at the 
 halliards. The foretopsail jolted up to the song of 
 * Lowlands.' Sail was being made. Voices from 
 aloft gave notice to hoist away. In the bustle and 
 confusion, with coils of rope rattling down, men 
 running here and there, getting pulls of this and 
 that, and the noise of the sails slatting, the two 
 friends walked the poop, looking back at the sixth- 
 rate, dipping their ensign to her. Cammock had 
 come aft, and was standing by them, looking aloft 
 at the boy on the maintopgallant yard. He spun 
 round suddenly, hearing a hail from the man-of- 
 war. 
 
 ' Hullo ! ' he shouted ; adding, under his breath, 
 ' Lord, she's going to press us.' 
 
 He darted to the bulwark, and shouted ' Hullo ! ' 
 again. He saw the mate of the watch, in a dirty 
 old tarred coat, walking her weather gangway, 
 where a soldier stood at attention in old red regi- 
 mentals. 
 
 The mate of the watch did not speak to them. 
 He merely lifted his hand to Cammock, and 
 pointed towards the jetty. 
 
 * A boat for us,' said Perrln. 
 
 ' Very much obliged to you, sir,' cried Cammock 
 to the mate of the watch. 
 
 * Lend me your glass. Captain Cammock,' said 
 Margaret uneasily. 
 
 54 
 
OUTIVARDS 
 
 He seized the glass hastily, and looked at the 
 advancing boat. She was rowing rapidly towards 
 them. 
 
 * Who the devil can it be,' said Perrin, as he 
 watched Cammock bring the ship to the wind. 
 
 * Lord, captain,' he said, with real anger. Mt's 
 that woman with her husband.' 
 
 * It's a lady, that's plain,' said Cammock. * And 
 they're in a hurry. The man's double-banking the 
 stroke oar.' 
 
 * They've got a lot of gear in the boat,' said 
 Perrin. 
 
 ' Presents, I guess,' said Cammock. ' A present 
 of fowls and that. Or a case or two of bottles.' 
 
 Captain Margaret flushed, walked up and down 
 uneasily, and called to the steward to open wine. 
 
 ' There's something queer,' said Cammock to 
 Perrin. ^ Hark at all them shouts. Gad, sir, 1 
 believe they're being chased. There's two shore 
 boats after them. Ain't they smoking, hey ? ' 
 
 Indeed, the pursuing boats were being pulled 
 furiously ; their oars were bending. 
 
 ' What in James is the rally } ' said Cammock. 
 
 * Is Captain Margaret made King of England or 
 anything .? ' 
 
 Perrin looked at Cammock with a flush upon 
 his face. 
 
 * Captain Cammock,' he said, ' they're coming 
 aboard us. They're being chased. I bet they're 
 flying from their creditors.* 
 
 ' Lord,' said Cammock. 
 
 He watched the chase with deeper interest. 
 Captain Margaret joined them. 
 
 ' Charles,' said Perrin, * they've come to beg a 
 
 55 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 passage. Stukeley's being chased by creditors. 
 Man, for heaven's sake don't take them in. Don't, 
 man.' 
 
 ' What nonsense,' said Margaret. ' Have you 
 never seen these boatmen race before } ' 
 
 Cammock spoke. ' I suppose you want me to 
 pick them up, sir } ' 
 
 * Certainly,' said Margaret. 
 
 * Very good, sir,' he answered. 
 
 He looked at the hurrying boats. Cries came 
 from the pursuers. Men and women were running 
 down the steps to the pier, now black with people, 
 excited, shouting people. Olivia and Stukeley 
 were now almost within fifty yards. Stukeley was 
 standing in the sternsheets, double-banking the 
 stroke with all his strength. 
 
 ^ There, sir,' said Cammock. ' Did you hear 
 that, sir .? Those fellows in the cutter are singing 
 out to them to stop. There. They're going to 
 fire.' 
 
 Captain Margaret muttered something ; his face 
 flushed suddenly, and then became pale. A gun 
 was fired from the cutter. 
 
 ' Firing overhead,' said Cammock absently. 
 
 ^ Captain Cammock,' cried Margaret, ' lively 
 now ; get her off to her course.* 
 
 ' Ay, ay, sir,' he cried. 
 
 He sprang to the helm, shouting his orders. 
 He was back in a moment. 
 
 ' Beg pardon, sir,' he said, as the ship paid off. 
 * Are you not going to pick them up ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, of course I am,' said Margaret. 
 
 ' And the other boats, too, sir ^ ' 
 
 * No,' he answered. 'Not yet anyhow.' 
 
 56 
 
OUTPTARDS 
 
 A hail came from the pursuing boats. ' Ship 
 ahoy ! Stop those persons on your peril/ 
 
 ' King's officers, sir,' said Cammock. * They're 
 fugitives from the law. It's transportation to re- 
 ceive fugitives, sir.* 
 
 Two more guns were fired in quick succession; 
 a bullet from one of them struck the bends of the 
 Broken Heart, 
 
 ' Arrest those fugitives. In the name of the 
 King,' came the shout of a man in the cutter. 
 
 The words were clear enough. All that Mar- 
 garet saw was Olivia's face, laughing and happy, 
 her great eyes bright, as the boat swept alongside. 
 
 ' It's a hanging matter, Charles,' said Perrin, 
 biting his thumbs till the blood came. 
 
 ' 1 don't care if they hang me fifty times,* said 
 Margaret. *They fired at her.' 
 
 * Oh, all right. All right,' said Perrin resignedly. 
 ^ Now we're in for trouble,' he added angrily. ' Oh, 
 damn it. Damn it. I knew how it would be.' 
 
 ' Hands clear boat,' said Cammock to the boat- 
 swain. 
 
 Olivia and Stukeley tripped up the gangway to 
 the quarter-deck. 
 
 Margaret greeted them ; but Stukeley pushed 
 past him to Cammock and Perrin. 
 
 * Here,' he said, drawing them aside. * We're 
 coming with you. I'm wanted. And I'm coming 
 with you. She thinks I'm coming to help — to 
 help the Indians.' He seemed to choke with laugh- 
 ter. He was out of breath from rowing. 
 
 Cammock did not answer, but walked to the rail, 
 and called to the boatmen in the boat. * Hook on 
 those boxes lively now,' he said. * You'd best come 
 
 $7 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 aboard, all four of you, unless you want a taste of 
 gaol.' 
 
 Two of the men hooked on the trunks in one 
 sling ; the other two cast off the boat and dropped 
 astern, as the tackle swept the trunks over the side. 
 It was all done in a moment. 
 
 Perrin found himself with Stukeley, who was 
 talking. ^ She must never know it,' he was saying, 
 between gasps. 'Oh Lord, what a joke, eh?' 
 Perrin heard him absently, for his ears were strain- 
 ing to hear what his friend said to Olivia. There 
 she was, flushed with the race, swaying a little as 
 the ship swayed. He heard the words, ' We beat 
 them,' and saw her go to the rail to watch the pur- 
 suing boats. Perrin took off his hat, advanced to 
 her, and bade her welcome. He could have hurled 
 her overboard willingly. His reason for advancing 
 was to see what the pursuing boats were doing. 
 
 ' It was such a race,' said Olivia. * But we beat 
 them. They chased us all the way from Halwell. 
 It was such fun.' She talked on excitedly ; Perrin 
 had never seen her so radiant. She was delighted 
 to be on board, going to the New World, in a real 
 ship. And then the suddenness of it, and the 
 rush of the boat-race. 
 
 As for the boats, one of them, the cutter, was 
 a hundred yards or more astern, pulling hard upon 
 their quarter. The other was rowing up alongside 
 the sixth-rate. Perrin saw a man in a red coat 
 waving a paper from her sternsheets. The man- 
 of-war's deck was full of men, who had crowded to 
 the side to watch. Cammock was hurrying his 
 hands. His maintopsail and topgallantsail were 
 mastheaded together, to songs which made Olivia 
 
 58 
 
OUTJVARDS 
 
 hasten to the poop-rail to hearken. Loud was the 
 jolly chorus. The ship felt the sail. Bubbles 
 burst brightly over the trailing anchor-flukes. Old 
 Harry beacon drove by, rolling in the wash they 
 made. Cammock walked aft hurriedly to take a 
 bearing. He noticed then for the first time that 
 the cutter which had fired on them was the red 
 cutter of the man-of-war. He could now see her 
 broadside. Her men fired no more. They were 
 stepping the mast, while two of them kept way 
 upon her. * We're in for it now,' he thought. 
 He let his helmsman feel that it would not do to 
 glance astern. 
 
 ' You mind your eye,' he said fiercely. He 
 took an anxious glance at the Wolf Rock, and 
 at the toppling seas on the Blackstone. ' I never 
 saw a beastlier place,' he said. ' Haul in there, 
 leadsman,' he shouted. ' Another cast, now.' 
 
 The ship seemed to pause a moment, like a bird 
 suddenly stricken with the palsy. A kind of 
 death seemed to lay hold of her, checking all 
 on board. She dragged a moment, and then drove 
 on, muddying the sea. She had touched Ripple 
 Sands. 
 
 ' My God, we're done if you stick,' said Cam- 
 mock. ' And here's Splat Point and the Bass.' 
 
 He bent over the binnacle ; Stukeley came to 
 him. 
 
 ' Hello, captain,' he began. ' My old sea-dog. 
 Eh 1 Where can I get a spot of brandy ? Eh ^ ' 
 
 Cammock took his cross-bearing without answer- 
 ing. Then he looked steadily at the harbour- 
 mouth, and at the curved white line of the bar. 
 He bade his helmsman ^ come to ' a point. He 
 
 59 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 conned the ship, ordered a small pull of a sheet, 
 and glanced astern at the man-of-war. 
 
 Stukeley repeated his question. ' Where can I 
 get a spot of brandy ? Eh } ' 
 
 Cammock glanced at him for a second. ' Lots of 
 dirty pubs ashore there,' he said coldly. He turned 
 to look again at the man-of-war. 
 
 He was not too far from her to see that she was 
 casting loose her forecastle gun. He looked 
 bitterly at Stukeley. ' I wonder what youVe done, 
 my duck,' he said under his breath. He walked 
 up to the little group by the mizen shrouds ; he 
 wished not to annoy the lady. 
 
 ' Captain Margaret, sir,' he said. ' May I just 
 speak to you a moment } ' 
 
 His owner stepped aside with him. 
 
 ' Look here, sir,' he said hurriedly, ^ the man- 
 of-war's going to fire on us. I don't know what 
 reasons you may have for taking these people 
 aboard. But the man's escaping from justice, and 
 the lady's been bamboozled. In another ten ticks 
 you'll have a round-shot into you. Now, sir, is it 
 fair ? A round-shot may kill and maim you a 
 dozen hands, with the decks so busy as they are. 
 Let me heave her to, sir. The man's a damned 
 scum. And it's hanging if you're caught.' 
 
 Perrin joined them, leaving Olivia alone. Her 
 husband was talking to the helmsman, getting no 
 answer. 
 
 ' Charles, for the Lord's sake, send them in,' 
 said Perrin. 'Do, for the Lord's sake, think what 
 you're doing. You'll ruin yourself. You'll wreck 
 the cruise. You simply can't have them aboard. 
 Look at that great hulking beast abaft there.' 
 
 60 
 
OUrWARBS 
 
 ' Hi, you/ called Cammock angrily. * Clear 
 away from the helm there.' 
 
 Stukeley stared at him, much surprised. 
 
 * Yes, I mean you,' said Cammock. 
 
 * No man must talk to the helmsman,' said 
 Margaret gently. 
 
 * Your old sea-dog hasn't learned manners, eh } ' 
 said Stukeley insolently. ' You must teach him.' 
 
 He stared at Cammock, who returned the stare, 
 and then spun upon his heel to con the ship 
 through the channel. 
 
 Perrin drew Margaret aside. 
 
 *Oh, Charles. For the last time. Think what 
 you're doing. I must heave her to. You aren't 
 fit to decide. Heave to. Captain Cammock.' 
 
 *As she goes,' cried Margaret angrily. * No, 
 Edward,' he added quietly ; ' I'll take them. 
 I'll save her one shock, anyway. And if 1 must 
 hang for it, I must. That's settled.' 
 
 'You don't even know what he's done,' said 
 Perrin. 
 
 ' He's her husband,' said Margaret. * And they 
 fired on her. They fired on her. Now go and 
 talk to her. No more talk, Ned. They're coming 
 with us. Go and talk to her.' 
 
 Perrin turned from his friend with a gesture of 
 childish passion. He took off his hat, ripped the 
 brim from the crown with a single violent tug, and 
 flung both portions into the sea. Then he walked 
 swiftly down the ladder (and to his cabin) mutter- 
 ing curses so vehemently that they seemed to shake 
 him. As he passed under the cabin door a flash 
 came from the bows of the sixth-rate. A ball from 
 a long nine-pounder hit up a jet from the gea clos^ 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 alongside, then bounded on, raising successive jets, 
 till it was spent. Another shot flew over them. 
 A third, fired after an interval, brought the main- 
 topgallant braceblock down. A part of the sheave 
 just missed Olivia's head. 
 
 'They ought not to salute with shot,' explained 
 Captain Margaret. 'They always do. And that 
 bit of lignum vitae — feel it ; isn't it beautifully 
 smooth and hard — would have given you a nasty 
 bruise. Hold on,' he called, catching her arm, 
 ' she's rolling. We're going over the bar. It's all 
 very well wishing a ship a pleasant voyage,' he 
 continued. ' But I wonder they don't kill people.' 
 His thought was, ' Can she be such a fool 1 Surely 
 she must know.' But at that time he knew very 
 little of Stukeley. 
 
 Olivia answered him. The shot and the rattle 
 of the falling gear had filled her mood. ' Yes,' she 
 said. ' But I must be prepared for that. I must 
 be with Tom, by his side, when we fight the 
 Spaniards. I do think it's fine of him to want to 
 help the Indians.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Captain Margaret. ' But won't you 
 go below } A braceblock on the head is a very bad 
 preparation for helping any one.' He glanced 
 anxiously astern at the man-of-war ; he was sur- 
 prised to see that she was not in sight. The 
 Broken Heart was clear of the harbour, feeling the 
 heave outside, hidden from Salcombe by Lambury 
 Point. The pursuing cutter was sailing back to 
 the sixth-rate. It was a shock to him, for a moment 
 of time, to think that now he had burned his boats, 
 and that he was pledged to a very doubtful venture. 
 ' There'll be no more firing,' he added. ' Doesn't 
 
 62 
 
OUTWARDS. 
 
 Bolt Head look fine from here ? Look at the 
 breakers on the rocks there. Olivia, you must put 
 on a warm coat or wrap. The sea-wind is cold.' 
 
 ' I'd rather be as I am,' she answered. ' Tell me, 
 Charles,' she added, ' are you sure that you would 
 like us to come with you ? Quite sure ? We 
 could easily go ashore at Plymouth. But my hus- 
 band is so bent on coming, and he'll be so useful to 
 you. You will let us come, won't you } You 
 know, all my life has been so empty. And now. 
 Now I'm so happy, I want every one else to be 
 happy. Oh, I'd love to help the Indians.* 
 
 ' You shall come, certainly,' said the captain. 
 * But are you sure you're fitted for the voyage } 
 Our venture is not exactly. Ladies are out of 
 place. You may have to suffer a great deal of 
 
 very great hardship. And then you might 1 
 
 want you to think, Olivia. You might — we all 
 might — be captured by the Spaniards.' 
 
 ' Oh,' she answered, * I went into that with Tom, 
 after you'd gone, about half an hour after, when 
 I told him of your visit. Directly I told him of 
 it, he was eager to come with you. The first 
 thing he said was, " Olivia, do you think your 
 friends would take us } " ' 
 
 * It must have been rather a shock to you. To 
 decide in such a hurry.' 
 
 * Oh ; but it is so nice to do that. Besides, if 
 we hadn't decided, we -should have gone to Venice, 
 or somewhere not half so nice.' 
 
 * Well. How will you like being at least six 
 months from home. Have you reckoned on that?' 
 
 * Oh, but the only home one has is just one's 
 self. The only real home.' 
 
 6s 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 'Now, Olivia. I love to have you with me. 
 You know that of course. But you don't realize 
 how disagreeable the life may be.* A thought 
 struck him. ' Yes,' he muttered excitedly. ' Nor 
 how dangerous/ he added, ' how frightfully dan- 
 gerous.' 
 
 'One can always be one's self,' she replied. 'And 
 I shan't be afraid of danger, with Tom by me.' 
 
 ' And the danger will threaten him, remember.' 
 
 ' I shall take care of him.' 
 
 Something in her voice, in her manner, made 
 Captain Margaret think that Olivia's willingness to 
 come with them was merely a willingness to please 
 her husband. It seemed to him that her first sight 
 of England from the sea had come upon her with 
 a shock. He felt that she only kept from tears by 
 an effort, now that the excitement of the race had 
 passed. He saw her look at the men who hauled 
 the braces ; following her train of thought, that 
 these were to be her companions for months to 
 come. He felt instinctively that her mind began 
 to dwell upon the possible disagreeable closeness 
 of companionship, shut up in a small ship's cabin, 
 with three or four men. He wondered whether 
 Stukeley had bullied her into the venture. He 
 thought not. He had ever believed a rogue to be 
 plausible, rather than masterful. He promised 
 himself some little amusement in cross-examining 
 Stukeley, to learn the history of that day's work. 
 He remembered then that he was their host. He 
 called Stukeley. ' Won't you both come below,' he 
 said, ' to see what sort of house you've chosen ? ' 
 He led them down the poop-ladder to the alley- 
 wav door. As he passed the door of Perrin's cabjn 
 
 64 
 
OUTWARDS 
 
 he heard a shaking voice uttering fierce curses. 
 Perrin was stamping up and down, wholly given 
 over to rage. 
 
 Up on deck, Captain Cammock walked the 
 weather-poop, glad at heart that the wind was 
 freshening. The Broken Heart was lying over a 
 little, with the wind on her starboard beam. She 
 was under all sail, going through it at about five 
 knots. * I shall drive you, my duck,' he said. 
 ' You shall groan to-night.' He longed for a 
 whole gale, a roaring Western Ocean gale, that 
 the passengers might learn their folly. He eyed 
 the sails, stiff and trembling, with shaking shadows 
 at their clues. The carpenter was screwing battens 
 behind the gun-trocks ; the boatswain and half the 
 watch were forward, singing out on a rope. Captain 
 Cammock watched them whenever he turned for- 
 ward. When he walked aft, he turned, glanced at 
 the compass, looked aloft at the maintopgallant 
 sail, and noted the feathers on the wind-vane. 
 He was reviewing the situation. * It was a good 
 thing for us,' he thought, ' that that duchess lady 
 was aboard that frigate. Otherwise we'd a-been 
 chased and took. Now how was it her boat gave 
 chase } The duchess lady arrives from the south ; 
 after six days at sea, say. She sends in for letters 
 and stores, and the boat waits at the pier. Now 
 this Stukeley fellow came alongside us in a shore 
 boat, from Salcombe. I saw the word Salcombe 
 on her backboard. Now if I was that Stukeley 
 
 duck How could it have been, I wonder. 
 
 He couldn't have come from the pier, because 
 the man-of-war boat lay there. If he wanted to 
 get away, what would he have done ? He'd have 
 F 65 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 left word for his gear to be brought down to the 
 water ; and then gone off for a walk or drive. 
 Then he'd have sent a boat for his gear, and got 
 her to pick him up and row him about, up to- 
 wards Kingsbridge, say, as soon as ever he decided 
 to come aboard of us. He knew he was wanted, 
 that duck did. Yes. That was it. For sure. 
 And them who was laying for him hears of that, 
 and sends up a boat to look for him ; but he 
 gives her the slip. As soon as the ebb begins, 
 he runs down. And away he comes full tilt for 
 us. Now some who was laying for him must 
 have been on the jetty, waiting for him to land. 
 Soon as ever he come past, they nip into the 
 cutter in the name of the King and pull after him. 
 A little too far after. One boat pulls to the frigate, 
 and so we get three nine-pounder shots sent at us, 
 before the duchess lady tells 'em to stop that horrid 
 firing. I wonder what that Stukeley duck has 
 done, now.' 
 
 He turned over this outline of the Stukeley 
 escape, just as, years before, he had pieced out 
 evidence, and scouts' reports, when he was cruising 
 on the Spanish Main. He had always wished to 
 have a command on the Main ; for he had more 
 than courage to recommend him. He had a keen 
 intuitive shrewdness and a power of deduction. 
 'They never give me a chance on the Main,' he 
 thought. * But I was right about them roasting 
 spuds.' He sighed. That error of his captain 
 had lost them a pound of gold apiece. ' Now,' he 
 thought, * if them two birds is coming the cruise 
 we shan't have a very happy ship.' 
 
 Bell after bell passed by ; the day wore ; the sun 
 
 66 
 
OUTfVARDS 
 
 set. As he had foretold, the wind drew more to 
 the west ; freshening as it shifted. The Broketi 
 Heart was beginning to feel the strain. She was 
 lying down a little, and whitening a path in the 
 sea. She was full of odd noises. The breech- 
 ings on her guns were new, they cracked and 
 creaked at each roll ; her decks groaned as the 
 trocks ground. At two bells, when the hands 
 came aft to muster, in the summer twilight, having 
 catted the anchor, she was seven miles from land, 
 driving on in the dusk, making the seas gleam. 
 Her poop-light, like a burning rose abaft all, red- 
 dened her wake with bloody splashes. She stooped 
 to it and staggered. Over her bows came the 
 sprays, making the look-outs cower down in their 
 tarred coats. The water whitened aft in a wash- 
 ing rush, gleaming and creaming. By the break 
 of the poop the watch lay. A score of men 
 huddled together in the shade, marshalled by the 
 boatswain in his old blue cloak, scurfed with salt 
 at the scams. Voices murmured among them ; 
 one lit a pipe, one hummed. The wind in ,the 
 shrouds hummed ; already the blocks were clack- 
 ing. Now and then, as they rushed on, in the 
 gathering darkness, the boy above struck the bell ; 
 and from forward came the answering bell, with 
 the call of the look-outs, * Weather cathead,' * Lee 
 cathead,' showing that they were alert. The steward 
 came from the alleyway, snuffing up the strong 
 salt air ; he climbed the lee ladder to the poop. 
 Battling up to windward against the gale, he halted 
 and uncovered before the captain. 
 
 ' Well, steward,' said Cammock. 
 
 ' Captain Margaret sends his compliments to you, 
 
 67 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 seh/ said the old negro, with the soft ' boneless * 
 speech of his kind, ' and will you step below, seh, 
 to speak with him in the cabin.' 
 
 * Tell him I'll be down in a minute,' said Cam- 
 mock. He glanced at the compass-card again, and 
 spoke a word with old Mr. Cottrill, the mate, 
 whose watch it was, according to old sea custom. 
 'Call me if it freshens,' he said; 'but don't take 
 any sail off.' 
 
 Mr. Cottrill murmured that he understood, and 
 bent under his coat to get a light for his pipe. His 
 thought was, ' I've shipped with pirates. With 
 pirates.' The memory of that afternoon gave him 
 bitter thoughts till midnight, as the ship rushed on, 
 under the stars, carrying her freight of passion, her 
 freight of souls. 
 
 Down below in the cabin the lamp had been 
 lighted. The curtains had been drawn across the 
 windows, and now swayed a little with the roll, 
 making a faint clink of rings. They were dark 
 green curtains ; but on each of them was worked 
 a blood-red tulip, which glowed out finely in 
 the lamplight. The windows were open behind 
 the curtains. At times, when the ship pitched, 
 the cloth sucked in or out, sending the lamp-flame 
 dancing. At the table were the two Stukeleys and 
 Captain Margaret. Perrin sat upon the locker by 
 the window, biting his poor raw thumbs. When 
 Captain Cammock entered, he noticed that Olivia 
 had been drinking a bowl of soup, and that 
 Stukeley was staring hard in front of him, clutch- 
 ing his glass of spirits. 
 
 'You're turning sick,' said Cammock to him- 
 self. ' Wait till we haul our wind, my duck. Oh 
 
 68 
 
OUTWARDS 
 
 mommer.* A single hard glance at Olivia con- 
 vinced him that she felt wretched. ' More than 
 you bargained for, ain't it ? ' he thought cheer- 
 fully. ' You wait till we haul our wind.' 
 
 He had the common man's hatred of strange- 
 ness and of strangers. He loved not to have 
 more folk aboard to interrupt his chats with his 
 owners, and to sit in the sacred cabin, ordering his 
 steward. 
 
 'Captain Cammock,' said Margaret, Met me 
 introduce you to Mrs. Stukeley. Mr. Stukeley.' 
 
 The captain bowed. 
 
 * Captain Cammock is our commander, Olivia.' 
 Olivia smiled at the captain, much as a Christian 
 
 martyr may have smiled. 
 
 * Pleased to meet you, ma'am,' said the captain, 
 bowing. 
 
 He felt a queer gush of pity for her, remember- 
 ing how he had felt, years before, on his first night 
 at sea. 
 
 ' I hope you won't make my little ship giddy, 
 ma'am,' he said kindly. ' You must wear veils. 
 All ladies has to, when they come on deck. You 
 
 know, ma'am ' He sat down at the foot of 
 
 the table. ' I seen a ship quite lose her head one 
 time. And the girl who done it wasn't to be 
 compared, not to you.' 
 
 ' You see, Olivia,' said Margaret, ' a sailor loses 
 no time.' 
 
 ' You must come on deck and see the moon by 
 and by, ma'am,' said Cammock kindly. *And bring 
 your husband. It's nice and fresh up on the deck. 
 It'll do you good before turning in, I dare say,' he 
 went on. M dare say you've never seen the sea at 
 
 69 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 night. Not all round you. No } Well, you 
 come up.* 
 
 Olivia thanked him for his invitation. 
 
 * I've lived by the sea all my life/ she said ; 
 ' but I was never on it in a ship before, except 
 when I went to France.' 
 
 The words were very hard to speak ; for as she 
 spoke, with a rush, with a flash, burningly, as tears 
 come, came the memory of her sheltered life at 
 home, with her old servants, and her garden full of 
 flowers, over which now, at this moment, the moon 
 was rising, lighting the moths to their honey. She 
 was homesick ; she longed for that old life. Life 
 had gone very smoothly there ; and now she was 
 at sea in a ship, among rough men, amid noise and 
 bawling and the roaring of wind. She kept a 
 brave face upon it, but her heart was wretched ; 
 she wondered why her husband did not understand. 
 She longed for the peace of her quiet room at 
 home, full of the scent of flowers, and of that 
 vague scent, pleasant, and yet morbid, which hangs 
 about all houses where there has been a fine tradi- 
 tion of life. Old things, old beautiful things, seem 
 to give out this scent, the scent of the dead sweet 
 pea-blossom. Wherever that vague perfume lingers, 
 something of the old world lives, something beau- 
 tiful, stately, full of sweet care. Olivia was made 
 for that life of lovely order. Her life had been 
 passed in the gathering of flowers, in the playing 
 of music, in dances, in the reading of poems. All 
 sweet and lovely and gracious things had wrought 
 her ; but they had not fitted her for this. Some- 
 thing was wrong with the justice of the world ; for 
 surely such as she should have been spared. She 
 
 70 
 
OUTH^ARDS 
 
 was not for the world ; not at least for the world 
 of men. She was the idea of woman ; she should 
 have been spared the lot of women. Her beautiful 
 grace, her beautiful refinement, surely they were 
 beautiful enough for her to be spared. Now this 
 violence had happened ; this brutal rearrangement of 
 her life, needing further violence to remedy. At 
 the time she understood nothing of what had hap- 
 pened. She was stunned and surprised, as a flower 
 dug up and transplanted must be surprised and 
 stunned. She drooped and pined ; this alien soil 
 made her shrink. As she sat there, ignorant of 
 the world, highly ignorant, even, of the nature of 
 sea-sickness, she wondered why her husband made no 
 effort to cheer her, to comfort her, to be about her, 
 like a strong wall, shutting out the world. In her 
 home by the sea, by lamplight, over her music, she 
 had often dreamed of the lover who would fill her 
 life. She had thought of him as of one who would 
 live her life by imaginative sympathy, thinking her 
 thoughts, feeling with her own fineness of tact, 
 following each shy, unspoken thought in the pass- 
 ing of shadow or smile, in the change of the voice, 
 in the gesture, or even without such help, by an 
 extreme unselfish sensitiveness. She found com- 
 fort in the thought that her husband must be 
 debating the wisdom of this cruise, which, only a 
 few hours ago, had seemed so wise, so noble, so 
 right in every way. 
 
 Captain Margaret broke the silence which had 
 followed her last words. 
 
 ' Captain Cammock,' he said, ' weVe making a 
 new arrangement in the cabins. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Stukeley will have my double cabin to starboard 
 
 71 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 here. I shall have the spare bunk in Mr. Perrin's 
 cabin. I shall want you to beat up to Falmouth, 
 captain.* 
 
 ' You'll run some risk of gaol, Charles,' said the 
 petulant friend on the locker-tops. * You'll 
 probably be wanted by this time to-morrow all 
 over the west of England.' 
 
 ' You were always a pessimist,' said Margaret. 
 
 ' Is the lady to go ashore, then ^ ' said Cam- 
 mock, looking towards Olivia. 
 
 * I hope not,' said Margaret. * But if she stays she 
 must have a maid. We shall put her — let me see.' 
 
 ' Where will you put her ^ ' asked Perrin. 
 * There's no room. You surely won't put her in 
 the 'tween-decks ? ' 
 
 'No,' replied his friend. 'We must make up a 
 room in the sail-room. Captain Cammock must 
 shift his sails into the 'tween-decks.' 
 
 ' She'll have the biggest room in the ship,' said 
 Cammock. ' She'll be able to give a ball to the 
 hands.' 
 
 ' Charles,' said Olivia, ' I don't think I can 
 possibly come with you. I'm giving you too 
 much trouble.' 
 
 She was hurt, now, that it was Charles, not her 
 husband, who had thought of her comfort, and 
 shown that he considered her position. 
 
 ' Nonsense,' said Margaret. ' You're being very 
 nice. You just make all the difference. Now, 
 you're both tired out. Your cabin's quite ready 
 for you. Suppose we all go on deck to take the 
 air for a while before we say good night.' 
 
 As they filed on deck, Cammock drew Stukeley 
 aside. 
 
 72 
 
OUTH^ARDS 
 
 * See here/ he said. ' YouVe giving way to it. 
 You'll be as sick as a dog if you give way to it. 
 What you want to do is to get some nice fat pork, 
 or a bit of greasy bacon, now. Or lard. The 
 steward 'd lend you a ball of lard. Or get one of 
 the hands to puff tobackcr at yer. Or take a suck 
 at a little melted butter, or some of that salad oil 
 as they call it. It'll fetch you up all standing.' 
 
 He turned to his owner as Olivia left the poop. 
 ' And you wish me to beat for Falmouth, sir ? ' 
 
 * If you please,' answered Captain Margaret. 
 
 * Very good, sir. Til go about at once. I can 
 tack with the watch. Mr. Cottrill,' he shouted, 
 'Ready oh.' 
 
 His advice to Stukeley had the usual results. 
 Olivia's first night at sea was passed in the marriage- 
 bed of the state-room by the side of a sea-sick 
 boor, who groaned and damned and was violently 
 sick all through the night. He complained of cold 
 before the dawn broke, so she gave him her share 
 of blankets, tenderly tucking him in. Up on deck 
 the men passed quietly to relieve the wheel. The 
 main brace-blocks grunted and rattled ; the mizen 
 topsail sheets flogged on the woolding of the 
 mast, making a noise like drums. Up and down 
 above her head, in a soft, never-ending shuffle, 
 went the ship's boy, keeping the lee poop. At 
 each bell she heard the hails of the look- 
 outs : ' Weather cathead,' ' Lee cathead,' ' Gang- 
 way,' * Lee poop,' coming in the gusts of the 
 storm. Often, too, she heard a noise which she 
 had never heard before, a terrifying noise, the 
 noise of water breaking aboard, the lash of spray 
 against her scuttle. The wind freshened through 
 
 7Z 
 
CAFFAIN MARGARET 
 
 the night, till it blew a fresh gale. The Broken 
 Heart took on strange antics, which seemed very 
 dreadful to Olivia. Far aft, as she was, the pitch- 
 ing was violent and broken. Each little sea seemed 
 deep as the valley of the shadow. The roaring in 
 the shrouds increased. At 4 a.m., all hands reefed 
 topsails. Creeping out of bed to the great cabin, 
 she managed to peep to leeward through the sky- 
 light, in a heavy lee-roll, which made her clutch 
 the table. She saw a wild sky, notched by the sea ; 
 great billows foaming, spray flying down wind, 
 angry gleams in blown cloud. From just above 
 her head came the bull-roar of Captain Cammock, 
 who was damning the mizen-top men. * Lay in to 
 the top, you,' he was shouting. * Lay down a few 
 of you and clue it up.' Then from just above her 
 head came the thunder of the slatting sail as the 
 topsail yard came down. ' Away. Away. Lee-ay,' 
 came the startling shouts of the men on the clue- 
 lines. The sail thundered and jangled. The men 
 roared at the ropes. Captain Cammock, with his 
 head tilted back, yelled to them to lay out, and 
 hand the leech in. One phrase struck upon her 
 sharply. He bade them make it fast, letting the 
 bunt go to a place she had never heard of ' Pass 
 your gaskets. Pass them yard-arm gaskets. Get 
 on the yard, you. Stamp that damned bunt down.' 
 The excited angry tone, the noise, the wild sky, all 
 helped her fears. She crept back to Stukeley's side 
 sure that the end was coming, that the gale was 
 increasing to a hurricane, and that, in a little while, 
 they would all sink together in some wild whirl- 
 pool screamed over by the seagulls. 
 
 On the third day of storm, they managed to beat 
 
 74 
 
OUTfVARDS 
 
 into Falmouth, where they anchored off Trefusis 
 Point. It was a wild, wet morning when they 
 anchored. The wooded combe of Trefusis was 
 hidden in cloud, which continually whirled off in 
 streamers, as new cloud drove along, to catch in 
 the tree tops. The Broken Heart ^?is the only ship 
 in the anchorage ; though over against Flushing 
 there were a few fishing-boats, rocking in the tide- 
 way. Captain Margaret went into Falmouth, with 
 Perrin and Olivia, to engage a maid. Stukeley was 
 too weak from his sickness to leave the ship. To 
 Margaret it was a sign that his crime was exceed- 
 ingly foul. 
 
 ' You have been badly scared, my friend,' he 
 said to himself, as he sat down beside Olivia in the 
 boat. ^ If you persist in leaving England, after 
 being sick like that.' 
 
 Olivia had found comfort in what she took to be 
 her husband's nobleness. She was proud that her 
 husband had not abandoned his ideas because of 
 his bodily distress. By this time, too, she had seen 
 the potency of sea-sickness. She had seen its 
 effect upon a strong man. She had got over her 
 first homesick terror of the sea. The storm had 
 exhilarated her. Up on deck, hanging to the mizen 
 rigging, behind the weather-cloth, she had felt the 
 rapture of the sea. She had gone below with her 
 cheeks flushed and her eyes shining, cheered and 
 delighted. She had been touched, too, by the 
 kindness of the three men of the afterguard. 
 Cammock had given up his cabin to the sick man, 
 so that she might have the great cabin to herself, 
 in peace and quiet. She had been very busy in 
 getting her cabin into order, even in the tumble of 
 
 75 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 the storm. Now that she had made the state-room 
 a home she had less terror of the sea. 
 
 It was not an easy matter to engage a maid for such 
 a voyage. They tried at many mean houses, using 
 tempting promises ; but without success. At last 
 they called at the poor-house, where they had their 
 choice of several. An idiot girl, aged twenty, four 
 old women who remembered King James, and the 
 widow Inigo, a black but comely woman, in the 
 prime of life, who had gone under after a succes- 
 sion of disasters beginning with the death of her 
 husband. They struck a hard bargain with the 
 widow Inigo, and then bore her down the hill to 
 buy her an outfit for the voyage. At the mercer's 
 shop, where Olivia and the widow made their pur- 
 chases. Captain Margaret, following his invariable 
 custom, began a conversation with one of the shop- 
 men, a youth just out of his apprenticeship. 
 
 * How long do you have to stay here every day ?' 
 ' About twelve hours, sir. From six till six.' 
 
 ^ That's a very long day's work, isn't it ^ Do 
 you have those hours all the year round, or only in 
 the summer 1 ' 
 
 ' All the year round, sir.' 
 
 ' And what holidays do you have ? ' 
 
 ' Holidays, sir ^ Easter, and Christmas, and 
 Whitsuntide. Of course I've my Sundays.' 
 
 ' And how do you pass your spare time ? ' 
 
 ' I go out with fellows, sir.' 
 
 ' A nd what do you do ? ' 
 
 * Sometimes we dub at something.' 
 ' And what is dub ? ' 
 
 *We put up a bottle somewhere, and then we 
 dub at it.' 
 
 76 
 
OUTWARDS 
 
 ' Is that all you do ? ' 
 
 ' On Thursdays our club meets. Then we have 
 singing.' 
 
 ' And do you read at all ? ' 
 
 ^No, sir, I can't say as I ever do, sir. I don't 
 want much reading after the shutters are up.' 
 
 ' I should have thought that you'd have been a 
 great reader. Don't you find your work very 
 interesting ? ' 
 
 * Oh. It's all right, sir. Like any other work.' 
 
 ' Yes. But. Take these woollen things, for 
 instance. Don't you think of all the hands it has 
 passed through ? Don't you think of the sheep up 
 on the hills, and the shepherds piping to them, and 
 the great lonely downs, eh, with nothing but sheep- 
 bells and the wind } ' 
 
 ' No, sir. Not in that light exactly.' 
 
 'And then, don't you think of the brooks where 
 they wash and shear.'' And then the great combs 
 and looms, with so many people combing and 
 weaving and spinning, all helping to make this } ' 
 He picked up the warm woollen shirt, and handled 
 it. 'And don't you think of the people who will 
 wear these things ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir. You see, I'm only a shopman. Mr. 
 Treloar, the owner, he thinks of all these things.' 
 
 'And will not you be a shop-owner, sometime, 
 if you save and work hard } ' 
 
 ' No, sir. Oh no, sir. I'm only a shopman.' 
 
 ' Yes ; but could you not become a shop-owner } 
 Would you not like to be one } ' 
 
 ' No, sir. I can't say as I should, sir.' 
 
 ' What would you like to be ? ' 
 
 ' Of all things, sir .? ' 
 
 77 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' Yes; 
 
 * I don't know, sir. That's rather a big order, 
 
 sir. 
 
 ^ Think.' 
 
 ' 1 think, sir, Fd like to be. Don't let Mr. 
 Burls hear, sir. He's listening. I'd like to be one 
 of these buccaneers, sir. Fellows what goes about 
 fighting the Spaniards. They live an open-air life. 
 Not like here, sir. Oh, Fd like to lie by a camp- 
 fire, sir, with a lot of big bronzed men. And to 
 have a gun, sir. And then to attack a city full of 
 treasure.' 
 
 ' But I should think that was very dangerous. 
 Isn't it .? ' 
 
 ' No, sir. Not by all accounts, sir. A poor lot, 
 sir, the Spaniards. They're not like us, you know, 
 sir. Our fellows are a bull-dog lot, sir. The bull- 
 dog breed, sir.' 
 
 ' Really ! ' 
 
 ' Oh yes, sir. Why, sir, only a day or two ago 
 there come the news-letter from Plymouth. I dare 
 say you saw it, sir. And there was a Virginia ship 
 at Salcombe, it says. Did you see that bit, sir } 
 And a forger was escaping from the constables, and 
 he got on board this ship and bribes the captain, 
 and he carries the man off safe, with the men-of- 
 war all firing broadsides on him. Oh, it must be 
 fine to hear the cannon-balls coming whizz.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! A forger, you say } ' 
 
 ' A forger, sir ; but he'd done other things as 
 well, sir, of course. And he'd a lady with him, 
 too, sir.' 
 
 * But you wouldn't like to be that sort of man 1 ' 
 
 ' No, sir.' 
 
 78 
 
OUTWARDS 
 
 * What would you do to the forger, if you caught 
 him?* 
 
 ^ I should give him up to the constables, sir.* 
 ' And the ship-captain ? ' 
 
 * I don't know, sir. I haven't thought about it 
 much, sir.* 
 
 * You would support the laws, I hope } ' 
 ^ Oh yes, sir.' 
 
 ' Even if he were a buccaneer.' 
 
 * Oh, now you're too hard on me, sir.* 
 
 ^ But he was defying the law. And saving a 
 ruffian from it.' 
 
 * Yes, sir. Of course I suppose I should sup- 
 port the laws, as you say.' 
 
 ^ It would be rather nice to be a buccaneer, and 
 to obey only those laws which one is strong enough 
 to make for oneself.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir ? ' 
 
 ' To defend the weak and to make money by it. 
 Isn't that our maxim } ' 
 
 The shopman giggled nervously. * Yes, sir.' 
 
 * I'm a buccaneer,' said Margaret. ' Come with 
 me. Won't you } You shall be what you really 
 long to be.' 
 
 *Oh, but I couldn't leave the shop, sir. Mr. 
 Treloar would never ' 
 
 * Well, think it over,' said Margaret, rising. ' I 
 hope you'll send all these things down to the land- 
 ing-stage within an hour. And send this woman's 
 box down with them.' 
 
 * Oh, I will, sir. You shall find them there, sir.* 
 Captain Margaret paid the cost, nodded to the 
 
 shopman, and walked out with Olivia. Mrs. Inigo 
 resigned her box and followed them. They went 
 
 79 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 to several other shops, made more purchases, trifled 
 away half an hour at a pastrycook's, and then set 
 slowly shorewards, talking little ; but looking at the 
 shops with interest. They would see no more 
 shops for many days. At the mercer's shop they 
 paused a moment, for Captain Margaret had just 
 decided to take several rolls of holland linen, in 
 order that his hands might make summer shirts for 
 themselves. He left Olivia at the door for a 
 moment, with Mrs. Inigo, while he hurried within. 
 His friend the shopman hurried up to him. 
 
 ' Well, what is it } ' said Margaret. 
 
 ' The goods are gone on board, sir,' said the 
 shopman. 
 
 ' Yes .? Well } What is it .? ' 
 
 ' I beg pardon, sir. Don't wish to offend, sir. 
 But are you the gentleman, the gentleman, the, er, 
 sea-captain. From Salcombe, sir "^ ' 
 
 ' Yes. Why .? ' 
 
 ' Please, sir, I took the liberty. There was Mr. 
 Russell, the magistrate, and a gentleman from the 
 fort, sir. They came in about you just after you'd 
 gone. They were going to inquire about, about 
 the Salcombe matter, sir.' 
 
 ' Yes. What did you tell them } ' 
 
 * I said you'd gone to Penryn, sir, about some 
 beer, sir, for your sailors.' 
 
 ' That wasn't strictly truthful, was it ^ * 
 ' No, sir. I suppose not, sir. So they went off 
 to Penryn, sir. And 1 told your boatmen to take 
 the things aboard, and then wait for you at the 
 docks.' 
 
 ' Where are the docks } ' 
 
 * Nearly a mile down the harbour, sir. Further 
 
 80 
 
OUTfTARDS 
 
 on along the road here. I beg your pardon, sir, 
 but the landing-stage has soldiers on it/ 
 
 ' Thank you. Have they sent to seize the ship } * 
 
 * No, sir. Oh no indeed, sir. I think ' 
 
 * Why haven't they ? Did you hear } ' 
 
 * I think I heard them say, sir, that they had only 
 a warrant for — if I may say so, as they call it, for 
 you, sir.' 
 
 ' How far is it to Penryn ^ I suppose they'll be 
 back soon ^. ' 
 
 ^ Yes, sir. They might be back at any moment.* 
 
 'Thanks. Well. Show me where the docks 
 are. Away to the left here "^ ' 
 
 'Yes, sir. You can't miss them. If I might 
 come with you, sir.' 
 
 * To the Spanish Main } ' 
 
 ' No, sir. I'm afraid I can't. But to the docks, 
 sir.' 
 
 ' Can you leave this } ' 
 
 ' It's my dinner-time, sir.' 
 
 ' Come on, then. I shall be very much obliged 
 to you. Isn't this more exciting than selling wool- 
 len shirts } ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir. Indeed. But shirts are useful things, 
 sir.' 
 
 ' I deny that. They are pernicious things. They 
 are always getting dirty, and then some poor wretch 
 with an immortal soul must scrub them in hot 
 water. They are always losing their buttons, and 
 then other poor wretches have to make new ones 
 and sew them on again. They are always wearing 
 out, and then other poor wretches have to begin 
 the silly game again by penning up a few sheep 
 and cutting their wool away.' 
 a 5} 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 By this time they were outside the door. 
 
 ' Come, Olivia,' he said carelessly. * We must 
 walk to the docks. You will be tired to death 
 before you get there.' 
 
 ^ Oh no I shan't,' she answered. ' I love walk- 
 
 ' Give me that package,' he replied. 
 
 * Now,' he continued to the shopman, ^ walk as 
 though we were seeing the sights. Oh. Here's a 
 butcher's shop. Now my captain would never 
 forgive me if I came aboard without a leg of 
 mutton.' 
 
 He bought a leg of mutton, handed it to the 
 shopman to carry, and sauntered on. 
 
 ' You must have your jest, I see, sir,' said the 
 shopman. 
 
 ' Oh yes, if I swing for it,' replied the captain, 
 quoting from a popular broadside, which had con- 
 tained the biography of a pirate. 
 
 ' Hadn't we better walk a little faster, sir } ' said 
 the shopman. He had no desire to be caught ; he 
 was not used to excitements. 
 
 ^ Olivia,' said Captain Margaret, paying no atten- 
 tion to his new acquaintance, but continuing to 
 saunter leisurely, ^ when we get on board I expect 
 you'll find your husband up and about.' 
 
 ' Yes,' she answered. ' I ought not to have left 
 him for so long. I've hardly seen him for days.' 
 
 He had spoken so that the shopman might make 
 no allusions to the Salcombe affair, casting, out a 
 reference to Stukeley's crime. She had answered 
 with some little, half-acknowledged wish to pique 
 him. 
 
 ' To-night,' said Margaret, ' in the cabin, we'll all 
 
 82 
 
OUTWARDS 
 
 hold a council of war to decide our doings on the 
 Main.' 
 
 *Yes,' she answered. 'And when we get there we 
 shall remember the council. Things will look very- 
 different there.* 
 
 ' Here. You've been talking to Cammock.' 
 
 * He's so amusing,' she answered. 
 Sauntering in this way, talking nonsense and 
 
 trifling, they arrived at the boat-builder's creek 
 which then did duty for a dock. Their boat lay off 
 at a little distance ; the hands were lying on their 
 oars. Captain Margaret hailed her ; she put in. 
 He handed Olivia into the sternsheets. Mrs. 
 Inigo, well used to boats from her childhood, 
 stepped into the bows. The stroke oar arranged 
 the parcels and placed the leg of mutton behind the 
 backboard. Captain Margaret turned to the shop- 
 man, and walked a few steps with him out of earshot 
 of the boat. He glanced up the anchorage to see if 
 any armed boat was putting off. 
 
 * Don't wait, sir,' said the shopman. ' Lord, 
 sir, think of the risk. Why don't you go, sir ? 
 It's frightfully dangerous, sir.' 
 
 ' You exaggerate the risk,' he answered calmly. 
 *Well, you've done me a good turn. Why did 
 you do me a good turn } ' 
 
 * Oh sir, I'm sure.' 
 
 ' I shall often think of you,' said Captain Mar- 
 garet. 'Are you sure you won't come with me.f^' 
 
 * Oh no, sir. I couldn't really be persuaded, 
 sir.' 
 
 'Well, think of us.' 
 
 ' I shall think of you always, sir. You are a real 
 buccaneer, sir ? ' 
 
 83 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 *Oh yes. Real. In my ship yonder, there's a 
 man who knew Morgan.' 
 
 *• I've never had anything happen to me, sir, 
 before.' 
 
 ' Does it make any difference do you find } ' 
 
 ' Oh, sir.' 
 
 ^ Will you wear this charm of mine to remember 
 me hyV He detached a small gold jewel, set with 
 symbolical stones. ' It is said to bring success in 
 love. I don't believe it.' 
 
 The man took the symbol as though it were an 
 eggshell. 
 
 ' Thank you, sir,' he said with fervour. * Thank 
 you very much, sir.' Then he started violently. 
 * Oh, sir,' he cried, remembering the risk, ' do go, 
 sir. It's frightfully dangerous, sir.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Margaret, ' I mustn't keep the lady 
 waiting. I hope you run no risk yourself; for 
 warning me ^ ' 
 
 *Oh no, sir. I just showed a customer to the 
 docks.' 
 
 ' And I'm very much obliged. Good-bye.' 
 
 * Good-bye, sir. Oh, sir, I'm much honoured 
 indeed, sir. I hope we shall meet again, sir.' 
 
 ' Well, if we don't, we shall think of each other, 
 shan't we ? ' 
 ' Oh yes, sir.' 
 
 * And I shall be on the Main, and you'll be here. 
 Here on this spot.' 
 
 ' Often, sir, I suppose I shall be.' 
 
 'Good-bye. There is your soldier friend, I think.' 
 
 He nodded carelessly towards the bend of the 
 
 road ; then made a half-bow to the shopman, and 
 
 stepped into the boat. 
 
 84 
 
OUTPVARDS 
 
 * Shove oiF,' he said. * Back a stroke, port oars. 
 Down starboard and shove her off.' As he placed 
 the boat-rug over his knees, he heard the hoofs 
 of horses trotting on the road. * Give way to- 
 gether,' he said coldly, as the boat swung round. 
 He glanced over his shoulder at the shopman, half 
 expecting to see the officers beside him. Then he 
 turned to his boat's crew. ' Come. Shake her 
 up. Shake her up,' he said. ' Rally her out. Give 
 way, now. Put your backs into it. Come on, 
 now. Toss her up.' 
 
 The stroke quickened, the boat gathered way ; 
 she shot out into the harbour, spreading a ripple. 
 She was a hundred yards out, keeping a fine steady 
 stroke, when Captain Margaret turned again. He 
 saw the figure of the shopman pointing towards 
 him, while a man on horseback stood at his side 
 looking towards the boat. Another horseman was 
 galloping fast back to town, evidently to get a boat 
 at the landing-stage. 
 
 ' They aren't very clever, these soldiers,' he 
 thought ; ' but I've had a little luck to-day. Or 
 was it luck ^ Who knows } It may not have been 
 luck, after all. It may have been anything but 
 that.' 
 
 He drew from the stern-locker a little flag nailed 
 to a batten. He tied a knot in the flag. 
 
 ' What are you doing that for } ' said Olivia, as 
 he waved the ' weft ' in the air. 
 
 ' It's a signal to Cammock,' he said, * to get his 
 anchor up, and to make sail. He'll pick us up on 
 his way out. There goes his gun. He's seen us.' 
 
 ' Rather hurried, isn't it ? ' said Olivia. 
 
 * It makes the hands smart,' he answered 
 
 85 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 evasively. ' I wonder if the fort will salute us as 
 the man-of-war did.' 
 
 ' I hope not,' said Olivia. 
 
 * They very likely will,' he answered. * Come. 
 Toss her up, boys.' 
 
 *That was a funny little man from the shop,' 
 said Olivia. 
 
 ^ Yes,' he said. ^ But he told me some interest- 
 ing things. Very interesting.' 
 
 They talked no more after that till the Broken 
 Hearty under a cloud of canvas, came reeling down 
 to them, to back her mainyard within hail, and 
 hoist them all aboard. 
 
 ' Good-bye, old England,' said Olivia. 
 
 * Yes,' said Margaret. ' And thank the Lord 
 it is.' 
 
 86 
 
IV 
 
 A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 * Captain Chilver's gone to sea. 
 Ay, boys, O, boys. 
 Captain Chilver's gone to sea 
 In the brave " Benjamin.''^ ' 
 
 Captain Chilver, 
 
 T^HE wind had gone down gradually all through 
 the day. The morning's rain had kept down 
 the sea. When the Broken Heart ' took her depar- 
 ture ' that evening, from the distant Lizard, 
 Captain Cammock crossed his main royal, out 
 of lightness of heart. He had a fair wind and 
 clear weather. He was thankful to have escaped 
 arrest at Falmouth. ' He was within smell of 
 Virginia,' he said ; so now he would crack on and 
 drive her, sending her lee-ports under. The three 
 days of storm had been of use to him. They had 
 shaken the hands into shape, and had bettered the 
 ship's trim. Now, he flattered himself, he knew 
 what his ship would do, and what his men could 
 do. He was ready for the Western Ocean. The 
 guns were housed, their breeches down on the 
 carriage-beds, their tompioned muzzles lashed to 
 the upper port sills. The light brass quarter-deck 
 guns were covered with tarpaulin. Life-lines were 
 stretched fore and aft across the waist. Windsails 
 
 87 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 were set. There were handy-billies hooked along 
 the hammock nettings ready for use. Forward, on 
 the fo'c's'le-head, the hands had gathered to dry 
 the clothes soaked in the storm. Some of the 
 hands, lying to windward, against the forward guns, 
 began to sing one of their sea ballads, a dreary old 
 ballad with a chorus, about the bonny coasts of 
 Barbary. Old Mr. Cottrill had the dogwatch. The 
 other mate, Mr. lies, a little ^ hard case ' from the 
 James River, was playing his fiddle on the booby- 
 hatch, just abaft the main-bitts. He sang a plain- 
 tive ditty to the music ; and though he did not 
 sing well he had listeners who thought his singing 
 beautiful. Several of the hands, as he knew very 
 well, were skulking as far aft as they dared, to catch 
 his linked sweetness as it fell from him. Cocking 
 one leg over the other, he began another song with 
 a happy ending, no particular meaning, and a cer- 
 tain blitheness : — 
 
 I put it up with a country word. 
 Tradoodle. 
 
 * There,' he said. ^ There, steward. Gee. Hey.'' 
 I can sing all right, all right. What's that song 
 youse was singing .? You know. That one about 
 the girl with the wig ^ ' 
 
 ' Oh, seh,' said the old negro, Mr. Iles's chief 
 listener. 'Oh, seh. I can't sing with music. I 
 haven't had the occasional to do that, seh.' 
 
 ' By gee, steward,' said Mr. lies, turning to go 
 below to his cabin in the 'tween-decks, * if you 
 can't sing to music, b' gee I don't think you can 
 sing much.' 
 
 Mr. Cottrill turned to Captain Cammock. 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 ' A smart young sailor, sir/ he said. ' Mr. lies 
 keeps 'em going, sir.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Cammock. 'He knows a lot for his 
 age. A smart young man, Mr. lies, as you say, 
 mister. He fiddles pretty, too.* 
 
 ' I don't hold with fiddling in a man,' said Mr. 
 Cottrill. ' It's not natural. But it keeps the mind 
 employed, they say.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Cammock, ' and so does making up 
 tunes. Did you never make up tunes, when you 
 was a boy, mister, walking the poop ? ' 
 
 ' I come in like a head sea,' said Mr. Cottrill. 
 ' The only times I walked the poop was to relieve 
 the helm, or to take in the mizen.' 
 
 ' Well. And ain't you glad ? ' said Cammock. 
 ' It's the only way to learn.' 
 
 ' It is that, sir,' said Cottrill. ' I guess, sir,' he 
 added, ' if this wind holds, we'll be out of sight of 
 land by dawn.' 
 
 The boy reported eight bells. 
 
 ' Make it,' said Cottrill. 
 
 The boy struck the bell eight times. 
 
 ' You boy,' said Cammock, ' when you walk the 
 lee poop at night, you'll not go clump, clump, the 
 way you done last night. There's a lady in 
 the cabin. Let me see what boots you're wearing. 
 I thought so. They're the kind of boots would 
 wear a hole in a wall. Hold up them soles, and 
 give us the end of the main-brace there. There, 
 my son. I give you the end this time. You wear 
 them boots after dark again, and you'll get the 
 bight, higher up.' 
 
 The watch was mustered and set. Captain 
 Cammock went below, pleased to think that he 
 
 89 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 had saved Olivia from the trouble of complain- 
 ing about the boy. 
 
 He went direct to the great cabin ; for he knew 
 that there was to be a council of war. There was 
 much to be discussed ; there was much for him to 
 tell them. He hoped very much that his sea-sick 
 friend Tom Stukeley would be put in a watch. 
 ' And then,' he said to himself, ' you shall toe the 
 line.* In the cabin he found Perrin and Margaret 
 playing some simple card-game with Olivia, for 
 counters. Stukeley lay at half-length upon the 
 window-seat, sipping brandy. He was evidently 
 cured of his sickness ; though very weak from it. 
 
 He looked up as Cammock entered, took a good 
 pull at his drink, and called to Margaret. 
 
 * You were going to have some sort of parish 
 meeting here. Here's the beadle. Suppose you 
 begin, and get it over.' 
 
 He took another pull at the brandy. * Take a 
 seat, beadle,' he said insolently. 
 
 Perrin and Margaret bit their lips, and slowly, 
 almost fearfully, lifted their eyes to Cammock's 
 face. The old pirate had turned purple beneath 
 his copper ; but Olivia's presence bridled him. He 
 looked at Stukeley for a moment, then spun round 
 on one heel, in the way he had learned in some 
 ship's forecastle, and walked out of the cabin. 
 
 * I must get my charts,' he said thickly. 
 
 * Stukeley,' said Margaret lightly, * Captain Cam- 
 mock is the captain of this ship.' 
 
 * Yes,' said Stukeley. ^ And I wish he knew his 
 place as well as I know it.' 
 
 ' I must ask you to remember that he commands 
 here.' 
 
 90 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 * Of course,* said Olivia, rather nettled. 
 
 * I hope, Stukeley,' said Perrin, ^ I hope you 
 won't quarrel with him. We're going a long 
 voyage together.' 
 
 ^ Lord,' said Stukeley. * What a stew you two 
 make. You might be two old women.' 
 
 * Tom dear,' said Olivia, ' is that open window 
 too much for you } ' 
 
 In the diversion caused by the shutting of the 
 window. Captain Cammock took his seat, laying a 
 book of charts on the table before him. ' Now, 
 Captain Margaret, sir. Will you begin } I don't 
 rightly know what it is you want discussed.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said Margaret. ' I'll begin.' 
 
 He leaned back in his chair, and looked first at 
 Olivia, then at Stukeley, then at Cammock, who, 
 he thought, looked very splendid, with his long 
 black hair falling over his shoulders, and his grim 
 beauty, like a bronze, thrusting from his scarlet scarf 
 
 ' I don't think you know,' he said, ' at any 
 rate, not perfectly, what it is I intend doing. This 
 ship is mine, as I think you all know. But her 
 cargo — it's a general cargo, worth a good deal of 
 money where we are going to — is the property 
 of several London merchants, who expect me to 
 make a profit for them. I want you to get it out 
 of your heads that I'm doing this for love, either 
 of adventure, or of my fellow-men. I believe I 
 shall get adventure, and help my fellow-men. But 
 the venture is, primarily, a business venture. If 
 the business part fails, the whole thing will come to 
 nothing. As you know, a part of the cargo is con- 
 signed to Virginia, and we go to Virginia direct. 
 But we shall only stay there long enough to buy 
 
 91 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 up the pick of the tobacco crop with our goods, 
 and take in fresh water. Our real destination is 
 the Isthmus of Darien.' 
 
 ' What part of the Isthmus, sir ? ' said Cammock. 
 
 ' You'll have to tell us that. Fill Captain Cam- 
 mock's glass, Perrin.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Mr. Perrin,* said Cammock. He 
 bowed to Olivia and drank. ' Go on, sir.' 
 
 ' You see,' continued Margaret. ^ Well I must 
 apologize, captain. It was part of my arrangement 
 with Captain Cammock that he should not be told 
 about our destination, nor about our plans, till we 
 had left England. I need hardly say, captain, that 
 that was not, well, not my desire. The merchants 
 who consigned the cargo insisted on it. To tell 
 the truth, it was only on the pledge of secrecy that 
 the Board of Trade and Plantations gave me my 
 commission.' 
 
 * Then you've got a commission, sir } ' said 
 Cammock. 
 
 ^Yes. A limited one. But still. Had our 
 plans been bruited abroad, we should have had a 
 lot of opposition.' 
 
 ' Who'd have taken the sweat to lift a finger to 
 stop you ^ ' said Stukeley. 
 
 ' The West Indian merchants,' replied Margaret. 
 'And the Chartered Brazil Wood Company, and 
 the Spanish ambassador, among others, would have 
 given us a lot of opposition. In fact, had the 
 Spaniards known of it, we might have spared our- 
 selves the trouble of sailing.' 
 
 ' Hear, hear, sir,' said Cammock quietly. 
 
 ' Our friend the beadle knows his job,' said 
 Stukeley. 
 
 92 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 ' Fill Captain Cammock*s glass, Edward/ 
 
 ' Fill mine, too, please, waiter,' said Stukeley. 
 
 * To continue,' said Margaret. ' Had the Span- 
 iards known, we should have found the place of 
 our intended settlement in the hands of Spanish 
 troops.' 
 
 ' Settlement } ' said Stukeley. 
 
 ' Yes. A settlement. To be short, my plan is 
 to land on the Isthmus, found an English colony, 
 and open up a trade, a real trade, mind you, with 
 the Indians of Darien. Now that is the rough out- 
 line of the scheme. Now, Captain Cammock. 
 Now comes your part. I'm going to cross-examine 
 you. You know the Isthmus thoroughly. Have 
 you landed on the Main ^ I know you have, of 
 course. But we must begin at the beginning.* 
 
 ' I been there a many times, right along. Mostly 
 looking for food,' said Cammock. 
 
 ^ Did you ever meet the Indians ? * 
 
 * I've been up agin all kinds of Indians.' 
 
 * Are there many kinds ? ' 
 
 * There's three kinds.' 
 
 ' Three .? What are the three } ' 
 
 4 don't mind telling you, sir. There's one kind 
 comes and says, " O Sieur," and brings you these 
 great bananas and spears fish for you. There's 
 some sense in them ones. Give 'em a handful of 
 beads and they'll fill you a pannikin of gold dust. 
 They're getting spoiled, of course, like everything 
 else. But where they ain't been got at they're good 
 still. That's one kind.' 
 
 ' And the others .? ' 
 
 * There's another kind no one seen. They say 
 they're white, this second kind. They live in the 
 
 93 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 woods ; in stone houses, too, for the matter of that. 
 And they wear gold masks. No one ever seen 'em, 
 mind you. But you lay out in the woods near 'em, 
 and the first night you'll hear like singing all round 
 you.* 
 
 * Singing ? ' 
 
 * Like little birds. I never like singing like what 
 that is. You only get it the first night.' 
 
 'Oh. That's very curious. What happens 
 then?' 
 
 ' The second night, if you lay out in the woods, 
 you get your 'ed cut off. You find your corp in 
 the morning, that's what you find.' 
 
 ' Why do they cut your head off.'' ' said Perrin. 
 
 ' Their idea of fun, I s'pose,' said Cammock, with 
 a grin. * Come to that, a corp is a funny thing 
 with no 'ed. They take the 'eds and pickle them 
 after : I've seen 'em.' 
 
 * What do they do with the heads ^ ' asked Perrin, 
 * when they've pickled them .? ' 
 
 * They wear 'em round their necks, for ornament,' 
 said Cammock. ' If one of them ducks gets a 
 reglar necklace, like a dozen 'eds, he thinks he's 
 old Sir Henry.' 
 
 ' Sir Henry } ' 
 
 ' Like a Admiral,' explained the buccaneer. 
 
 ' Ah. And what's the third kind ? ' 
 
 ' I don't mind telling you. I was cruising one 
 time. I was with an English crew, too. And 
 four of our men went ashore there, near Cape 
 Codera. They didn't come back, so we went to 
 look for them. We found ashes, where a fire'd 
 been. And we found hands, lying in the ashes.' 
 
 ' Hands } ' said Perrin. 
 
 94 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 ' With fingers on them, some of them,' said the 
 pirate calmly. * Some of them was ate all off. And 
 there was a skull lying. And bits of one man tied 
 to a tree. IVe never liked Indians from that day, 
 not what you might call to love them.* 
 
 ^ So that's the third kind,* said Captain Margaret. 
 
 * I take it that these two last kinds don't suffer 
 much from the Spaniards } * 
 
 ' Not unless sometimes they get a tough one,* 
 said the pirate, * they don't.' 
 
 ' And the other kind, the first kind } * 
 
 ' They're melancholy ducks. No use at all,' said 
 Cammock. * Of course they suffer. It's a wonder 
 to me they don't get it worse. They'd ought to. 
 If it rained soup they'd be going out with forks. 
 They ain't got the sense we have, or something. 
 '' O Sieur," they say. The French taught 'em that. 
 "O Sieur." "Come and kick us," that's what it 
 really amounts to.' He looked at Olivia, half fear- 
 ing that she would be shocked. 
 
 ' Could they do anything, under a capable man, 
 do you think .? ' said Perrin. 
 
 * We'd one with us in the 1'rinityy said Cammock. 
 
 * William his name was. Yes, William, after my 
 poor brother. Captain Sharp was capable, all right, 
 in his limits ; William was capable too, I guess ; I 
 don't remember him gettin' it. Yes. I think 
 they'd do. Ah, but they ain't got the sense. No, 
 I don't know as they'd ever do very much.' 
 
 ' Was your brother with you in town ? * asked 
 Captain Margaret. ' Why isn't he here with 
 you ? ' 
 
 ' Who } Bill .? No, sir. He died. Off of La 
 Serena. Rum did him. He'd no sense to drink 
 
 95 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 rum the way he drank it. I was sorry to lose Bill. 
 I'd my fair share of trouble that passage.' 
 
 ' Have some more drink, your glass is empty,' 
 said Perrin. 
 
 'It's thirsty work talking, as the parson said,' 
 answered the pirate, holding out his glass. He 
 looked at Perrin not unfavourably. Perrin mixed 
 him another punch, and brought out a clean clay 
 pipe from a little locker to the left of the fireplace. 
 
 ' You're a thoughtful young fellow to me,' said 
 Captain Cammock, regarding him with favour. His 
 thought was, 'You'd make a steward, perhaps, boiled 
 down a bit ' ; but this he kept to himself ' Was you 
 ever at sea before, sir } ' he asked politely. 
 
 ' Only across the Channel,' said Perrin. 
 
 ' Well, it's a hard life,' said the pirate. ' Salue. 
 Salue.' He jerked his head towards his hosts, and 
 gulped the liquor. ' It's a hard life. Ah. You don't 
 know how hard it is, sitting here by the fire.' He 
 looked moodily into the little bogey stove, which 
 had been lighted to air the cabin. 
 
 ' What made you take to it. Captain Cammock,' 
 said Perrin. 
 
 ' Just a girl,' said the captain. ' I thought I'd 
 make money that way, so's we could marry.' 
 
 ' Are you married, might I ask ^ ' said Captain 
 Margaret. 
 
 'No,' he answered surlily. ' No. A single man.' 
 
 He seemed upset by the question, for he became 
 moody. He glared at the fire, and drummed with 
 one foot against the leg of his chair. 
 
 ' Tell me,' said Captain Margaret. ' You don't 
 think that I could do much among the Indians, do 
 you } ' 
 
 96 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 ' You mean, if you settled there ? ' 
 
 * Yes, if I landed, built a fort, and opened a 
 trading station. And got the Indian chiefs to 
 bring in gold, and cocoa, or whatever else there is.* 
 
 * You could only do that in among the Sam- 
 balloes.' 
 
 * The islands along the Isthmus ? * 
 ' Yes. That's your only place.' 
 
 ' Would it be possible ? * 
 
 * I dunno as it would. No, I reckon it wouldn't.* 
 ' Why not .? * 
 
 * You couldn't. The Dagoes are too strong. 
 They'd send from Porto Bello, or they'd send over- 
 land perhaps, from Panama. They'd get yer. Then 
 you'd have ginger, working on the forts in Porto- 
 bel. Lot's of 'em end that way on the Main. Yes, 
 sir, the Main's a queer place.' 
 
 ' Queer .? ' 
 
 * We lost a boat's crew once, east there, by Tolu 
 or that. A handsome fellow her bow oar was. 
 Bigger'n you he was. Handsome Jim Sanders, 
 that was him. He worked on the forts in Portobel. 
 We rescued him a year later, quite by accident. 
 There was red cuts all over him ; and all he could 
 do was sing.' 
 
 ' Sing .? ' 
 
 ' Just sing. This was what he sung. He sung 
 all the time. No. He didn't laugh. He just 
 whined a little and sang.' 
 
 The pirate dropped his voice to a whimper and 
 
 sang — 
 
 * Tom, Tom the piper's son 
 Learned to pipe when he was young, 
 And all the tunes that he could play 
 Was over the hills and far away. 
 
 H 97 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 There's many like handsome Jim. Fve knowed a 
 many go that way. The Main's a hard place, the 
 same as the sea is, if you come to that.' 
 
 ' Ahj' said Perrin. ' How ghastly.' 
 
 Captain Margaret said nothing ; for in his lively 
 fancy he saw a half-naked man, lying on the deck, 
 surrounded by pirates, who watched him with a 
 sort of hard pity. The sun shone strongly upon 
 the picture, so that the brass cannon gleamed. Out 
 of the wrecked man's body came a snatch of a 
 nursery rhyme, with a pathetic tune. He felt the 
 horror of it ; he saw how the pirates shifted on their 
 feet and looked at each other. He was tempted to 
 ask, ^ Had one of your men a hare-lip } ' for in the 
 picture which his fancy formed a hare-lipped pirate 
 stood out strangely, seemingly stirred by that horror 
 on the deck. * Fancy,' he thought. ' Pure fancy.' 
 
 ' Let me fill your glass, Cammock,' he said. He 
 poured another dose into the glass. 
 
 ' Salue,' said the pirate. 
 
 A red log, burned through, fell with a crash 
 inside the stove. 
 
 ^ Sparks,' said the pirate. * Sparks. We give 
 the Dagoes sparks for that lot,' He paused a 
 moment. ^ Yes, Captain Margaret,' he went on. 
 ' And that's the way you'd best.' 
 
 * What way is that ? ' asked the captain. 
 
 ' Well. It's like this,' said the captain. ' Your 
 trading lay — I'm speaking as a sailor you under- 
 stand — is all Barney's bull. It's got more bugs 
 than brains, as you might say. But you don't 
 want to go trading. What d'yer want to go 
 trading for } You'd only get et by sand-flies, 
 even if you did make a profit. What you want 
 
 98 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 to do. You got a big ship. You*d easy get hands 
 enough. Well, what I say is, why not go for one 
 of the towns } Morgan done it. Sharp done it. 
 Old John Coxon done it, for I was with him. 
 And the French and Dutch done it, too ; don't I 
 know it. If you come on 'em with a sort of 
 a hawky pounce you get 'em every time. Profit, 
 too. There's twenty or thirty pound a man in it. 
 Besides ransoms. There^s no work in it, like in 
 trading. If you're trading, you got to watch your 
 stores, you got to watch the Indians, you got to 
 kowtow to the chiefs. Pah. It's a poor job, 
 trade is. It's not a seaman's job. But you come 
 down on the towns. Why. Half your life. I 
 wish I'd been wise when I was a young man. 
 That's what I ought to a done, 'stead of logwood 
 cutting.' 
 
 'What towns would you advise,' said Captain 
 Margaret, smiling. 
 
 'Well. Here's a map.' Cammock opened his 
 book to show a map of the Terra Firme from La 
 Vera Cruz to Trinidad. ' It's rough,' he explained. 
 ' But it'll just show you. All them red dots is 
 towns. And what I say is, take them. That's the 
 only way you'll help the Indians, as you call it. 
 Help them } You won't help them much when you 
 get among them, I'll tell you that much. The 
 Main alters people.' 
 
 ' Oh,' said Margaret quietly. ' So that's what 
 you think. Why do you think that ? What 
 reason can you give } ' 
 
 'Well, take it on military grounds, sir,' said 
 Cammock. ' You'll have to admit it on military 
 grounds.' 
 
 99 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Stukeley pretended to choke with laughter ; it 
 was an oiFensive act. 
 
 ' Stukeley's turning sick again/ said Perrin dryly. 
 
 ' Well. On military grounds then,' said Mar- 
 garet. ^ I want to hear your reason.' 
 
 ^ Look, sir. Look at my two fists. This right 
 fist, here, is Carta- Yaina. This left fist is Portobel 
 or La Vera Cruz. Now these here counters. You'll 
 excuse my taking your counters, Mrs. Stukeley. 
 These here counters are the Samballoes islands in 
 between. Now. On military grounds. Suppose 
 I knock my fists together. The counters get a 
 nasty jounce.' 
 
 * 1 see,* said Margaret. * We should be the nut 
 between two crackers.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir. You would. And take it as a matter 
 of business. You'd be on the trade route, or 
 jolly near it, between the crackers ; besides being 
 able to flank the overland route from Panama to 
 Portobel. They'd never set still to let you estab- 
 lish yourself among them. Why, you'd as well 
 ask them to cut their own throats. You'd have to 
 destroy their towns first. Portobel's nothing very 
 much. It's been took twice within the last few 
 years ; but you can never really settle Portobel till 
 you settle Panama ; and to do that you'd want a 
 fleet in the South Sea to settle Lima. To make 
 yourself secure. Quite secure. Secure enough 
 for the King of England to back you up. You 
 know what that means. The enemy beat, and the 
 spoils your own, that's what makes King James 
 your friend. God save him, I say, and bring him 
 glory. To put yourself in that position, you'd 
 have to take the two big naval ports on the North 
 
 lOO 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL " 
 
 Sea, both of them. Carta- Yaina and La Vera Cruz. 
 For jabbing an enemy^s no use at all. A prick here 
 and there's nothing. Nothing at all. Smash the 
 naval ports first, and then the place is your own. 
 Go for the main stem and you'll get the whole tree. 
 Upset Carta -Yaina alone, and La Vera Cruz 
 wouldn't bother you very bad ; but till Carta- 
 Yaina's yours Well, honestly, Captain Mar- 
 garet, you'll never be let settle down, not on the 
 Isthmus. But. I don't know so much. It might. 
 I'll think it over.' 
 
 During Cammock's speech, Stukeley had made 
 occasional offensive interruptions ; but he said 
 nothing when Cammock ended. Olivia, being 
 ignorant of the exact nature of the question dis- 
 cussed, through her ignorance of geography, waited 
 for her husband to speak. Perrin, who had gone 
 into the matter thus far with Margaret, to his own 
 boredom, now waited, half asleep, for his friend to 
 say something more. He hoped that no one would 
 ask him for an opinion that evening. He knew 
 nothing much about it, one way or the other, and 
 cared little ; believing only that his friend, who 
 could do no wrong, would be the man to uphold 
 against all comers. As the active part of him, 
 never very violent now, was idle to-night, he gave 
 himself up to torpor, keeping his mind a blank, 
 paying little attention to the words of any one. To 
 Cammock, whom he liked, he was polite. Indeed, 
 Cammock's glass was seldom less than half-full all 
 through the evening. Now and then he wished 
 that the meeting would end, so that he could turn 
 in. He lay back in his chair, looking at the faces 
 of the company, wishing that he had his friend's 
 
 lOI 
 
--" - CAFFAIN MARGARET 
 
 charm, and Cammock*s bodily strength, and 
 Stukeley's insolent carriage. It must be good, he 
 thought, to be indifferent, like that, to people's 
 feelings. And if he had all three gifts, what would 
 he do with it } He looked at Olivia, as she sat 
 there, upright in her chair, listening carefully to all 
 that he said. ' Yes,' he thought, ' you're taking it 
 all in, all that you understand, and thinking what 
 you'll make your husband do. And you're beau- 
 tiful,' he added to himself 4n that black silk, with 
 
 the green about your hair, you're Yes, Charles 
 
 was right. I never saw it before. You're beauti- 
 
 fui; _ 
 
 ' Olivia,' he said aloud, ' will you let me get 
 you a little wine and some fruit } This must be so 
 awfully dull for you.' 
 
 ' Oh, I like it,' she answered quickly. ' 1 like it.' 
 
 ^Do you, really?' said Margaret. 'Well. We'll 
 go on. Let me see your map. Captain Cammock.' 
 
 He took the dirty piece of vellum from Captain 
 Cammock, and examined the coast-line. There 
 were manuscript notes written here and there across 
 the Isthmus. Captain Margaret read : 'Don Andrea's 
 Cuntrey.' ' K Golden Cap went with Capt S from 
 here.' ' The Indians washes for Gold on this Side.' 
 Mountains and forests had been added to the map 
 in water-colours. A ship or two, under all plain 
 sail, showed upon the seas. In among the islands 
 a hand had added soundings and anchorages in red 
 ink. He looked among the network of islands, 
 remembering the many stories he had read of them, 
 fascinated by the thought that here, before him, 
 was one who could make that marked piece of 
 vellum significant. 
 
 I02 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 ^ Tell me/ he said. ^ These keys here. La Sound's 
 Key and Springer's Key. Are they well known to 
 your people } ' 
 
 * Yes,' said the pirate. 
 
 ' Do the Spaniards ever search among these 
 islands ? Do they send guarda-costas ? ' 
 
 ' Not them. Not to hurt. They've no really 
 organized force on the Main. Nor've they got any 
 charts to go by. They aren't hard any longer. 
 Only soft, the Spaniards. Why, there's often a 
 matter of a dozen sail of privateers come to them 
 keys, at the one time.' 
 
 ' Why do they come there ? ' 
 
 ' Water, sir. Then the Indians bring gold dust. 
 Sometimes they land and go for a cruise ashore. 
 Lots of 'em make money that way, where the 
 Spaniards don't expect them.' 
 
 ' Have they buildings there ? ' 
 
 * No. When they careen their ships, the Indians 
 build huts for them. Very nice, too, the huts are. 
 Palmeto and that.' 
 
 ^ Then the Indians are friendly ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. Sometimes there's a row, of course.' 
 
 * Why don't the privateers combine, to found a 
 kingdom there ? They could so easily.' 
 
 * They never agree among 'emselves,' said the 
 pirate. * Quarrelsome ducks. That's what they 
 are.' 
 
 ' And if a strong man got hold of them and made 
 them agree ? ' 
 
 'Then. Yes. Perhaps. They might be a 
 thundering great nation. But then there's the 
 Main. It changes people. It's hard to say. It's 
 different from talking by the fire.' 
 
 103 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' Well/ said Captain Margaret. * I shall try it. 
 I believe it could be done. And it's worth trying.' 
 
 ' 1 believe you'd do it, if any one. Morgan'd 
 'ave done it perhaps. But Sir Henry was weak 
 you know. Rum. Well, sir. If you can do it. 
 You'll be in the story-books.' 
 
 ' What is this place here ^ This Boca del Toro ^ 
 Away to the west here } You sometimes meet here, 
 don't you, in order to plan a raid .'' ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 * Is it a good anchorage } It doesn't seem to be 
 much of a harbour.' 
 
 * No, sir ; Toro's just an anchorage, out of the 
 way, like. We goes to Toro for turtle. Very good 
 turtle on Toro. Them Mosquito boys gets 'em 
 with spears. You see 'em paddle out, Mrs. Stuke- 
 ley, two of these red Indians in a boat, and they 
 just paddle soft, paddle soft, as still as still, and 
 they come up to the turtles as they lie asleep in the 
 sea, and then. Whang. They dart their fizgigs. 
 They never miss.' 
 
 Olivia looked at Cammock with quickened inter- 
 est ; but she did not speak. She was now leaning 
 forward, over the table, resting her chin upon her 
 hands, probably with some vague belief that her 
 throat was beautiful and that these stupid men 
 would never notice it, She may have been con- 
 scious of her power. Yet perhaps she was not. 
 She may have given too much of herself to Stuke- 
 ley ; she may have tuned too many of her emo- 
 tional strings to that one note, to feel how other men 
 regarded her. 
 
 * Look, Olivia,' said Margaret. He placed the 
 map before her. 
 
 104 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 Perrin and Cammock put out each a hand, to 
 hold the curling vellum flat for her. She 
 looked at the map as a sibyl would have looked 
 at the golden scroll ; she looked rapt ; her great 
 eyes shone so. She put out one hand to flatten 
 the vellum, and to Margaret, watching her, it 
 seemed that her whole nature was expressed in 
 that one act, and that her nature was beautiful, too 
 beautiful for this world. Her finger-tip touched 
 Perrin*s finger-tip, for one instant, as she smoothed 
 the map's edge ; and to Perrin it seemed that his 
 life would be well passed in the service of this 
 lady. She was, oh, wonderfully beautiful, he 
 thought ; but not like other women. She was so 
 strange, so mysterious, and her voice thrilled so. 
 In dreams, in those dreams of beauty which move 
 us for days together, he had seen that beauty 
 before ; she had come to him, she had saved him ; 
 her healing hands had raised him, bringing him 
 peace. * She says nothing,' he said to himself ; 
 ' but life is often like that. I have talked with 
 people sometimes whose bodies seemed to be 
 corpses. And all the time they were wonderful, 
 possessed of devils and angels.' 
 
 As for Cammock, her beauty moved him, too ; 
 her voice moved him. In his thoughts he 
 called her ' my handsome.' He was moved by 
 her as an old gardener is touched by the beauty 
 of his master's child. His emotion was partly 
 awe, partly pity. Pity for himself, partly ; 
 because he could never now be worthy of mov- 
 ing in her company, although he felt that he 
 would be a better mate for her than the brandy- 
 sipper on the locker-top. She was the most beau- 
 
 105 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 tiful thing he had ever seen; she was like a spirit; 
 like a holy thing. Looking at her, as she studied 
 the map, he thought of an image in the cathedral 
 of Panama. He had been with Morgan in the 
 awful march from Chagres. He had fought in 
 the morning, outside Panama, till his face, all 
 bloody and powder-burnt, was black like a devil's. 
 Then, he remembered, they had stormed old 
 Panama, fighting in the streets, across barricades, 
 over tables, over broken chairs, while the women 
 fired from the roofs. Then they had rushed the 
 Plaza, to see the flames licking at all the glorious 
 city. They had stormed a last barricade to reach 
 the Plaza. There had been twenty starving pirates 
 with him, all blind with drink and rage. They 
 had made a last rush, clubbing and spearing and 
 shooting, killing man, woman, and child. They 
 swore and shrieked as they stamped them under. 
 And then he, with two mates, had opened a postern 
 in the cathedral, and had passed in, from all those 
 shrieks, from all that fire and blood, to an altar, 
 where an image knelt, full of peace, beautiful beyond 
 words, in the quiet of the holy place. He re- 
 membered the faint smell of incense, the memory 
 of a scent, which hung about that holy place. The 
 vague scent which Olivia used reminded him of 
 it. ^ She is like that,' he thought, ^and I am that. 
 That still.' 
 
 Margaret glanced at Stukeley, who seemed to be 
 asleep. ' I suppose, captain,' he said, ^ I suppose, 
 then, that you would recommend one of these keys 
 in the Samballoes, as you call them } ' 
 
 ^ Yes, sir,' said Cammock. ' Til tell you why. 
 You're handy for the Indians, that's one great 
 
 1 06 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 point. You're hidden from to seaward, in case the 
 Spanish fleet should come near, going to Porto- 
 bello fair. YouVe within a week's march of all the 
 big gold mines. You've good wood and water 
 handy. And you could careen a treat, if your ship 
 got foul. Beside being nice and central.' 
 
 * Which of these two keys do you recommend ? ' 
 ' La Sound's Key is the most frequented,' an- 
 swered Cammock. ' You often have a dozen sloops 
 in at La Sound's. They careen there a lot. You 
 see there's mud to lay your ship ashore on. And 
 very good brushwood if you wish to give her a 
 breaming.' 
 
 ' 1 see. And the Indians come there, you say } ' 
 ' Oh yes, sir. There's an Indian village on the 
 
 Main just opposite. Full of Indians always. La 
 
 Sound's is an exchange, as you might say.' 
 
 ^ If I went there, in this big ship, should I be 
 
 likely to get into touch with the privateer captains ? 
 
 I mean, to make friends with them.' 
 
 * You'd meet them all there, from time to time, 
 sir — Coxon, Tristian, Yanky Dutch, Mackett ; oh, 
 all of them.' 
 
 ' All friends of yours } ' 
 
 ' No, sir. Some of them is French and Dutch. 
 They come from Tortuga and away east by Cura9oa. 
 That's a point I can tell you about. Don't you 
 make too free with the French and Dutch, sir. 
 You stick by your own countrymen. I'll tell you 
 why, sir. If you let them ducks in to share, the 
 first you'll know is they've put in a claim for their 
 own country. They'll say that the settlement is 
 theirs ; that we're intruding on them. Oh, they 
 will. I know 'em. And they'll trick you, too. 
 
 I07 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 They'll get their own men-of-war to come and 
 kick you out, like they done at St. Kitts, and at 
 Tortuga.' 
 
 'That would hardly suit. But is La Sound's 
 more of a French and Dutch resort than Springer's ?* 
 
 'Yes, sir. Since Captain Sharp's raid. Ever 
 since that, we've been as it were more separated. 
 And then there was trouble at the isle of Ash ; 
 they done us out of a sloop ; so we done them in 
 return. Springer's is the place the Englishmen 
 goes to, now. Oh, and Golden Island, this easterly 
 island here. But Springer's Key is the best of 
 them. Though we goes to La Sound's Key, mind 
 you, whenever we're planning a raid.' 
 
 ' Then By the way. Who is Springer } ' 
 
 ' He was a privateer, sir. He got lost on the 
 Main one time. He was in Alleston's ship at that 
 time. He got lost, out hunting for warree. He 
 wandered around in the woods there, living on 
 sapadilloes, till one day he come to a river, and 
 floated down it on a log. He'd sense enough for 
 that. Generally men go mad in the woods at the 
 end of the first day.' 
 
 ' Mad,' said Olivia. ' But why do they do that.?' 
 
 * It's the loneliness, Mrs. Stukeley. You seem 
 shut in, in those woods. Shut in. A great green 
 wall. It seems to laugh at you. And you get 
 afraid, and then you get thirsty. Oh, I've felt it. 
 You go mad. Lucky for you, you do, Mrs. 
 Stukeley.' 
 
 ' How horrible. Isn't that awful, Charles } ' 
 ' Yes. Awful. But Springer kept his head, you 
 say ? ' 
 
 * No, sir. I'm inclined to think Springer got a 
 
 xo8 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 turn. The sun'll give it you. Or that green 
 wall laughing ; or just thirst. When I talked with 
 Springer, he told me as he come to a little stone 
 city on a hill, all grown over with green. An old 
 ruined city. About a hundred houses. Quite small. 
 And what d'you think was in it, Mrs. Stukeley } ' 
 
 ' I don't know at all. Nothing very horrible, I 
 hope. No. Not if it's going to be horrible.' 
 
 ' Well. It was horrible. But there was gold on 
 every one of them. Gold plates. Gold masks. 
 And gold all over the rooms. Now if that's true, 
 it's mighty queer. But I think he'd got a turn, 
 ma'am. I don't think things was right with 
 Springer. Living all alone in the woods, and then 
 living all alone on the key. It very likely put him 
 off. I was to have gone with him, searching for it, 
 one time ; but I never did.' 
 
 Stukeley seemed to wake up suddenly. 
 
 ' You must have been a fool,' he said. 
 
 * Why ? Acos I thought of going ? ' said Cam- 
 mock. 
 
 *" No. Because you didn't go. I suppose you 
 know which river he came down. And whereabouts 
 he got on the log ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes,' said Cammock ; ^ better than I know 
 you, Mr. Stukeley.' 
 
 * What d'you mean,' said Stukeley. 
 
 * Nothing,' said Cammock. ' The very last time 
 I saw Ed Springer, we talked it all out. And he 
 told me all he remembered, and we worked it out 
 together, whereabouts he must have got to. You 
 see, Mrs. Stukeley, Springer went a long way. He 
 
 was lost And we were going to look for it 
 
 together.' 
 
 109 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * Why didn't you ? ' said Stukeley. ' Were you 
 afraid ? * 
 
 * Yes/ replied Cammock curtly ; ' I was.' 
 Thinking that there would be an open quarrel, 
 
 Captain Margaret interrupted. * And you think 
 Springer's Key would be the best for us ? * 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 * Here is Springer's Key on the map. Come 
 here, Stukeley, and just cast your eye over it.' 
 
 Stukeley advanced, and put his hand on Olivia's 
 shoulder, drawing her against him, as he leaned 
 over to see the map. She stroked the caressing 
 hand, only conscious of the pleasure of her hus- 
 band's caress. She had no thought of what the 
 sight meant to Margaret. 
 
 Perrin felt for his friend. * Put it to the vote, 
 Charles,' he said hastily. 
 
 * Very well then,' said Margaret. 'Shall we decide 
 then "^ To go to Springer's Key } ' 
 
 ^s it a pleasant place .f^' said Olivia. 'Don't, 
 Tom.' She gave the hand a little slap. 
 
 'Very pleasant, Mrs. Stukeley, A island with 
 huge big cedars on it — aromatic cedars — as red as 
 blood ; and all green parrots. Wells. Good drink- 
 ing wells. Wonderful flowers. If you're fond of 
 flowers, ma'am.' 
 
 ' What sorts are they ? ' 
 
 'Arnotto roses, and yellow violet trees. Oh, 
 lots of them.' 
 
 ' Oh, then. Springer's Key, certainly.' 
 
 ' Springer's Key,' said Stukeley and Perrin. 
 
 'The ayes have it.' 
 
 ' Very well, then,' said Margaret. ' We'll decide 
 for Springer's Key.' 
 
 no 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 ' One other thing, sir,' said Cammock. ' There's 
 the difficulty about men. WeVe forty-five men in 
 the ship here, mustering boys and idlers. And 
 that's not enough. It's not enough to attract 
 allies. Of course, 1 quite see, if you'd shipped 
 more in London, in a ship of this size, it would 
 have looked odd. It might have attracted notice. 
 The Spaniards watch the Pool a sight more'n you 
 think. But you want more. And you want choice 
 weapons for them.' He paused for a second to 
 watch Captain Margaret's face, then, seeing no 
 change upon it, continued, 4 know you got twenty 
 long brass eighteens among the ballast.' 
 
 ^ How did you know that } ' said Margaret. 
 
 ' Well, you have, sir,' said Cammock, grinning, 
 ' and small-arms in proportion. You can fortify 
 Springer's with a third of that lot. Now you want 
 another forty or fifty men, at least, and then you'll 
 be boss dog. Every privateer captain will come 
 saying " Oh, massa " to you.' 
 
 * Yes,' said Perrin. * It seems to me that there'll 
 be a difficulty in getting men. You see we want 
 really a drilled force.' 
 
 * No difficulty about men in Virginia, sir. Lots 
 of good men, regular old standards, tough as 
 hickory, at Accomac, and along the James River.' 
 
 ^ What do they do there } ' said Perrin. 
 
 *Lots of 'em come there,' said Cammock eva- 
 sively. ^ They tobacco plants, and they trap them 
 things with fur on, and some on 'em fishes. Lots 
 of 'em come there.' 
 
 ^ Where from .'''asked Captain Margaret pointedly. 
 
 ' Most everywhere,' said Cammock, looking on 
 the deck. 
 
 Ill 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^ Campeachy ? * said the captain. 
 
 ' Most everywhere, sir,' repeated Cammock. 
 
 ' Writs hard to serve there ? ' 
 
 ' Every one has his misfortunes,' said Cammock 
 hotly. ' But they're a better lot there than you'd 
 get anywhere in the islands, let me tell you that. 
 I've known a power of men among them, fine men. 
 They might be a bit rough and that ; but they do 
 stand by a fellow.' 
 
 * Yes,' said Captain Margaret, * I dare say. But 
 I don't want them to stand by a fellow. I want 
 them to stand by an idea.' 
 
 * They'll stand by anything so long as you've a 
 commission,' said Captain Cammock. 
 
 ' And obey orders 1 ' 
 
 ' Now, sir. In England, everybody knuckles 
 down to squires and lords. But among the pri- 
 vateers there aren't any squires and lords. Nor 
 in Virginia, where the old privateers tobacco plants. 
 A man stands by what he is in himself. If you 
 can persuade the privateers that you're a better 
 man than their captains ; and some of them are 
 clever generals, mind. They've been fighting 
 Spaniards all their lives. Well. You persuade 
 'em that you're a better man. You show 'em 
 that. And they'll be your partners. As for 
 hands in the ship here, and ship's discipline. They 
 aren't particularly good at being ordered about. 
 They're accustomed to being free, and having 
 their share in the councils. But you give them 
 some little success on the Main, and you'll find 
 they'll follow you anywhere. You give out that 
 you're going against Tolu, say. You take Tolu, 
 say, and give 'em ten pound a man.' 
 
 112 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 ' Then they'll want to go ashore to spend it.* 
 
 ' Not if you give 'em a dice-box or two. You 
 won't be able to wage them, like you wage hands, 
 at sixteen shillen a month.' 
 
 Olivia, who seemed disconcerted at the thought 
 of sitting down at a council with a crowd of ragged 
 sailors, now asked if it would not be possible to 
 wage them, if they explained the circumstances. 
 
 ' You say they are tobacco-planting in Virginia. 
 Why should they not plant on the Main and 
 supply all the ships which come to us, besides 
 fighting the Spaniards when the crops are grow- 
 
 ing?' 
 
 ' That's what you must do,' said Cammock. 
 
 ' Get the steadiest men you can. Plant your crops, 
 when you've cleared a patch of ground. Hit the 
 Spaniards hard at the first try. That'll bring all 
 the privateers to you. Hit 'em again hard at a 
 bigger port ; and I do believe, sir, you'll have two 
 or three thousand skilled troops flocking to you. 
 Old Mansvelt, the old Dutchman. You know 
 who I mean. He tried to do what you are try- 
 ing. That was at Santa Katalina. But he died, 
 and Morgan had to do it all over again. Then 
 Morgan had his chance. He'd fifteen hundred 
 men and a lot of ships. He'd taken Chagres and 
 Porto Bello. He had the whole thing in his 
 hands. With all the spoil of Panama to back 
 him up. The Isthmus was ours, sir. The whole 
 of Spanish America was in that man's hands. But 
 no. Come-day-go-day. He went off and got 
 drunk in Port Royal ; got a chill the first week ; 
 got laid up for a time ; then, when he did get 
 better, he entered Jamaica politics. The new 
 I 113 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 governor kept him squared. The new governor 
 was afraid of him. But what he done you can 
 do. You have a little success, and make a name 
 for yourself, and you'll have a thousand men in 
 no time. That's enough to drive the Spaniards 
 off the North Sea. When you've driven 'em all off, 
 the King'll step in. The King of England, I 
 mean. He'll knight you, and give you a bottle- 
 washing job alongside his kitchen sink. Your 
 settlement '11 be given to one of these Sirs in 
 Jamaica. There, sir. I wish you luck.' 
 
 The meeting was now broken up. Perrin 
 brought from his cabin a box of West Indian 
 conserves and a packet of the famous Peru- 
 vian sweetmeats. He offered them to Olivia, then 
 to all the company. The steward brought round 
 wine and strong waters. Mrs. Inigo, passing 
 through the cabin with a curtsey, left hot water 
 in Olivia's state-room. She wore a black gown 
 and white cap. She looked very handsome. She 
 walked with the grace of the Cornish women. 
 She reminded Captain Cammock of the Peruvian 
 ladies whom he had captured before Arica battle. 
 They, too, had worn black, and had walked like 
 queens. He remembered how frightened they 
 had been, when they were first brought aboard 
 from the prize. Olivia followed Mrs. Inigo into 
 the state-room. ' I must just see if she's got every- 
 thing she wants,' she murmured. She remained 
 in the state-room for a few minutes talking with 
 Mrs. Inigo. Perrin noticed that Stukeley looked 
 very hard at Mrs. Inigo as she passed through 
 with the jug. He decided that Stukeley would 
 need watching. 
 
 114 
 
A CABIN COUNCIL 
 
 * Where are you putting her ? ' said Stukeley. 
 
 'Who? Mrs. Inigo?' said Margaret. 'Along 
 the alleyway, to the starboard, in the big cabin 
 which was once the sail-room.' 
 
 ' 1 see,* said Stukeley. 
 
 ' By the way, Stukeley,* said Margaret. ' Now 
 that you've got over your sickness, would you like 
 to be one of us ^ And will you stand a watch ? 
 I'm going to stand two watches a day with the 
 mate's watch, and Edward here will do the same 
 with the starboard watch.' 
 
 ' I'll think it over,' said Stukeley, evidently not 
 much pleased. ' I'll think it over. I think I've 
 listened to enough jaw for one night. I'm going 
 to turn in.' 
 
 Margaret, quick to save Olivia from something 
 which he thought might annoy her, made a neat 
 parry. ' Oh, don't say that, Stukeley. Come on 
 deck for a blow ; then we'll have a glass of punch 
 apiece.' 
 
 ' Come on,' said Perrin, attempting, with an ill 
 grace, the manner of a jovial schoolboy. ' Come 
 on, my son. Catch hold of his other arm, Charles.' 
 
 As he seized Stukeley's arm to give him a heave, 
 Stukeley poked him in the wind, and tripped him 
 as he stepped backward. 'What're you sitting 
 down for } ' he said, with a rough laugh. 
 
 Perrin was up in a second. He seized a heavy 
 decanter, and hove it into Stukeley's face. Stukeley 
 in guarding the blow received a sharp crack upon 
 the elbow. Margaret and Cammock pulled Perrin 
 aside, under a heavy fire of curses. 
 
 ' What d'ye mean by losing your temper.? Hey.?' 
 said Stukeley. 
 
 "5 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Margaret drew Perrin out of the cabin. ' Good 
 night, Stukeley,' he said as he passed the door. 
 
 He left Cammock standing by his chair, looking 
 into Stukeley's face. There was a pause for a 
 moment. 
 
 Then Stukeley began with, ^That damned old 
 woman nearly broke my elbow. If he's a friend 
 of yours ' 
 
 * He is,* said Cammock. 
 
 * Oh, so youVe another of them. Well. Lord. 
 You make a queer crew. Do you know that } ' 
 
 Cammock did not answer, but remained stand- 
 ing, like a figure of bronze, staring into Stukeley's 
 face. For fully a minute he stood there silently. 
 Then he spun round swiftly, in his usual way, 
 giving a little whistle. He paused at the door to 
 stare at Stukeley again. 
 
 * Fm glad you admire my beauty,' said Stukeley. 
 ' You're not much used to seeing gentlemen, are 
 you ? ' 
 
 Still Cammock did not answer. At last he spat 
 through the half-opened gun-port. ' My God,' he 
 said. Then he walked out on deck, leaving Stuke- 
 ley rubbing his elbow ; but softly chuckling, think- 
 ing he had won the field. 
 
 ii6 
 
V 
 
 STUKELET 
 
 *Thus can my love excuse the slew offence/ 
 
 Sonnet It. 
 * I can endure 
 All this. Good Gods a blow I can endure. 
 But stay not, lest thou draw a timeless death 
 Upon thyself/ ^^^ ^^.^,^ Tragedy. 
 
 /^NE morning, about six weeks later, when the 
 Broken Heart was near her port of call, Cap- 
 tain Margaret sat at the cabin table, with a book of 
 logarithms beside him, a chart before him, and a 
 form for a ship's day's work, neatly ruled, lying 
 upon the chart. He made a faint pencil-line upon 
 the chart, to show the ship's position by dead- 
 reckoning. Then, with a pair of compasses, he 
 made a rough measurement of the distance still 
 to run. Stukeley, lying at length upon the locker- 
 top, watched him with contempt. 
 
 The Broken Heart had had a fair summer passage, 
 with no severe weather. She had spoken with no 
 ships since leaving Falmouth. Her little company 
 of souls had been thrown upon themselves, and the 
 six weeks of close association had tried their nerves. 
 There were tense nerves among the afterguard, on 
 that sunny morning, just off Soundings. 
 
 * Where are we ?' Stukeley asked. 
 117 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ■ * Just ofF Soundings,* said Margaret. 
 
 * Where the blazes is that ?* 
 
 'About four hundred miles to the east of 
 Accomac* 
 
 * How soon shall we get to Accomac ?' 
 
 * A week, perhaps. It depends on the wind.' 
 
 * And then we'll get ashore ? ' 
 *Yes. If you think it safe.' 
 
 * What the devil d'you mean } ' 
 
 Captain Margaret sat back in his chair and 
 looked at Stukeley as an artist looks at his model. 
 Many small, inconsidered, personal acts are revela- 
 tions of the entire character ; the walk, the smile, 
 the sudden lifting of the head or hand, are enough, 
 to the imaginative person. So, now, was Captain 
 Margaret's look a revelation. One had but to see 
 him, to know the truth of Perrin's epigram. Perrin 
 had called him ' a Quixote turned critic' He 
 looked at Stukeley as though he were above human 
 anger ; his look was almost wistful, but intense. 
 He summed up the man's character to himself, 
 weighing each point with a shrewd, bitter clearness. 
 His thought was of himself as a boy, pinning 
 the newly killed moth upon the setting-board. 
 
 ' Look here,' said Stukeley. 
 
 ' Do you think it safe V 
 
 Stukeley rose from the locker and advanced 
 across the cabin. 
 
 ' So little Maggy's going to preach, is he ?' he 
 said lightly. ' Let me recommend little Maggy to 
 keep on his own side of the fence.*' 
 
 Margaret shrugged his shoulders. It seemed to 
 him to be the most offensive thing he could do, in 
 the circumstances. 
 
 ii8 
 
STUKELET 
 
 ^ Supposing that it's not safe ?' 
 Stukeley laughed, and returned to the locker. 
 He pulled out a pipe and began to fill it. 
 
 * Maggy/ he said, 'why don't you get married ?* 
 ' My destiny.' 
 
 * Marriage goes by destiny. Eh ?' 
 
 * Marriage. And hanging, Stukeley.' 
 
 That brought him from the locker again. ' What 
 the hell d'you mean by that ?' 
 
 * Oh,' said Margaret. ' It's safe in Accomac, I 
 should think.' 
 
 ' What is ? ' 
 
 ' The evil-doer, Stukeley. The cheat, the 
 
 ravisher, the But I don't think you ever 
 
 committed a murder. Not what is called murder 
 by a jury.' 
 
 * Ah. You cast that at me,' said Stukeley. * Re- 
 collect now, Maggy. That's enough. I'd be sorry 
 to hit you.' 
 
 'Would you?' said Margaret. 'Well. Per- 
 haps. But if it's not safe, Stukeley, what are you 
 going to do } ' 
 
 ' Stay here, little Maggy. Oh, ducky, you are so 
 charming. I shall stay on board with my own 
 little Maggy.' 
 
 'You'd better remember my name when you 
 speak again, Stukeley. I take no liberties from a 
 forger.' 
 
 ' Have you been reading my papers ? In my 
 cabin ? ' 
 
 ' It was forgery, wasn't it ? ' 
 
 ' Is it any business of yours ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' How ? ' 
 
 119 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * Because, Stukeley, I may have to see the 
 Governor about you. I may be asked about you 
 when you land. I may even have to hand you 
 over to — wellj disgrace.' 
 
 ^ Rot. How the hell will the Governor know } 
 Don't talk nonsense.' 
 ' Then it was forgery } ' 
 
 * Certainly no damn maggot like you'll call it 
 anything. No man alive.' 
 
 ' But supposing they try you, my friend. Eh } 
 Suppose, when we land, when we anchor, you 
 are taken and sent home. What would a jury 
 call it.?' 
 
 ' We're not in Falmouth harbour now. Nor in 
 Salcombe.' 
 
 Just at this moment Captain Cammock entered, 
 whistling a tune through his teeth. He glanced at 
 both men, with some suspicion of their occupation. 
 ^ Come for the deep-sea lead-line,' he explained. 
 
 * We'll be in soundings by to-night. Getting on 
 nice, ain't we } ' He opened one of the lockers 
 and took out the lead-line. * You'd ought to come 
 on deck, sir, to-night, to see how this is done. It's 
 a queer sight,' he said. * I'm off to the cook now, 
 to get a bit of tallow for the arming.' 
 
 ' Stop just a moment, captain,' said Margaret. 
 
 * I want to ask you something. How often do 
 letters go to Virginia, from London } ' 
 
 * I suppose about twice a week, now there's no 
 war. Almost every day, in the summer, you 
 might say. Yes. They're always going.' 
 
 ' Have we made a good passage ^ ' 
 ' Nothing extra. It's been done in five weeks by 
 the baccalao schooners. Less.' 
 
 1 20 
 
STUKELET 
 
 *The baccalao schooners. TheyVe the cod-boats ? 
 Are they very fast ? * 
 
 ' Oh, beauties. But ain*t they wet.* 
 
 'Then we might find letters waiting when we 
 arrive } * 
 
 ' Very likely, sir. I was going to speak to you 
 about that.' He looked with meaning at Stukeley. 
 
 ' What are you looking at me like that for } ' said 
 Stukeley. 
 
 ' You might have letters waiting, too,* said Cam- 
 mock. ' Society invitations and that.* He glanced 
 up at the skylight as he spoke, and then watched 
 Stukeley *s face to note the effect of his words. 
 Stukeley turned pale. 
 
 ' Stukeley,' said Margaret, ' don't you think you 
 ought to tell your wife ? ' 
 
 'Will you please mind your own business, 
 Maggy. She's my wife, not yours.' 
 
 ' Then I shall tell her. Shall I ? ' 
 
 ' Tell her what .? ' 
 
 ' I'm going on deck,' said Cammock. ' You 
 come on deck, sir, too.' He passed out of the 
 cabin, carrying his heavy lead. He paused at the 
 door for a moment to ask his friend again. ' Come 
 and see how it's done, sir,' he said. He got no 
 instant answer, so he passed out, wondering how it 
 would end. ' It's none of my job,' he said sadly. 
 ' But I'd give a deal just to hit him once. Once. 
 He'd have a thick ear to show.' 
 
 ' Tell her what } ' repeated Stukeley, as the door 
 closed. 
 
 ' That you may be arrested as soon as we arrive. 
 That the case may go against you.' 
 
 ' You would tell her, would you } ' 
 
 121 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^ She ought to know. Surely you can see that. 
 Shall I tell her .? ' 
 *You?* 
 'Yes.' 
 
 * You've got You lowsy. You'd like to, 
 
 wouldn't you } ' 
 
 * 1 should very much like to, Stukeley.' 
 
 * I don't doubt. And you're the one That's 
 
 like you poets. You're a mangy lot, Maggy. I see 
 you so plainly, Maggy, telling my wife. Like a 
 cat making love. In the twilight. Oh, I've seen 
 you.' 
 
 ' Go on, Stukeley.' 
 
 * You come crawling round my wife. I've seen 
 you look at her. I've seen you shake hands with 
 her. I've seen your eyes. Doesn't she make your 
 mouth water } Wouldn't you like that hair all 
 over your face ? Eh .'' Eh ? And her arms round 
 you. Eh ? ' 
 
 'Stukeley,' said Margaret, 'I'd advise you to 
 stop. Stop now.' 
 
 'Wouldn't you like to .?' 
 
 ' Stop.' 
 
 ' I know you would. Poems, eh ? I've read a 
 lot of your poems to her, Maggy.' 
 
 ' Were you looking for my purse } ' 
 
 ' No, Maggy. But I thought you needed watch- 
 ing. I don't want any mangy poet crawling round 
 my wife. So I just watched you, Maggy.' 
 
 'Yes.?' 
 
 'Oh yes. I don't think you've succeeded yet, 
 Maggy. Even in spite of your poems.' 
 
 ' Stukeley,' said Margaret, rising from his chair, 
 ' when we get to Accomac you will come ashore 
 
 122 
 
STUKELET 
 
 with me. I'll do my best, when we're ashore, to 
 put my sword ' — he advanced to Stukeley, bent 
 swiftly over him, and touched him sharply on 
 the Adam's apple — *just there, Stukeley. Right 
 through. To save the hangman the trouble.' 
 
 Stukeley watched him with amused contempt ; 
 he laughed. ' Maggy's in a paddy,' he said. 
 'No, Maggy. I'm a married man, now, ducky. 
 I've gone into the stud. What would my wife do 
 if she woke up one fine morning and found me 
 gone } Eh ? ' 
 
 ' Are you afraid to fight ? * 
 
 * Afraid of a little crawling maggot who comes 
 whining out some measly poems } ' 
 
 Margaret took a quick step forward, and shot 
 out a hand to seize Stukeley by the throat. Stukeley 
 caught him by the wrist. 
 
 * Look here, Maggy,' he said. 
 
 * Drop my wrist. Drop it.* 
 ' Take your dirty wrist.' 
 
 * Take back what you said.' 
 
 ' You do amuse me, Maggy.* 
 
 * Take it back.' 
 
 ' You ought to have been a woman. Then you 
 could have married that damned fool Perrin. And 
 you could have ' 
 
 « You ' 
 
 ' Ah no, ah no. No blows, Maggy.* 
 
 ' Take back what you said.' 
 
 * That I was afraid ? ' 
 
 ' You'd better, Stukeley.* 
 
 ' Did I say that I was afraid ? I'm not, you 
 know. It's you who are afraid.' 
 
 * You'll see.' 
 
 123 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' I shall see. You are afraid. You're in love 
 with Olivia, ducky. D*ye think you're going to 
 fight me } Not Maggy. You'd like me away, 
 wouldn't you, Maggy. Then perhaps she'd. She's 
 an awful fool when you come to know her, Maggy. 
 To know her as I know her. She might be fool 
 enough to. And then. Oh. Bliss, eh ? Bliss. 
 Morning, noon, and night. Eh } ' 
 
 ' Stukeley, I've stood a good deal ' 
 
 'Yes, ducky. But don't be so excited. You 
 won't fight me. You'll be afraid. You'll lick my 
 boots, like you've done all the time, so as to get a 
 sweet smile from her. Doesn't she smile sweetly, 
 my little Maggy } You'll lick my boots, Maggy. 
 And hers. Lick, lick, lick, like a little crawling 
 cat. Wouldn't you like to lick her hand, Maggy .'' 
 Her fingers } Don't go, Maggy. I'm just begin- 
 ning to love you.' 
 
 * We'll go gn with this at Accomac, Stukeley.' 
 *We shan't fight, Maggy. If you killed me, 
 
 she'd never marry you. Besides. It would kill her, 
 Maggy. She loves me. She wants a man, not a 
 little licking cat. You're content to spend your 
 days licking. My God ; you'd die, I believe, if you 
 couldn't come crawling round her, sighing, and 
 longing to kiss her. That's your life. Well. Kill 
 me. You'll never see her again. Then what 
 would the little crawler do ? Go and put his arms 
 round Perrin 1 But d'you know what I should 
 tell Olivia before going out with you V 
 ' What would you tell her ?' 
 
 * I'd tell her that I suspected you of making love 
 to her. Eh } That you admitted it, and that I 
 gave you this chance of satisfaction out of con- 
 
 124 
 
STUKELET 
 
 sideration, instead of thrashing you. So any way 
 I've the whip hand, Maggy. She'd never look at 
 you again, and you can't live without her. Can 
 you r 
 
 ^Anything else V 
 
 * Just this. You'll never see her again if — if any- 
 thing happens at Accomac. Through the Governor, 
 you know. We should go home together. And 
 the shock, eh .? Loving husband hanged, eh } So 
 take it from one who loves little Maggy, that you 
 aren't going to fight me, and that for all your gush 
 you'll help me in Accomac in case there's trouble. 
 And Olivia shall let you kiss her hand, shall she. 
 Or no, you shall have a shoe of hers to slobber 
 over, or a glove. Now go on deck, Maggy, and 
 cool your angry little brow. A little of you goes a 
 long way, Maggy. That's what Olivia told me 
 one night.' 
 
 He stopped speaking ; for Margaret had left the 
 cabin. * I wonder where he's gone,' Stukeley mut- 
 tered, smiling. Through the half-shut door he 
 could see Margaret entering the cabin which he 
 shared with Perrin. ' What a rotter he is,' he 
 thought. ' I suppose now he'll have a good cry. 
 Or tell it all to that dead frog, Perrin.' For a 
 moment, he thought that he would go on deck to 
 walk with Perrin, not because he wanted to see the 
 man, but because, by going on deck, he would keep 
 both Perrin and the captain from talking to Olivia, 
 who was mat-making on the poop, amid a litter of 
 coloured silks. He thought with some disgust of 
 Olivia. So that he might not be reminded of her, 
 he drew the sun-screen across the skylight, shut- 
 ting out the day. * Oh Lord,' he said, yawning. 
 
 125 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * I wish I was back in the inn with that girl, Jessie. 
 She was some fun. Olivia gets on my nerves. 
 Why the devil doesn't she get some blood in her } 
 These pious women are only good to ravish. Why 
 the devil don't they enter nunneries ? I wish that 
 one of these three sprightly lads would have a try 
 at Olivia. One never knows, though. Even 
 Olivia might take it as a compliment.' For a 
 moment he wondered if there were any chance of 
 trouble at Accomac. Very little, he concluded. 
 He laughed to think of the strength of his posi- 
 tion. It was a pleasure to him to think that three 
 men hated him, perhaps longed to kill him, and 
 that one refrained because of Olivia, while the 
 other two refrained because of the first. 'Lord, 
 Lord,' he murmured, with a smile. ' And they'll all 
 three die to save me. I'd go to Accomac if there 
 were a dozen governors. I wonder if the Indian 
 girls are any fun. I back a hot climate against a 
 virgin-martyr.' He thought of one or two women 
 who had no need for a hot climate. He was hardly 
 built for marriage, he thought. Those old days 
 had been sweet in the mouth. There was that 
 sleepy-looking girl — Dick Sadler's wife. She was 
 some fun. How wild she used to get when 
 
 she He wished that Perrin would come 
 
 below as a butt for some of his ill-temper. 
 
 It was only four bells ; there were at least two 
 hours to wait till dinner-time. He was sick of sleep- 
 ing ; he was sick of most of his shipmates ; he could 
 not dice 'one hand against the other.' Reading 
 bored him, writing worried him, sketch he could not. 
 He stretched himself down on the locker-top, and lit 
 his pipe. Tobacco was forbidden in the cabin for 
 
 126 
 
STUKELET 
 
 Olivia's sake ; but he argued that he was the real 
 commander of the ship, the practical owner, since 
 he ruled her material destiny by ruling Olivia. As 
 he smoked, it occurred to him that perhaps he had 
 done wrong to anger Captain Margaret. That 
 Maggy was a sullen devil. He might turn sullen, 
 and give him up in spite of Olivia. He smoked 
 quietly for a little time, till a scheme came to him, 
 a scheme which gave him pleasure, so good it 
 seemed. 
 
 He lay lazily on the locker-top, looking out over 
 the sea, through the stern-windows. The sun was 
 shining, making the track of the ship gleam. Just 
 below Stukeley, sometimes almost within a sword's 
 thrust, when the counter squattered down, slap- 
 ping the sea, were the rudder eddies, the little 
 twirling threads, the twisted water which spun in 
 the pale clear green, shot through with bubbles. 
 They rose and whirled continually, creaming up 
 and bursting, streaking aft in whiteness. Over 
 them wavered some mewing sea-birds, dipping 
 down with greedy plunges, anon rising, hovering, 
 swaying up. Stukeley watched them with the vacant 
 stare of one bored. For a few minutes he amused 
 himself by spitting at those which came within 
 range ; then, proving a poor marksman, he rum- 
 maged for a biscuit, thinking that he would fish 
 for them. He found a hank of white-line, and 
 tied a bit of biscuit to the end. He was about to 
 make his first cast when Mrs. Inigo entered, bear- 
 ing a buck-basket containing her week's washing, 
 now ready to be dried. 
 
 When the Broken Heart left Falmouth, Captain 
 Margaret made certain orders to ensure Olivia's 
 
 127 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 comfort. He had tried to put himself in her place, 
 to see with her eyes, to feel with her nerves, 
 knowing that her position on board, without another 
 lady to bear her company, would not be a pleasant 
 one. The whole of the ship abaft the forward 
 cabin bulkhead had been given up to her. The 
 three members of the afterguard took their meals 
 in the cabin, but seldom entered it at other times, 
 unless they wished to use the table for chess, 
 cards, or chart- work. The negro steward, who had 
 once ruled in the cabin, was now little more than 
 a cabin-cook. Mrs. Inigo did much of his work. 
 She cleaned the cabin, laid the breakfast, served 
 Olivia's early chocolate, letting the negro cook 
 wash up. Cammock and Perrin agreed with Captain 
 Margaret that the after part of the ship should be 
 left as much as possible to the two Stukeleys, so that 
 Olivia might feel that she was living in a private 
 house. After the cabin supper, at the end of the first 
 dog-watch, no man of the three entered the cabin 
 unless Olivia invited him. Margaret felt that 
 Olivia was touched by this thought for her. She 
 was very gracious to him during her first evening 
 party. It was sweet to hear her thanks, sweet 
 to see her, flushed and laughing, radiant from the 
 sea air, sitting there at the table, as Cammock 
 dealt the cards for Pope Joan. That evening had 
 been very dear to him, even though, across the 
 cabin, on the heaped green cushions, lay Stukeley, 
 greedy for his wife's beauty, whetting his swine's 
 tusk as the colour came upon her cheek. It would 
 all be for him, he thought, and the thought, now 
 and then, was almost joyful, that she should be 
 happy. It was not in his nature to be jealous. 
 
 128 
 
STUKELET 
 
 The greatest bitterness for him was to see the 
 desired prize neglected, unappreciated, never really 
 known ; and to apprehend, in a gesture, in a few 
 words, the thought implied, which the accepted 
 lover failed to catch, or else ignored. He had 
 tested Stukeley's imaginative sympathy by the 
 framing of another rule. In a small ship like the 
 Broken Heart there is little privacy. To prevent a 
 possible shock to her, he arranged that on washing- 
 days the clothes of the women should be hung to 
 dry from the cabin windows (from lines rigged up 
 below the port-sills, where they were out of view 
 of the crew). Olivia was pleased by this arrange- 
 ment, without quite knowing why. Stukeley saw 
 no sense in it. On this particular morning the 
 arrangement bore peculiar fruit, very grateful to 
 Stukeley, who had long hungered for a change. 
 
 Mrs. Inigo entered with the buck-basket, closing 
 the door behind her. She dropped the basket on 
 the deck below the window-seat, seized the clothes- 
 line, and began to stop the linen to it, in the sea- 
 fashion, with ropeyarns. She was a little flushed 
 with the exertion of washing, and she was a comely 
 woman at all times. 
 
 * Vm going to help you,* said Stukeley. 
 
 She smiled, and looked down, as he helped her to 
 tie some clothes to the line. She blushed and 
 smiled ; he took her hand. 
 
 ' Let go my hand,' she whispered. 
 
 He pressed the hand, and though she drew back, 
 a little frightened, he managed to catch the other. 
 He kissed the hands. They were rough but warm. 
 
 * Don't,' she said. * Don't, Mr. Stukeley.' 
 
 ' Ah, Bess,' he said, taking her into his arms and 
 K 129 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 kissing her, ' why didn't you give me a chance 
 before ? ' 
 
 Half an hour later Bessy Inigo went forward to 
 peel potatoes for dinner, while Stukeley slept upon 
 the locker-top till the steward roused him at one 
 bell. 
 
 He went on deck, when he was called, to get a 
 breath of air before dinner. He found Olivia at 
 work with her little balls of silk, while Perrin, on 
 the lee side of the skylight, was drawing for her a 
 ship upon canvas. Perrin was talking to Olivia, 
 asking her questions about her work. At the 
 break of the poop Captain Cammock stood, waiting 
 with his quadrant to take the height of the sun. 
 
 Olivia looked up with a smile as Stukeley stepped 
 on deck. She was still in that rapturous first stage 
 of marriage in which all men, save the husband, 
 are regarded as hardly living, as being, at best, but 
 necessary cumberers of the earth, mere lifeless inter- 
 ruptions. In the early days of the voyage she had 
 learned, from one of Captain Cammock's stories, 
 that people shut up in ships together cannot always 
 bear the strain, but become irritable, quarrelsome, 
 apt to suspect and slander. She had determined 
 that her married love should not decay thus, and 
 so, for some weeks past, she had contrived to avoid 
 her husband for several hours each day, greatly to 
 the delight of Perrin. On this particular day she 
 felt that Providence had rewarded her but meanly 
 for her loving self-sacrifice. All men, save Tom, 
 were nothing to her, but Perrin, in the morning, 
 in one of his dull moods, when unrelieved by 
 Margaret, was less than nothing. She had always 
 been a little shy of Perrin, perhaps because Perrin's 
 
 130 
 
STUKELET 
 
 shyness was a bar to equal intercourse. Her own 
 nature was full of shy refinements. She could give 
 nothing of herself to one who could not win upon 
 her by some grace or gallantry. Perrin meant 
 well ; he was even her devoted slave ; but he was 
 heavy in the hand with ladies, until their sympathy 
 had raised his spirits. Olivia was not in the mood 
 to give him even that simulated sympathy by which 
 women extract their knowledge of men. Her own 
 fine instincts told her, or rather suggested to her, 
 all that could be known of Perrin. In a vague way 
 she had the idea of Perrin in her mind, the true 
 idea ; but vague, without detail, an instinctive com- 
 prehension. He was a blunted soul to her, broken 
 somehow. She felt that he had been through some- 
 thing, some vice perhaps, or sickness, with the 
 result that he was blunted.- He was quite harm- 
 less, she thought, even sometimes pleasant, always 
 well-meaning, and yet dwarfed, made blunt, like 
 his shapeless hands. She never could bring herself 
 to treat him as a human being. Yet he interested 
 her ; he had the fascination of all mysterious persons ; 
 she could never accept her husband's contemptuous 
 estimate. Possibly she felt the need for the society 
 of another lady, and hesitated to condemn Perrin, 
 as being the nearest thing to a lady in the ship. 
 Thus Robinson Crusoe on his island unduly valued 
 a parrot. 
 
 About half an hour before her husband came 
 on deck, Olivia had seen Perrin coming down from 
 aloft, where he had been engaged with a seaman in 
 fitting new spunyarn gaskets to all the yards on 
 the mainmast, so that the furls might look neat 
 when they made Virginia. He enjoyed his work 
 
 131 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 aloft until he grew hot, when he soon found a 
 pretext for leaving it. On reaching the deck, he 
 went aft to Olivia (who smiled her recognition), 
 and sat down at her side, content to stay still, to 
 cool. The sight of Olivia's beauty so near to him 
 filled him with a kind of awe. Like a schoolboy 
 impressed by some beautiful woman who is gracious 
 to him, perhaps merely from that love of youth 
 which all women have, so did Perrin imagine 
 heroisms, rescuing that dear head, now bent with a 
 shy sweetness over her mat. 
 
 ' Olivia,' he said at length, about a minute after 
 the proper time for the request, ' will you show me 
 what you have done } ' 
 
 She looked up from her work with a smile that 
 was half amusement at his serious tone. 
 
 ^ Fve not done very much,' she said, showing her 
 canvas, with its roses, surrounded by a garland of 
 verbena leaves, still little more than outlined. ^ Did 
 you ever try to make mats } ' she added. 
 
 ' I can make daisy-mats with wool, on a frame 
 with pins,' he answered. * Can you make those '^ 
 You cut them, and they show like a lot of daisies.' 
 
 ' 1 used to make them,' she said, ' when I went 
 to stay with my aunt Pile, at Eltons. You were 
 at Eltons, too, were you not } I think you stayed 
 there ? ' 
 
 *Yes. I stayed there. What a beautiful old 
 place it is. Have you been there lately } ' 
 
 ' No. Not for two or three years now. I was 
 very gay the last time I was there. I think 
 I went to a dance every night. My poor brothers 
 were alive then. We used to drive off together. 
 I've never been there since.' 
 
 132 
 
STUKELET 
 
 * Ah/ said Perrin. He paused for a moment, so 
 that his brain might make the picture of the woman 
 before him sitting in the gloom of the carriage, with 
 all her delicate beauty warmly wrapped by the two 
 young men now dead. ' Furs,* he muttered to 
 himself. ' Furs, and the lamps shining on the snow.* 
 Then he looked at Olivia, noting the grey and 
 black dress, the one gold bracelet round her wrist, 
 and the old pearl ear-rings against the mass of hair. 
 
 * What jolly clothes women wear,' he said, mean- 
 ing (like most men who use such phrases) * How 
 beautiful you look there.' 
 
 ' This } ' she asked. * This is my oldest frock.* 
 ' Is it } I didn't remember it. How do you get 
 your clothes } ' 
 
 * I tell my dressmaker.* 
 
 ' I wish you'd let me design you a dress.* 
 ' I should be very pleased. What sort of dress 
 would you design for me ? * 
 
 *I would have you in a sort of white satin bodice, 
 all embroidered with tiny scarlet roses. And then a 
 little black velvet coat over it, with very full 
 sleeves, slashed, to show an inner sleeve of dark 
 blue silk. And the lining of the velvet would be 
 dark green ; so you would have green, blue, white, 
 and red all contrasted against the black of the 
 velvet.' 
 
 * That would be costly. And what skirt ? A 
 black skirt, I suppose ? * 
 
 * A very full black skirt. What do you think 
 about a belt ? Would you wear that belt of yours } 
 The one with the Venetian silver-work } ' 
 
 ' I don't know about a belt. I thought you were 
 going to design everything "^ * 
 
 133 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * Not a belt, then. And black shoes, with small, 
 oval, cut-steel buckles.' 
 
 ' I should think that would be very pretty.' Her 
 thoughts were wandering in England, down a lane 
 of beech trees within sound of the sea, to a hillock of 
 short grass, cropped by the sheep, where sea-pinks 
 and sea-holly sprouted. 
 
 ' What are the sailors like ^ ' she asked. ' I saw 
 you working up aloft with them. What are they 
 like to talk to } ' 
 
 ' Oh. They're all right.' 
 
 ' 1 think they're dreadful people.' 
 
 'Why.''' said Perrin. 'What makes you think 
 they're dreadful ?' 
 
 ' No nice man would take to such a life. Oh. 
 It must be dreadful. I shudder when I see them. 
 What do they talk of, among themselves V 
 
 ' They're not very refined, of course. That man 
 up on the yard there was once a slave in Virginia. 
 You see he was transported for theft. He says he 
 used to cry, sometimes, half through the night. 
 He was so homesick.' 
 
 ' Oh, that's terrible. But what home had he to 
 be sick for ? ' 
 
 ' The ash-heap near a glass-house furnace. 
 Somewhere in Chelsea, I think he said.' 
 
 ' And are the others all thieves, do you sup- 
 pose V 
 
 ' That ugly-looking dark fellow with the crooked 
 eyes was once in a pirate's crew, so the man on the 
 yard said.' 
 
 ' Was he really ? I don't think that man is quite 
 sane. He seems to glare so. Oh, ships are dread- 
 ful, dreadful.' 
 
 134 
 
STUKELET 
 
 ^ They're beautiful, though. All Yes. 
 
 Don't you think all beautiful things seem to gather 
 vileness about them ?' 
 
 * No, I don't think so. Vileness "^ In what way, 
 vileness V 
 
 ' I think they do. You see ships with sailors, and 
 
 pictures with picture-dealers, and tragedies 
 
 Well. Tragedies with all sorts of people.' He 
 ran on glibly, though with some confusion. The 
 thought had occurred to him first in a moment 
 of jealous anger that Olivia, so beautiful and sweet, 
 should be a prey to the vile Stukeley. He blushed 
 and stopped, thinking that she would read his 
 thought. 
 
 ' Oh. But I don't think that at all,' she said. 
 *You ought to say that vileness gathers about 
 beautiful things. A beautiful thing is a vigorous 
 form of life, and all forms of life have parasites. 
 The parasites don't attach themselves to the things 
 you speak of because the things are beautiful.' 
 
 ' No. I suppose not. Of course not,' he 
 answered, rather puzzled, still thinking of Stukeley. 
 
 ' And you wouldn't say that the really beautiful 
 things, such as love is, say, to a woman like myself. 
 No vileness gathers about that V 
 
 * N-no,' he answered, with some hesitation, 
 wishing that he had never started his mild little 
 rabbit of an epigram. He looked away, at the sky- 
 line, for a moment. Then, with sudden desperation, 
 he charged her to change the subject, his face still 
 red from his former rout. 
 
 ' Olivia,' he said. * If I drew you a ship, would 
 you embroider it, or make a mat of it V 
 
 * Yes,' she said. ' Draw the Broken Heart. I could 
 
 135 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 work it for Tom's birthday. I should be very glad 
 of it, after I've finished this.' 
 
 Perrin helped her to cut a square of canvas from 
 a little roll she had obtained from the sailmaker. 
 He settled himself down to draw. Olivia stitched 
 with her silks. 
 
 ^ It is so curious,' she said at last, ' that you 
 should have known my husband — that you knew 
 him years ago, when we stayed at Eltons together. 
 Before I knew him.' 
 
 * Yes. I've thought that, too. And now we're 
 all here together. And Eltons is still going on, 
 behind us there. Rooks in the elms. And your 
 aunt Pile in her chair.' 
 
 She seemed to reflect for a moment, as though 
 thinking of the beautiful house, where life moved 
 so nobly, like a strain of music. Perrin knew that 
 she was thinking of Stukeley. ' Oh, you women,* 
 he said to himself. ' You give everything for a 
 pennyweight of love, and even that is never paid 
 to you.' He would have given much, poor moth, 
 to be back at Eltons, young and handsome, with 
 the shy, gauche girl who had since become Olivia. 
 ' I didn't know then,' he said to himself, ' and you 
 couldn't guess. And now we're driving to it. 
 Shipwreck. Shipwreck. And I should have been 
 so happy with you.' 
 
 ' What was Tom like then }' said Olivia. 
 
 ^ Who } Oh, your husband. You see I didn't 
 know him well,* said Perrin in confusion. ^ He 
 was — I think he was a lot thinner than he is now.' 
 
 ' How did he look in his uniform ? ' 
 
 ' His uniform } ' said Perrin. ' You see. I 
 didn't see him in his uniform. You see it was 
 
 136 
 
STUKELET 
 
 after he'd been kicked After he'd You 
 
 know what. What is the word ? After he'd 
 been ' 
 
 Stammering and blushing, he managed to get out 
 of his difficulty. Olivia thought that he had been 
 afflicted by that impediment in his speech, or 
 partial aphasia, which sometimes checked his con- 
 versation. She pitied him, while feeling that his 
 companionship was painful. He himself turned 
 very red, and bit his tongue. He thought that the 
 six weeks at sea should have taught him the guard 
 for all such sudden thrusts. 
 
 * After he'd left the army } ' she said kindly. 
 
 ' Yes. Yes. It was,' he answered. He turned 
 again to draw the image of the Broken Hearty as he 
 had seen her from without, some seven long weeks 
 before. Olivia gave him a moment's grace to 
 recover his natural colour. Captain Cammock 
 caught her eye, and saluted as he took his stand 
 with his quadrant. She was smiling back at him 
 when her husband's head appeared on the poop 
 ladder. Perrin looked up quickly. 
 
 'I'd better hide this, Olivia,' he said. 'If it's for 
 your husband's birthday. Shall I hide it V 
 
 As she nodded a swift answer her husband 
 stepped on to the poop. 
 
 Stukeley advanced rapidly and kissed his wife, 
 with some show of fervour, for policy's sake. 
 Then with a quick snatch he caught Perrin's draw- 
 ing, lying half hidden upon the skylight seat under 
 one of Olivia's wraps. 
 
 'Look at little Pilly's cow,' he said. 'Look, 
 Olivia. Did you draw this, little Pilly ? ' 
 
 ' He was drawing it for me,' said Olivia. 
 137 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * Were you going to teach him to embroider it ? 
 Little Pilly, was he going to have his little needle, 
 then ? And his red and blue silk. Eh ? You 
 know, Olivia, I saw little Pilly here, down in 
 the cabin one hit me, playing with some red and 
 blue silk spools. Ah, little Pilly ; it's a shame to 
 tease him. He must have his little dollies, 
 then.?' 
 
 'You put down that drawing,' said Perrin, 
 snatching at it. 
 
 Stukeley held him aside with one hand, dangling 
 the drawing from the other. 
 
 ' No, no, little Pilly,' he said. ' Manners, little 
 boy. Manners before ladies.' 
 
 'Don't, Tom dear,' said Olivia. 'Don't spoil 
 the drawing,' 
 
 ' That would be a shame,' he answered. ' Little 
 Pilly draws so beautifully. Which is the tail, 
 Pilly } ' he asked. ' Which of these prongy things 
 is the tail } ' 
 
 Perrin did not answer ; but again attempted to 
 snatch the canvas. 
 
 ' Why don't you take it, little Pilly .? ' said 
 Stukeley. 
 
 'Damn you, give it,' said Perrin, white with 
 passion. He snatched the canvas from him, smote 
 him a sharp slash across the eyes with it, and flung 
 it overboard. 
 
 Stukeley made a rush at him, but became in- 
 volved with one of Olivia's wraps. Cammock 
 stepped between the disputants with his quadrant 
 at his eye. 
 
 'Woa, blood,' he said. 'Don't knock my ship 
 overboard. Make eight bells there, will you, Mr. 
 
 138 
 
STUKELET 
 
 Perrin ? Mr. Stukeley, will you please step and 
 tell the steward to set the clock right ? * 
 
 ' Do your own dirty work/ said Stukeley. 
 
 The helmsman sniggered audibly. Cammock 
 raised his hat about an inch from his head. 
 
 ' Quite right, sir,' he said, as Perrin made eight 
 bells. ' Quite right to remind me, sir. I forgot 
 you was only a passenger.' 
 
 ^ Steward,' shouted Perrin. ^ Oh. Mrs. Inigo. 
 Just tell the steward to set the clock right.' 
 
 ' De clock am set, seh,' said the steward, coming 
 to the break of the poop to ring the bell for dinner. 
 
 * Tom dear,' said Olivia, conscious that the man 
 she loved had made but a poor show. ' Tom, dear. 
 You weren't very kind. I mean. I think you 
 hurt Captain Cammock. And you made Edward 
 angry. He can't bear to be teased. He's not 
 easy-tempered like you, dear. I think sometimes 
 you forget that, don't you, Tom } You won't be 
 cross, Tom } ' 
 
 *Oh, nonsense, Polly,' he said, as he took her 
 arm to lead her below. * Nonsense, you old pretty- 
 eyes. I can't resist teasing Pilly ; he's such an old 
 hen. As for Cammock, he's only an old pirate. 
 I'm not going to be ordered about by a man like 
 that. He's no right to be at liberty.' 
 
 Olivia was pleased by the reference to her eyes, 
 so she said no more. She wondered, during dinner, 
 why Captain Margaret ate so little and so silently, 
 and why Perrin never spoke until addressed. 
 Cammock was affable and polite. His attention to 
 Stukeley's needs was almost oily. 
 
 139 
 
VI 
 
 A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 * But here comes Glorias, that will plague them both.' 
 
 John Donne. 
 * I'll make 'em dance, 
 
 And caper, too, before they get their liberty. 
 Unmannerly rude puppies.' 
 
 Wit Without Money, 
 
 A FTER dinner, Captain Cammock took tobacco 
 on the poop alone. He liked to be alone after 
 dinner ; because his mind was then very peaceful, 
 so that he could 'shift his tides,* as he said, walking 
 up and down, remembering old days at sea. He 
 had had an adventurous life, had Captain Cam- 
 mock. Like most men who had lived hard, he 
 lived very much in his past, thinking that such a 
 thing, done long ago, was fine, and that such a 
 man, shot long since, outside some Spanish breast- 
 work, was a great man, better than the men of 
 these days, braver, kindlier. So he walked the 
 deck, sucking his clay, blowing out blue smoke in 
 little quick whiffs, thinking of old times. One 
 thing he was always proud of: he had sailed with 
 Morgan. He had memories of Morgan on the 
 green savannah, riding on a little Spanish horse, 
 slunk forward in his saddle somehow, ' a bit swag- 
 bellied. Sir Henry,* with his cigar-end burning his 
 
 140 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 moustache. And all of those men crowded round 
 him, surging in on him, plastered with mud, gory 
 with their raw-meat meal ; they were scattered 
 pretty well ; they would never come in on the one 
 field again. On the Keys, it had been fine, too ; all 
 of that blue water had been fine. A sea like blue 
 flame, and islands everywhere, and the sun over 
 all, making bright, and boles of cedar among the 
 jungle like the blood-streaks in porphyry. And 
 graceful, modest Indian women, glistening with oil, 
 crowned with dwarf-roses. And then one or two 
 nights by the camp-fires, with old Delander stand- 
 ing sentry, and Eddie Collier singing ; it was none 
 of it like this ; this was responsible work ; this 
 turned the hair grey. He felt this the more 
 strongly, because the Broken Heart was not a happy 
 ship ; she was wearing him down. Stukeley made 
 him grit his teeth. He had to sit at table with 
 him, conscious of the man's mean malice at every 
 moment. There would be some slight sound, an 
 intake of the breath, some muttered exclamation, 
 a request to repeat the offending phrase, when he, 
 a rough seaman, made some mispronunciation, or 
 slip in grammar. And to stand that, till one's 
 veins nearly burst, knowing that the man was a 
 cast criminal, flying for his life. And to have to 
 pretend that he was a guest, an honoured guest, 
 a fit mate for the woman there. And to have to 
 defend him, if need be, in Virginia. It made him 
 check his walk sometimes to shake a belaying-pin 
 in the fife-rail, till the passion passed. It was 
 lucky for Stukeley that he was a man with a pretty 
 tight hold on himself. A lesser man, a man not 
 trained in the wars, would have laid Stukeley dead, 
 
 141 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 or taken it out of the hands. He was too just 
 a man to work it off on his hands. At this point 
 he checked himself, sharply, putting all evil thoughts 
 aside, remembering how a shipmate, Balsam Dick, 
 the Scholerd,who ladled out soft-polly of a Sunday, 
 old Balsam Dick it was, had told him that was the 
 thing to do. ' Let it go or make it go,' that was 
 how to work a passion. There was no sense, only 
 misery, in keeping it by one, poisoning oneself. 
 Besides, he was glad he'd come this cruise. He 
 had been for six weeks shut up in a ship with 
 Olivia. He would never be thankful enough for 
 that. She was so beautiful, so pure, so gentle and 
 kind, so delicate a lovely thing, he could hardly 
 bear to think of her. When he thought of Olivia, 
 he would lean over the taffrail, somewhere above 
 her cabin, v/ondering at the powers which had 
 made him what he was, a resolute, rough seaman, 
 beaten into clumsy toughness. And yet those 
 powers had shaped her, too, making her very 
 beautiful, very wonderful. And now the powers 
 had shoved her into a ship with him ; and he would 
 never be quite the same towards women, whatever 
 happened. But, then, there was Stukeley, that 
 intolerable, mean bully, worrying all of them in 
 the same ways, day after day, with a maddening 
 monotony of insult. Perrin, who was half Welsh, 
 had once hit off Stukeley in an epigram upon the 
 English. ' Dull,' he had said, goaded by some 
 school-bully boorishness, repeated for the hundredth 
 time. ' The English dull ? Of course they are 
 dull. They're so dull that they can't be in- 
 ventive even in their cruelty.' Cammock would 
 repeat this phrase, reading * Stukeley ' for ' Eng- 
 
 142 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 lish,' so many times daily that * he tokened his 
 pasture.' 
 
 While Cammock walked the deck, thinking and 
 smoking, Olivia sat in her state-room writing 
 letters, feeling sure that she would be able to send 
 them home from Virginia in one of the tobacco- 
 ships, and anxious to be ready in case they should 
 speak one at sea. Margaret and Perrin sat in 
 Captain Cammock's cabin together, working out 
 the sights, and talking in a low voice of Stukeley. 
 The cabin door was open, so that they could look 
 across the alleyway to the closed door of Mrs. 
 Inigo's state-room, once the sail-locker. They 
 noticed that Mrs. Inigo came to her door every 
 now and then, to glance down the alleyway, with 
 an anxious face. They supposed that she was 
 waiting for Olivia to call her. Once, indeed, she 
 asked them if Mrs. Stukeley had called. 
 
 ' Well, Charles,' said Perrin. ' I told you how 
 it would be. You see now what you've done.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Margaret. * 1 admit I was wrong. 
 I made a great mistake.' 
 
 ' I don't blame you,' said Perrin. * But what are 
 you going to do when we land ?' 
 
 ' Call him out.' 
 
 * No, sir. I'm going to call him out.' 
 
 ' Aren't we both talking nonsense ? How can 
 either of us call him out, with Olivia on board } 
 And then they're my guests.' 
 
 * Well. I think we ought to get rid of them.' 
 ' We can't, with Olivia.' 
 
 ' There may be letters ordering us to give him 
 
 up; 
 
 * Then we shall have to cut and run for it.' 
 
 143 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' Now why go in for these heroics ?* 
 
 ' Because — 1 don't know. When I was a young 
 
 man I framed a certain scheme of life, I suppose. 
 
 There it is.' 
 
 ' We're only putting oiF the evil day.' 
 
 ' Why } What makes you think that V 
 
 ^ Supposing we do cut and run for it. What are 
 
 you going to do 1 How about your merchandise ? 
 
 Where are you going to take them } Olivia must 
 
 know some day. They can't go back to England. 
 
 It's only merciful to her to tell her.' 
 
 * Who is to tell her ? Who is to go to her and 
 say, " Olivia, your husband's a forger." It's im- 
 possible, Edward.' 
 
 ' Well, I think we ought to tell her.' 
 
 ^ Very well then. Go in and tell her. You can't.' 
 
 ' I will' 
 
 ' No. Sit down. Look here. I used to know 
 Howard, the present Governor, years ago. Sup- 
 pose this. Suppose I could get him to waive the 
 arrest. That is, if we find an arrest has been 
 ordered. And we could persuade. I want to 
 spare that poor girl. He might get them to settle, 
 give him an appointment — anything. Make him 
 his secretary.' 
 
 'And what sort of life would Olivia have V 
 
 ^ A better one than on the Main, surely.' 
 
 ' It's a difficult row to hoe.' 
 
 Mtis.' 
 
 * Let's make a sangaree. Will you have some if 
 I make some .''' 
 
 'No. Let's go into this with clear heads. It 
 might be better to tell Olivia. But it'll break her 
 heart.' 
 
 144 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 * She's got to suffer some day. And her heart 
 won't break/ 
 
 ' My God, though, Edward, do think what she is, 
 think of her life. Think what. To have her 
 husband driven in a cart and hanged.' 
 
 ' Yes. But it's surely a worse tragedy for 
 him not to be hanged, and to go on living with 
 her.' 
 
 ' I know. It is. But she loves him.' 
 
 ' Comic devils, women. Aren't they V 
 
 ^ 1 don't understand you.' 
 
 ' Well. Look here. I suppose he would be 
 hanged ? ' 
 
 * I shouldn't think there's a doubt of it.' 
 
 ' And the question is, how to get rid of Stukeley 
 and spare Olivia }' 
 
 ' No. How to spare Olivia. Settle them in 
 Virginia, I say.' 
 
 ' In the first place, the Governor might not allow 
 it. And in the second place, my dear man, you 
 
 simply can't leave Olivia in a land where 
 
 Well. A savage land.' 
 
 ^ What do you know of the land ? ' 
 
 * I don't know anything of the land.' 
 
 ' What makes you think it to be savage ? ' 
 
 * It's common talk. The sailors.' 
 
 ' What do the sailors say about it ? ' 
 
 * They say it's " the hell of a place." " The last 
 place God made, and He forgot to finish it." ' 
 
 * What do they know of Virginia ? ' 
 ' They've been there.' 
 
 * Yes. But what do sailors know of any 
 country ? ' 
 
 ' They go ashore.' 
 
 L 145 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' What for ? ' 
 
 ^ To load and unload their cargoes.' 
 
 ' To roll casks in the sun ? * 
 
 'Well. Yes.' 
 
 ' Do they like that .? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' What else do they do when they go ashore } * 
 
 ' They go exploring.' 
 
 ' What } The brothels ? ' 
 
 * Yes. And the country, too.' • 
 ' Are there any roads ? ' 
 
 ' Well, anyway, they've been there, and that's 
 what they say. And some of them. That Bill 
 Adams fellow in my watch. He was there for five 
 years, and he said it was hell.' 
 
 ' What was he doing ? ' 
 
 * Working in the tobacco fields.' 
 ' As a slave } ' 
 
 ' No. A redemptioner.' 
 ' Kidnapped } ' 
 
 * No. Transported.' 
 
 ' I think we'd better wait till we see Virginia 
 for ourselves. This is my plan, Edward. We had 
 better do this, I think. I'll explain things to 
 Howard, and get him to give Stukeley a place.' 
 
 ' And compromise himself ^ ' 
 
 ' Not necessarily. Then they had better stay in 
 Virginia. And perhaps I'll give up the Darien 
 scheme and go home, find out what sort of a mess 
 he is in, and see if I can make some sort of a 
 composition with his prosecutors.' 
 
 'You can't. You're wanted in England your- 
 self. We're all outlaws, Charles. We're flying 
 with ropes round our necks.' 
 
 146 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 ^Yes. I suppose we are. Well. Shall we all 
 stay in Virginia } * 
 
 ' Till we're taken and sent home } ' 
 
 ^ Till my committee of merchants procure our 
 pardons.' 
 
 * We shall get no pardons till our Darien scheme 
 is a big success.' 
 
 ^ That's true, too.* 
 
 * Old Cammock was saying that Carolina is a 
 good place. They call Charleston Puerto Franco ; 
 everybody's safe there, he says.' 
 
 ' God deliver Olivia from a place so lawless that 
 every one is safe there.' 
 
 ' Yes. My word, yes.' 
 
 ' Suppose, now. Suppose there is an arrest. 
 Suppose Howard should be firm. It seems hard. 
 My God, I know I meant well ; but I've got her 
 into a cruel fix. If we let them go. Go back to 
 England, for him to be tried. D'you know, Edward, 
 I think it would be best.' 
 
 ' I'm quite sure it would be.' 
 
 ' But you would have to go with her, Perrin. You 
 would have to go. I'd go, too. I'd take my chance.' 
 
 ' No you wouldn't. You'll do nothing of the 
 sort. You've enough trouble as it stands.' 
 
 ' Oh, I'd have to go. I couldn't stay here and 
 eat my heart out for her.' 
 
 'Yes you will, Charles. Be sensible. I'll see 
 her safe home, if it comes to that.' 
 
 ' And the instant you land, Edward, you'll go to 
 Flaxley, to her uncle, and then to her aunt Pile. 
 Get them to come to her. My God, love blinds a 
 man. I ought to have seen all this. But I could 
 only see what was pleasant to myself.' 
 
 147 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^Ah. Don*t say that, Charles. It's not true. 
 You didn't know Stukeley.' 
 
 ' No. Stukeley then was the man Olivia loved.' 
 
 ^ And now } ' 
 
 ' Now } Now ? We won't talk about that, 
 Edward. Get your Donne and read to me.' 
 
 ' I read so badly.' 
 
 ' You read excellently. You're a little slow 
 sometimes.' 
 
 ' I can't vary my voice. I could, before it broke. 
 Now I read so monotonously.' 
 
 'Verse ought to be read in a monotone, but 
 there is a passionate monotone. Read me the 
 Second Anniversary, and we'll forget our worries. 
 That sounded rather like a step in the alleyway.' 
 
 Perrin leaned out of the door and looked aft. 
 
 ' It's no one,' he said. 'A beam creaked. Stuke- 
 ley's asleep on the cabin lockers.' 
 
 ' It sounded like a step.' 
 
 'I'll just make sure. No. It can't have been 
 anybody.' He tiptoed lightly to the cabin door, 
 and looked through. Stukeley was asleep on the 
 locker-tops, his face buried in the cushions. Perrin 
 closed the door quietly, and took his book from his 
 shelf. ' It was no one,' he said. ' No one at all. 
 Only a beam.' 
 
 ' Begin, then,' said his friend. 
 
 Perrin shut the door, sat down, and began to 
 read that glorious elegy, making a sad business of 
 the changing accents. 
 
 While he read, Stukeley sat up and smiled, 
 making rude remarks under his breath. He had 
 retired to his locker-top after dinner, intending 
 to visit Mrs. Inigo as soon as the coast was clear. 
 
 148 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 After half an hour of yawning, he had crept down 
 the alleyway on tiptoe, hoping to find the door 
 ajar, and the handsome woman waiting for him. 
 He noticed that Cammock's door was open, so that 
 it would be dangerous to attempt the rendezvous ; 
 but hearing a murmur of voices he had stolen close 
 to listen. He had expected nothing interesting to 
 himself. He had expected some talk of the situa- 
 tion, possibly some invective, such as he had over- 
 heard at other times ; but for once he heard some- 
 thing new ; something which (as he foresaw) would 
 test the wonderful new scheme which he had made 
 that morning. He half doubted if the scheme would 
 stand the strain ; but a little thought convinced 
 him that he ran no risk. So pleasant was the con- 
 versation to him that he lingered rather too long, 
 mistaking the intentions of the speakers, so that, 
 when he retreated backwards, he went too swiftly, 
 and made some noise at the door, enough to give 
 Margaret the impression of a step. He had just 
 time to bury his head in the cushions, before 
 Perrin entered. ' Fancy old Maggy having the 
 guts,' he said. ' We must deal with the little Pill, 
 too. The little dear gets poisonous.' He thought 
 that he would go on deck to pass the rest of the 
 afternoon. Mrs. Inigo would have to be aban- 
 doned till the morning. 
 
 He rubbed his cheeks vigorously to flush them. 
 With a twist of his fingers he ruffled his long black 
 hair, as though he had slept. Then he went yawn- 
 ing down the alleyway, pulling at the skirts of his 
 waistcoat. He looked in at the door of Cammock's 
 cabin, pretending to be but half awakened. 'Did one 
 of you come into the cabin just now } ' he asked. 
 
 149 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 'Yes, I did/ said Perrin. M'm sorry if I woke 
 you.' 
 
 ' Oh, it's all right,' he said, gaping. * Only 
 I wondered who it was.' 
 
 Mrs. Inigo's door was shut, so he passed out to 
 the deck. He wished to avoid Captain Cammock, 
 who walked the poop above him. Mr. Cottrill, 
 who had the deck at the moment, was forward 
 with the boatswain, setting up the fore-backstays 
 with the watch. The only person with whom he 
 could converse was Mr. lies, the second mate, that 
 smart young seaman, who now sat on an inverted 
 wash-deck tub, in the lee scuppers, mending a pair 
 of trousers which he had taken off for the occasion. 
 Puffs of wind sometimes lifted his shirt skirts, dis- 
 playing his little wiry legs. The sailmaker, who 
 sat on the booby-hatch, putting a new clue into 
 a royal, was telling him, at each puff, to mind the 
 girls didn't see. 
 
 * By gee,' said Mr. lies, by no means a bashful 
 man, * 1 wouldn't mind if der girls did see.' 
 
 ' They don't come around so much when a man 
 gets married,' said the sailmaker. ' They get shot 
 in the beam with a wet rag.' 
 
 'B'gee,' said Mr. lies, 'I don't know. Sails. 
 B'gee, I seen some married men as didn't do much 
 shootin'.' 
 
 ' It's the missus does the shooting,' said Sails. 
 ' I know there's not many girls come whistling 
 after me since I got married. But you young 
 fellers,' said Sails, ' you think of nothing else, I do 
 believe, except the gells outside Paddy's.' 
 
 ' B'gee,' said Mr. lies. ' Dere was one of them 
 girls outside Paddy's. She was a bute, all right, all 
 
 150 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 right. She'd got a fine skin on her. Gee. Hey. 
 Like old sail.' 
 
 ' They don't last at it,' said Sails. * Five years, 
 they say. Then they get froze, down Lavender 
 Pond way. That washes the poor creatures' rooge 
 off. But there's not many thinks that when they 
 come ashore, Mr. lies. Nor you don't think it.' 
 
 ' B'gee,' said Mr. lies, as he stretched his leg out 
 into the sunlight. ' That's a leg all right, all 
 right,' he said. ' B'gee, Sails, I don't t'ink you 
 could show a leg, like what that leg is.' 
 
 ' I got a leg as I'd show alongside of any man's,' 
 said Sails. 
 
 ' Let's see your leg,' said Mr. lies. ' B'gee, 
 Sails, you're one of dese consumptive fellers. You 
 ain't got no legs.' 
 
 - ' I got a better leg'n you got,' said Sails, very 
 touchy, like all sailors, on the subject of his physical 
 strength. * You look here,' he said. 
 
 ' Mr. Stukeley,' cried Mr. lies, standing up 
 excitedly. ^ B'gee, sir, I want to show legs with 
 Sails here. Will you be the judge between 
 us?' 
 
 Stukeley had seen similar contests in his visits to 
 the head to be pumped on ; but he had hardly ex- 
 pected to see an officer's vanity put to the touch 
 upon the quarter-deck. * It'll annoy old Brandy- 
 face,' he thought. ' Yes,' he answered, ' I'll be the 
 judge. But don't shock old Brandyface on the 
 poop there.' He said this in the hearing of Cap- 
 tain Cammock, who paused at the poop-rail, looked 
 down on their preparations with an unmoved face, 
 and then turned to walk aft. 
 
 * B'gee,' said Mr. lies. * It's a pity our girls 
 151 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ain't here. Dere's some girls'd die laughing to see 
 us. Come on, Sails.' 
 
 Sails extended a bared leg beside him, balancing, 
 like a flamingo, on one foot. The boatswain, com- 
 ing aft for a sack of paunch-mats, called on his 
 maker to come aft and watch. 
 
 ' B'gee, Sails,' said Mr. lies, looking critically at 
 the contesting leg. ' You got a pretty good calf all 
 right, all right.' 
 
 ^ You've been woolded pretty well, too,' said 
 Sails. ^ You could keep them going, for a little 
 feller.' 
 
 ^ Them little fellers,' said the boatswain flatter- 
 ingly. * They do their piece. I seen little fellers 
 keep them going when the rest is gone dormy.' 
 He glanced at Stukeley, to see how Paris would 
 decide. 
 
 ^ Boatswain strip, too,' suggested Stukeley. 
 ^ Now, bose. Cock up your leg with the others.' 
 
 The boatswain shook his head with a laugh, and 
 went back to his work. 
 
 ' B'gee, sir,' said Mr. lies, ' the old bose is 
 jealous. I'm getting cold, b'gee.' He danced a 
 little step dance, slapping his feet. 
 
 ' You've both got decent legs,' said Stukeley, 
 taking the hint. ' Damn good legs. But you 
 want a connoisseur to decide. I'll get Mr. Perrin ! ' 
 
 ' Make him measure us,' said Mr. lies. 
 
 ' I ain't going to have no Mr. Perrin,' said Sails, 
 retiring. ' My legs speaks for theirselves. You 
 got no legs, Mr. lies. You only got muscles. What 
 a leg wants is pathos in the joints, like what I got.' 
 
 ' B'gee, Mr. Stukeley,' said lies, ' I think I got 
 old Sails to the bad.' 
 
 152 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 ^ Your legs are like mine, Sails/ said Stukeley. 
 ' They show a bit old alongside a fresh young buck 
 like Mr. lies here/ 
 
 *Ah, go on, sir,' said Sails. 'Them legs Mr. 
 lies got, 1 wouldn't be seen dead with.' 
 
 Mr. lies stuck his needle in his cap. He 
 yawned, and spurned his tub into the scuppers. 
 ' I'm goin' below now,' he said. * I'll have a bit of 
 a fiddle before eight bells.' He glanced at Stuke- 
 ley, who seemed willing to talk. ' You've never 
 been below in the 'tween-decks, have you, sir ? ' he 
 said. * You come down and see the sights. I ain't 
 got much, but I can give you a chair and a look 
 around. Come on down this way, sir.' He led 
 the way down the booby-hatch, into the 'tween- 
 decks, where the light from the boom-gratings and 
 the open hatch-mouths made sunny places in the 
 gloom. A lamp or two, hung under the quarter- 
 deck, gave light to the after part, showing a few 
 whitewashed, jalousied cabins on both sides of the 
 ship. ' That's the round-house,' said lies, nodding 
 towards the port side. *The idlers live in the 
 round-house. Anybody in ^ ' he cried, shaking 
 the door. * There'll only be the cook in at this 
 time. Rise and shine there, doctor.' But the 
 doctor was down in the forepeak grubbing up 
 dunnage for firewood. All that Stukeley saw of 
 the round-house was the darkness of a vault, 
 through which gleamed the oil-cloth on a table, and 
 the paint upon a sea-chest. The clue of a hammock 
 sloped down from the beams just above his head, 
 like the crow's-foot on a stay. The place smelt of 
 oil ; for the lamp had been allowed to burn itself 
 out. * Fine dry little house,' said Mr. lies. * Dry 
 
 153 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 as a bone. TheyVe good times in there, them 
 idlers. This is where me and Mr. Cottrill bunks. 
 Over here, sir, to starboard. Mind them bosun's 
 stores amidships.' He led the way to a couple of 
 dingy boxes on the starboard side. They were 
 more roomy than the cabins on the deck above ; 
 but they gave one no feeling of comfort. Mr. 
 Iles's home was littered with second-mate's stores. 
 It gave out the penetrating, homely stink of spun- 
 yarn. Spare log-lines and lead-lines were heaped 
 in a spare bunk. From the beams dangled a variety 
 of lamps, and bunches of thin candles, like corpses' 
 fingers. His oilskins swung behind the door, and 
 dripped upon an old swab laid below, as a sort 
 of doormat. ' I been oiling up my skins,' he 
 explained. ' Don't it stink, hey } Stinks like hell, 
 I call it. Good for consumptives, stink is, they 
 say. I couldn't ever see it myself.' 
 
 * Do you get your meals in here } ' said Stukeley. 
 
 ' Damn that boy,' replied Mr. lies, evidently 
 searching for something. ^ He hasn't put my 
 water-carafe back. He's left it in the wardroom 
 again. Come on into the wardroom, Mr. Stukeley.' 
 
 He led the way aft to the wardroom, which 
 stretched across the breadth of the ship right aft. 
 The big chase-ports were open, so that the room 
 was light. One could see the grunting, kicking 
 rudder-head, with its huge blocks for the relieving- 
 tackles. The long chase-guns were trained athwart- 
 ships, and securely housed. A tablecloth of old 
 soft sail was thrown across one of them. A cleated 
 table stretched athwartships just forward of it. 
 
 The table was rimmed with a batten to keep the 
 plates from falling. ' Here's my water-carafe,' said 
 
 154 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 Mr. lies. ' Sit down, Mr. Stukeley. Til fetch you 
 the rum and a pannikin. We ain't got much. But 
 you may as well have what there is.' From the 
 adjoining wardroom pantry he produced a bottle of 
 rum, about half full, and a couple of tin pannikins. 
 Mr. lies held the bottle against the light to observe 
 the level of the spirit. He also sniffed at the 
 mouth after removing the cork. ' I have to watch 
 that boy,' he explained. * He likes his little dollop 
 a bit too well. I don't think he's been at this 
 though. Does it seem to you's though it been 
 watered } ' 
 
 * No, sir,' said Stukeley, swallowing his allow- 
 ance. ^ It's very sound spirit. Wants another 
 year in cask perhaps. How much of this do you 
 get a day ? ' 
 
 * Half a pint's the whack,' said Mr. lies, ' but 
 I don't touch my whack the first month, till the 
 water slimes. Then I've a matter of three gallons 
 saved, in case I get company come. Have another 
 go, Mr. Stukeley } ' 
 
 * Thank you,' said Stukeley, holding out his 
 pannikin. * Here's to old Brandyface, our bold 
 commander.' 
 
 ' Old Cap Hammock,' said lies, twitching the left 
 side of his upper lip in the smile peculiar to him. 
 
 * What do you think of old Brandyface ? ' said 
 Stukeley. ' Perhaps you're used to pirates ? ' 
 
 * What's pirates got to do with it } ' said Mr. 
 lies. ' Drink hearty, sir. I got a demijohn in the 
 spare bunk there. What's pirates got to do 
 with it.?' 
 
 ' Well. There's old Brandyface in the cabin, isn't 
 there ? ' 
 
 155 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * Old Cap Hammock ain't no pirate ? * 
 
 ^ Wasn't he ? He was damned near hung for it. 
 Not so long ago, either.' 
 
 ^ Is that so ? ' said lies. ' Is that so, now ? 
 Straight .? ' 
 
 ' He's only an old buccaneer. What d'you think 
 of the old boy ? ' 
 
 ^ I ain't paid to think,' said Mr. lies evasively. 
 ' Gee. I didn't know he was that sort. I wish 
 I'd known.' 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 ' Here. You ain't doing your piece. You want 
 to do better'n that. Lay aft with your pannikin.' 
 
 ' He was one of the gang which worked in the 
 South Seas,' said Stukeley. * You know the sort 
 of thing they did. Ruffians. He was at it all his 
 life.' 
 
 ' I wish I'd known. Gee. Hey ? ' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' Here, fill fair. Fill fair.* 
 
 * You'll make me cocked.' 
 
 * Cock in your eye, sir. Lap the cream of it.' 
 
 ' He's a nice one to have command of a ship. 
 Eh .? ' 
 
 ' So he was nothing but an old pirate ^ Gee.' 
 
 ' What sort of an old man is he to work 
 with?' 
 
 'I wish I'd known. B'gee, sir, I'd have What 
 
 sort is he ? He don't know nothing. He's only 
 an old woman. He cain't knot a rope-yarn. If 
 I'd known, I'd have ' 
 
 ' What would you have ? ' 
 
 ' He got fresh with me one time. He give me 
 the slack of his old lip, about leaving the harness- 
 
 156 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 cask unlocked. I'd have called him down if I'd 
 known. I don't let any old pirate get gay with me. 
 See.?" 
 
 ' He's a dirty old swine,' said Stukeley. ' He 
 and those damned old women your owners.' 
 
 ' That Perrin's a bute, for fair, hey } ' 
 
 * They make a nice trio to leave your wife alone 
 with.' 
 
 ' Your wife's a peach, I guess. Hey ? ' 
 
 * If she is, she's a green one. Give us the bottle 
 there.' 
 
 ' Is it true the Margaret fellow's sweet on her } ' 
 
 ^ Who ? Oh, that little crawler. There's a pic- 
 ture of a man.' 
 
 ' I never had much truck with him. His look's 
 enough for me.' 
 
 ' For me, too. Look here, lies. I'm sick of the 
 company in the cabin. That old pirate, and those 
 two twisters, and my wife sitting up like a cold 
 jelly. Ah. Good luck. Sick of it. You come 
 up and have supper with us to-night. And bring 
 your fiddle.' 
 
 ' I guess old Brandyface'd raise a stink.' 
 
 * If he does, we'll call him down. He's not 
 going to dictate my guests to me. I'll have in any 
 one I like.' 
 
 * Gee. That would be great. Hey } ' 
 
 ' I'm not going to let an old pirate say who's to 
 be my friends.' 
 
 ^ He'll heave me quit of the cabin.' 
 
 * I'll heave him if he does. Pretty quick.* 
 
 ' Gee. I'd like to come. But he'll be mad as 
 hell.' 
 
 * All the better. And those two twisters, too.' 
 
 157 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^ That Perrin. Hey ? He asked me one time 
 what I did to make my hair grow/ 
 
 ^ He's about the damnedest fool I've met.' 
 
 ^ Have another ball. There's one bell. It'll be 
 my watch in a quarter of an hour.' 
 
 ' You'll come, then "^ ' 
 
 'Oh, I'll come. But gee, Mr. Stukeley, old 
 Brandyco'll fire me.' 
 
 ' We'll have a bit of sport if he does. Bring 
 your fiddle. Oh. Let's have a song. Let's sing 
 "Tickle Toby."' 
 
 ' No. I don't know it well enough. Let's have 
 this one about the sailor's wives. D'you know this 
 one .? ' 
 
 Until eight bells were made, Mr. lies sang to 
 Mr. Stukeley, who joined in the choruses, and 
 sometimes offered a solo. The songs were all vile. 
 They were the product of dirty drinking-bars, and 
 dirty young men. Youth sometimes affects such 
 songs, and such haunts, from that greed for 
 life which is youth's great charm and peril. That 
 men of mature experience should sing them, enjoy- 
 ing them, after tasting of life's bounty, was hateful, 
 and also pitiful, as though a dog should eat a child. 
 The couple went on deck together at eight bells, 
 singing their scrannel for the mustering crew to hear. 
 
 A few minutes before his watch was up, Mr. lies 
 gave the deck to the boatswain, and went below 
 to dress. It was not his day for a first wash, but 
 Mr. Cottrill gave him the first turn of the basin 
 (it contained about a pint) on promise of a plug of 
 tobacco at the next issue of slops. Mr. lies washed 
 himself carefully, in spite of Mr. Cottrill's com- 
 plaint that water so soapy would hardly serve the 
 
 158 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 second comer, let alone the boy, who had the 
 reversion of it after him. After washing, he combed 
 his hair, put on his best suit, gave his shoes a rub 
 of lamp-black, took his fiddle from its case, and 
 went on deck to muster his watch at four bells. 
 A few moments after four bells, while the dismissed 
 starboard watch went whooping forward to supper, 
 the steward rang the cabin bell, and Stukeley met 
 his guest at the alleyway door. 
 
 'Come in,' said Stukeley. 'Before old Brandy- 
 nose comes aft.* 
 
 They passed aft into the cabin. 
 
 Margaret, Perrin, and Olivia were already seated 
 when they entered. Mrs. Inigo stood behind Cap- 
 tain Cammock's empty chair, waiting to take the 
 covers. She was looking with contempt at the 
 wife she had supplanted, thinking her a confident, 
 pale, thin-lipped thing, and wondering what her 
 husband could have seen in her. Captain Cammock 
 had been delayed for a moment, having cut his chin 
 while shaving. When Stukeley entered Perrin was 
 talking to Olivia. 
 
 ' For whom is the place there } ' he was saying, 
 nodding towards the napkin opposite to him. 
 
 ' Why, we're laid for six,' she answered. 
 
 * Yes,' said Stukeley. ' Olivia, let me introduce 
 Mr. lies. Mr. lies has come to give us a little 
 music' 
 
 Olivia, rather startled (for she had seen Mr. lies 
 about the decks, dressed like a seaman, and doing 
 seaman's work, with much foul language), glanced 
 at the man and made a little cold bow, dropping 
 her eyes to her plate as Mr. lies advanced, hold- 
 ing out his hand. 
 
 159 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 'This is Mr. lies, Captain Margaret/ Stukeley 
 grinned to see Captain Margaret's anger plainly 
 show itself for a moment. But he had misjudged 
 his victim's power of self-control. Margaret's face 
 instantly became impassive. He stared rather hard 
 at Mr. lies, inclined his head in a little cold bow, 
 and wished him ' Good evening,' the only words 
 which occurred to him, in a little cold voice. 
 
 ' Hell,' said Stukeley to himself. ' I ought to have 
 introduced Perrin first. Now Pilly'll take his cue 
 from Maggy.' 
 
 ' Mr. Perrin I think you know,' he continued 
 aloud. * You sit over here, Mr. lies, by me.' 
 
 Perrin looked at Mr. lies and blushed, partly 
 with anger at having to meet the man, partly at the 
 slight put upon them all, upon Olivia even, by 
 Stukeley's invitation. Mr. lies for the moment was 
 dashed by the chill of his reception, and awed by the 
 circumstance of the cabin dinner. His thought, for 
 a few chaotic seconds, was what in blazes to do 
 with the napkin. Did it go round the neck, or 
 how } Olivia felt that the coldness of Margaret 
 and Perrin was in some sort a reflection upon her 
 husband ; it nettled her to defend Mr. lies against 
 her will. She guessed that Mr. lies must be a fine 
 musician, that her husband had discovered his 
 talent, and had decided, it was just like her dear 
 Tom, that his talent made him a fit companion for 
 her. She would talk to Tom about it that night, 
 however, as there might be unpleasantness to 
 them all if Mr. lies were to be admitted to the 
 cabin even occasionally. Even Mrs. Inigo seemed 
 to be sniffing with contempt. Had she known it, 
 the negro steward was at that instant spreading the 
 
 1 60 
 
A SUPPER PARTI" 
 
 news in the round-house, where Sails proposed that 
 the company should go on deck to hear Captain 
 Cammock at the moment of his introduction. 
 Olivia's reflections lasted for a few seconds. She 
 seemed to pass over the whole situation in an 
 instant of time. Mr. lies had hardly sat down, 
 hiding his hands below the table, when Olivia, 
 as though divining his thoughts, came to his rescue, 
 by bending forward graciously, taking up her nap- 
 kin (it was folded in the likeness of a sea-boot), and 
 spreading it, unfolded, upon her lap. Perrin, who 
 was watching her, guessed her intention. His 
 natural kindness gave him a sort of pity for Mr. 
 lies, whom he judged (from his confusion) to be an 
 unwilling agent. He leaned across towards him, 
 and made some remark likely to put him at his 
 ease. 
 
 ' D'you know whether we're in soundings yet, 
 Mr. lies .? ' 
 
 ' No, sir,' said Mr. lies. * They won't make no 
 cast of der lead till der middle watch.' 
 
 ^ What sort of a run has it been to-day } ' asked 
 Olivia. 
 
 ^ It's been a good run, miss, all right, all right,* 
 he answered, growing confident. ' We done seven 
 knots ever since der forenoon.' 
 
 'Just step forward, Mrs. Inigo,' said Margaret, 
 'and ask Captain Cammock if we shall begin with- 
 out him ? ' 
 
 ' I'll go,' said Perrin. 
 
 ' No. I'll go, sir,' said Mrs. Inigo. 
 
 ' You look pale, Maggy,' said Stukeley. * Any- 
 thing wrong .? ' 
 
 'Thanks. I'm particularly well. Are you well .? ' 
 M i6i 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' Very, thanks. You look annoyed about some- 
 thing. Doesn't he, lies } ' 
 
 * You don't look quite right to me, sir,' said lies. 
 ' Really.' 
 
 'Captain Cammock will be here in a minute, 
 sir.' 
 
 ' Let's begin,' said Olivia. ' I'm hungry.' 
 
 * Take the cover,' said Margaret. 
 
 ' B'gee, sir,' said lies. ' You don't know sailors, 
 or you wouldn't do a ting like that.' 
 
 ' Why shouldn't I ^ ' said Margaret, hoping to 
 get some scrap of knowledge to atone for his 
 irritation. 'Tell me what I've done wrong, please ? * 
 
 ' Taken der cover off der soup,' said Mr. lies. 
 
 ' Is that a great crime at sea ? ' said Olivia. 
 
 ' It's the old man's perk,' said Mr. lies. ' B'gee. 
 1 was in a turtler once, off of the Grand Cays there. 
 I done that once. I didn't do it a second time. 
 No, sir.' 
 
 ' What did they do to you } ' said Olivia. 
 
 ' He give me der lid for me supper, lady.' 
 
 * How old were you then } ' said Perrin. 
 
 ' A young one,' said lies. ' My old pop was the 
 old man in that ship.' 
 
 ' Your old .? ' 
 
 ' My pop. The old one. My father.' 
 
 ' Tell us one of those stories you were spinning 
 me this afternoon, lies,' said Stukeley. ' That one 
 about the girl. You know. The girl. The girl 
 who ' 
 
 'Which girl.?' said Mr. lies. 'I don't know 
 which girl you mean.' 
 
 ' The girl outside Paddy's. Mr. lies is a won- 
 derful raconteur,' he explained. ' He's like an old 
 
 162 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 sailor, you know. Excellent. He told me some 
 this afternoon.' 
 
 ' What sort of stories do you tell } ' Olivia 
 asked. 
 
 'Just amusing stories to pass the time, miss,' he 
 answered. 
 
 ' Do you make them up yourself } ' 
 
 ' Some of them 1 seen myself, miss,' he answered. 
 
 * I don't know who makes the others up. Some 
 
 son of a Some gentleman's son with nothing 
 
 better to do. But b'gee, I don't tink I could tell 
 one of them kind here exactly.' 
 
 ' Why not } ' asked Captain Margaret, looking at 
 him coldly. ' Why couldn't you } ' 
 ' I guess you know, all right, all right.' 
 
 * 1 don't frequent pothouses. So perhaps I don't 
 know.' 
 
 * That's where you sentimental prigs go wrong,' 
 said Stukeley, flaring up. ' It'd do you a sight of 
 good if you did frequent pothouses. You meet 
 better people in a pothouse than you do in one 
 of your Chelsea twaddle-shops.' 
 
 ' I don't understand you,' said Margaret calmly. 
 
 * What is a Chelsea twaddle-shop, Olivia } You've 
 stayed at Chelsea. What is it .'' A book-shop ? ' 
 
 Olivia smiled. Captain Margaret was like her 
 dead brother ; he did not show temper even when 
 people spoke to rouse him. She defined the offend- 
 ing shop. 
 
 * It's a name Tom gives to houses in Chelsea, 
 like my aunt Pile's house. Where the people 
 talk a good deal of poetry and painting. Where 
 you meet intellectual people.' 
 
 ' Don't you like intellectual people, Stukeley ? ' 
 163 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 M don't like prigs, and I don't like blue- 
 stockings, and I don't like ' 
 
 * People who care for beautiful things ? Is 
 that it?' 
 
 * A lot of mewing old women who ought to be 
 in a rook-shop.' 
 
 ^ What's a rook-shop ? ' said Olivia. 
 
 * A monastery, my dear. A monk or nun house. 
 Somewhere where they could mew and caw their 
 silly hearts out. Beauty. Eh } Beauty. I've 
 heard 'em talk about beauty. What do they know 
 about beauty ? ' 
 
 ' There's nothing in poetry and that,' said Mr. 
 lies, rallying to his patron. 'What's the good 
 of it ? It's unpractical stuff. B'gee, der poets 
 should come to sea. I'd show 'em what to write 
 about.' 
 
 * What would you show them } ' said Perrin. 
 
 ' Show them ? ' said Mr. lies. * I'd show them 
 what a man is, for one thing.' 
 
 ' And what is a man ? ' said Margaret. 
 
 ' He ain't an old woman, anyway,' said Mr. lies. 
 
 * I don't want to know what he isn't. I want to 
 know what he is. What is a man V 
 
 ' A felly what can do his piece, and stick it out. 
 A man who won't hang back, or lie up, or give you 
 no lip.' 
 
 * You would like the world composed of such 
 men ? ' 
 
 ' B'gee I would. You're right.' 
 
 * And you, Stukeley } ' 
 
 ' I'd like my dinner in peace, without a lot of 
 cross-examination. Talk about beauty with Perrin 
 there. He likes to hear you. I don't.' 
 
 164 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 * No/ said Perrin. ' No, Stukeley. I shouldn't 
 think you ever liked to hear of anything noble.* 
 
 * Noble. Good Lord. I hope I spend my time 
 better. You two seem to think because you read 
 a few half-tipped writers like yourselves, you're free 
 to judge everybody else.' 
 
 'Well,' said Margaret. 'And don't you judge 
 everybody else ? Better judge, I think, with some 
 knowledge of the law.' 
 
 ' Don't lose your temper about it. You're such 
 a funny devil.' 
 
 ' Mr. lies,' said Olivia, in order to create a diver- 
 sion. ' Have you ever been in Virginia, in any of 
 your voyages } ' 
 
 ' Yes, miss. I been there two or three times.' 
 
 ' Tell us about it, Mr. lies,' said Margaret. 
 ' Were you there at the time of the rebellion ? ' 
 
 ' I was there just after.' 
 
 ' What was the cause of the rebellion } ' Olivia 
 asked. ' It was hushed up, in England. But a 
 man I once met told me that it was a very terrible 
 thing. You remember Charles Myngs, Charles ? 
 He was one of the rebels.' 
 
 ' I know. He was very lucky to get away. The 
 rebellion was caused by the action of a wise, far- 
 seeing young man, who objected to paying taxes to, 
 and being governed by, a body of wiseacres three 
 thousand miles away, who gave nothing in return, 
 except expensive impositions.' 
 
 ' You talk like a rebel yourself,' said Stukeley. 
 * I suppose you sympathize with them } ' 
 
 ' Most certainly 1 do.' 
 
 ' But to go against the King,' said Olivia. 'And 
 to cause all that bloodshed.' 
 
 165 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^ The King,' said lies, with contempt. ' I don't 
 see what you English fellies want with a king. 
 What good is a king to you, anyway ? I seen him 
 once. I wouldn't own to a man like the one I 
 seen. King James, hey } ' 
 
 At this moment. Captain Cammock entered, 
 stuffing a handkerchief between his white stock 
 and his neck, to arrest the blood dripping from the 
 gash. Stukeley grinned, and watched him, waiting 
 for the explosion. He did not know that Cammock 
 had guessed Stukeley's plan on hearing Mr. Iles's 
 shrill voice when Mrs. Inigo opened the cabin 
 door, so that she might carry off the soup. He 
 was angry with Stukeley ; but he was far more 
 angry with his little second mate. His first impulse 
 had been to enter, and fling Mr. lies through the 
 stern-window. Then he thought that that was 
 what Stukeley and lies had planned between them, 
 and expected. The possibility of the fiddle occurred 
 to him. It was just possible that Olivia had asked 
 for a tune, not knowing, how could she know, of 
 the captain's pride of place in old sea-custom. She 
 was a fine, delicate lady. He wouldn't demean 
 himself before her, by noticing any silly little slight, 
 devised by a crawler and a cur. He smiled into 
 his shaving-glass, as he dabbed away the blood, 
 thinking that his old days as a man of war had 
 taught him a little prudence. He referred most of 
 his daily problems, such as they were, to their 
 equivalents on the larger stage of war. Once or 
 twice, he thought, the Spaniards had tempted them, 
 to make them attack, but only the ' mad, swearing, 
 flashy fellows ' were caught in that way. It was 
 better to go by the difficult road ; it proved the 
 
 i66 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 easier in the end. He would settle with Mr. lies 
 later on. 
 
 He went to his place at the head of the table, 
 and made some apology to Olivia. 
 
 'I'm sorry to be so late, Mrs. Stukeley.' 
 
 * Have you hurt yourself? I hope youVe not 
 cut yourself badly.' 
 
 *No. No. It just bleeds. I upset the alum I 
 had, last week. Good evening, sir. Good even- 
 ing, mister. Good evening, Mr. Perrin. May I 
 give you a bit more beef, Mr. lies } I won't have 
 any soup, thank you, stewardess. Bring me the 
 bread-barge. Well, Mrs. Stukeley. We'll soon 
 see Virginia at this rate. Very soon. We might 
 sight the cruiser at any time.' 
 
 * What is the cruiser } ' Olivia asked. 
 
 * She's a man-of-war, Mrs. Stukeley. She cruises 
 up and down between the two Capes.' 
 
 * B'gee, Captain Cammock,' said Mr. lies. * I 
 should a thought you'd a known better'n to expect 
 to see her for another week.' 
 
 'Would you, mister.''' he answered. 'They 
 make a wide sweep at this time of year.' 
 ' How do you know } ' put in Stukeley. 
 
 * They come away out to look for pirates. The 
 pirates come around at this season, Mr. Stukeley, 
 to look for the English merchantmen.' 
 
 ' Well. Mr. lies knows Virginia, and he says 
 they don't.' 
 
 ' I can't help that. Can I ? ' 
 
 ' Is there any chance of the pirates attacking 
 us } ' Olivia asked. 
 
 ' I should pity any pirate that tries.' 
 
 ' Dog doesn't eat dog,' said Stukeley. ' Our 
 167 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 captain here's a pirate himself. He'll give his old 
 friends the wink.' 
 
 ' Was you really a pirate, Captain Cammock } ' 
 said Mr. lies. 
 
 Olivia stared at the captain curiously. 
 
 ^ Take away the beef, stewardess,' he said in a 
 natural tone, ignoring the question. ' Steward. 
 Steward there. You may take away. Mrs. Stukeley, 
 I hope you'll give us a song afterwards. If you'll 
 give us a song, and Mr. lies a tune on his fiddle, 
 I'll bring in another treat, and we'll all be merry.' 
 
 * What treat have you for us, captain } ' asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 ' I've got a box of raisin-candy, from Ilo, in 
 Peru,' he answered. ' It's said to be a great dainty ; 
 but some people find it too sweet. But only if you 
 sing, Mrs. Stukeley.' 
 
 ' Oh, I'll sing. I haven't sung for a week now. I 
 shall be delighted to sing.' 
 
 *And you'll sing, too, Mr. Stukeley ?' 
 
 * Oh, I vote we don't sing. Let's have cards. 
 There's no sense in caterwauling.' 
 
 * I got a fine song,' said Mr. lies, taking a pull 
 at his glass of spirits. 
 
 ^ What song is that ? ' said Perrin. 
 
 *The lament of the old buccaneer, it's called. 
 It's about a pirate who was hanged. B'gee. He'd 
 been captain in a merchant ship after. But they 
 hung him.' 
 
 Captain Cammock asked the company if they 
 would have any more duff. He himself had had 
 more than enough. 
 
 ' Look at him blushing,' said Stukeley, nudging 
 lies. 
 
 i68 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 At this moment, there came loud cries from the 
 deck, of ' Watch there. Watch,* shouted by many 
 voices cheerily. Then there were cries of ' Haul in. 
 Haul in. Haul in. Snatch it and run her up.* 
 Then a silence, a sudden stamp of feet, and the 
 voice of some one asking what was on the arming. 
 ' Sand and small shells,' came the answer of the 
 boatswain. The diners at the cabin table seemed 
 to see the man raising the heavy plummet to show 
 the spoils stuck upon the grease. ' Land o-o-o-h,' 
 he cried. ' Land o-o-o-h. Hooray.' Then the 
 seamen, gathered in the waist, with the redness of 
 the sunset on them, cast loose a gun at Mr. CottrilFs 
 order. As the cook, coming from the galley with 
 a red-hot poker, called to the men to stand clear of 
 the breech. Captain Cammock bowed to Olivia, 
 raising his glass. 
 
 'Mrs. Stukeley,' he said, 'we're in soundings. 
 Your very good health. Soundings, gentlemen. 
 You must all drink to soundings. Now then. 
 There goes the gun. Three cheers.' There were 
 no cheers in Stukeley, though he drank the toast. 
 
 Half an hour later, after hearing a few songs, 
 and a jig upon the fiddle. Captain Cammock sat 
 smoking in his cabin. He struck his gong to call 
 the steward. 'Ask Mr. lies to come here, please }^ 
 In a few minutes Mr. lies appeared, followed by 
 Stukeley, who had expected the summons. ' Mr. 
 Stukeley,' said the captain, ' I shall be pleased to 
 see you later. I wish to talk with Mr. lies a 
 moment.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Stukeley. ' But I wish to hear 
 what you've got to say to Mr. lies.' 
 
 169 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * It doesn't concern you, Mr. Stukeley.' Mr. 
 lies tittered. 
 
 ' Mr. lies is my friend/ said Stukeley. * I'll 
 make it concern me.' 
 
 ' Mr. Stukeley. I don't wish to be rude. But I 
 command here. There's the door.' 
 
 ' To hell with the door.' 
 
 ' Go on deck, Mr. lies, till I send for you.' 
 
 ^ Stay here, lies. Look here, my old pirate ' 
 
 ' Did you hear my order, Mr. lies ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 * No, he didn't hear. He's accustomed to being 
 ordered by gentlemen. He's not used to pirates.' 
 
 ' I'll repeat my order. Go on deck, Mr. lies, 
 and wait there till I send for you.' 
 
 ' Don't you do it, lies. I'm damned if I'd take 
 an order of that sort.' 
 
 ' Do you hear me, Mr. lies } ' 
 
 ' B gee, cap, you'll speak to me like you'd speak 
 to any one else. I ain't goin' to be called down by 
 any old pirate.' 
 
 Cammock rose, breathing rather hard, but speak- 
 ing very quietly. 
 
 ' Go on deck,' he said. 
 
 'He's my guest,' said Stukeley, 'and it's his 
 watch below. I'm damned if he shall go on deck.' 
 
 ' Are you going, Mr. lies '^, ' 
 
 ' Ah, git ter hell.' 
 
 'Don't you hit him,' said Stukeley, as Captain 
 Cammock picked up his little gong-hammer. 
 
 ' Hit me .? ' said lies. ' Hit me ? B'gee, cap, 
 you hit me and I'll mark you for life all right, all 
 right.' 
 
 ' I'm not going to do any hitting, Mr. Stukeley,' 
 
 170 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 said Cammock quietly. He went to the gong and 
 struck it softly till the steward came. 
 
 ' Send the boatswain to me,' said Cammock. 
 
 ' I will, seh.' 
 
 ' What are you going to do now ? * said Stukeley. 
 Captain Cammock relit his pipe at the lamp, 
 stopping the red fragments with his thumb. The 
 boatswain knocked at the door, cap in hand. 
 
 * Call all hands aft, boatswain.* 
 
 ' What der hell .? ' said Mr. lies, as the call 
 sounded. The men came hurrying aft, swearing 
 at having their dog-watch spoiled. Some of them 
 were half clad, just out of their hammocks ; others 
 were buttoning their clothes. In the last of the 
 daylight, in the glow which gives a holy beauty to 
 all things, they seemed a strange company. Just 
 so will the assembling souls look, when the heavens 
 crinkle into flame, as the triumphing clarion shrills, 
 bringing together the awed, the sullen, the ex- 
 pectant. 
 
 'Muster your watch, Mr. lies.* 
 
 * No. We'll settle it here,' said Stukeley, think- 
 ing that the cabin was safer for his purpose than 
 the deck. ' We'll settle it here, old Brandyco.' 
 
 Cammock brushed past him and went on to the 
 poop, without replying. lies, much puzzled, was 
 about to follow. 
 
 ' Don't go,' said Stukeley. *• I wouldn't go. 
 Don't go. I'll make it square for you.' 
 
 ' B'gee, I'd better go,' said lies. ' I don't know 
 what game he's up to, do I hell ? ' 
 
 He went on deck, to the starboard side, where 
 he began to muster his watch. Mr. Cottrill's 
 voice, much more slow and grave than his, made 
 
 171 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 a strange echo with him, each calling a name in 
 turn, each drawing a response from a voice of 
 different pitch. ' Shepherd.' * Here, sir.' ' Arnold.' 
 ' Here, sir.' ^ Richard Arnold.' * Here, sir.' ' John 
 Wise.' ^ Present, sir.' ' Adams.' ' At the wheel, 
 sir.' Then the reports : * Port watch all present, 
 sir, except the wheel and look-outs.' ' Starboard 
 watch all present, sir.' ' Idlers and boys all present, 
 sir ' ; followed by Captain Cammock's ' Very well,' 
 as he paced to and fro across the forward end of 
 the poop. Captain Margaret stood with Perrin by 
 the poop-bell, with their hats off, out of deference 
 to Captain Cammock. They stood still in their 
 most splendid clothes, just as they had risen from 
 the feast. They looked down on all the u^ turned 
 faces a few feet beneath them, wondering at the 
 beauty of the scene, lit now, by the dying sun, 
 into a glow, that made each face glorious. Still 
 Captain Cammock walked to and fro, casting a con- 
 temptuous glance as he turned ; his face set and 
 passionless ; his eyes taking in each face of all the 
 crowd. Stukeley, who had followed his friend on 
 deck, asked Margaret if he was going to lead in 
 prayer ; but he got no answer ; and the men, im- 
 pressed and puzzled, did not titter. Cammock 
 stopped in his walk, and looked over the poop-rail 
 at the crew. 
 
 ^ Thomas lies,' he said. 
 
 ' Sir,' said lies, turning and looking up. 
 
 ' I break you, for refusing duty.' 
 
 < What, sir.?' ) 
 
 * Mr. Cottrill.' 
 ' Sir.' 
 
 * Put the man lies in your watch.' 
 
 172 
 
A SUPPER PARTY 
 
 ^ Very good, sir.* 
 
 ' lies, go below and get your chest. Take it 
 forward to the fo'c's'le. You belong to Mr. 
 Cottrill's watch.' 
 
 ' What the hell ' — began Stukeley. 
 
 ' Silence, please.' 
 
 ' I ain't goin' to take no break from you,' said lies. 
 
 ' Mr. Cottrill,' said Cammock, * log that man.' 
 
 ' Go below and get your chest, lies,' said 
 Cottrill. 
 
 ' Get ter hell,' said lies. 
 
 Cottrill walked up to him and smote him in the 
 eye. ' Get your chest, pronto,' he said. ' Give me 
 any more of your lip and I'll lay your spine bare. 
 Give him a hand you. Wise.' 
 
 ^ You know the rules, men,' said Captain Cam- 
 mock. ^ Choose your new second mate.' 
 
 The men shuffled and shifted. One of them, a 
 leader in the fo'c's'le, shoved the bosun forward. 
 ' What the hell, boys,' said the bosun under his 
 breath. * We'd rather you chose, sir,' said old Sails, 
 coming from among the crowd after a moment 
 of busy whispering. 
 
 ' I choose you, boatswain,' said Cammock. * Ay 
 or no, you } ' 
 
 ' Ay, sir.' 
 
 'Mr. Ramage, you're our second mate. Come 
 to my cabin at eight bells and sign the articles. 
 You, Griffin Harris, take Mr. Ramage's call ; I 
 make you boatswain. Mr. Ramage, tell one ot 
 the hands to shift your gear into the second mate's 
 cabin. Harris, bring your chest aft to the round- 
 house. Men, remember that Mr. Ramage is 
 Mister Ramage. Take the call, Harris.' 
 
 173 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Griffin Harris, a short, thick-set seaman, hanging 
 his head but showing no trace of emotion, pulled 
 his forelock and stepped up to Mr. Ramage. 
 
 * Beg pardon, Mr. Ramage,' he said, ^ might I 
 have the call, sir.' Mr. Ramage slipped the chain 
 from his neck and handed it to him. 
 
 ^ Pipe down, bosun.' 
 
 Harris took the pipe and blew the tremolo of 
 the belay. The men turned to walk forward, just 
 as lies and Wise reappeared with the chest and 
 bag. Captain Cammock's sternness vanished the 
 moment the pipe down had sounded. 
 
 ' You'll have to pipe better than that, bosun,' he 
 said. ' You pipe like Wally with the stiff neck.' 
 The new bosun laughed. ' I'll pipe fine against 
 we get there, sir.' 
 
 Stukeley walked up to Captain Cammock. 
 *What the hell d'you mean by insulting my 
 friend } ' he said. 
 
 Cammock paid no attention to him, but walked 
 up to Margaret to ask if he would stand the first 
 watch with the new second mate. 
 
 * Certainly,' said Margaret. 
 
 ' I asked you a question,' said Stukeley bitterly, 
 in a loud voice, so that the men loitering in the 
 waist could hear. ' D'ye hear me. Captain Cam- 
 mock } What the hell d'you mean by insulting my 
 friend .? ' 
 
 ^ Stukeley,' said Margaret, ^ go below.' 
 
 ' I'm not talking to you,' said Stukeley. 
 
 ' No,' said Margaret ; ' but I'm giving you some 
 sound advice. Go below.' 
 
 ' You're a funny devil, aren't you 1 Now then, 
 Brandyface, you'll give me an answer.' 
 
 174 
 
A SUPPER PARTT 
 
 At this moment lies came up, from his old 
 haunts in the 'tween-decks, carrying his demijohn 
 of carefully saved spirits. 
 
 ' What have you got there, lies ? * said the 
 captain quickly. 
 
 ' My whack of rum.* 
 
 * Take your cap off, or I'll knock it ofF. What 
 did you say ? * 
 
 ' My whack of rum. Captain Cammock, sir.' 
 ' Yes. You'd better remember that. Put down 
 that demijohn.' 
 
 ' Please, sir. It's mine, sir.' 
 
 He laid down the demijohn, fingering his cap. 
 
 * Steward, whack that rum out to all hands at 
 eight bells. Allow it to the man lies in the savings 
 book.' 
 
 ' I will, seh.' 
 
 * There,' said Cammock, turning to Margaret. 
 ' He's not going to curry favour forward with a 
 couple of gallons of rum. He'd have had half the 
 watch blind if I'd not seen him that time.' 
 
 Stukeley put his hand on Cammock's shoulder. 
 * You damned old pirate,' he said. * Now you'll 
 settle with me. Your little go's over. Now it's 
 mine.' 
 
 Cammock turned to Margaret. ' Take his other 
 arm, sir,' he said. 
 
 He caught Stukeley by the wrist with his left 
 hand. Margaret tackled him swiftly on the other 
 side. Together they marched him below to Cam- 
 mock's cabin, which they entered, locking the door 
 behind them. 
 
 * Now, Mr. Stukeley,' said Cammock, placing 
 his prisoner on the settee. ^ I command this ship. 
 
 175 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Be quiet, now. Not a word, sir, till Vm done. 
 You give me any more trouble. You so much as 
 try to come between me and my hands, and you'll 
 go in irons till I can put you ashore.' 
 
 'That's entirely 'right. Captain Cammock,' said 
 Margaret. ' You'd do well to remember it, Stuke- 
 ley; 
 
 'I'll remember it,' said Stukeley. 'And I'll 
 make you two remember it.* 
 
 ' Another thing,' said Cammock. ' While you 
 live aft, you'll act aft. You'll hold no conversation 
 with any member of my crew, except through one 
 of my officers. And 1 shall expect you to keep 
 from the main deck and the 'tween-decks. I say 
 nothing about your insults. Them's only the 
 bubbling in your mind, I guess. I'm sorry for 
 you. But give me no more, sir. If you do, or if 
 you break the rules I make, you'll go in irons till 
 we land.' 
 
 ' Anything more ^ ' said Stukeley. 
 
 ' There'll be more when I see you need it.' 
 
 ' All right, Maggy. I'll remember this. Is that 
 all now ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. That's all,' said Margaret. 
 
 'Then I advise you to let me go.' 
 
 'There's the door,' said Margaret, turning back 
 the key. ' Allow me to come with you.' 
 
 ' Thank you. I choose my own company.' 
 
 ' No, sir,' said Cammock. ' We shall do that for 
 you. You ain't fit to choose your own company. 
 I'm sorry to have to say it.' 
 
 'You wait, Mr. Cammock. You wait' 
 
 ' Will you come on deck, Stukeley } ' said Mar- 
 garet. ' Or will you join your wife } ' 
 
 176 
 
A SUPPER PARTT 
 
 * You may go to hell,' said Stukeley. With this 
 repartee he walked aft to vent his spleen upon 
 Olivia. Guessing his intention, Margaret stayed 
 with him till the bell called the starboard watch on 
 deck. 
 
 N 177 
 
VII 
 
 The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 * This is all our world ; 
 We shall know nothing here but one another.' 
 
 The Two Noble Kinsmen, 
 
 CIX days after striking soundings, the Broken 
 Heart sailed up the James River with the flood, 
 to let go her anchor off Jamestown as the last gun 
 of her salute was fired. Her colours were dipped 
 to the colours on the Governor's flagstaff. Her 
 sails were all clued up together ; the bunts of the 
 furls were tight and shapely, crossed by the broad 
 black bands of the bunt-gaskets. 
 
 Captain Cammock walked the poop with Mar- 
 garet, pretending to watch the squaring of the 
 yards. Both were puzzled and ill at ease. They 
 were in that troublous state of waiting to be 
 assured ; their anxiety was such that a decisive 
 blow, either for or against them, would have seemed 
 better than the uncertainty which made them hope 
 for one thing while fearing the other. On entering 
 Chesapeake Bay, they had squared their yards, in- 
 tending to run up past Stingray, to Hog Creek on 
 the Accomac side, where some of Cammock's 
 friends were planting. But a man-of-war sloop, 
 flying the ensign, and full of men, had crossed their 
 bows, bidding them heave-to and send a boat. 
 
 i7« 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 Cammock had gone aboard her to find out what 
 she wanted ; and had received orders to proceed 
 direct to Jamestown, to discharge his cargo there. 
 No explanation was given except that * Those were 
 the orders.' The officer of the watch would tell 
 him nothing more. He had returned on board 
 after this, feeling sure that danger threatened them. 
 He was inclined to think that word had come from 
 England ordering their arrest on arrival. But he 
 was not sure. The lieutenant had been surly after 
 a drunken night. His remark of ' You'll find out 
 about that when you get there ' might have come 
 from a momentary irritation at being questioned. 
 Margaret had called up Stukeley, to tell him his 
 fears, and Stukeley had counselled putting to sea. 
 This was impossible ; for the sloop was almost 
 within hail ; while without Point Comfort, under 
 her whole topsails, her open port-lids flashing, was 
 one of the two frigates on the station, coming 
 in from her cruise to take fresh water. They were 
 in the trap ; they could only hope for the best. 
 Stukeley took the news badly. He stood by the 
 mizen-rigging, with a white face, licking his lips 
 and making wild suggestions. 
 
 ' Couldn't you put me ashore } ' he asked. ' Send 
 me in a boat. Until you leave } * 
 
 * How about Olivia ^ Have you told her ytt^ 
 what you expect } ' 
 
 * No, of course I've not told her. Can't you talk 
 sense ? ' 
 
 * Hadn't you better tell her ? I mean, as — 
 in kindness to her.' 
 
 ' No. I can't.' 
 'Shall I tell her.?' 
 
 179 ^ 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^ My God, no. Look here, Margaret. I tell 
 you why I can't tell her. I'm a blackguard, and 
 all that. Look here. She's going to have a child.' 
 
 ' My God. Are you sure, Stukeley ? ' 
 
 ^ Sure } Damn it, man. It's serious. For 
 God's sake talk sense.' 
 
 'Well. My God. She must be told, man. 
 It'll only be worse for her later.' 
 
 * No, it won't be.' 
 
 ' But what are you going to do ? ' 
 
 * Do ? I tell you it'll be death for her if she 
 learns.' 
 
 'But you must think of her, Stukeley. Man. 
 How. Supposing. She can't come to Darien. 
 It's impossible.* 
 
 ' It's not impossible. It'd be all right.' 
 
 ' Well, Stukeley, I give you up/ 
 
 ' What are you going to do ? ' 
 
 ' Things must take their course. I can't think 
 what I can do.' 
 
 ' Are you going to give me up ? ' 
 
 ' You must see that you'll be taken. If there's 
 a letter.' 
 
 ' If. If. Oh. Good luck, you.' 
 
 ' Yes. But think of Olivia. Man. She must 
 go home. You must see that.' 
 
 ' Yes. But she doesn't. You know how queer 
 women get at these times. She insists on coming 
 with me.' 
 
 ' I don't know. Go and tell her. Go on and 
 tell her, cost what it may.' 
 
 ' I've got to consider her child.' 
 
 'Captain Cammock, you've got a clear head. 
 What do you say ? ' 
 
 i8p 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 ' You could head me up in a cask/ said Stukeley. 
 
 ' Well,' said Cammock. * 1 say, go and eat a 
 good big dinner. We shan't be in till afternoon ; 
 till two or three, perhaps, if the wind drops. If 
 there's to be an arrest, you'll know of it soon enough. 
 It'll settle itself. Don't cross no rivers till you 
 come to the water. Why ? Cos you may get 
 drowned anyway.* 
 
 * But about my wife ? ' 
 
 'Oh, she'll be well looked after. We'll look 
 after her.' 
 
 * Damn you.' 
 
 * Captain Margaret,' said Cammock, 'just come 
 aft with me, while I take some bearings.' 
 
 When they had walked out of earshot of Stuke- 
 ley, Cammock added that it would be a good thing 
 to let the man suffer for a spell. 
 
 ' But how about Mrs. Stukeley, captain ? And 
 her little one '^ ' 
 
 ' I wasn't thinking of them, sir. I'm thinking 
 of you and Mr. Perrin. And the ship, too. We 
 may be a political matter, sir. The Lords who 
 fitted us out ; they've got enemies — political ene- 
 mies. They may say, " Oh, you've sent out a 
 gang of pirates, who rescue escaping felons." There 
 may be the devil's own row at home about us. 
 Law is all right and fair. But there's no law nor 
 right in politics.' 
 
 ' We shall know soon.' 
 
 ' Yes. Very soon now.' 
 
 ' It's anxious work, waiting.' 
 
 ' Why, yes. Worse than the event.' 
 
 ' It'll come hard on that poor girl.' 
 
 ' She's better quit of him, sir. Much better.' 
 i8i 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * She won t think that.' 
 
 ' Not at first. But she will.' 
 
 ' I wonder what it's going to be. Pretty, that 
 little cove there, with the little green boat coming 
 out.' 
 
 ' Very pretty sights at sea, sir. Nice bit of 
 timber yonder. Good spars in them red pine. Don't 
 borrow trouble, sir. We'll know soon enough.' 
 
 Thus they talked together as the ship came 
 slowly to her anchorage. Perrin joined them, 
 seemingly indifferent to the present trouble. 
 ' Whatever happens,' he said, ' we shall be our- 
 selves. It's no use worrying.' He smoked more 
 than usual after dinner, and then made outline 
 draughts of the coast. He was not being brave ; 
 but having little imagination he was indifferent. 
 It was hot, too ; and hot weather always made him 
 dull. The sight of the new land pleased him. 
 There was forest ; milesof forest ; forest rising over 
 hills, lapsing to hollows of marsh, coming down 
 to the sea, fading in a blur of branches. Here 
 and there were clearings. Here and there, in 
 sandy bays, the cows came, lowing at the sea. 
 Smoke, in blue spires, rose up at a planter's slip 
 where a sloop was building. At times, as they 
 neared the land, before going about on another 
 reach, they heard the voices of men, the chop of 
 axes upon timber. A country sloop lay at a jetty. 
 Her men were hoisting casks aboard, singing at 
 the tackles. A saw was at work hard at hand. 
 Men were carrying planks to the jetty end. One 
 of the men, laying down his load, waved to the 
 ship as Captain Cammock flung his colours out. 
 Very proudly, with all the dignity of beauty, the 
 
 182 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 Broken Heart marched to her rest. Her sailors 
 cheered. They fired their guns, took up their 
 berth and anchored. Jamestown lay before them ; 
 with some twenty of her citizens watching them 
 from the battery. Already one or two men were 
 putting out in boats towards them. 
 
 * That's not the whole city,' said Perrin. * There's 
 only twenty or thirty houses, beside the fort and 
 the church.' 
 
 * That's Jamestown,' said Cammock. ' Now, 
 Captain Margaret. Now for it.* 
 
 * Not much longer to wait. We'll go ashore 
 together.' 
 
 ' No, sir. I'll go alone. If anything's going to 
 happen, I'll send off word. Then you can look to 
 the lady.' 
 
 ' Ah. Thank you, captain.' 
 
 * Well. We'll know soon. I'll wave my hat 
 from the pier if it's all well, sir. Cheer up, sir. 
 Mr. Cottrill, there.' 
 
 'Ay, ay. Captain Cammock.' 
 ' My gig's crew, mister. Are they in their 
 whites r 
 
 * Gig's crew all dressed, sir.' 
 
 ' Tell the bosun to pipe them away. No one to 
 come aboard, Mr. Cottrill.' 
 ' No one to come aboard, sir.' 
 
 * You better keep an eye on Mr. Stukeley, 
 Captain Margaret. He may cut up rash/ 
 
 * I will. Good-bye, captain. Good luck.' 
 
 * We'll know soon.' 
 
 * Got your papers V 
 
 'All correct, sir. Now.' He passed over the 
 side, and shoved off. 
 
 183 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Margaret watched the boat pull past, glad of that 
 small diversion. She was a six-oar gig, whale- 
 built, painted dark-blue and white, steering, on 
 state occasions, with a brass-yoked rudder, at other 
 times with an oar. A boy in a white jacket steered 
 her with the yoke-lines, sitting behind Cammock*s 
 back-board. 
 
 'Look, Edward,' said Margaret. 'How charac- 
 ter shows in little things. Look at the styles of 
 the rowers. Look at the stroke, bowing his head 
 as he comes aft, and the two midship oars watching 
 their blades. What makes men watch their 
 blades ?' 
 
 ' Weak will. Or vanity. I always do it. A 
 sense of beauty, too. Desire of pleasure. The 
 swirl and the bubbles are beautiful. What do you 
 make of the bow V 
 
 ' He's not got room to pull. The stern-sheets 
 are too roomy.* 
 
 ' He's a coward,* said Perrin. ' I should be 
 like that. He shirks each stroke because he's 
 afraid of knocking the second bow's back.' 
 
 ' Yes. That's it.' 
 
 ' The weakest man is always put in the bow. 
 He has to jump out with the painter.' 
 
 ' The most intelligent man, probably.' 
 
 'No. I shouldn't say the most intelligent. 
 The most sensitive.' 
 
 'What do you make of Cammock's back ?' 
 
 ' Cammock's a fine fellow.' 
 
 ' Isn't it strange that he should be what he is .^' 
 
 'After mixing Good Lord, what ruffians 
 
 he's mixed with.' 
 
 ' 1 should like to know how he comes by it 
 184 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 Vm a great believer in heredity. I wonder what 
 his people were. He's got refinement, too, in a 
 curious sort of way.' 
 
 *The poor are often very refined,' said Perrin. 
 * The very poor. Especially in the country.' 
 
 ' I suppose because they've nothing to make 
 them false.' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 * You know, Edward, that Olivia's going to 
 have a child V 
 
 * No. Good Lord. What in the world } Sup- 
 posing there's a letter } ' 
 
 * That's the question. There it is. And there 
 goes Cammock up the stage.' 
 
 * But it knocks her coming to Darien ? * 
 ' Stukeley says not.' 
 
 ' Good God, though. It must.' 
 ^ We probably shan't leave here, Edward. And 
 anyway he's her husband.' 
 
 ' You must refuse to take her.' 
 
 * Yes. But even if we get to Darien — I don't 
 think it likely — she's as well with us as here, 
 Edward.' 
 
 ' That's true, too. Well. I told you how it 
 would be, Charles. Didn't I } ' 
 
 Cammock was a long time gone ;*but not such a 
 long time as it seemed. Margaret, deserted by 
 Perrin, who was called away by Cottrill, paced the 
 poop moodily, losing, in dejection, the clumsy trick 
 of carriage which marred his gait. His ordinary 
 walk had a kind of jaunty spring, which seemed 
 unnatural to the man, improper to his essential 
 character. There was no jauntiness in him at this 
 moment ; for his trouble was heavy. For possible 
 
 185 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 arrest he cared nothing ; for possible hanging he 
 cared nothing. ' I shall still be myself/ he said, 
 repeating what Perrin had repeated from another. 
 * What does it matter if I am hanged ? ' Bells 
 seemed to be ringing in his brain, heavy bells and 
 dull, with merry impish bells. ' 01ivia*s going to 
 have a child,' they said. * Olivia's going to have a 
 child. Going to have a child. A child. A child.' 
 Like many lonely men, he desired children. They 
 had played about him in his dreams of her. Girls 
 mostly, with Olivia's eyes, her throat, her voice. 
 Now was come the end of everything. Her child 
 would be a monster, a goat-footed boy, a Stukeley. 
 He shuddered to think of the child's hair, curling 
 and black like the father's hair, negro hair ; his 
 nerves were shaken. As for his love for Olivia, 
 that would never be the same ; it was changed now, 
 wholly changed. No man's love could bear that, 
 could forgive that ; though it glorified her, in a 
 way, and made her very sacred. 
 
 He leaned over the taffrail, to watch for Cam- 
 mock, who had vanished among the strangers, like 
 a stone cast into water. Something stirred beside 
 him, and there was Olivia, dressed in clothes which 
 she had worn long ago at home, looking as she had 
 looked then ; but that her face was paler. He 
 started to see her, thinking for a moment that she 
 had come to tell him, hoping it with all his heart. 
 It would make their friendship perfect, he thought, 
 if this might be done together. She smiled to see 
 him start ; but her face instantly grew grave again. 
 
 ^ Charles,' she said, ' is anything the matter with 
 Tom.?' 
 
 ' Matter with him } ' he repeated. ' Is he ill ? Has 
 
 1 86 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 he hurt himself?' For just one wild second, he 
 wondered, in an agony that was half hope, if the 
 man had taken poison. 
 
 * I can't get him to speak to me. And he's so 
 white. Charles, I can't help thinking that he is 
 sunstruck.' 
 
 ^ Shall I go down } ' 
 
 * He won't see anybody. He won't Oh, 
 
 Charles, 1 wish I'd been on deck with him. Was 
 he in the sun } Are you sure he wasn't } ' 
 
 * He wasn't in the sun, Olivia. He wasn't on 
 deck for more than a few minutes.' 
 
 ' But where was he, then .? He must have been 
 forward, where you couldn't see him.' 
 
 ' I do hope he wasn't,' said Margaret, hating him- 
 self for his deception. The words ' Mrs. Inigo ' rose 
 to his lips ; but he kept from uttering them. * I 
 ought to have prevented all this. I might have. I 
 
 ought to have kept them apart till She ought 
 
 not to be fretting.' He bit his lips at the thought 
 of his negligence. 
 
 ' I'll come down at once, Olivia,' he said. ' Oh, 
 Olivia,' he added, his voice growing tender and 
 moving, ' you look so white and worried. I'll look 
 after Stukeley. Won't you lie down and rest ^ It's 
 much too hot for you in the sun here. And then 
 the excitement.' 
 
 ' Oh, never mind me,' she said hurriedly, almost 
 gaily. * I'm not in the least ill. It's Tom.' As 
 women sometimes will, in moments of emotion, she 
 acted impulsively, laying her hand on his arm, send- 
 ing the blood to his temples. 
 
 ^ Come on down, then,' he said thickly. * We'll 
 see. We'll see your husband.' He glanced over 
 
 187 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 the side again, biting his lips, his face turned away, 
 as she took his arm. In that glance he saw the slip 
 below the battery, with its green piles, barnacled, 
 clucked about by the tides, mounted with tar- 
 paulined cannon. Cammock stood upon the slip 
 end, his gig's crew, their oars tossed, just below 
 him. Townsmen were talking to him ; but he 
 stood unheeding, looking at the Bro\en Hearty wav- 
 ing his hat. Margaret waved his hat in answer, to 
 show that he saw ; then, breathing a deep sigh, he 
 led Olivia below. 
 
 * Why. What makes you sigh like that } ' she 
 asked. 
 
 * Why do I sigh } Captain Cammock was signal- 
 ling to me. I was afraid we might be quarantined. 
 But it's all right now. He's signalled that it's all 
 right. I'm relieved.' 
 
 ' Charles,' she said, pausing in the alleyway, ' I 
 
 sometimes feel that I've given you pain by coming 
 
 with you like this. Have I 1 ' 
 
 'No, Olivia,' he answered. ' How could you V 
 ' But are you sure } I couldn't bear to think that 
 
 I had.' 
 
 ' I am very sure of that, Olivia.' 
 
 ' You aren't angry with me for asking ? ' 
 
 ' We're old friends, you and I, Olivia. Old 
 
 friends like you and I don't get angry with each 
 
 other.' 
 
 ' Some day I hope you'll marry, Charles. You'd 
 
 make the right woman very happy.' 
 
 ' Ah no, no. We mustn't talk of that.' 
 
 ' You will, Charles. You will. And yet it would 
 
 be sad to see all one's boy and girl friends married. 
 
 A woman doesn't like to feel old.' 
 
 i88 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 ' Olivia.' 
 
 *■ Now come in and see Tom. Do you think 
 there are good doctors here } * The question was 
 earnestly asked. It seemed to Margaret that it took 
 for granted that he knew, that it was the woman's 
 way of taking him into her confidence, into the 
 dark, locked cupboard, meagrely catalogued with- 
 out, which is a woman's confidence. It made a strange 
 jangling of all his strings to hear her. In the dark 
 passage there, with her great eyes looking into his, 
 and the earrings gleaming palely against the hair, 
 she moved him, she shook him out of tune. 
 
 * Olivia,' he said, stammering. ' Olivia. If. 
 When. When your. If you ever have a child, 
 
 Olivia. Will you let me — let me Let me 
 
 see it often. Be its godfather. Be something to 
 it.?' 
 
 ' Yes,' she said softly, pressing the back of his 
 hand quickly. ' Yes, Charles. I promise you 
 that.' 
 
 ' You aren't hurt, Olivia } ' 
 
 * No, Charles. Not hurt.' 
 ' God bless you, Olivia.' 
 
 ' Come in to Tom, now,' she said in a low voice. 
 She was moved and touched. They went in. 
 
 Stukeley sat at the cabin table, drinking brandy 
 without water. He was white and sick. Their 
 entrance made him start up with an oath. 
 
 * What's the matter, Stukeley ? ' said Margaret. 
 * We aren't going into — into quarantine. Cam- 
 mock's signalled that it's all right. What's the 
 matter with you 1 Let me feel your pulse.' 
 
 'Ah,' he said, gasping. 'Ah. This heat's upset 
 me.* 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * How are you, Tom ? * Olivia tenderly asked. 
 ^ How's your head ? * 
 
 ' Oh, my head's all right. Don't bother. Don't 
 bother.' He rose from his seat, laughing wildly. 
 ' What a turn it gave me,' he said. ' I'm going to 
 see old Brandyco. I'm all right again, Olivia.' 
 He took her by the shoulders and bent back her 
 head so that he might kiss her. ' Poor little Olive,' 
 he said caressingly, pinching her arms. ' She's 
 been worrying, ever so. Hasn't she ? Hasn't she 1 
 Eh.?' He kissed her eyes. Margaret turned away, 
 wondering whether the kiss smelt worse of brandy 
 or tobacco. 
 
 ' Don't go on deck,' said Olivia. ' Don't go on 
 deck, Tom, dear. The sun's so strong.' 
 
 ' But you'll want to hear about Jamestown from 
 Cammock.' 
 
 * No, Tom, dear. I don't. I want you. I want 
 you to rest and get well.' 
 
 ' I'd like. 1 must just see Cammock.' 
 
 ^ But what makes you so eager to see Captain 
 Cammock, Tom .? ' 
 
 ^ Stukeley looks on the captain as a sort of 
 show,' said Margaret quickly. ' The captain has 
 just been talking with strangers. Wouldn't you 
 like to see a man who'd really seen a new face, 
 Olivia ; and heard a new voice ^ ' 
 
 Olivia smiled. 
 
 ' I don't think Tom's strong enough for excite- 
 ments,' she said. 
 
 ' No,' said Margaret, leaving the cabin. * But I 
 don't think there's much wrong. I think he'll soon 
 be all right, Olivia. Make him lie down and rest. 
 I must just see the captain.' He went on deck 
 
 190 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 hurriedly, holding his breath till he was in the 
 fresh air. ' Poison,' he said to himself. ^ Poison. 
 What a life. What squalor. That woman going 
 to have a child. And Stukeley, pah. Drinking 
 and smoking there, waiting to be dragged to gaol. 
 She doesn't see it. One would think he must 
 shock every fibre of her nature. And he doesn't. 
 He gives her love, I suppose. That was the only 
 thing she wanted. And now that beast is her 
 standard.' In the pure air he blamed himself for 
 thinking ill of her. 'After all,' he thought, 
 ' Stukeley isn't a beast to her. She, with her much 
 finer sense, sees something in him. Something 
 that is all the world to her. Something beautiful. 
 She may even be happy with him. She may be.' 
 He thought pitifully of women, and angrily of men. 
 It was all wrong, he thought. Men and women 
 could never understand each other, except in rare 
 moments, in love, when the light in each heart 
 burned clearly. Women were hidden ; they were 
 driven to covert, poor trembling fawns. They 
 were like the nymphs hidden in the reeds by the 
 river. They took care that men should see only 
 the reeds. He had never really seen Olivia ; he 
 was not sure if he knew her yet ; he couldn't say 
 what it was that he loved. He did not care ; he 
 was not going to ask. She was beautiful ; her 
 beauty moved him to the bone ; beauty was in all 
 of her, in the whole woman, the whole nature, 
 body and spirit, in the ways of body and spirit. 
 She was going to have a child ; Stukeley's child ; 
 red-cheeked, curly ; a little boy-beast, the bully of 
 his school. Ah, but the child would be hers, too. 
 She would bring it up to be like her. He would 
 
 J9I 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 have that refinement of voice, that lovely, merry, 
 almost timid manner, her eyes, her grace, her shy- 
 ness. Captain Cammock, who had been watching 
 him for a full thirty seconds, half amused, half sad, 
 that his passion had so strong a hold still, even 
 in a moment of anxiety, now tapped him on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 ^ Ah, captain.* 
 
 ' It's all right, sir. Nothing come yet. You can 
 land your goods as soon as you like. The Gover- 
 nor said he remembered you, and hopes that you 
 will wait upon him.' 
 
 ' Good. I will.' 
 
 * It is good, sir. Oh, I've ordered some fresh 
 meat, sir, and some fowls.' 
 
 ' Yes. We must feast to-night. And send the 
 boat in for a cask of fresh water. Two-month 
 water is poor tipple.' 
 
 ' Yes. What would you say to six-month water } 
 We must give a free pump in port. And a cask of 
 rum or beer, sir, on the quarter-deck, would help 
 our trade. For visitors you know, sir.' 
 
 ' See to it then, captain. A letter may come 
 while we're here, though.* 
 
 ' Then make the Governor and the others your 
 friends. Send 'em a few cases of wine. Square the 
 man-of-war captains. There'll be no trouble if 
 you make them all your friends.* 
 
 * It doesn't sound pretty.* 
 
 ^ Nor a wrung neck don't look it.* 
 
 During the next few days there was bustle in the 
 Bro\en Heart. Visitors came aboard to look at 
 samples of goods ; to talk with the seamen ; and 
 to taste the rum and beer, which was served out, a 
 
 192 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 cup to each comer, for the first forty-eight hours of 
 her stay in the port. All sorts came aboard her ; 
 traders and planters, oyster and fisher men, soldiers 
 from the fort, officers of the Governor's house, 
 Indians, men from the backwoods, trappers, a sun- 
 burned, good-humoured, silent company, very 
 sharp at a bargain. 
 
 After the first two days, the trade began. The 
 seamen rigged up trading-booths ashore, with some 
 old sails, stretched upon poles. Planks were laid 
 upon casks to serve as trade tables. The goods 
 were arranged at the back of each booth, in the care 
 of trusty hands. Clothing was more in demand 
 than any other kind of goods ; but the only clothes 
 bought were those of fine quality and beautiful 
 colour. It puzzled Captain Margaret to see a 
 small planter, owning perhaps only one white 
 apprenticed servant, or redemptioner, buying 
 clothes of great price, putting them on in the 
 booth, and riding off, like an earl, on his little Vir- 
 ginian horse, to his little clearing in the wilderness. 
 A few planters, especially those who were newly 
 come to the colony from the islands, where they 
 had been privateering, paid for their purchases 
 in ounces of silver. It was easy to recognize 
 these planters. They had not lost their sea-walk, 
 nor that steadfast anxiety of gaze which marks 
 the sailor. They all carried arms ; though the 
 richer sort of them wore only pistols and a 
 knife, leaving the carriage of the musket, the bag 
 containing lead, a mould, and some bullets, and the 
 heavy leather-covered powder-bottle, to a redemp- 
 tioner, a Moskito Indian, or, more rarely, to a 
 negro slave. Cammock had known some of these 
 o 193 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 men in the past. Often, as he sat In the shade, 
 watching the beauty of the scene, now so glorious 
 with coming autumn. Captain Margaret would see 
 one of these strangers approaching, followed by his 
 man. He was always impressed by them, some- 
 times by their physical splendour, sometimes by the 
 sense that they were full of a rather terrible exu- 
 berance. As he watched such a man approaching 
 the booths, puffing at his pipe, dressed in elaborate 
 clothes, hung about with silver at all points, with 
 silver buttons, silver brooches, silver discs, buckles 
 of heavy silver, links and stars of silver, silver 
 chains and necklets, so that the man's whole wealth 
 was on his body at one time. Captain Margaret was 
 conscious of a feeling of envy. His own training, 
 his own beautifully ordered life in an English 
 college, had shut him off from such a life as this 
 man's. This clashing, tinkling pirate — he was 
 nothing more, although he often looked so fine — 
 was master of his world. Captain Margaret was the 
 slave of his ; the unhappy slave. The pirate could 
 leave his plantation when he wished, letting the 
 wild bines choke his tobacco. He could ship him- 
 self in any ship in the harbour, and go to any part 
 of the world which pleased his fancy. If chance 
 flung him down in a tropical forest, on an island in 
 the sea, in a battle, in a shipwreck, at a wedding, 
 he would know what to do, what to say, what to 
 propose. The world had no terrors for such a 
 man. Captain Margaret forgot, when he thought 
 thus enviously, that he himself was one of the 
 few who had escaped from the world, escaped from 
 that necessity for tooth and claw which is nature ; 
 and that by being no longer ' natural,' instinctive, 
 . ' 194 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 common, he had risen to something higher, to a 
 point from which he could regard the pirate as an 
 interesting work of art. He never pursued his 
 fancy far enough to ask himself if he would will- 
 ingly imitate or possess that work ; because the 
 pirate, passing him by with a hard, shrewd glance, 
 would stride into the booth, taking off his hat to 
 thrust back his long hair. He would listen then to 
 the conversation. If the man was known to Cam- 
 mock, the talk began promptly. 
 
 * Any Don Peraltoes, this trip ? * 
 
 * What ? Peraltoes .? You weren't there } ' 
 ^ Ain't you Ned ?' 
 
 * And you're Lion. I'd never have known you. 
 Any of 'em with you } ' 
 
 ' No, I quit the trade. Come and have some- 
 thing.' 
 
 Then they would mix some rum and sugar, and 
 sprinkle the mixture with a squeeze of a scrap of 
 lemon-peel. They would drink together, calling 
 their curious toasts of ' Salue,' * Here's How,* 
 ' Happy Days,' and ^ Plenty Dollars.' Then, over 
 the trade as the men haggled — 
 
 ' Got any powder. Lion } ' 
 
 ' I can only sell powder if you've a licence from 
 the Governor.' 
 
 'Any small arms V 
 
 ' The same there.' 
 
 ' Them's a nice lot of macheats. How do they 
 come } ' 
 
 'An ounce apiece. Or fifty pound of leaf.' 
 
 ' Steep. Let's see one. A good trade knife.' 
 
 ' What are you doing now } ' 
 
 ' I got about fifty acres burned oflF. That's the 
 195 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 grant here, Lion, fifty acres. Tobacco, you know. 
 I do a bit of fishing, whiles. A nice handy sloop, 
 I got. Small, of course.' 
 
 ' Crops good 1 ' 
 
 ' A sight too good, if you ask me. This black 
 soil'll sprout a coffin. But tobacco's away down. 
 We burn half our crops, trying to keep up prices. 
 It's only worth about ninepence.' 
 
 ' Are you going to stick at it ? ' 
 
 * It's a bit quiet. I lie out in the woods whiles.' 
 
 * Anything else doing } ' 
 
 * You were here yourself } ' 
 
 ' I come here with Crawfot's party. I was here. 
 Yes. Sure.' 
 
 ' Crawfot's dead, if you mean Tom. Did you 
 ever try any running } ' 
 
 ' Running rum from Jamaica 1 ' 
 
 * Yes. I do a bit that way. Other things, too. 
 I'm in with some of Ned's lot.' 
 
 ' Ned Davis .? ' 
 
 ' Yes. We run blacks sometimes, too. Run 'em 
 into Carolina. New York sometimes.' 
 ' Ah. How did Tom die .? ' 
 
 * Indians. I done a bit that way, too. Lion. 
 You catch two or three squaws. They fetch as 
 much as a white woman down to Campeachy. 
 Two or three of them ; it runs into money.' 
 
 * I've known that done,' said Cammock. * The 
 man done it was Robert Jolly. He come to a 
 jolly end, what's more. The braves got him.' 
 
 ' There's always a risk of that,' said Ned. ' And 
 it's 10,000 lbs. of leaf fine, if the Governor gets 
 you.* 
 
 ^ Well, Ned. If you want fun, why don't you 
 
 196 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 come in with us. And bring in some of your 
 mates.' 
 
 * Is this trade only a blind, then } ' 
 
 *Not on your life. But we're in for a big 
 thing. A very big thing. I wouldn't mention it. 
 But you see, I know you, Ned ; and so, you see, 
 it's like this.' 
 
 Between them, Margaret and Cammock per- 
 suaded some half a dozen recruits to join during 
 the first few days in port. The new recruits 
 promised to come aboard when the ship sailed, but 
 not before, lest the Governor should grow sus- 
 picious. They agreed, also, seeing that Margaret 
 had a commission, to submit to a sharper discipline 
 than was usual among privateers. Margaret had 
 no intention of admitting these men into his 
 fo'c's'le. They were not waged men like the 
 seamen shipped in London ; but volunteers agree- 
 ing to serve for shares. To admit them into the 
 fo'c's'le, where they would enjoy certain privileges 
 not shared by the sailors, would cause bad blood, 
 and bickering for precedence. To avoid this, 
 he planned with Cammock to create a military 
 company, to be called *the men of war.' The 
 privateers who joined him were to be enlisted in 
 this company, under the command (as he suggested) 
 of an old buccaneer (one of the first to join) who 
 kept an ale-house some miles out of Jamestown. 
 This old man was named Raphael Gamage. He 
 had served with Cammock many years before in 
 Morgan's raid on Porto Bello. As far as Cammock 
 could remember, he was a trusty old man, well 
 liked. The troop of men of war (when fully 
 recruited) was to mess in the 'tween-decks ; just 
 
 197 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 forward of the officers' cabins and the wardroom. 
 At sea, they were to work the mizen-mast, stand- 
 ing three watches. In battle, half of them were to 
 man the quarter-deck guns, while the other half 
 walked the poop as sharpshooters. But all of 
 them, at all times, were to obey the officers of the 
 ship like the other members of her crew. It was a 
 pleasure to Perrin to help in the arrangement of 
 the 'tween-decks for the reception of these men. 
 He screwed in hammock-hooks and battens, and 
 designed removable mess-tables which the car- 
 penter, being one of the politest of men, thought 
 equal to the Navy. 
 
 Trade throve beyond their dreams ; for the 
 Bro\en Heart was the first ship in since the tobacco 
 crop. Her general cargo of hemp and flax seed, 
 tools, wines, ploughs, linens and woollens, boxes, 
 cart-wheels, rope, weapons, books, and musical 
 instruments, sold at good rates, for silver and leaf 
 tobacco. 
 
 Captain Margaret had planned to arrive at 
 Jamestown early in the season, so that he might 
 secure the cream of the tobacco crop before the 
 summer fleet came in. Now that he was safe for a 
 little while, he set about his business. At the end 
 of the fifth day he chartered a couple of swift sloops 
 from a Jamaica merchant, and loaded them, in one 
 day, under official supervision, with fifty tons of 
 assorted goods. He kept some twenty seamen at 
 the work, from turn-to time till sunset, driving 
 them himself His zeal startled all of them. But 
 Margaret was working with his whole nature to 
 save the merchants who had fitted him out. He 
 felt that he had risked their money, by gratifying a 
 
 198 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 foolish whim ; now he was to save them, having 
 seen his chance. The bales and casks swung up 
 out of the hold into the sloops. The winches 
 clanked, the ropes creaked, the bosun swore at the 
 slingmen. The slingmen, dripping in the hot 
 darkness, damned and spat, and worked their hands 
 full of splinters. A fine dust rose up out of the 
 hatch to quiver in the sunlight. The slings fell 
 with a rattling thud on to the boxes below ; the 
 block creaked as the fall was overhauled ; a thirsty- 
 throat called * Hoist.' The bosun, too hurried to 
 pipe, bent over the coamings to spit, telling the 
 men on deck to hoist or sway away. Up came the 
 boxes and casks, swinging to the yard-arm tackle. 
 The boatswain, bearing them over, swearing, 
 followed them to the rail, as the yard-arm was 
 rounded in. Then there came the ^ High enough. 
 Walk back * ; and the sling strained slowly down- 
 wards to the stevedores, whose black skins gleamed 
 in the sun. By sunset the sloops were cast off 
 from the Broken Heart. Cammock and Margaret 
 swung themselves into the stern of one of them as 
 she sheered out. The slingmen, relieved from 
 their hell below, stared at them silently over the 
 rail with grime-ringed eyes. The sweat had streaked 
 the dirt on their faces, making them look haggard. 
 Like a row of corpses, dug up after the first day of 
 burial, those silent men stood. Margaret, looking 
 at them, thought with horror that the lives of some 
 men might be expressed, defined, summed, in a 
 sort of purser's tally : so many boxes hoisted out, 
 so many creatures killed, so many pots drunk, so 
 many books read : with the sum added, the life 
 extinct, nothing remaining, nothing for God or the 
 
 199 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Devil ; merely a sum in addition for the harping 
 quirers. 
 
 Sail was packed upon the sloops. All that night 
 they drove, a red lamp burning astern. At dawn, 
 when the sea below the woods was like steel, though 
 tremulous in pale light, they were standing in to a 
 jetty on the Accomac side. It was dusk in the 
 clearing where the house stood ; but the stumps of 
 felled trees stood up black, a troop of dwarfs ; and 
 the cattle moved dimly among them, cropping grass 
 with a wrench. Casks stood at the edge of the 
 jetty ; there was a gleam upon their hoops. There 
 was a gleam of dew upon the forest, as a little 
 dawn-wind, stirring the birds, made a patter of 
 dropping. A fire with a waving flame burned 
 under a pent-house, making a thick, sweet smoke, 
 which floated everywhere, smelling of burning gum, 
 driving away the mosquitoes. When the flame 
 leaped up, brightly shaking, it showed a tilted cart, 
 with a man under a red robe asleep against the 
 wheel. Quietly, before the light was come, they 
 made the sloops fast and stepped ashore. They 
 stamped to kill the numbness in their feet ; then, 
 rousing the sleeper, they helped him to prepare a 
 breakfast, of apples, fish, and new cider, before 
 trading for his tobacco. 
 
 All that day they plied along the Accomac coast, 
 Cammock in the Peachy Margaret in the Daisy,- 
 buying tobacco at every clearing, paying the planters 
 in goods. When the Peach sloop was full. Cam- 
 mock drove her back, with her boom-end under, to 
 sling the tobacco into the Broken Heart at dawn, 
 and to fill up again with trade. Margaret's keen- 
 ness puzzled him ; the man was on fire. ' I 
 
 300 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 thought he was one of these dreamy fellows/ he 
 said to himself. * But he drives a tight bargain, 
 and he goes at it like a tiger.' 
 
 He went aboard the ship, putting all hands to 
 the work of clearing and reloading the sloop. Mr. 
 Cottrill met him at the gangway with word that two 
 of their best men had deserted from the trading- 
 booth, taking with them about fifty pounds' worth 
 of goods ; that they had gone off at sunset, just as 
 the sloops cast off; and that one of the men aboard 
 had heard that they were going for a run with a gang 
 of Indian-snatchers. Worse still. The foretop- 
 mast was sprung at the heel, and the new spar 
 couldn't be ready for a week. Cammock had been 
 at a driving strain for a couple of days ; but, like 
 most hard cases, he found the second day a day of 
 exaltation, of nervous excitement. The news pleased 
 him ; it occupied his mind. He bade his men get 
 out trade from all three hatches as fast as the 
 winches could sway it out, while he with a dozen 
 men went ashore in the sloop, still half full of 
 tobacco. 
 
 As soon as he got ashore he struck the booth, 
 crammed all the goods into the sloop, lock, stock, 
 and barrel, and carried them back aboard. As 
 they were thrust into the sloop he made a rough 
 inventory. 
 
 *Now, Mr. Cottrill,' he said, ^just take this 
 list and check it as soon as you've got a chance. 
 Then check it with the trade-book, and find out 
 what's missing. Then check that with the clerk's 
 list. Rig up an awning from the break of the 
 poop to the mast there. That'll be your trade 
 booth. Call the trade clerk. Call Mrs. Inigo. 
 
 20I 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Mr. Harthop, you'll keep your trade booth here 
 in future. Mrs. Inigo, you'll have to give up 
 your berth in the sail-locker. See to that, Mr. 
 Cottrill. Mrs. Inigo'll sleep in the steward's 
 room. The steward'll have to go into the 
 round-house. Mr. Harthop, you'll use the sail- 
 room, where Mrs. Inigo's been sleeping, as your 
 sample-room. See that no one goes up the alley- 
 way to the cabin. Keep a clear gangway from the 
 alley to the companion there. Mr. Cottrill, give 
 Mr. Harthop three hands and let him arrange his 
 shop. He'd better stone out the sail-room after 
 breakfast. Shift your things, Mrs. Inigo. You, 
 too, steward. Mr. Cottrill, pick out three good 
 hands to be under Mr. Harthop. Quiet, steady 
 men. Pick one or two of the boys. Mr. Harthop, 
 what were you doing to let those men away ^ ' 
 
 Mr. Harthop, a little, bald, jocular man, with a 
 pale face, and long, drooping moustaches, which 
 gave him a sad, Chinese expression, rolled slowly 
 forward, peering under his spectacles. 
 
 ' I'd gone up to the Governor's house, sir, with 
 some velvets.' 
 
 ' Why didn't you send one of the men } Or 
 wait till trade was over for the day 1 ' 
 
 ' The Governor's lady asked me to come, Captain 
 Cammock.' 
 
 'Women'll be the death of this cruise,' said 
 Cammock to himself. ' Who was in charge while 
 you were gone } ' 
 
 * Smale, the boy. Captain Cammock, sir. I was 
 only gone twenty minutes.' 
 
 ' There it is,' said Cammock. ^ Smale, how 
 did this happen ^ ' 
 
 202 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 * Please, zur/ said Smale, a short young ploughboy 
 from Gloucestershire, ' I were a-*avin* my zupper, 
 zur. 'N I seed a owd feller come up and give 'is 
 fist like to Andrews. And her'd a-done it avore. 
 Zo they talked, and by'n by. Captain Cammock, 
 zur, another feller come like. Her said as Mr. 
 Harthop said as 1 wus to go to Governor's house, 
 to fetch a few fowls for th' 'en-coop. Zo I went. 
 And her'd all gone avore I'd come back. And 
 her'd took the things.' 
 
 Cammock kept back what he thought of the 
 Governor's wife. 
 
 * Mr. Cottrill,' he said. * You, Mr. Ramage, 
 and the bosun, will have to stand trade watches. 
 No visitor is to talk to any of the hands under 
 any pretext whatsoever.' 
 
 * Ay, ay, sir. I thought 1 could have trusted 
 Andrews.' 
 
 ' You may go, Mr. Harthop. It ought never 
 to have been allowed. Directly my back was 
 turned.' He was blaming himself for having been 
 so easy of access, and so friendly with old acquaint- 
 ance. * Naturally,' he said to himself, ' the men 
 got notions. Well, they'll get no more.' He 
 walked to the waist, where the work was going 
 busily with songs. The sloop was being loaded 
 forward as she discharged abaft. His presence 
 made the men zealous. He had never seen cargo 
 worked so well. 
 
 * Bosun,' he called, ' who's night watchman } * 
 
 * Pearson, Captain Cammock,' said Harris. He 
 smeared his mouth with the back of his hand, and 
 left a cask to dangle aloft over the hatch. He ran 
 towards Cammock in a shambling trot. 
 
 203 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 'Tell Pearson that 1 want him. Mr. Cottrill, 
 choose a good man to stand night watchman 
 with Pearson, to walk round the ship, harbour- 
 guard, all night long, in opposite directions. No 
 man whatever to come aboard or to leave the ship 
 after sunset. Pearson, when you come on duty 
 to-night you'll apply to Mr. Ramage for a pair of 
 pistols. You're to shoot at any man who attempts 
 to desert. You're to heave cold shot into any boat 
 which tries to come alongside. Tell the lamp-man 
 he's to have lanterns lit abreast the main and fore 
 chains. Call all hands if any boat comes off to 
 us after two bells. You're to shoot at any boat 
 which does not answer to a hail. You understand.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir. Shoot at any man as tries to desert,- 
 and any boat as don't reply.' 
 
 ' H'm,' said Cammock to himself, noting the 
 faces of the crew. ' There'll be no more deserting 
 from this hooker.' 
 
 ' Carry on,' he said aloud. * Bosun, call away 
 the gig. Let the gig's crew dress. Doctor, there, 
 kill me six fowls. The best we've got in the fatten- 
 ing coop. Steward there. Call the steward you, 
 boy. Tell him to bring a dozen Burgundy. Now, 
 Mr. Cottrill, a word with you, sir. Mr. Perrin 
 and the rest, are they all well ^ ' 
 
 ' As far as 1 know, they are, sir.' 
 
 * Mr. Stukeley } ' 
 
 * Mr. Stukeley's like fat Jack of the Boneyard, 
 1 guess, sir. He's bigger than the admiral.' 
 
 'What's he been doing ?' 
 
 ' He's been wanting the gig's crew all day. I told 
 him I needed the men in the hold. He'd have to use 
 the long-boat, I said, when she goes in for water.' 
 
 204 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 'Very right. Yes?' 
 
 " So he came and called me down before the 
 men. Said 1 wasn't a gentleman. He said as 
 Captain Margaret had said he and his lady was to 
 have the gig whenever they wanted her.' 
 
 * Was Mrs. Stukeley there ?' 
 
 ' No, sir. So I up and said that I'd had no 
 orders. Then he calls me down some more ; and 
 goes and gets Mr. Perrin to come to me, to say 
 that Captain Margaret wished to oblige Mr. 
 Stukeley in all things.' 
 
 'Yes.?' 
 
 ' So I told Mr. Perrin, pretty quick, I said, I 
 was in command, I said. It wasn't for him to tell 
 me my duty. I told him to tell his society friends 
 they could do the Barney's Bull act. They'd get 
 no gig out of me. That's what I said.' 
 
 ' Yes r 
 
 ' So that Mr. Stukeley, he went ashore in the 
 long-boat, after calling me down some more before 
 the men. He got a shore-boat to go about in. 
 After that he said his boatman should have dinner 
 aboard of us. I stopped that. But Mr. Stukeley 
 was very rude, and then the man got rude. All 
 hands working the hatch there, hearing it all. Mrs. 
 Stukeley beside. So that was two blocks, I thought. 
 I give the boatman a thick ear there and then. I 
 told him if he didn't sheer off I'd drop a cold shot 
 into him. And I would have. Mr. Stukeley told 
 me to keep my hands off the man. Then the man 
 wanted his money. My hat, we had it all up and 
 down. I thought that Stukeley would hit me, one 
 time. I wish 'e 'ad done. I'd a laid him out.' 
 
 ' And Mr. Perrin ? How did it end V 
 205 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^ I saw some of the hands knocked off to listen, 
 so I give them a few. And he stood there telling 
 them not to take no blows. Telling em to down 
 me. And then the long-boat come alongside with 
 water. Mr. Ramage was in her, of course. He 
 hears the row, and he come over the side just as 
 quick as cut. He just took that Stukeley by the 
 arm, and walked him into the alleyway. " Don't 
 you incite no sailors, sir," he says. '^ No more of 
 that, sir. I respects your feelings, sir," he says, 
 "but for Gord's and your lady's sake," he says, 
 " you quit. You don't know what you're doin'." 
 That was the end for that time. I suppose we'll 
 'ave another dollop of it to-day.' 
 
 ' Put him in irons at once, publicly, if he gives 
 you any more trouble. And he's not to talk to 
 any man. That's another thing. Iron him directly 
 he gives a back answer. Tell Mr. Ramage, too. 
 Now bring those fowls along, doctor. I'm off 
 to the man-of-war sloop, about them Indian- 
 snatchers.' 
 
 He pulled aboard the man-of-war sloop, with his 
 present of wine and poultry. As he sat in his gig 
 calling to the men to pull the stroke out, he wrote 
 descriptions of the missing seamen. 
 
 When he returned to the Broken Hearty the sloop 
 was nearly full of trade. It was just half-past 
 seven. He went to his cabin to wash, walking 
 quickly and quietly, like a forest Indian. There 
 was some slight noise to his left as he entered the 
 alleyway. He turned sharply, to look into the 
 sail-room, to see if it were ready for the samples. 
 The door shut in his face with a bang. He could 
 not swear to it — the door shut in a fraction of a 
 
 206 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 second — yet it seemed to him that he had seen 
 Stukeley with Mrs. Inlgo, for one bright flash of 
 time. He would not open to make sure ; for it 
 was a woman's ca^bin ; he might have been mis- 
 taken ; but he turned in his tracks and blew his 
 whistle. A man ran to him. 
 
 ' Get some dry stone, and stone this door clean,' 
 he said, showing Mrs. Inigo's door. ^ Stone the 
 outside, and keep at it till breakfast.* That would 
 keep Stukeley within (if he were within) until break- 
 fast, at any rate. He flung his clothes from him 
 and swilled himself with water ; then dressed 
 rapidly and went to Perrin's cabin. ' Mr. Perrin,* 
 he said, bursting in after knocking once, ^ how are 
 you, Mr. Perrin } I want you to keep your eye 
 on Mrs. Inigo's door. See who comes out of it. 
 Is Mrs. Stukeley well ? ' 
 
 'Very well. How are you and the captain V 
 
 ' The captain'll be back later in the day. I'm 
 just off again.' 
 
 'We'd a lot of trouble yesterday. I'll be glad 
 when you're back for good.' 
 
 ' Cheer up, sir,' said Cammock. ' Remember. 
 Mrs. Inigo's door till one bell. If Mrs. Inigo 
 comes out, open it and search the cabin.' He 
 went on deck again, where the steward met him 
 with a tray. He sat down on a coaming and made 
 a hurried breakfast, while the sloop's crew hoisted 
 sail. When he had finished his meal, he glanced 
 into the alleyway, where the man was rubbing 
 holystone across the door. ' Anybody in there } ' 
 he said. 
 
 ' I hear some one shifting around, sir,' said the 
 man. 'The woman's getting her gear, sir.' 
 
 207 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' Right/ said Cammock. ' I wish I could stay- 
 to see the end,' he said to himself. ' But 1 must 
 be off/ In a few minutes he was bound again 
 for Accomac, under a huge square cutter's foresail, 
 which made the sloop leap like a flying-fish. 
 
 Very late one night, having just arrived aboard 
 after a week of labour, Captain Margaret sat in 
 his cabin comparing tally-books with Captain 
 Cammock ; but quietly, lest they should wake 
 Perrin. He was very tired ; for the hurry from 
 one clearing to another, and the long rides into the 
 wilderness to planters who lived far away, had 
 been a strain. He had endured them only in the 
 fire of his excitement. He had enjoyed his week 
 of bargaining ; the zest of the struggle had been 
 like wine to him. On the lonely clearings, or 
 drinking with strangers in woodmen's shacks, he 
 had forgotten his love, forgotten the torment of 
 the voyage, Olivia's child, the settlement on Darien. 
 All had been forgotten. Now that the struggle 
 was over, he felt the exhaustion ; but nodding 
 as he was, over his tally-book, his whirling brain 
 praised him with that excited inner voice which 
 talks to the overwrought. ' You've got the pick 
 of the crop, the pick of the crop, the cream of 
 the year's leaf,' the voice kept telling him. He had 
 bought seven hundred tons of the best tobacco in 
 the colony ; the little that remained to be sold was 
 the poor, crude leaf from the young plants, and 
 the poorly cured, poorly flavoured leaf from the 
 distant walks in the forest. 
 
 ' We've got the whole trade, sir,' said Cammock. 
 ' You needn't fear for your owners.' 
 
 'No,' said Margaret. 'Now to get a bottom to 
 208 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 carry it home. Of course, in a week we ought to 
 have the summer fleet here.' 
 
 'They'll not find much,' said Cammock. 'WeVe 
 got it all. But supposing a letter comes with the 
 fleet. We shall have to sail that night probably, 
 shan't we ? Supposing we've to cut and run, leav- 
 ing it all in the warehouse ? ' 
 
 ' I've thought of that,' said Margaret, ' I thought 
 of that, too. Heigho, captain, I'm tired. This 
 week has been an experience. I shall leave Mr. 
 Harthop in charge ashore, with powers to deal. 
 He's shrewd. He's got a funny way of getting at 
 the point with that queer humour as a cloak. And 
 I've got Howard, Cammock. Howard's our agent.' 
 
 ^ YouVe got the Governor, sir } ' 
 
 * Oh yes. That was my first move. I knew 
 old Howard wanted specie ; so I went to see him 
 and told him my plans. He was expensive, though. 
 He knew his worth to a penny.' 
 
 * What it is to be a gentleman. If I'd gone, he'd 
 have kicked me out. Well. Birth tells, they say.' 
 
 Perrin sat up in his bunk, and looked at them 
 through the curtains. 
 
 ' A servile, insolent, bribing, tipping race, the 
 English,' he said. 'An Englishman will never 
 do anything for any one without expecting some- 
 thing.' 
 
 ' Oh, you're awake, are you } At it again, too,' 
 said Cammock. 'How about that door, sir?' 
 
 ' Well, Edward, how are you ^ What door is 
 this ? ' 
 
 'Oh. Mrs. Inigo's door,' said Perrin. 'Oh 
 yes. Yes. Mrs. Inigo came out at eight bells, 
 and then I tried to get in. But it was locked 
 p 209 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 on the inside. So I called Mr. Harthop's three 
 men, and the man who was scrubbing it.' 
 
 ' Good. Good/ said Cammock. 
 
 'And 1 told them "the door was jammed.'' So 
 they'd a jemmy there, for opening cases with, and we 
 burst the door open. We found Stukeley inside.' 
 
 ' Stukeley ^ ' said Margaret. ' I half suspected 
 that.' 
 
 'He was on his knees on the deck, sponging 
 that blue silk dress Olivia wears.' 
 
 ' Ha,' said Captain Cammock. ' I should never 
 have thought of that.' 
 
 ' Shrewd these Cornish women are.' 
 
 ' He was rather red in the face, but he asked us 
 what was the matter. Then he asked me to give 
 him a hand, as he'd got to get the dress ready for 
 Olivia, he said. She'd spilt some chocolate down 
 it. It was ' 
 
 ' Was he flustered ^ Hectoring .? ' 
 
 'Afterwards. Not then. He kept saying that 
 Olivia wished to wear the dress at breakfast.' 
 
 ' Did she ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. Oh yes. I don't know, Charles. There 
 might have been nothing wrong.' 
 
 ' I thought I saw something,' said Cammock. 
 
 ' Well,' said Margaret. ' I suppose we'll have to 
 discharge Mrs. Inigo, and pay her passage home. 
 Captain Cammock, what do you think of Stuke- 
 ley.?' 
 
 ' I'm like the parrot,' said Cammock, ' I think a 
 lot more'n I'll say. Now turn in, all hands. A 
 long lie, and pie for dinner. Captain Margaret, if 
 you don't turn in, you'll find you won't sleep. Oh. 
 Has Mr. Stukeley been in irons V 
 
 2IO 
 
The TOBACCO MERCHANT 
 
 *He*s been threatened with them. He*s been 
 very quiet though lately. That Inigo time gave 
 him a scare, I think.' 
 
 ' Well. Good night, gentlemen.' 
 
 ' Good night.' 
 
 As Captain Margaret drew his bunk-curtains 
 and settled himself to sleep, the voices in his brain 
 took bodies to them, fiery bodies, which leaned and 
 called to him. ' You've got the pick of the crop, 
 the pick of the crop, the pick of the crop,' they 
 called. ^ Lucky devil. Lucky devil. Oh, you 
 lucky devil.' 
 
 2U 
 
VIII 
 TN PORT 
 
 * Yet still he stands prefract and insolent.' 
 
 Charles^ Duke of Byrofi, 
 
 A FTER breakfast the next morning the two 
 -^^ Stukeleys sat in their stateroom talking. They 
 had had a week of comparative isolation, of com- 
 parative privacy, very sweet to Olivia, who had 
 learned, during the voyage, to regret the days at 
 Salcombe, when one had but to close a door, to 
 shut the world of love from that other world, full 
 of thorns and thistles, where ordinary mortals 
 walked, not having the key of the burning imagina- 
 tion. With Margaret and Cammock away, and 
 Perrin seldom present at meals, owing to his fear 
 of the badgering Stukeley, the cabin of the Broken 
 Heart had come to be something of a home to her. 
 She could feel again that nothing else really existed, 
 that no one else really lived, that all the world, all 
 the meaning and glory and life of the world, 
 centred in the two burning mouths, in the two 
 hearts which divined each other, apprehending all 
 things in themselves. During that week of privacy 
 she had even learned to think tenderly again of the 
 
IN PORT 
 
 three men who had shared the cabin with her. She 
 found that she no longer resented Cammock's want 
 of breeding ; his want of culture ; his past as 
 explained by Tom ; his social position as compared 
 with her aunt Pile's coachman. During the 
 voyage she had grown to dislike Margaret and 
 Perrin, much as one dislikes the guests who have 
 overstayed their welcome. She had been too much 
 in the rapture of love to see things clearly, to 
 judge character clearly ; she had taken her judg- 
 ments ready-made from Tom, who disliked the 
 two men. She had liked them both as old friends ; 
 had liked them much, in the old days, before she 
 knew life. But, under the strain of the voyage, ever 
 prompted by Stukeley's bitterness, while looking 
 on them as her friends, she had come to resent 
 their continual presence, to be cross at their con- 
 versation, which (as she felt instinctively) was 
 restrained by their dislike of Tom, through their 
 want of imaginative sympathy with his point of 
 view. Now that they were no longer ever present, 
 like spices added to each dish till every dish dis- 
 gusts, she thought of them both with pity ; feeling 
 that they were growing old in their ways, narrowed 
 in their sympathies, never knowing the meaning of 
 life, which is love. Thus thought she, in the con- 
 fidence of exulting health, in the rapture of being 
 possessed, with the merciless pity of a newly married 
 woman. This that she had waited for, this love 
 which crowned and made her, it cleared the eyes, 
 she thought, it exalted, it ennobled, it glorified. She 
 would that those two pathetic figures, Margaret so 
 serious and proud, with his clumsy walk, and halt- 
 ing, almost affected, picked precision of phrase, and 
 
 213 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Perrin, the forlorn parasite who looked as though 
 he had been frozen, were married ; she would so 
 gladly see them happy, tasting something of the 
 joy which made earth heaven to her. Margaret 
 would be a beautiful lover, very thoughtful and 
 tender, but cold ; he was cold-hearted, she thought, 
 and rather frightening. Perrin would be attracted 
 by some little merry woman who would laugh at 
 him and twist him round her finger. Perrin, she 
 confessed to Tom, attracted her more than the 
 other, because he looked so wretched. Being so 
 happy herself, she wished others to be happy. Her 
 education, like most women's education, had been 
 aimed to make her fear the world, to make her 
 shrink from those characters who judged the world 
 and sought to direct it. Her own world, beautiful 
 as it was, existed only by the exclusion of such 
 characters ; her nature could not accept Margaret 
 wholly ; she could only respect and vaguely fear 
 him, as one respects and fears all things which one 
 is not wise enough to understand. Perrin looked 
 wretched, and having a tenderness for wretched 
 folk, she thought that she understood him. All 
 the time, unknown to her, the three men summed 
 her up with pity and reverence and tender devo- 
 tion ; but mostly with pity, and with a mournful, 
 tender curiosity. It was perhaps partly that curi- 
 osity which had made their absence pleasant to her. 
 Their absence had been a relief to her, it had also 
 relieved her husband. And since their arrival at 
 Virginia her husband had made her anxious ; he 
 had behaved very queerly at times, ever since the 
 first day. She felt that he was keeping something 
 from her, perhaps some ailment which tortured him 
 
 214 
 
IN PORT . 
 
 and made him irritable. She had been very thank- 
 ful to have her dear love so much to herself during 
 an entire week. 
 
 But at breakfast that morning the presence of 
 the three men (and the prospect of their future 
 presence) had shown her how much she longed for 
 the quiet retirement of a home, where life could be 
 culled, chosen, made up as one makes a nosegay, by 
 beautiful friends, art, music, all the essences of 
 life, all doubly precious to her now that life had 
 become so precious. 
 
 * Tom,* she said, * Tom, dear, I want to talk to 
 you about our life here. I don't think it can go 
 on, dear.* 
 
 ' Why, little Olive, what's up ? What ruffles 
 your serenity ? ' 
 
 'Tom, dear, 1 cannot bear this ship life. And 
 those three men. At every meal I feel that one of 
 them is watching me. Oh, and no woman to talk 
 to. I think of our lovely times at Salcombe, Tom. 
 We could shut the door ; and it would be just our 
 two selves.' 
 
 ' Jolly times at Salcombe, hadn't we ? But 
 what's the matter, eh ? ' 
 
 ' This ship life, Tom. It's that. The men are 
 so rude, and so rude to you, Tom. I can't go on 
 with it. 1 want to go back to England.' 
 
 * But I've promised to go to Darien, Olive.' 
 
 ' I know, dear. I know. Don't think me very 
 foolish, Tom. But I don't think I'm strong 
 enough. Tom, darling, could not we leave this 
 life ? Think how rude Mr. Cottrill was to you 
 only the other day. I do so long for our old 
 happy life together. Away from the sea.' 
 
 215 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * Look here, Livy. I understand. YouVe lonely. 
 Suppose we go and stay ashore for a while. You 
 would meet ladies ashore. YouVe met them 
 already.' 
 
 'Tom, I can't meet those ladies. They're not 
 nice.' 
 
 ' What's wrong with them } What's wrong 
 with Mrs. Montague ? ' 
 
 ' I feel that she isn't a nice woman. That she 
 
 isn't You know I went to see her the day 
 
 before yesterday. She was hung about with silver 
 just like a savage, and all the young officers were 
 there, playing cards. And Captain Montague had 
 gone to Charlestown, and she was alone there, with 
 all those men. So I sat down for a moment to rest 
 after the walk and then came away. That was no 
 place for me.' 
 
 *Well, we could stop with the Governor. 
 Maggy knows him. What's wrong with old Mrs. 
 Prinsep } ' 
 
 * I don't like her, Tom. She's a bitter woman. 
 Oh, Tom, let's go home.' 
 
 ' But I've promised, Livy.' 
 
 * Yes, dear. I know. But we can't always 
 keep our promises. We can't go to Darien. We 
 can't.' 
 
 * But what else can we do } We must, my 
 dear. I can't pay our passage home. I came 
 away in such a rush. I've not got five pounds 
 with me.' 
 
 ^ Oh, Tom, Tom. But that doesn't matter, dear. 
 We could borrow. Charles or Edward would lend 
 to us.' 
 
 * No, thanks, Livy. There are some things I draw 
 
 216 
 
IN PORT 
 
 the line at. I can't take a man's hospitality and then 
 borrow money from him.' 
 
 ' But I know them better than you do, Tom. 
 
 I could ask them.' 
 
 * Do you suppose, Livy, that I could let you 
 borrow money from any man ? ' 
 
 'Then we could ask for a passage home in the 
 convoy to the summer fleet. They would take us.' 
 
 Stukeley smiled uneasily, knowing only too well 
 how likely he was to get a passage home with that 
 convoy in any case. 
 
 * Olive,' he said, 'do you remember a tale Captain 
 Cammock told us about a little ruined city full of 
 gold?' 
 
 ' Yes,' she answered. 
 
 ' D'you know, Olive, I've been half planning 
 with Cammock to go to look for that ruined city. 
 You see, Livy, we shall only be here probably till 
 the summer fleet arrives. Ten days, or so. Do 
 you think you could stand it for another month 
 or two ? If we found that city, I could buy 
 my little Olive that summer cottage we set our 
 hearts on.* 
 
 'Oh, take me home, Tom. Never mind the 
 cottage. And I couldn't have you going into the 
 forest. I couldn't be alone In the ship.' 
 
 ' But then, Olive. Since I married my little 
 Olive here, I've been wanting to do something for 
 others. Living as a bachelor, one gets selfish. I 
 want very much to help those Indians, Olive. To 
 do something in return for you, dear.' 
 
 ' I know, dear. It's so like you. It's noble of 
 you. But you could do something for the people 
 at home : for the poor. You could teach them. 
 
 217 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 We could teach them together. But oh, don't let's 
 go to Darien, Tom. We shall be separated. Tom, 
 I couldn't bear to be alone in the ship. And there 
 may be fighting.' 
 
 ' Come, come, Livy,' said Stukeley. He was 
 nettled at what he judged to be her damned female 
 pigheadedness, yet anxious to make his indignation 
 appear moral. That is the common custom of the 
 wicked, to the world's misfortune. ^ Come, come,' 
 he said, ' you mustn't talk in that way. We're 
 going to liberate the Indians. Eh } To show them 
 what British Freedom means. Eh } We mustn't 
 think of ourselves, and our little aches and pains. 
 We must think of the world.' He himself was 
 ever ready to think of the world, or the flesh, or the 
 devil, or all three. ' We must think of the world, 
 Livy. And if we should succeed. I think you 
 would be proud of me, Livy.' 
 
 ' I should be, Tom, dear. Very, very proud. 
 But oh, Tom, do let us go home. We should be 
 so happy there again. Here, we can't get away 
 from strangers. I can't live among these people. 
 They're dreadful. And Darien, Tom. It's a law- 
 less place, full of the most terrible men.' 
 
 'Oh, they're all right,' he answered. 'They're 
 all right. And I shall be with you, my dear child. 
 We must go to Darien, Livy. My honour's 
 pledged. I can't draw back in honour. They 
 would call me a coward. They'd say I was afraid. 
 Besides, I can't very well pay our way home. And 
 1 can't borrow. You do realize my position, Livy ^ 
 We must go on.' 
 
 ' Oh, Tom,' said Olivia, crying now, in spite of 
 brave efforts. 'I didn't think — I thought you'd 
 
 218 
 
IN PORT 
 
 take me when I begged you. We might be home 
 in three weeks. Oh, Tom, do.' She clung to him, 
 looking up at him, smiling appeal in spite of tears. 
 Stukeley bit his lips from annoyance, longing to 
 box her ears, to give her, as he phrased it, some- 
 thing to cry for. She thought that he was on 
 the rack between his pledged honour and his love 
 for her. 
 
 'No, Livy,' he said, parodying Captain Margaret's 
 manner towards an inferior. * No, Livy, dear. 
 Don't make it hard for me. We must never draw 
 back from a noble cause, dear.' He thought that 
 this would bring more tears, and force him to be 
 brutal ; he was not going to stand there while she 
 snivelled on his shoulder. ' A snivelling woman,' 
 he always maintained, * is not a thing to be encour- 
 aged.' But to his surprise his answer checked her 
 tears ; she had never loved him more than when 
 he placed his honour even above his love for 
 her. 
 
 ' There, Tom,' she said. ' Forgive me. I won't 
 cry any more, dear. My nerves are upset. I 
 won't ask again, Tom. Of course, we'll go to 
 Darien. But I wasn't thoughtless of your honour, 
 Tom. You don't think that ? I wasn't. I was 
 only fidgety and frightened. Women are so silly. 
 You don't know how silly.' 
 
 'There, there,' he said. 'There, there. What 
 pretty ears you've got, Livy. Why in the world 
 d'you wear earrings with ears like yours f ' 
 
 ' They're only clip earrings, you old goose.' 
 
 ' I shall bite them.' 
 
 ' No, Tom. Not my ears now. My dear Tom. 
 Do forgive me. You know I love you.' 
 
 319 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 *YouVe got the reddest lips I ever saw in a 
 woman, Livy.' 
 
 * Oh. Do you notice women's lips ? * 
 
 ' I notice yours. Almost the first thing I noticed 
 of you was how red your lips were. What do you 
 put on them ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing. You put something on them some- 
 times.* 
 
 ^What? A gag?' 
 
 ' No. Your old silly mouth that asks so many 
 questions.' 
 
 ' I'll get you some hot water for your eyes. You 
 must bathe them.' 
 
 ' How good and tender you are to me, 
 Tom.' 
 
 As he walked to get a jugful of hot water he 
 muttered to himself about her. ' Bread and butter,' 
 he repeated. ' Bread and butter. A life of bread 
 and butter. Forty years of it, good luck. Forty 
 years of it to come. Batter pudding.' He met 
 with Cammock in the alleyway ; it occurred to him 
 to be civil. * Captain Cammock,' he said, * will 
 you join me in my smoking-room after dinner to- 
 day 1 I've some Verinas tobacco. I'd like your 
 opinion of it.' 
 
 'Thank you, sir,' said Cammock, wondering 
 what had caused such sudden friendliness. ' But 
 which do you call your smoking-room ^ ' 
 
 'That little tiny cabin just forward of the bath- 
 room. It's only big enough for a few chairs and a 
 bookshelf.' 
 
 ' Oh, the after -jiospital,' said Cammock. ' I'll 
 be very pleased, sir. But where did you speak 
 with Verinas tobacco, Mr. Stukeley V 
 
 220 
 
IN PORT 
 
 * I spoke with it ashore/ said Stukeley, * of a 
 Mr. Davis, whom I think you know.* 
 
 * Ah/ said Cammock. ' Indeed ? Well. After 
 dinner, sir.' 
 
 Later in the morning, Stukeley tried his tobacco 
 alone, on the cabin cushions, looking through the 
 windows at the town. He added up the chances 
 for and against himself, smiling with satisfaction at 
 the kindly aspect of the planets. His chief fear 
 had been an arrest on arrival. That fear had been 
 proved to be groundless. Then there was the 
 chance of arrest after the arrival of the summer 
 fleet with the mails. That chance, though possibly 
 dangerous, was not to be dreaded. Old Howard, 
 the Governor, was a friend of Maggy's, and Maggy 
 had bribed him to obtain illegal rights of trade. 
 He could put the Governor into some trouble, 
 should he press for an arrest on the arrival of 
 orders from the Board. But he wasn't likely to 
 press for an arrest. He would give a quiet hint 
 for them to go. But even if the arrest were 
 ordered, he had allies in the Bro\en Heart, He 
 knew that Margaret and the others would do any- 
 thing to shield and spare Olivia. They thought 
 that she was going to have a child. Good Lord, 
 they were a comical trio. They thought that an 
 arrest would probably kill her. And Maggy, that 
 stiff, shambling, stuck-up, conceited prig, Maggy 
 who had been going to fight a duel with him. 
 Swords and pistols, damme ; swords and pistols, 
 damme. Well. What had it all come to .'' Why, 
 Maggy would stop him in the alleyway, taking him 
 gently by the arm, as one takes the doctor by the 
 arm, when he comes out of the sick-room. * How 
 
 321 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 is Olivia, Stukeley ? How is she this morning ? * 
 Bated breath, good Lord. Best doctor's manner. 
 And Perrin running ashore for fruit and fresh fish 
 and eggs. And Cammock. Well, Cammock was 
 a bit of a dark horse ; so he would make much of 
 Cammock for some days. Besides, that little ruined 
 city, full of gold, might turn out to be worth look- 
 ing for. As for Olivia, she would have to come to 
 Darien, whether she cried or not. He rather liked 
 living at free quarters, as cock of the walk. He 
 wasn't going to go ashore in Virginia to settle 
 among the colonists. Besides, in Darien, there 
 would be a bit of sport, by all accounts. There 
 would be shooting ; perhaps a little shooting at 
 Spaniards ; plunder to be made ; good living gen- 
 erally. The only bitter sediment in this cup of 
 pleasure was Mrs. Inigo. He had been very nearly 
 caught with Mrs. Inigo. He knew that he had 
 raised suspicions, that he would have to walk warily 
 for some little time. He wished that he was married 
 to Mrs. Inigo. All this talk of love, such talk as 
 Olivia loved, this talk of trust and sacrament and 
 the rest of it. He was sick of it. He thought 
 that men were naturally polygamous. A few fools 
 and perverts. What right had they to dictate to 
 him } Mrs. Inigo would be just the sort of wife 
 for him. She would understand. And she wouldn't 
 make him sick with talk about Beauty. She hadn't 
 mixed with the gang of twisters Olivia had known. 
 Maggy was the boy for Beauty. There was where 
 Olivia learned her beauty talk. Twisters. That 
 was all that Maggy's gang were. He would like 
 to twist their necks. As for the colonials, the 
 Virginian women didn't please him. The garrison 
 
 222 
 
IN PORT 
 
 ladies were like all the garrison ladies known to 
 him, silly little empty fools, without enough 
 imagination to be vicious. They could just chatter, 
 play cards, kiss their beastly lap-dogs, and wear 
 their English clothes to church, so as to show off 
 before the colonials. The colonial girls were not 
 like women at all. They were like young horses, 
 like young men. They would dance and romp, 
 like colts in a hay-lot. But their idea of an even- 
 ing's amusement was to roll a man in a corn-crib, 
 and smother him with pillows or flour. The 
 colonial men bored him ; he had always thought 
 ill of farmers. Their talk was all of the tobacco 
 crop, the duty, the burning of half the leaf, and 
 the destruction of those plantations which were too 
 productive. They had no wines. Their only drinks 
 were rum and new cider. They did not play cards. 
 Their chief amusement seemed to be riding to 
 prayer-meetings. They would often ride forty 
 miles to a prayer-meeting in the woods. He rather 
 liked them for that. He would have ridden a 
 hundred miles to avoid a Church service there, 
 under a Virginian parson. ' They pay their parsons 
 in tobacco,' he said to himself. ' They get the 
 very sweepings of the Church. What souls they 
 must have, when you can save five thousand of 
 them for forty pounds a year.' 
 
 Thus his thoughts ran inside his skull, under his 
 curly black hair, behind that red face so long the 
 adoration of shop-girls. But after dinner, in the 
 little room known as the after-hospital, when, 
 stretched at ease in the bunk, he could see Cam- 
 mock sitting upright in the chair, through the 
 wavering tobacco-smoke, his thoughts ran upon 
 
 223 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 other matters. He thought of the coming cruise 
 to Darien. 
 
 ' Good tobacco, captain ? ' 
 
 * Yes, sir. But it's not Verinas. It's too strong. 
 Too red. This is some of that Mexican tobacco. 
 It leaves that tang, like a metal. That's how you 
 can tell, sir. Just pufF out, sir, and roll your 
 tongue round. You taste what I mean ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. But I bought it as Verinas. I paid four 
 shillings the Spanish pound.' 
 
 ' That gang of Davis's saw you coming, sir.' 
 
 ^ Really ? Well. It's my turn to laugh next. 
 You tell them that, captain.' 
 
 ' They're no friends of mine, sir,' said Cammock 
 simply. 
 
 ' Aren't they ? I thought they were particular 
 friends of yours. You sailed with them } ' 
 
 ' I've sailed with a good many as I'm no friends 
 with.' 
 
 ' Really.' 
 
 ' 1 say nothing against them,' said Cammock. 
 * They're very good seamen. Doing good as 
 planters, too, sir. They've quite a lot of ground 
 burnt off. I dare say you've seen it.' 
 
 ' Yes. But I thought from what they said that 
 they were particular friends of yours. Eh } ' 
 
 ^ Indeed, sir. When did you see them ? ' 
 
 ^ I saw them yesterday, Captain Cammock.' 
 
 ' Indeed, sir.' 
 
 ' They said that you and Captain Margaret had 
 just arranged to take about thirty of them, as a 
 sort of company of soldiers. To have them aboard 
 here. Eh .? Men of war. Eh } Pretty nearly 
 the whole village of them.' 
 
 224 
 
IN PORT 
 
 * Indeed, sir/ 
 
 * You don't like your little secrets to be known.' 
 ' Ah ? Oh. I forgot to ask, Mr. Stukeley. How 
 
 is Mrs. Stukeley ? ' 
 
 ' She's very well, thanks. You didn't think I'd 
 learn your little secret about the men of war.' 
 
 ' I didn't think one way or the other. You'd 
 have known some day sure enough. I needn't 
 disguise the fact. Yes. We've just got thirty of 
 them, to join at an hour's notice.' 
 
 ' When we sail ? When will that be .? ' 
 
 ' We ought to a gone to-day. Only our fore- 
 topmast's sprung. We have to wait for a new 
 one. But you know yourself, sir. We may have 
 to sail at an hour's notice, spar or no spar.' 
 
 ' Thank you for reminding me. You're a person 
 of great delicacy, Cammock. For one of your 
 rank in life.' 
 
 ' I believe I am, sir. Let it go at that.' 
 
 ' Can we sail at an hour's notice ? ' 
 
 ' If the Governor, and that old frigate, the royal 
 Nonsuch^ don't object. I suppose we could if we 
 had to, even without a topmast. But if our top- 
 mast ain't aboard, we couldn't run very fast. I 
 reckon we could, sir.' 
 
 * Leaving all that tobacco ashore ^ ' 
 
 'Yes. All except about fifty ton, which we've 
 got aboard. That tobacco'll go home in the 
 summer fleet, if the fleet don't want to cross 
 home light.' 
 
 * I hear you've got all the pick of the crop.' 
 
 * You hear a lot of things, sir. Well-informed 
 man, Ed Davis.' 
 
 ' He knows what's going on,' said Stukeley. 
 Q 225 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' When you're shut up with a couple of old sheep, 
 like your two owners, you need a change/ 
 
 ' So I believe, sir.' 
 
 ' What d'you mean ? ' 
 
 ' I mean just what I said.' 
 
 * Ah, yes. A simple, rugged nature. Eh } But 
 how can we put to sea with so much cargo out of 
 her } ' 
 
 ' We're not too light, Mr. Stukeley. It ain't as 
 though we'd emptied her. We've taken in a lot of 
 fresh water. A lot of scantling, too. A lot of this 
 Virginia cider. Then there's the new cables we 
 bought from them Hog Islers. Besides the fifty 
 odd ton of tobacco. Still, I don't say but what 
 she'll cut up a bit of a dance, if she gets any 
 weather going south.' 
 
 * I thought all her cargo was consigned to Vir- 
 ginia.' 
 
 ' Did you, sir ."^ ' 
 
 ' Surely. What's the good of fencing ^ Good 
 luck, captain. I'm not an old sheep, like your 
 owners.' 
 
 ^Indeed, sir.' 
 
 ' You're getting funny, captain. A wit. You 
 ought to have been at the University.' 
 
 ' That's where they make gentlemen, sir.' 
 
 ' Oh, you know that "^ ' 
 
 * We'd one of them come with us in the Trinity. 
 I know all about the universities.' 
 
 ^ He taught you, eh ^ Private tuition in the 
 forecastle } ' 
 
 'Yes. As you might say. One of the things 
 he taught was Well. You were at one your- 
 self. I don't think he could have learned you much.' 
 
 226 
 
IN PORT 
 
 ' Don't you ? Could he have learned me (as 
 you call it) that the reason youVe not discharged 
 your cargo here is that you're going to try to trade 
 along the Main ? ' 
 
 ' Ned Davis knows a lot, it seems.' 
 
 * Don't be so confounded smart and hippy. See ^ 
 I know all your plans. I know all you can do, and 
 all you're going to try to do. And I know exactly 
 where you'll go wrong.' 
 
 ' Then we shan't have the trouble of telling you.' 
 ' What d'you say to going up the river after 
 Springer's little city ? Eh ? There might be some- 
 thing in that.' 
 
 ' I met a power of clever men in my time,' said 
 Cammock. ' I don't say men of learning and 
 that. I mean clever fellers. 1 been up rivers 
 with 'em.' 
 
 * Looking for cities ? ' 
 
 * Cities sometimes. Sometimes it was gold mines. 
 Then again it'd be Indians. Boys to spear fish 
 and that. Or perhaps it was only a snatching-raid. 
 The clever fellers was never any good at it. But, 
 hear 'em talk. My.' 
 
 * I gather your intellect is trying to express the 
 fact that you dislike me. I think I trace so much. 
 I see your brain floundering towards it.' 
 
 ' Huh,' said Cammock, snorting. ' I think I see 
 you floundering towards that little city. Man 
 alive. Good heart, alive. D'ye know what sort 
 one of them rivers is, to go up ? You've neither 
 skill nor sense of it. You lie there bilged in your 
 bunk like a barge at low tide, and you come the 
 funny nigger, trying to get a raise. I'll tell you 
 what them rivers is like. See here, now. Listen 
 
 227 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 to me. I'll perhaps give you some idea of the land 
 you're bound for.' 
 
 ' Really ? I don't know that I want to hear you.' 
 
 'No. But I want you to hear me, Mr. Stuke- 
 ley. I'll tell you where that golden city is.' 
 
 ' Now you're talking business.' 
 
 ' I'm glad to hear it. Well. When you come 
 in from the Samballoes, you'll see the land ahead 
 of you, like a wall of green. Just like a wall. 
 Thick. Dense. Then you come to two rivers, 
 about thirty yards across. They're the two mouths 
 of the Conception River. You try to go up one of 
 them in your boat. First thing you know is a 
 thundering big bar. You'd be surprised how ugly 
 them little bars get. Well. Suppose you get 
 across. What's next } D'ye know what a snag \sV 
 
 'A branch of alder or willow, fallen into the 
 river.' 
 
 ' Yes. Or a whole whacking big great oak, Mr. 
 Stukeley, fallen right across, and rotting there. 
 With its branches all jammed up with drift and 
 drowned things. Hornets' nests stuck in 'em. 
 Great grey paper bags. So then you land, and 
 take out your macheat, and cut a path around that 
 tree, and drag your boat round. May take you an 
 hour or more. Then into your boat again, after 
 sliding down a mud-bank with eighteen inch of 
 slime on top. Presently you come to a lot more 
 trees. Out you get and cut another road. Per- 
 haps you go back a half-mile to find a place where 
 you can land. Oh. It's death, going up one of 
 them brooks. Then, there's shallows where you 
 wade. Rapids where you wade and haul, losing 
 your footing and getting soused. By and by 
 
 228 
 
IN PORT 
 
 comes a cloud-burst somewhere in the hills above. 
 Or perhaps a jam of logs bursts, a kind of a natural 
 dam, a mile or two above you. Then. Woosh. 
 You see a wall of water a yard high coming at you. 
 If you're slippy on your oars you get ashore from 
 that. Maybe you hear it coming. It makes a roar 
 like the tide. You drag your boat ashore.' 
 
 'Aren't you rather laying it on for my benefit ? ' 
 
 'As for laying it on, Mr. Stukeley, I'll make you 
 judge for yourself as soon as we come on the coast. 
 I tell you one thing. You'll sing mighty small 
 when you come to tackle such a country. That's 
 something you won't have learned, where you 
 learned your manners.' 
 
 Stukeley laughed. 'Well. Go on with your 
 yarn,' he said. ' I like hearing of foreign parts.' 
 
 ' No,' said Cammock. ' I'm not going on. But 
 there's your city. It's within twenty miles of the 
 sea, and within ^ve of the eastern Conception.' 
 
 ' Will you come to look for it with me ^ ' 
 
 ' No, sir,' said Cammock. ' I won't. I don't 
 fancy your company.' 
 
 ' I like you, captain.' 
 
 Cammock looked at him steadily for a moment, 
 and then lit his pipe at the brazier. 
 
 ' What are the women like in Darien ? * 
 
 ' You're a married man, Mr. Stukeley.' 
 
 ' Thank you. I know I'm a married man. I 
 asked you what the women are like ? ' 
 
 'They're mostly a rather duskish brown or 
 copper colour.' 
 
 ' So I think I know. Can a fellow have any fun 
 with them ? ' 
 
 * They're modest, merry creatures. Very ki nd, 
 229 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 simple creatures. Another thing. They're strong 
 as colts. You see, they do most of the work. 
 They'll carry a man like you. I guess you're one 
 and a half hundredweight. They'd carry you 
 across a swamp. And they're only very small, 
 you know. As for fun, I don't know what you 
 mean.' 
 
 ' Cammock, the chaste pirate.' 
 
 ' Now go easy, Mr. Stukeley. I can take a lot, 
 but 1 don't take pirate of any man.' 
 
 ' The virgin martyr.' 
 
 ' We had one of our men a martyr, Mr. Stukeley. 
 He tried to have a bit of " fun," as you call it, 
 with one of the Samballoes women. Lemuel Bath 
 his name was. They caught him, as it happened. 
 And they done to him what they do to each other, 
 if they try any " fun " and get caught. That was 
 ashore on the Main at the back of Sasardi there. 
 I was ashore the next day, filling water at the 
 'Seniqua. We seen Bath come crippling down 
 the beach, with his head back, and his hands tearing 
 his chest all bloody. Tearing his chest into strips 
 with pain. Naked, too. He died that evening. 
 No, sir. Don't you try it.' 
 
 ' Thanks. Niggers aren't in my line. I leave 
 them to pirates.' 
 
 'That's you. It's time I was on deck, Mr. 
 Stukeley. Adios, senor. Divertiete. That's what 
 we used to say to the Spaniards when their ran- 
 soms were paid.' He nodded to the head which 
 watched him from the bunk. Turning on his heel, 
 he passed from the cabin, pressing his thumb upon 
 his pipe to kill the ember in the bowl. ' I wonder 
 if there's many like him,' he said to himself. 
 
 230 
 
IN PORT 
 
 * I wonder what it is makes him like that. I'd 
 like him in a watch. Oh, mommer.* As he 
 muttered thus, in passing to the deck, Stukeley 
 turned in his bunk, drawing the curtain. ' Hulk- 
 ing boor,' he said to himself. ' Hulking old 
 savage. This is the sort of company we keep 
 when we come to sea. Crusty he gets, when you 
 bait him.' He thought of the little golden city 
 and of the little brown women, with resolve to try 
 them both. * Good luck,' he said ; ' I hope we'll 
 soon get out of here, before Olivia's nerves go ofF 
 again.' As he settled himself down for his nap he 
 was roused by a noise in the sample-room, where 
 Mr. Harthop broke in a caskhead with a toma- 
 hawk. He went to the alleyway-door to call down 
 the passage to Margaret's cabin. 
 
 ' Margaret,' he cried, ' can't you stop that 
 beastly noise for a bit ? Olivia's lying down.' 
 
 ' I am sorry,' said Margaret, coming from his 
 
 cabin. ' I ought to have Mr. Harthop, 
 
 will you please unhead your casks on deck ? The 
 noise upsets Mrs. Stukeley. Apologize for me, 
 Stukeley.' 
 
 The noise ceased, and Stukeley slept like an 
 infant, showing his strong white teeth in a smile. 
 Harthop muttered and swore, wishing that a ship 
 with a woman in her might sail the rivers of hell ; 
 or that was all she was fit for. He reproved the 
 man who was working with him for suggesting 
 the tomahawk. The man sulked and loafed for 
 the rest of the afternoon, and then told a sympa- 
 thetic fo'c's'le that you got your head bit off if that 
 pale Judy in the cabin heard you so much as 
 ' hem.' Harthop, nursing his wrath till knock-ofF 
 
 231 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 time, took it out of the boy who kept his cabin 
 clean. 
 
 ' Can't you find some other place to stow your 
 brass-rags, without putting them under my mat- 
 tress ? ' 
 
 ' Please, sir, they're not the brass-rags. They're 
 the rags you stuff in the leaky seam, sir. In wet 
 weather, sir.' 
 
 ' My bed's no place for them, you dirty young 
 hound. What have you done with the molasses 
 that was left } ' 
 
 ' You'd ate all your molasses, sir ; from last 
 week.' 
 
 ^ There was some left in the tin. You've been 
 at it again.' 
 
 ' No, sir. I swear I haven't, sir.' 
 
 * How many times have 1 told you I won't have 
 you swear } Eh .? Give me my supplejack.' 
 
 ' Oh, sir, I won't do it again. I won't do it 
 again.' 
 
 'There, my boy. Perhaps that'll teach you 
 another time. Now go and lay my supper. If you 
 don't stop howling I'll give you another six.' 
 
 The boy went forward howling, to hide in the 
 darkness of the hold, where he could cry by him- 
 self, choking with misery and shame, praying for 
 death. If he had had a flint and steel he would 
 have burnt the Broken Heart at her anchor. As he 
 had none, he sobbed himself to sleep, careless of 
 Mr. Harthop's supper, full of the bleeding, aching 
 misery which none save the wronged child can 
 ever taste to the full. When it was dark and all 
 had gone to bed, he crept aft to the wardroom, 
 where the bread-barge and the case of spirits stood, 
 
 232 
 
IN PORT 
 
 just as the two mates had left them. He helped 
 himself to bread and rum ; for misery had made 
 him reckless. Besides, having defied Mr. Harthop 
 he might as well defy the two mates. So he ate 
 and drank, looking at the light on the landing- 
 stage, which made a golden track to dance. It 
 trembled in yellow flakes on the water, a path of 
 gold, to the blackness of the rudder eddies below 
 him. He was not very sure if he could swim so 
 far ; but he did not care. He was too wretched 
 to mind drowning. It was very dark in the ward- 
 room. It was dark above him in the cabin. 
 Below him, the ship's shadow was dark. He was 
 sure that the watchmen would not see him. They 
 never walked on the poop. After a moment of 
 groping he found the falls of the relieving- tackle, 
 and unrove the raw hide till he had an end ten 
 feet long. He hitched the tackle so that the block 
 should not creak, and paid out the end through the 
 chase-port. Then, as even the most miserable of 
 us will, he felt the misery of leaving. This ship 
 of wretchedness had been a home to him. He re- 
 membered the singing in the dog-watch. It was 
 awful to have to go like that. In his wretchedness, 
 a tear or two rolled down his cheek, to splash on 
 the port-sill. A light footstep moved up and down 
 above him. One of the stern-windows of the cabin 
 opened with a little rattle. He heard Stukeley's 
 voice coming from the state-room drowsily. Then 
 Mrs. Stukeley spoke from overhead. 
 
 ' It's such a beautiful night, Tom. Do come and 
 see the stars. They're wonderful. Wonderful. 
 Come and see them, Tom, dear.' 
 
 ' You'll catch your death of cold.' 
 
 233 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' Bow-wow-wow. What an old bear. I shan't. 
 I've got on my dressing-gown.' 
 
 ^ Thanks. I prefer my bed.' 
 
 The listener in the ward-room smiled in spite of 
 his misery ; then trembled lest the lady should 
 stay long. For suppose a watchman crept below 
 to see if the mates had left any rum behind them } 
 Suppose anybody came — Mr. Harthop, Mr. Ram- 
 age } He peered into the 'tween-decks, where all 
 was dark and still, save for the cat's eyes gleaming 
 green, watching for a mouse, and the snores of Mr. 
 Ramage in his hammock. Then, up above him, 
 moved by the beauty of the night, the woman 
 began to sing, in a voice of drowsy sweetness, in a 
 little low voice that made each word a pearl, a 
 round, lustrous pearl, a tiny globe that glowed in 
 the mind, it was so perfect, so ripe, so tender. She 
 was singing that old song of Campion's about the 
 woman who had played with love in the hour of 
 her beauty. She was a woman who had played, 
 and been played with ; till her beauty withered just 
 as she had learned the worth of love, just as life 
 had made her worthy of love, at her coming to 
 wisdom : — 
 
 Where are all thy beauties now, all hearts enchaining ? 
 
 Whither are thy flatterers gone, with all their feigning? 
 
 All fled, and thou, alone, still here remaining. 
 
 When thy story, long time hence, shall be perused, 
 Let the blemish of thy rule be thus excused, 
 * None ever lived more iust, none more abused.' 
 
 The window closed amid murmured words ; 
 Stukeley, moved by the voice, had drawn his wife 
 away. The boy sighed that it was over ; then 
 
 234 
 
IN PORT 
 
 corked the rum-bottle and put it in his pocket. 
 He would have taken some bread, had he been able 
 to carry it dry. He thought of dashing to his 
 chest in the half-deck for an extra shirt ; but gave 
 up the plan as being too risky. Very quietly and 
 quickly he slid down the rope into the water, let- 
 ting the tide take him, striking out now and again, 
 towards the landing-stage. He was puzzled by 
 the coming of the ripples ; they hit him in the 
 cheek before he judged that they were near. He 
 got a mouthful once, and choked ; but none heard. 
 Very soon he was clambering up the landing, gulp- 
 ing rum with shudders. Then, after wringing out 
 his jacket, he set out to run along the sandy track 
 that was the street. The dogs barked as they 
 heard his feet beat ; but he kept on, for some three 
 miles, till he dropped tired out among the wood. 
 There he lay shivering in the scrub till the dawn, 
 when, seeing a plantation near, he sought shelter of 
 the planter, who hired him * for his keep,' glad of 
 the chance. In the morning, when hue and cry 
 was made for him, when boys and men called and 
 crawled for him among the cargo of the ship, no 
 one suspected that Stukeley was the indirect cause 
 of his desertion. The mates swore when they 
 found their rum gone. The other boys swore 
 when they had to do the deserter's work. Cam- 
 mock swore at the watchmen for not barring in the 
 chase-ports, while the watchmen swore that they 
 had barred them. Mr. Harthop swore that if ever 
 he caught that boy again he would give him cherri- 
 liccum pie. Thus the matter came to an end. 
 
 235 
 
IX 
 
 A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 The shame and obloquy I leave thine own ; 
 
 Inherit those rewards ; they're fitter for thee. 
 
 Your oil's spent, and your snuff stinks : go out basely. 
 
 The False One. 
 
 CTANDING on the poop, looking seaward, the 
 five cabin-dwellers watched the summer fleet 
 come in. It came in haltingly, a scattered troop of 
 ships, some with spars gone, one or two, fir-built, 
 streaked white where a shot had struck ; all sea- 
 worn. Cammock, watching them, sent his boat 
 round to the " men of war " to order them aboard 
 at once. Harthop had already been settled ashore, 
 in charge of the tobacco, under the Governor's eye. 
 He would make good terms for the ship's owners ; 
 the merchants at home could hardly lose on the 
 venture. 
 
 ' We're all right, sir,' said Cammock to Mar- 
 garet. 'There's probably a letter. But the 
 Governor's your friend. You needn't worry.' 
 
 * I wish I could see things as you see them, 
 captain,' said Margaret. ' But I can't. How is 
 it you always have a plan } How do you dis- 
 cipline yourself? How is it you're always 
 ready } ' 
 
 236 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 * I dunno, sir. I've only got a few things to 
 think of, and I think 'em out. P'r'aps that's it. But 
 just step aft, sir. Look here, sir. We're ready to 
 sail. The new topmast's aloft. We're a little 
 light, perhaps, but nothing to hurt. The thing is 
 — are you going to give him up ? You got to 
 decide now.' 
 
 ' I can't. We must think of her child.' 
 
 * She can't have a child on the Isthmus.' 
 ^There'll be time enough to arrange something 
 
 else when we get there. But she must be spared 
 the shock.' 
 
 * Very good, sir. I'll send the long-boat in for 
 all the fresh meat and fruit there is.' 
 
 * Oh, I know, captain. I know it's not the 
 rightest thing for her. A voyage to sea.' 
 
 * She'll get that anyway, sir. Either way. Very 
 good, sir. I'll have all ready to sail. I've sent for 
 the " men of war." They'll join us either here, or 
 between the Points. Well, Mr. Perrin. We're off 
 to-night, sir.' 
 
 ' But we're all dining with the Governor. You've 
 surely not forgotten that, Charles.' 
 
 ' Look there, Edward. There's the summer 
 fleet.' 
 
 * What if it is .? We can't throw the Governor 
 over. We must dine with the Governor. What } 
 You an Englishman and want not to dine with a 
 lord .? ' 
 
 ' How about our friend there ? ' 
 
 * No Englishman would arrest a guest at dinner. 
 He values his digestion and his butler's opinion 
 too much. There's no risk. Oh, we must go to 
 the dinner. I've got a new American coat to go in,' 
 
 237 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * No harm in it, sir/ said Cammock. ^ It might 
 divert the lady, poor thing.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Margaret, sighing. ' If it won't 
 tire her.' He crossed over to the Stukeleys. 
 ' Olivia,' he said, ' Perrin has just reminded me 
 that we're dining to-night at the Governor's. It 
 won't tire you ^ ' 
 
 ' Tire me } Of course it won't.' 
 
 * You would like to go ? ' 
 
 * We both want to go. Tom's going to sing 
 " Twankydillo." We may have enough ladies for 
 a dance.' 
 
 ' We shall probably sail, directly we come aboard 
 to-night.' 
 
 ' Sail, Charles .? Not for Darien V 
 
 ' Yes, Olivia. For Darien.' 
 
 ' Ah-h.' She turned white. Little as she liked 
 Virginia, she knew it, she had proved it. The 
 unknown was before her now, close at hand, shape- 
 less yet, ill-defined, a spectral country. For a 
 moment she stared blankly at Margaret with the 
 eyes of a frightened animal. ' Isn't it. Isn't it 
 rather sudden ?' she asked. 
 
 ' Yes. Rather sudden,' he answered in a hard 
 voice. ' But, of course, we may not go. You see, 
 Stukeley. You see, Olivia. The summer fleet 
 there may have letters for us. May have letters 
 for us.' He groped about for an excuse. ' My 
 owners,' he went on. ^ My merchants may wish 
 me to proceed at once. On the other hand, we 
 may be told to trade at Charleston. Or trade 
 rather longer here. Though we've done well here. 
 It's possible. You understand, Olivia. I told you 
 the day we left Falmouth. Our whole aim was to 
 
 238 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 have our work done before the summer fleet 
 arrived. To buy up the tobacco crop before some 
 of it is fully cured. And, to tell the truth, weVe 
 hurried all we could.' 
 
 * Don't worry, old girl,' said Stukeley, drawing 
 his wife aside. * The sooner we go, the sooner we'll 
 be back.' 
 
 ' Oh, Tom. Don't go. Don't let us go.' 
 
 * Oh, come, come,' he said, biting his lips. Mt'll 
 be all right. Maggy. Come here, Maggy. If 
 you meet a home-bound English ship on our way 
 we may ask to be transhipped.' 
 
 * Oh,' said Olivia ; * then why not go ashore 
 now, Tom } Why go on to Darien V 
 
 Stukeley muttered to himself about his folly. 
 ' Now we're going all over it again,' he said to 
 himself. ' Remember, I'm pledged in honour, 
 Livy,' he said. 
 
 * Then, Charles, you'll release him from his 
 pledge, won't you ? Let him come ashore. I want 
 to go home.' 
 
 Margaret flushed, and then turned white. For 
 a moment he wavered ; she saw him waver. 
 
 'You will, Charles. Won't you }' 
 
 ^ Olivia,' he answered. * I cannot. I'd like to. 
 But he's such a good Spanish scholar. He's the 
 only one of us who really knows Spanish. I'd 
 grown to count on him. We all had.' 
 
 ' But you could get Spanish talkers here, Charles. 
 Couldn't he. Captain Cammock .''' 
 
 ' No, ma'am. You couldn't get gentlemen, Mrs. 
 Stukeley. And you see the Dons is particular.' 
 
 ' Yet you sailed from London without a Spanish 
 talker.' 
 
 239 
 
CAFFAIN MARGARET 
 
 * Yes/ said Perrin. ' But our plans were 
 different then.' 
 
 ^ How were they different then ? Fm going to 
 cross-examine you all.' 
 
 ' We decided to try to trade with some of the 
 Spanish cities, Olivia ; having so good an inter- 
 preter.' 
 
 ^ I thought you were going to fight with the 
 Spanish cities. That's what we decided in council' 
 ' My dear Livy/ said Stukeley. * You're like 
 a justice of the peace.' 
 
 ' But I want ' She checked herself sharply, 
 
 and looked at the incoming ships. The men also 
 turned to look, as she had planned that they 
 should. 
 
 ^ That's a nice one, isn't it, Captain Cammock } ' 
 ' The Dutch-built one, Mrs. Stukeley 1 No.' 
 ' How do you know she's Dutch-built } ' 
 *How do you know whether to trust a man 
 when you meet him, Mrs. Stukeley } You don't 
 rightly know. You have an instinct. I've an 
 instinct for ships. There's twenty things tells me 
 she's Dutch, long before I've time to examine 
 them.' 
 
 * Yes,' said Margaret, only too glad of the diver- 
 sion. 'But I want you to tell us now what it is 
 that makes you say she's Dutch. It's in her hull, 
 isn't it "^ What is it in her hull } ' 
 
 * The Dutch, sir,' said Cammock, ' are built for 
 the India trade, and they give their ships a rather 
 high sheer, and not quite so much camber as an 
 English builder likes. Then they like a very flat 
 
 floor, and a tuck that ' He wandered on into a 
 
 swamp of sea terms, taking it for granted that his 
 
 240 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 hearers understood him. Margaret and Perrin 
 plied him close with questions as the ship loitered 
 past them, rolling in the light wind, her men sing- 
 ing out at her cluelines. While they talked, 
 Stukeley and Olivia went below to the cabin ; 
 Stukeley with the feeling that Olivia would now 
 make no more fuss ; Olivia with the sense that all 
 was not well, that something was withheld from 
 her. 
 
 * Tom,' she said suddenly, as soon as the cabin- 
 door had closed, ' you're keeping something from 
 me. What is it ? Why am I not to know ? ' 
 
 * I'm not keeping anything back.' 
 
 * Tom, I think you're being made a tool of. I 
 think Charles has some scheme that isn't quite 
 right. Don't be dragged into it, Tom.' 
 
 ' Dragged into it, Livy ? ' 
 
 ^You've a noble, trusting nature, Tom ; and 
 I love you for it. But. Oh, I feel sure Charles 
 has some deep-laid scheme, that he's afraid to tell 
 you of. I don't think he was telling the truth to 
 me just now.' 
 
 * Oh, nonsense, Livy. He couldn't tell a lie if 
 he tried.' 
 
 ' No, Tom, dear ; but he was trying.' 
 
 'When?' 
 
 ' He was trying to find a reason for the ship's 
 sailing to-night.' 
 
 ' But it was the plan, Livy. We expected to 
 sail as soon as the summer fleet came.* 
 
 ' Why, Tom .? Tell me that.' 
 
 ' There may be letters ordering us to sail. My 
 dear girl. Maggy's got a whole firm of merchants 
 to order him as they please. We had to be ready 
 E 241 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 in case an order came from them. There may be 
 no order/ 
 
 ' But we weren't ready, Tom. When the fleet 
 was signalled we were in the midst of trading.' 
 
 ^Yes. But my dear child. If there's no order, 
 we may trade again to-morrow.' 
 
 ' You think it's all right then, Tom } Do you } ' 
 
 ' Of course I do, Livy. You've got fine eyes, 
 Livy. Did you know that } ' 
 
 *^But why should they alter their scheme of lighting 
 the Spaniards } You promised to help the Indians 
 against the Spaniards. Now you're suddenly asked 
 to help Charles's merchants to make trade with the 
 Spaniards. You never promised to do that. And 
 I should never have let you. Never. Never. Oh, 
 Tom, they've tricked us cruelly. They aren't going 
 to help the Indians, Tom. They're going to make 
 money, like common city-merchants. And they 
 want my noble, generous Tom to help them. Don't 
 do it, dear. Don't do it. I can't bear it.' 
 
 ' My dear Livy.' 
 
 ' I can't have you mixed up with merchants.' 
 
 ' Look here, old girl. Aren't you a little un- 
 reasonable ^ We've decided that we can help the 
 Indians best by making some sort of agreement 
 with the Spaniards.' 
 
 *You say we have decided this. When was it 
 decided .? Why wasn't I told .? ' 
 
 ' We haven't really decided. It was suggested 
 last night. After you'd gone to bed.' 
 
 ' Why wasn't I told } What was suggested } ' 
 
 ' It's a fine idea, Livy. Cammock suggested our 
 going to one of the towns and proposing an 
 agreement with|the Governor.' 
 
 242 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 ' What sort of an agreement ? ' 
 
 * The Governor to trade with us, just as if we 
 were Spanish. The English to abstain from hostili- 
 ties, and the Indians to be accounted English 
 subjects. And they want me to interview the 
 Governor.* 
 
 ' It's only an excuse to make money, Tom. To 
 make money without the self-sacrifice of fighting. 
 And what if the Spaniards refuse } ' 
 
 'Then we should have some just excuse for pro- 
 ceeding as we'd planned.' 
 
 'Tom, I don't think they've been straight- 
 forward with us. There's something hidden. I'm 
 sure of it.' 
 
 ' But what can be hidden, Livy ? My darling 
 charmer. Eh } Besides, look here, my beauty- 
 spot. I'm ambitious. I want to make my Livy 
 proud. See } If I see these Governors, and bring 
 off some arrangement. You see } It's a big matter, 
 Livy. It's knighthood. It may be a seat on the 
 Trade and Plantations Board. It may be all sorts 
 of things.' 
 
 'Yes,' she said. 'Tom, I quite see that. I'm 
 ambitious for you, too. There, dear, I know you've 
 set your heart on it. Oh, Tom, though, I hate 
 the thought of it all. And I'm sure there's some- 
 thing hidden. I'm sure there is. I wish I knew.' 
 
 ' Nonsense,' he said, taking her in his arms. 
 ' Where'd you like to be kissed. I'm going to kiss 
 your nose, because you've got it turned up in the 
 air to-day.' 
 
 ' I haven't, Tom.' 
 
 ' Come here,' he said, catching her as she wriggled 
 free. ' None of your wriggles. Come and be 
 
 243 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 kissed. You're not going to dress till your nose is 
 kissed.' 
 
 An hour later, they stood in the Governor's 
 house waiting for the Governor to receive them. 
 They fidgeted about the large, cool, rather bare 
 room ; now staring through the window at the 
 ships, now fingering the books, turning up the 
 pictures to the light. Stukeley took a pistol from 
 the wall, and examined the engraved silver of the 
 butt. Olivia chatted with Perrin about the rambler 
 roses trailing round the window. 
 
 'We must take some slips to Darien,' said 
 Perrin. 'But I don't much like this dark red 
 kind.' 
 
 ' We have them at home,' she answered quietly. 
 ' I shall take home some slips from Darien ; for 
 everything will grow with us. I expect lots of 
 things would transplant.' 
 
 ' Yes, lots,' he answered. 
 
 ' Olivia,' said Margaret, ' have you seen this 
 Rembrandt 1 ' 
 
 'Why,' she said. 'It's the Hundred Guilder 
 Print. It's like meeting an old friend.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Margaret, peering. ' It's a very 
 beautiful state, too. What's the etching beyond 
 you there, Edward } ' 
 
 ' One of Hollar's.' 
 
 ' Ah yes,' said Margaret. ' It's interesting to put 
 a Hollar beside the real thing. No artist can make 
 a ship wonderful to us. A ship is a wonderful 
 work of art without him. Just look at them there, 
 Olivia.' 
 
 ' They're beautiful,' she said, looking at the ships. 
 ' Why. The Broken Hearths under sail.' 
 
 244 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 * Her topsails are on the caps. Ready for us to 
 
 go-' 
 
 * In case we do go ? * 
 
 ' Yes. In case.' Olivia looked at him steadily, 
 noting that, for all his self-control, he seemed un- 
 easy at her look. The situation was saved by the 
 entrance of an orderly, in the white coat and blue 
 scarf of the Virginia troop. He saluted. 
 
 ' The Governor presents 's compliments 'n* '11 
 join you d'rec'ly.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Margaret. ' I suppose the 
 mails have arrived ? Do you know } ' 
 
 ^ Yes, sir,' said the man, as he stood in the door- 
 way. * In the summer fleet, sir.' 
 
 ' Thank you.' 
 
 * What have you got there, Tom ? ' said Olivia. 
 ^ A little pretty pistol,' he said. 
 
 * Nice silver chasing,' said Perrin. 
 
 ' Spanish,' said Margaret. ^ They make those at 
 Toledo.' 
 
 ' Let me see,' said Olivia. 
 
 ' Yes. Spanish,' said Stukeley. * Wheel-lock. 
 Loaded. Priming-cup lidded. A very nice little 
 gun. See the Spanish motto ^ ' 
 
 * What does the Spanish mean ? ' asked Olivia. 
 ' Se nada^ pero, I can't read it.' 
 
 ' It means, " I know nothing. But I talk well." 
 I wonder if I've forgotten my pistol shooting. 
 Eh } I used to be able to nail the ace of diamonds 
 at a dozen yards. Let's make Pilly back up against 
 the wall, and do the William Tell act.' 
 
 * Tom, dear. Don't play with that. It's loaded. 
 You might hurt somebody.' 
 
 ' Yes. Put it down, Stukeley,' said Margaret. 
 245 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' It's one of old Howard*s treasures. Put it 
 down.' 
 
 ' Put it down ? ' said Stukeley. ' YouVe got a 
 nerve to tell me to put it down. I want this little 
 gun. I like it. I'm going to bag it. If anybody 
 interferes with me at dinner, Livy, I shall just 
 plug him. Pop. In between the eyes. You see 
 if 1 don't.' He slipped the pistol into his pocket. 
 
 Margaret smiled to see Olivia's face of horror. 
 
 ^ Why,' said Stukeley. ' Why, Livy, that's what 
 they do in this country. What are old what's-his- 
 name's swords like ? Look here, for a sword. 
 Eh ^ There's a temper. Look here. See ? ' 
 
 'That's a fine piece of steel,' said Margaret. 
 ' Is it Milanese } ' 
 
 ' Milanese ^ Milanese ? Milanese in your eye. 
 Are you touched ^ It's Spanish. Comes from a 
 place called Toledo, if you've ever heard of it. 
 Spanish motto like the other. Old Howard must 
 collect Spanish things.' 
 
 ' What is the motto } ' Olivia asked. 
 
 ' No me saques sin razon : well. Do not draw me 
 without reason. Unless he spits in your face, for 
 instance. No me envaines sin honor: Nor sheathe 
 me till. Well. Till you've made sure.' 
 
 * Made sure } ' 
 
 * Seen that the other fellow's juice is pink. 
 Stand still, Maggy, till I see if you've got red 
 blood in you. I could prod you from here just 
 under your fourth rib. Ping. Eh .? This sword 
 just suits me. Look, Olivia. Look how they've 
 inlaid this hilt.' 
 
 ' What beautiful work, Tom. And what a waste. 
 To put all that beautiful work on to a sword.' 
 
 246 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 'A sword's a knight's weapon,' said Margaret. 
 ' How could we defend Olivia Stukeley if our 
 swords weren't worthily made.' 
 
 ^ There's the question,' said Stukeley. ' Look 
 at old Pilly there. What book have you got there, 
 Pilly .? Read it out to us.' 
 
 * It's a book of sick man's meditations,' said 
 Perrin. * I won't read it out. Look at it. It's 
 all thumbed to dog's ears.' 
 
 ' Howard's,' said Margaret. ' What an extra- 
 ordinary book for him to have.' 
 
 *Oh,' said Perrin, 'that's the secret of an 
 Englishman's success. He's nothing better than 
 a pirate, grabbing all he can get. Oh, I'm not 
 English, myself. But the secret of his success is 
 in this book here. He makes his peace with God 
 as he goes on. The other people. I don't know 
 about the Dutch. They beat you ; so they must 
 be like you, only better. The other people try to 
 make their peace before or after ; and so they lose, 
 either way. But you know, Olivia, you are ' 
 
 ' The Dutch didn't beat us,' said Stukeley. ' We 
 beat them. So you're out of it there, little Taffy 
 with the Leek.' 
 
 ' How about the Medway } Look, Olivia. Look 
 at Jamestown. This is the capital of our chief 
 colony. Would any other nation in the world 
 produce a capital of twenty wooden houses, a fort, 
 a church, and a Governor's mansion ? This is the 
 mansion. Look at it.' 
 
 * A better mansion than youVe got at home,' said 
 Stukeley. * What are you talking of .''' 
 
 * Suppose the Dutch were here. Think what a 
 city they'd have built.' 
 
 247 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^ What a hot head it is/ said Margaret gently. 
 ' 1 don't agree with you a bit, Edward. You're all 
 wrong. The Dutch haven't done much in the East.' 
 
 ' At least, they've worked ; and made the Indians 
 work.' 
 
 ' And the English here. Have they worked } ' 
 
 * Not so much.' 
 
 ^ Isn't that an argument against you '^ It tells 
 just the other way. Work is often one of the 
 most degrading things in the world. All work that 
 gives no rapture of creation is degrading. That is 
 why the merchant is poor company, and the profes- 
 sional a conservative. The Dutch built Batavia ; 
 but their system has ruined the spice trade. The 
 Spaniards built San Domingo ; but their system 
 ruined the island. They've built Panama and 
 Lima ; but they've destroyed both Costa Rica and 
 Peru. A city can only be the growth of a 
 civilization. You can only build a colonial city by 
 agreeing to ruin the colony. So here. There may 
 be a time when all the trees in sight will have 
 sailed out to sea. This harbour may be crowded 
 with ships. Who knows ^ This place may be 
 another Athens some day.' 
 
 'There's not much Athens here now. The 
 colonials aren't much like Athenians.' 
 
 ' I think they're very like, Edward. They're 
 fond of liberty. They take a beautiful pride in 
 their bodies. They are attached to the country. 
 They're very like Athenians. The world doesn't 
 alter much.* 
 
 ' How about Plato and Sophocles } ' 
 
 ' They were not the world. They had wrought 
 themselves to something finer than the world.' 
 
 248 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 ' The Governor's got a devil of a lot of letters,* 
 said Stukeley. ^ There goes his secretary to 
 him; 
 
 ' Yes; 
 
 *Well, I pity the man who tries it/ Stukeley 
 muttered, thinking of an arrest. 
 
 * Is this a very good harbour for ships ? ' Olivia 
 asked. 
 
 * Yes ; very good,' said Margaret. ' Don't you 
 love to imagine the river here full of ships, the 
 biggest and most beautiful kinds of ships } And 
 then the banks here, and yonder, with a city. A 
 city, built of marble. Marble cathedrals. And a 
 great citadel on the hill there.' 
 
 ' A great naval power is always on the brink of 
 ruin,' said Perrin. ' Athens was a great naval 
 power, and had her navy smashed by a power 
 without a navy. Carthage the same. Spain was 
 greatest at the eighty-eight. There's another in- 
 stance.' 
 
 * Naval power is a very fine thing,' said Margaret. 
 ' You're mixing up greatness, and the weakness 
 which comes of overweening pride, or the defect of 
 greatness.' 
 
 'That's what you silly Celts are always doing,' 
 said Stukeley. 
 
 At this moment the orderly reappeared, salut- 
 ing. 
 
 ' Beg pardon, sirs,' he said, ' but which of you 
 gents is Captain Margaret .'' ' 
 
 ' I am.' 
 
 * 'Is lordship's compliments, sir ; 'n' will you 
 step this way } ' 
 
 Margaret glanced at the faces of his friends. 
 249 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Stukeley sat down, nursing the sword, looking at 
 the doorway and at the window. Perrin, who 
 sincerely hoped he was about to see the end of 
 Stukeley, enjoyed a mental vision of the Ephesian 
 matron. His day-dream was of Olivia in black, in 
 a darkened London room, and of himself, the com- 
 forter, come to console her, with platitude in low 
 tone, sentiment speaking grief's language. Olivia 
 turned to the spinet. She tried one or two notes 
 with her finger, making little wry mouths at the 
 want of tune. ' Is there any Virginian music, 
 Edward } * she asked. ' I heard some negroes sing- 
 ing in the tobacco fields the other day. It sounded 
 very sweet. It came home to one strangely. All 
 working songs come home to one, don't you 
 think ? ' 
 
 * Yes,' said Perrin. ' They are so simple. They're 
 like a simple person speaking passionately. They 
 leave the intellect untouched, of course.' 
 
 * Yes. But you and Charles are always blaming 
 poultry, shall wc say, for not being golden eagles. 
 Poultry as poultry are very good. Don't you 
 think so } Won't you sit down, Edward ^. This 
 is the song the negroes sang. I think it's so 
 charming.' 
 
 While she touched the tune upon the spinet, 
 Margaret stood in the presence of Howard, the 
 Governor, a heavy-looking, weary-looking man with 
 dark moustaches. His voice was hard and grating, 
 an official voice. It jarred on Margaret, who ex- 
 pected bad news from it. 
 
 ^ Sit down, Margaret,' he said, picking up a letter. 
 ' I hope you're well.' 
 
 * Thanks. Yes. You wanted to see me } ' 
 
 250 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 ^ Do you know that 1 could lodge you all in 
 prison ? * 
 
 ' So you've heard, then ? * 
 
 * Read this letter/ 
 
 He glanced through the letter of instructions 
 from the Board. It set forth Stukeley's crime, the 
 details of the escape from Salcombe, the necessity 
 for the arrest of the whole party ; it was not a 
 pleasant letter. No one had ever before described 
 Margaret as an abettor of felons ; the sensation 
 was new ; and oppressive, like some contamina- 
 tions. 
 
 'Well,' said Howard. 'You seem to take it 
 very coolly.' 
 
 ' I've been preparing for this moment for a 
 quarter of a year.' 
 
 ' What is this Stukeley } He seems a boorish 
 kind of fellow.' 
 
 ' He's an unpleasant man. A bad man.' 
 
 ' I should call him a thorough scoundrel, from 
 that letter.' 
 
 ' He's married to a charming woman. A woman 
 I've known for years. You can see for yourself 
 that she's a lot too good for him.' 
 
 ' Do you wish him to be arrested } You know 
 the penalty, of course } ' 
 
 * I suppose I could plead ignorance .? ' 
 
 ' You .? Yes. But he. Sus. per col. Eh ? ' 
 ' I think, Howard, he ought to be cut off. But 
 his wife's going to have a child. I happen to know 
 her, as I said. She believes in him. She doesn't 
 suspect. I'm afraid the shock would kill both her 
 and the child.' 
 
 ' You'd rather that I didn't arrest } ' 
 251 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * For her sake, yes. And for the sake of the 
 merchants concerned in the venture with me/ 
 
 ' Your tobacco will keep them from loss. They're 
 all right. Do you know that your Darien scheme 
 is known in Spain } ' 
 
 ' Ah. Then. Then the Government will curry 
 favour with Spain by arresting us on this pretext, 
 and claiming to have stopped us on her account } ' 
 
 ^ That is, of course, possible. It depends on 
 party needs at the moment. I know nothing of 
 that.' 
 
 * It is something you ought to reckon, Howard.' 
 ' Well. If I don't arrest you. You've put me 
 
 in such an awkward position. I can't very well 
 arrest my guests. It would bring me into dis- 
 favour, and my office into disrepute. I don't know 
 what to say. Are you ready to sail ? ' 
 'Yes.' 
 
 * Why didn't you sail two or three days ago } 
 As soon as you'd made your voyage. Why in the 
 world did you wait for the tobacco fleet.' 
 
 ' We were kept waiting for our new topmast. 
 We found our forctopmast sprung. It was only 
 this morning that we finished setting up the rigging 
 on the new spar.' 
 
 ' You understand, Margaret, that at this moment 
 you're Stukeley's judge. You've got power of life 
 and death over him. You can turn it over in your 
 mind, and then say, whether you wish me to arrest 
 him, or not. You wish to spare the girl, his wife. 
 Looking at it impartially, I should doubt whether 
 you would spare her by sparing him. The man's 
 a scoundrel.' 
 
 ' There's the child, remember.' 
 252 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 ^ Yes. I was forgetting the child. Of course. 
 There*s the child.' 
 
 * If you arrest us all and send us home, of course 
 her people will look after her on arrival. Is that a 
 possible solution to you ? ' 
 
 ' Between you and me, Margaret, I don't want to 
 arrest you all. If I do, why, there'll be a scandal 
 here. " The Governor's friends proved to be escap- 
 ing felons." The cry will be everywhere. I don't 
 want that. On the other hand, the man's a scoun- 
 drel. H'm. It's a pretty problem.' 
 
 * You can arrest me in mistake for Stukeley. 
 How would that do } ' 
 
 * No,' said the Governor, shaking his head ; * that 
 won't do. What are your plans for the lady in 
 case I don't arrest ? ' 
 
 ' I suppose we shall have to leave her at Jamaica 
 after a month or two in Darien.' 
 
 ' Perhaps she'll be better off there than in Eng- 
 land. Has she a woman with her ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 * And you don't, in your heart, wish me to pro- 
 ceed ? ' 
 
 ' No, Howard ; I want you to spare her.' 
 
 ' Very well, then. You must sail this night. 
 Sail directly you get on board.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Howard. I will. You won't get 
 into trouble with the Board over this ^ ' 
 
 ' I shall say that you crept away in the night. 
 No singing at the capstan, remember. No cheer- 
 ing. If you're not gone by dawn I'll arrest the 
 whole pack of you. I can't do more.' 
 
 ' I'm very This is very kind of you, 
 
 Howard.' 
 
 253 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' Kind ? A kind man has no business in poli- 
 tics. Fm shirking my duty.' 
 
 ' Yes,* said Margaret, with a sigh. ' And Fm 
 pleading with you, trying to make you shirk it.' 
 
 ' Not a bit of it,' said the Governor. « There's 
 the gong. We'll go down to dinner. By the way, 
 there's a letter for you. Where did I put it ? 
 Here it is,' He handed a sealed packet to Mar- 
 garet, who glanced abstractedly at the seal, and 
 then, not recognizing the crest, put it in his pocket, 
 and followed his host to the door. ' Honour,' he 
 repeated to himself. * Honour. My honour is a 
 smirched rag. A smirched rag.' 
 
 The dining-room was a long, low, bare apart- 
 ment. The whitewashed walls were hung with 
 one or two prints by DQrer, the 'Adam and Eve,' 
 the ^ Justice,' and ' The Man of Sorrows,' from the 
 ' Lesser Passion.' The table was heaped with a 
 deal of silver, all of it very crudely designed. The 
 dinner was mostly of fruit and vegetables ; it was 
 too hot for meat. The wine bottles lay outside the 
 window in jackets of wetted flannel. Each guest 
 had a palm fan at his side, for use between the 
 courses. 
 
 The Governor sat at the end of the table with 
 the door at his back. Olivia sat next to him, with 
 Margaret beside her. Mrs. Prinsep sat next to 
 Margaret, with Stukeley on her right, then Perrin, 
 then an empty seat directly at the Governor's left. 
 During the dinner Howard asked his footman if 
 Captain Lewin had arrived. The man told him, 
 no. 
 
 * Captain Lewin is in command of the frigate 
 there,' Howard explained to Olivia. ' I asked 
 
 354 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 him to join us, so that you could hear the news. 
 By the by, I'm sorry to hear you're sailing.* 
 
 Olivia noticed that he, too, looked at her with 
 something of the shrewd, hard, medical gaze with 
 which Perrin and Cammock sometimes looked at 
 her. She resented the look as an impertinence, 
 half wondering if there was something strange 
 about her face — some sudden growth of eyelid or 
 droop of hair. 
 
 * Yes,' she said. ■ * I'm sorry we're going, too, for 
 several reasons. But I hope we shall meet again 
 in England. You must come and see us when 
 we're settled there.' 
 
 ' That will be delightful. In what part do you 
 think of settling } ' 
 
 ' In Devon. Near a place called Flaxley.' 
 
 ' Oh yes. Indeed. Flaxley. That's near the 
 sea. I know Flaxley, Mrs. Stukeley. There's a 
 beautiful old house there. I once stayed a night 
 there. What was the fellow's name, now ? ' 
 
 ' Then you know my uncle. Do you } Nestor 
 Pile.' 
 
 * Pile. Yes. Pile. Of course. So he's your 
 uncle, Mrs. Stukeley } What a fine old man 
 he is.* 
 
 * Yes,* she said, with quiet indifference. ' He is 
 very much loved.* She would have given much to 
 be back at Flaxley, sitting in the great hall there. 
 A Vandyck hung in the hall, the portrait of Sir 
 Nicolas Pile, her great-uncle, once the king*s 
 standard-bearer, who had been killed in the fight 
 at Naseby. He looked down upon the hall in 
 melancholy honour, a noble guardian, full of grave 
 pride, helpful to those who sat there. Howard's 
 
 255 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 words gave her a longing to see that austere, sweet, 
 thoughtful face looking down upon her, a longing 
 all the more keen for the knowledge that perhaps 
 she would never again see him, now that her uncle 
 had been so horrid to Tom. The pang of home- 
 sickness went shrewdly to her heart ; but she sipped 
 her wine, her face unchanged, her smile ready. 
 
 ' What brought you to Flaxley, I wonder '^ ' she 
 added. * I wonder if I was there then.* 
 
 ^ It was seven or eight years ago,' said Howard. 
 * I had to go there about some Roman coins. I 
 collect antiques, you know. Rather a dull subject 
 for you. Your uncle had written a little pamphlet 
 on the coins dug up at Hurst's Castle, that old 
 Roman camp in Somerset.' 
 
 'Yes. He used to collect coins then. He'd a 
 few very rare ones. Were you there in the sum- 
 mer ^ Did you see the rose-garden ^ ' 
 
 ' On a slope, somewhere at the back, rather ex- 
 posed } ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' I've a dim recollection of it. I was only there 
 one night. You weren't there then ? ' 
 
 * My brothers were alive then. I expect I was 
 with them.' 
 
 ' Is that old gate-keeper of yours alive still } An 
 oldish woman. Rather a character.' 
 
 ' Old Maggie } Oh, do you remember old 
 Maggie } Poor old Maggie. She's dead now. 
 There was a shipwreck on the rocks beyond Flaxley, 
 and she rowed out to the wreck with her idiot son. 
 She was such a 'fine old woman. None of the men 
 would go out ; so she said she would go. She 
 rowed and rowed. There's a very strong current 
 
 256 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 there, too. When she got to the wreck her boat 
 was smashed against the side, so she had to stay 
 there for nearly a day, I think, and she died soon 
 afterwards from the exposure.' 
 
 ' Indeed. She impressed me. A fierce old Roman.' 
 Perrin looked up to remark that the courage of a 
 woman was as it were complementary to the courage 
 of man. That women did things which men could 
 not do ; and that their courage was on the whole 
 of a finer quality. Mrs. Prinsep, who may perhaps 
 have thought that the compliment to her sex was 
 designed subtly to please her, seemed to bridle. 
 
 * 1 think women would be proud to hear that,' 
 she said contemptuously. She disliked Perrin ; all 
 common natures did. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Margaret. * A woman's courage 
 comes from a quality of soul. A man's comes more 
 from a faculty of body. You can't think of the 
 two without feeling that in the woman you have 
 something far finer.' 
 
 * They squeal if they see a mouse,' said Stukeley. 
 ^ Yes ? If you will name the highest flight of 
 
 man's courage, I will prove to you that at that 
 point woman's courage begins.' 
 
 'A man's courage is often indifference,' said 
 Perrin. * When I was nearly drowned once, I 
 remember thinking, " I'm going to die. Why am 
 I not frightened } " I wasn't frightened. I was 
 only tired of swimming and swimming, with the 
 water against me.' 
 
 * You skedaddled from that dog the other day,' 
 said Stukeley. 
 
 ' What dog was that, Mr. Stukeley } ' Mrs. Prin- 
 sep asked. 
 
 s 257 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' Oh,' said Stukeley, with a chuckle. ' A dog 
 that flounced out at him from one of the houses 
 here. Good luck. To see old Pilly run. Did he 
 get you, Pilly, or did you get up the tree in time ? ' 
 
 * I was in time,* said Perrin, flushing, looking 
 very uncomfortable. 
 
 * Are you very much afraid of dogs, Mr. Perrin V 
 Mrs. Prinsep asked. 
 
 ' Yes,' he answered rudely. ' So arc you.' 
 
 At this moment Captain Lewin entered, so that 
 the discussion came to an end before it had well 
 begun, like most discussions of the kind. 
 
 Captain Lewin was a tall, grey, upright man, 
 with a sharp, dictatorial manner that was somehow 
 not authoritative, and therefore not offensive. He 
 entered the room with his hands behind his back, 
 snapping quickly from the nervous strain of being 
 late. Howard greeted him and introduced him. 
 He sat down nervously on his host's left, looked 
 round the room with the quick apprehension of an 
 animal, much as he would have looked aloft on 
 coming on deck, and began to apologize for his 
 lateness. 
 
 ' I dined before I left the ship,' he said. * That 
 rascal, my purser, kept me. Very good claret, 
 your Excellency. Who's the man next but one 
 on my left .? I seem to know his face.' 
 
 * Stukeley. Thomas Stukeley, husband of the 
 lady here,' the Governor answered in a low voice. 
 
 ' I seem to have seen him somewhere. Wasn't 
 he in the rising in Beverley's time ? ' 
 ' No, captain.' 
 
 * Reminds me of that beauty who led us such 
 a dance up the Delaware.' 
 
 258 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 ' Oh, George Bond ? ' 
 
 * Yes. He was a beauty. I wonder what's be- 
 come of George Bond } ' 
 
 * Yes. He kept us all alive here.' 
 
 'You have just come from England.'*' Olivia 
 asked. 
 
 ' Yes,' said the captain. ' We sailed at the end 
 of July. Your Excellency, I wouldn't go down 
 the river with such another convoy. Not if the 
 King knighted me.' 
 
 Olivia was not quite sure of the technical terms, 
 so she answered nothing, but smiled a smile of in- 
 terested sympathy. She remembered suddenly that 
 perhaps he had brought mails. She asked him. 
 
 ' Mails ? Yes, madam. Yes. Yes. Yes. Oh 
 I've brought the mails. They're in his Excellency's 
 hands.' 
 
 ' None for you, Mrs. Stukeley, I'm afraid,' said 
 Howard. ' Captain Margaret had one.' 
 
 ' Captain Margaret ? ' said Lewin quickly. * Do 
 you know a Captain Margaret here ? ' 
 
 Stukeley pushed back his chair, and seemed to 
 fumble in his pocket. Margaret looked up quickly 
 from the cracking of a nut. 
 
 * I am he,' he said quietly. 
 
 * You are he, are you ^ I missed your name just 
 now,' said Lewin, putting his hand within his coat. 
 
 Perrin pushed back his chair so that his body 
 covered Lewin from Stukeley. 
 
 'Ah,' continued Lewin, in his hard voice with 
 its ring of jocularity, ' I've a letter for you. I was 
 to deliver it into your hands. You've got friends 
 at Court, I think, sir. It came to me through the 
 Secretary.' 
 
 259 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Margaret kept a steady face, not daring to glance 
 at Stukeley ; for a wink, to a blind horse, may be 
 as disastrous as a blow. His first thought was, 
 ' here it ends ' ; his second thought told him that 
 Perrin was giving the show away, by pushing back 
 his chair ; his third thought took in the possibilities 
 of the pistol. He filled his wineglass composedly, 
 so that he might have a missile handy, then poured 
 a little claret into Olivia's glass. 
 
 * Friends at Court, Captain Lewin ^ ' he answered. 
 ' No. I don't think so. Let me see this mys- 
 terious letter.' A sudden impulse urged him to 
 keep Olivia's eyes from her husband's face. 
 ' Howard,' he added, ' you never showed Mrs. 
 Stukeley those experiments of yours on the maize- 
 ear. Aren't those some of the maize-ears just 
 behind you ? ' 
 
 ' Ah yes, Mrs. Stukeley,' said Howard, reaching 
 behind him to the jar. * Let me explain them 
 to you.' 
 
 Lewin selected a sealed packet from his pocket- 
 book and handed it across the table. Olivia, 
 reaching out her hand to pass the letter to Mar- 
 garet, saw the superscription. 
 
 ' Why,' she cried, ' it's from Uncle Nestor. How 
 strange. We were just now talking of him.' 
 
 ' So is this Sir Nestor's hand ? ' said Margaret, 
 putting the letter to one side. He asked because 
 the letter in his pocket was addressed in the same 
 hand. 
 
 ^ Yes,' said Olivia, looking down at it. ' Aren't 
 you going to read it } ' 
 
 * Read it,' said Stukeley in a strange voice. 
 Howard laid down his maize-cobs. The letter lay 
 
 a6o 
 
A FAREWELL DIN:NER 
 
 at Margaret's side ; everybody looked at it. Mrs. 
 Prinsep, in her shrewd Scotch way, glanced at her 
 neighbours, and saw that there was something 
 wrong. * There is something wrong somewhere,' 
 she said to herself. Olivia, looking at Pcrrin and 
 her husband, wondered if the heat had been too 
 much for them. Their faces were so very curious. 
 It struck her that the talk had gone to pieces. The 
 host, waiting for her head to turn, so that he might 
 expound his new science to her, held his peace. 
 
 * Everybody's waiting for you, Charles,' she 
 added. 
 
 ^ Yes,' said Mrs. Prinsep, guessing that Mar- 
 garet disliked Olivia's prompting. ' Captain Mar- 
 garet will tell us all the news.' 
 
 Captain Margaret asked Mrs. Prinsep if he 
 might hand her a sapadillo. 
 
 * I'm anxious to hear the news,' she answered. 
 ^ No, thank you.' 
 
 * Oh,' said Margaret lightly, as he put the letter 
 in his pocket, * 1 won't read the letter during 
 dinner. I've been meaning to ask you, Mrs. Prin- 
 sep, how you keep domestic servants here, with 
 such a scarcity of white women.' 
 
 ' I'd rather hear what the letter says,' she 
 answered, ^ than talk about servants. We get so 
 little news here from England.' 
 
 ' I don't understand the craving for news,' said 
 Perrin. * One carries the world in one's head.' 
 
 ^ You must want a big head to do that,' said 
 Mrs. Prinsep. 
 
 * It doesn't matter what size it is, so long as it's 
 empty. Why read letters and gazettes when one 
 can read imaginative work ? ' 
 
 261 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Mrs. Prinsep remarked with bitterness that she 
 knew not what imaginative work meant, unless it 
 was a kind of thing which she disliked very much. 
 She half rose, catching Olivia's eye. The two 
 ladies left the room — Mrs. Prinsep to abuse Perrin 
 and to apply crudely an examination ; Olivia to 
 suffer from home-sickness, thinking of her uncle's 
 letter. Mrs. Prinsep could draw little from her ; 
 for Mrs. Prinsep, while suspecting something 
 wrong, naturally suspected a woman of finer beauty 
 than her own of being a party to it. Her theory 
 was that Olivia had run away from her home, and 
 that, being beautiful, she was possibly not correctly 
 married. She liked Stukeley ; but she had her 
 duty to herself to consider. She put Olivia 
 through a conventional catechism, in the course of 
 which she asked for particulars of the wedding. 
 Olivia, seeing her drift, replied coldly, in mono- 
 syllables. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the dining-room, over the wine, 
 Stukeley badgered Margaret to read the letter. 
 
 ' Read it,' he kept saying. * Read it. Let's 
 hear what's in it.' 
 
 Howard wondered at his tone ; but as he knew 
 something of Stukeley's affairs, he drew Lewin out 
 of the room, so that the voyagers might read the 
 letter together undisturbed When he had gone, 
 Margaret opened the packet brought by Lewin. 
 Stukeley picked up his wine-glass and crossed over 
 towards Margaret, so that he, too, might read. 
 
 ' What do you want, Stukeley ^, ' Margaret asked 
 him. 
 
 ' I want to read that letter, of course. It's about 
 me.' 
 
 262 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 * Do you generally read the letters of others ? ' 
 
 ' I'm going to read this/ 
 
 ' Are you ? ' Margaret looked at him coolly, 
 finished his letter, and started to read the other. 
 As he had expected, the letters were alike. One 
 had been brought by a merchantman, the other by 
 the man-of-war. The letter was that saddest of all 
 letters, the letter of the old man who asks humbly, 
 knowing the selfishness of youth. That the old 
 man wrote without hope seemed evident to Mar- 
 garet from the appeal he made to chivalrous 
 sentiment. ' I am confident to write to you,* 
 ran the un-confident words, ' though we are little 
 acquainted. I had the honour to serve with your 
 father more than forty years ago.' Then there 
 came a request that Captain Margaret would cause 
 Stukeley to be arrested and brought home to trial, 
 so that Olivia might again be under his care. 
 There was also a moving prayer that he, the son of 
 that old brother-in-arms who had ridden with the 
 writer at Newbury forty odd years before, would 
 let Olivia know what her husband had done. She 
 was ignorant of her husband's nature ; but in Eng- 
 land it was said that she was not so ignorant. In 
 England her honour seemed smirched, for there 
 were some who saw in her flight the ruse of a 
 criminal and his doxy. It was right that she should 
 know this, and very right that her husband should 
 stand his trial, so that their honour might be 
 cleared. The letter was bitter reading to Margaret. 
 It made him feel that he had stained Olivia's honour 
 in staining his own, and all for the sake of a ruffian 
 incapable of feeling the sacrifice. If the letter had 
 come before his interview with Howard he would 
 
 263 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 have pleaded diiFerently, child or no child. He 
 looked grave, helped himself to more wine, and 
 handed a letter to Perrin. 
 
 ' What's the old boy say ? ' said Stukeley. 
 
 ' That is surely not your business,' Margaret 
 answered. 
 
 ' I'll make it my business. It concerns me. 
 Isn't it all about me } Eh ? ' 
 
 ^No.' 
 
 ' Isn't it } I'll soon see. Now then, Pilly. Hand 
 over.' 
 
 ' Leave Edward alone,' said Margaret. ' The 
 letter's a private letter to myself. I prefer that you 
 shall not read it, Stukeley.' 
 
 ' Shall not. Eh .? Blood. Eh .? Shall not. Give 
 it to me, Pilly.' 
 
 ' Sit down, Stukeley,' said Margaret. 
 
 ' Don't you touch me, Stukeley,' said Perrin. 
 
 * Give me that letter.' He was within snatching 
 distance ; but Perrin twisted aside, so that he 
 missed his mark. He sprawled across Perrin try- 
 ing to reach his outstretched hand. 
 
 * Get out, you beast,' said Perrin, thrusting with 
 his elbow. 
 
 ' Temper, eh } ' said Stukeley. He feinted 
 quickly for Perrin's nose ; Perrin's outstretched 
 hand flew back to guard ; the letter was seized 
 with a whoop of triumph. Stukeley glanced con- 
 temptuously at Perrin, and began to read the letter, 
 as Margaret quietly walked round the table to him. 
 
 Stukeley saw him coming, and kicked Mrs. 
 Prinsep's chair across his shins, checking his pro- 
 gress for an instant. As he kicked the chair, Perrin 
 dashed at him, to snatch the paper. Stukeley 
 
 264 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 flung him aside heavily, laughing at the fun of the 
 tussle. 
 
 *You see what you get, little Pilly,* he said. 
 
 * You see what you get. Eh } ' 
 
 Margaret set aside the chair and advanced upon 
 him. * Now, Stukeley,' he said, ^ that letter.* 
 
 Stukeley backed a pace to avoid him. Perrin, re- 
 covering, felt blindly along the table for a knife. At 
 this moment, the door opened, and Olivia entered. 
 
 ' I've come to ask if I might read the letter. 
 Uncle Nestor's letter, Charles,' she said. 
 
 Perrin, in a voice which shook with the hysteria 
 of wrath, told her that she had better ask her 
 husband. 
 
 ^ There it is,' said Margaret quietly, indicating 
 Stukeley. 
 
 Olivia glanced at the three men with surprise, 
 even anxiety. Stukeley, who had not yet read 
 the letter, looked to Margaret for a hint that the 
 letter might be shown. 
 
 ' There it is,' Margaret repeated. 
 
 ' What is the matter with you three men V Olivia 
 asked. ' You were fighting.' 
 
 * Pilly gets so excited,' Stukeley said. 
 
 * What were you doing, Tom } ' 
 
 * Reading the letter,' Perrin said. 
 ' What is in the letter .? ' 
 
 ' There it is,' said Margaret. 
 
 Olivia walked softly to her husband. ' May I see 
 the letter } ' she said, her eyes full of tears. * I may 
 read the letter, Charles ,? ' 
 
 * Yes. I wish you to read it.' 
 
 ' There it is,' said Stukeley, handing it to her. 
 
 * What did you two asses make such a fuss for } ' 
 
 265 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 He sat down, helped himself to wine, and lighted 
 a roll of tobacco-leafj a kind of primitive cigar. 
 Between the puiFs, he glanced at the two men, and 
 at Olivia's face. Something in Olivia's face at- 
 tracted him : the eyes seemed to burn ; the eyes 
 seemed to be her intelligence, now starting out- 
 ward. He looked at Margaret, wondering if he 
 had done rightly to give the letter ; but Margaret 
 stood there, grave, courteous, self-controlled, his 
 face a mask. Olivia read the letter, turned the 
 sheet to see if a postscript had been added, then 
 read it through a second time, turning very white. 
 
 * I don't understand,' she said slowly. ' Have 
 you read this, Tom ? ' 
 
 ' No, Livy. Let's see it.' 
 
 * I suppose I may show it to Tom, Charles } ' 
 ' Yes, Olivia.' 
 
 * You've read the letter, Charles } ' 
 ' Yes, Olivia.' 
 
 *Well. I don't understand. What is Uncle 
 Nestor thinking, Tom 1 ' 
 
 Stukeley read the letter, with a desire to have 
 Margaret's throat in his hands, squeezing the life 
 out of him. He looked savagely at Margaret. 
 ^ You swine, to let me in for this,' he thought. 
 Then he became conscious that Olivia was closely 
 watching him. 
 
 ' Strange,' he said, puckering his brows. He 
 took a gulp of wine and looked at Margaret. 
 ' Hadn't we better go aboard.^' he added. * It's not 
 a thing we can discuss here. Old Howard might 
 come in.' 
 
 ' But wc can't go aboard, Tom. The ship is 
 sailing.' 
 
 266 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 ' All our things are on board/ 
 
 'Yes. But we must get them. We must go 
 home. You see that, Tom, don't you } We must 
 go home to clear our names.' 
 
 ' We can't go, Livy, for the reason I told you 
 before.' 
 
 * They're saying these things about us, though.' 
 
 ' Who is } Some tea-drinking old maids who've 
 got at your uncle Nestor. He doesn't like me, 
 as you know, so naturally he believes them.' 
 
 ' But, Tom, what could have started the old 
 maids, as you call them ? ' 
 
 ' Our hurried leaving, of course. What else i ' 
 
 'Ah,' she said, turning very pale, as though a 
 bitter thought had come to her. ' Charles, Charles. 
 Oh, why did not Uncle Nestor write to me, instead 
 of you } He need not have told you the scandal.' 
 
 Margaret, who had gone to the window with 
 Perrin, to look out over the darkened harbour, 
 while the husband and wife talked together, now 
 turned gravely towards her, too sad to answer. 
 
 * I didn't mean that, Charles.' She looked from 
 one face to another, searching for a key to the puzzle, 
 for a way back to the peace of ten minutes ago. 
 
 ' What were you doing, Charles, when I came in 
 just now V 
 
 * We were struggling for the letter, Olivia.' 
 ' You had snatched the letter, Tom } ' 
 
 ' From me,' said Perrin. 
 
 * I did not wish your husband to read it, Olivia,' 
 Margaret added. 
 
 * He told me it concerned me,' said Stukeley, 
 'and naturally, in a playful way, I snatched it. In 
 a playful way.' 
 
 267 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * 1 told you no such thing,' said Margaret. 
 
 'And yet, Charles, you say you did not wish 
 Tom, my husband, to read it ? * 
 
 ' 1 did not wish it/ 
 
 ^ And you could hand it on to Edward ? ' 
 
 *Yes/ 
 
 'But I don't understand. And you wished me 
 to read it ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Olivia. I wished you to read it.* 
 
 ' We can't discuss it here, Livy,' Stukeley said. 
 ' Old Howard may come in. Let's go on board.' 
 
 ' Tom, we can't go on board. I can't enter that 
 ship again. They've been calling us that for three 
 months. Do .think what it means, dear.' 
 
 ' Only cackle,' he answered sullenly, ' I'm not 
 going to alter my plans for a little old wives' 
 cackle.' 
 
 ' You think it's only that, Tom ? ' 
 
 ' Good luck. Yes.' 
 
 ' But let's go home and put an end to it. If we 
 don't it may grow. It may ' 
 
 The door opened. Howard entered. He 
 looked round them with his air of weary boredom. 
 
 ' Captain Margaret,' he said coldly, ' your boat is 
 waiting. Your captain is anxious not to lose the 
 tide.' 
 
 ' Well, we'll go on board then. Edward, fetch 
 Olivia's wraps.' 
 
 ' No,' Olivia said. ' No. Not that. We're not 
 going, Charles. We're going home. Oh, this letter 
 is like a fire.' 
 
 ' Come, Edward,' said Margaret, * we'll be 
 getting our cloaks.' 
 
 ' I'll get Olivia's things,' Stukeley said. 
 268 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 * Tom,* she cried, * you aren*t going to run away 
 like this, letting them think you guilty ? You can't, 
 Tom. Go back. No. No. I can^tletyou. Dear, 
 we must face this. We must go home and face this.' 
 
 Margaret was at the door again, hooking the 
 heavy silver cloak-clasp at his throat. He looked 
 at her pitifully, saying nothing. He wished that he 
 could help her, for the sake of her little one ; but 
 the letter had struck a jangle in him, and Stukeley 
 had made him lose his temper. He thought that 
 he had gone too far now, that he had shown Stuke- 
 ley to be guilty. He could not bring himself to 
 speak. He was worn out with the long anxiety of 
 love. He was tired. Stukeley must fight his own 
 battles, tell his own lies, maintain his own decep- 
 tions. He was too weary of it all to be sad, even 
 when, after shaking the Governor's hand and thank- 
 ing him for his kindness, he turned to Olivia, with 
 his hand outstretched. 
 
 ' Well, Olivia,' he said. 
 
 ' Well,' she said. ^ What d'you want, Charles } ' 
 
 ' Are you going home } ' he asked bluntly. 
 
 ' Of course I'm going home. Do you think that. 
 Do you think 1 could live longer in that ship, eat- 
 ing, and lying down, and watching the sea, with this 
 being said of me ^ ' 
 
 * Yes,' said Stukeley, * I think you could. Put 
 on your wraps, Livy, and come on.' 
 
 * Tom. Tom, dear.' 
 
 ' I would go, Mrs. Stukeley, if I were you,' said 
 the Governor. ' You couldn't leave the colony 
 here much before November.' 
 
 ' I am very sorry,' she answered. * But I don't 
 think you know the circumstances.' 
 
 269 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * I've discussed them with Captain Margaret/ he 
 answered. 
 
 ' You discussed them, Charles ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,* Margaret said. ' Howard gives good 
 advice, Olivia.' 
 
 ' I don't think my wife wants your advice,' said 
 Stukeley. ' Come, Livy. Here are your wraps. 
 Come on. Don't let's have a scene.' 
 
 ' Tom,' she said, holding out her hands, swaying 
 a little, her eyes blind with tears. ' Tom, I beseech 
 you, let's go home. What is your pledged word 
 to— to what they are saying } ' 
 
 * I'm going to keep my word,' he answered 
 brutally. ' Good-bye, Howard. Thanks for the 
 pie-crust. I hope, next time I see you, you'll have 
 
 some decent wine. Your port is So long.' He 
 
 turned to the other men. ^ Come on, Pilly. Come, 
 Maggy.' As he walked to the door, he looked 
 again at Howard. ' So long, me lord,' he said. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Mr. Stukeley,' said Howard. 
 ' Shake hands.' 
 
 * No, thank you.' 
 
 Stukeley looked at him with some amusement. 
 
 ' Oxford man. Eh ! ' he said, and passed out. 
 Olivia stood swaying, looking after him, calling to 
 him, through her tears. 
 
 ' Will you come, Olivia } ' Margaret asked her 
 gently. 
 
 * Come with you, Charles } With you 1 You 
 believe Tom guilty.' 
 
 * Olivia,' Perrin said, * this goes round your 
 throat, doesn't it 1 Then, here's your glove. You 
 mustn't forget your glove.' He helped her with 
 her things, evidently deeply pained. 
 
 270 
 
A FAREWELL DINNER 
 
 * Thank you, dear,' she said, speaking as one 
 stunned. 
 
 ' Take my arm,' Perrin whispered. ' Let's get 
 into the fresh air.' 
 
 She took a stumbling step forward, her hand on 
 Perrin's arm, then paused, and faced Margaret. 
 * You think, Charles. You think, because. Be- 
 cause I'm not very happy. That I shall not 
 notice. But I see. Oh, I see so well. You wish 
 to poison me against Tom. You wish me to think. 
 That. That. Him guilty.' 
 
 * Quiet, Margaret,' said Howard. ^ Mrs. Stuke- 
 ley, it's my duty to tell you that your husband is 
 guilty. Better now than later,' he added to Mar- 
 garet in a low voice. * She can't have two scenes 
 like this. It'd kill her. It is true, Mrs. Stukeley,' 
 he continued. ' If he returns to England, he will 
 be hanged. Now you two. Take her out. She's 
 stunned. Take her out before the flunkies notice. 
 Get to sea. Don't wait. Into the boat with her. 
 Get to sea. Get to the devil.' 
 
 The two men supported the dazed creature to 
 the boat. Howard watched them from his pleas- 
 aunce, with an air of weary boredom. * Like club- 
 bing a kitten,' he said to himself ' But nervous 
 women are. They are.' 
 
 He watched them pass away into the night, the 
 oars grunting through the darkness, the voice of 
 the coxswain sounding very clear. He noted it as 
 a sign of rain. Afterwards he heard the feet tramp- 
 ing round the capstan, amid yells and screams and 
 pistol-shots. * There are the men of war. The 
 buccaneers,' he said cynically. * My reputation's 
 gone. I forgot them.' He stood amid his flowers, 
 
 271 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 watching the fireflies, waiting for the end. He 
 saw dimly the jib of the great ship cloaking a star. 
 Then among the screams of many drunken men, 
 with laughter, and shots, and oaths, the topsails 
 jolted up, the parrels groaning, to a ditty about 
 a girl in Paradise Street. The roaring chorus woke 
 the ships in harbour. The crews answered, cheer- 
 ing, beating their bells. The bell of the Broken 
 Heart was rung like the alarm of fire. He smiled 
 to hear them, repeating the phrases he had planned 
 for his official report. * She stole away, unnoticed, 
 in the night,' he repeated. ' So that I could not 
 give effect to the Honourable Board's command.' 
 ' It's getting chilly,' he said. ' I must go in. She's 
 gone. She's out of sight.' From very far away 
 came the words of a chorus, the cat-fall chorus, 
 sung by men so drunk that they had to take the 
 cat-fall to the capstan : — 
 
 Blow, my bullies, blow 
 
 For Springer's Key, ay O. 
 
 There's plenty of gold, 
 
 So I've been told. 
 
 On the banks of the Rio Diablo. 
 
 It was the last of her farewells. Howard went 
 indoors, to his game of cribbage with Mrs. Prinsep. 
 ^ They have gone to found an empire,' he said 
 to himself. 'That song is an imperial hymn. Men 
 of the Breed. Eh.?' 
 
 272 
 
X 
 
 The LANDFALL 
 
 * We are arrived among the blessed islands, 
 Where every wind that rises blows perfumes, 
 And every breath of air is like an incense ; 
 The treasure of the sun dwells here/ — The Island Princess, 
 
 *This new come Captain 
 Hath both a ship and men/ — The Sea Foyage, 
 
 T^HE Broken Heart made a poor passage. The 
 eighteen hundred miles of sea between the 
 Capes and the Samballoes were dragged through 
 wearily, in calms, in light airs, in head winds, 
 during six weeks of torment. Through the Florida 
 Channel, across a sea of brass ; through the Yuca- 
 tan Channel, hugging the Cuban side ; then launch- 
 ing out, past Grand Cayman, past Providence, she 
 rolled and drove, foul with her months at sea. 
 Her gilt was battered off, her paint peeled ; her 
 once white decks were crossed with tar marks, 
 where the seam-tar, sticking to shoes, had been 
 impressed crosswise as the seamen walked. An 
 awning was over her poop. Her boys splashed 
 her decks continually with salt water. The men 
 about decks did their work languidly. At night 
 they lay among the booms, sheltered from the dew, 
 sleeping in their watches, their eyes covered lest 
 the moon should blast them. 
 
 A ship driving to the south, with all her sails 
 set, her side a little bowed, whitening a line along 
 T 273 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 her fo'c's'le, is beautiful to see, noble, an image of 
 wonder. She should be allowed to pass, swaying 
 her beauty in a rhythm ; for beauty is enough ; 
 one should not question beauty. If one question, 
 then in that stately ship may be found a hell. Men 
 mutinous, officers overdriven, boys in misery, the 
 captain drunk ; wasted men forward, flying from 
 justice ; broken men aft, carrying their incompe- 
 tence to other lands, to breed it there unchecked ; 
 the rigging rotten, the sails threadbare, all the hull 
 of the ship an outcry, a decay, a fraud ; down in 
 the hold a fire smouldering, a little red glow, a fire- 
 ball, not flame yet, waiting, charring the beams, 
 blackening in the bales, till the wind fan it to a 
 crackling triumph, to a blaze, a mastery, amid the 
 screams of men, amid death. Even such a ship 
 was the Bro\en Hearty as she drove on to the 
 south, her sails slatting. Within her were many 
 tortured hearts, each heart a chamber in hell, in 
 the hell of the wicked or the weak, where the 
 prisoned soul atoned, or added to the account to be 
 paid later. At the galley door, waiting for the 
 cook to let them light their pipes, their one plea- 
 sure, the seamen watched the gentry, envying 
 them, talking bitterly of them, angry at the world's 
 injustice to themselves, angry at the ease which 
 they would lack, though they lived to be old men, 
 always working hard. 
 
 Of all the ship's company, Olivia was the most 
 to be pitied, for she was in the worst hell. Her 
 soul had been bruised in the stalk ; all that made 
 life for her had been taken from her violently. 
 She could not think. When she rose up an image 
 rose up with her. If she shut her eyes, it was 
 
 274 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 there ; if she looked out over the sea, it was there 
 still : the image of the room ashore ; the fruit 
 plates, the smell of wine, the men standing guiltily, 
 the sheet of creased letter, with its fine, tremulous 
 writing. All of it she saw. It was always with 
 her. When she lay down it was there ; when she 
 slept it was heavy upon her, like the trance of a 
 sick man. Sometimes, in spite of her will, against 
 her nature, it played itself over to her in her mind, 
 like a farce, a stupid farce, ending in tragedy, in 
 one stunning blow, crushing out sense, as it had 
 crushed her in life. Her husband would be there, 
 rude and common — rude to her, common before 
 all those men — stripping away the cloaks her love 
 had wrapped about him. Her husband, the 
 flaming young love, the man she had chosen, was 
 before her, acting as she had once seen a drunken 
 man act when dragged by his wife out of a beer- 
 shop. She had loved that, given herself to that. 
 Then Howard's words, clubbing home the meaning 
 of her husband's rudeness. That horrible flash of 
 insight, of intuition, which made the guilt apparent; 
 that was harder to bear than Howard's words, 
 more terrible, now that it returned to her. All 
 along the memories of her married life were head- 
 lands, promontories, projecting blacknesses, unex- 
 plained, irritating; the unanswered questions which 
 had puzzled her. Thus and thus her husband had 
 acted in the past, queerly, she had thought, even 
 then, not as she would have had him act, not as a 
 knight would have acted, not as the men she had 
 known would have acted. The acts had puzzled 
 her, they had frightened her ; but she had ex- 
 plained them, she had told herself that men were 
 
 275 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 different, and that she loved this man. Now there 
 came a light, a sudden meteor. The black capes 
 and headlands glared out upon her, lit up, one 
 after the other, in a baleful vista, a marching, 
 illuminated army of witnesses, glaring out his guilt, 
 one after the other, day after day, night after 
 night, a sleepless company. They seemed to shout 
 to her, tossing the words one from the other, in 
 her disordered mind, ^ If he returns to England, 
 he will be hanged.* He had said that he had loved 
 her ; but that seemed ages ago ; and he had tricked 
 her into this, deceived her at every turn, lied to 
 her, cajoled others into lying to her, all the time 
 amusing himself, laughing, pretending, a common 
 thing, a man with a mind like a footman's. At 
 first, nerving herself, she had tried to talk with 
 him, willing to forgive, only asking, for her own 
 part, an explanation. She would have been con- 
 tent with that. She would have been almost happy 
 had he come to her like an erring boy, asking her 
 to count him merely that. She had spoken to him 
 in her cabin that night, pleading with him, kneel- 
 ing to him, while the drunkards on deck made sail. 
 Her whole world had lain in ruins ; she had 
 thought that nothing more could hurt her ; but 
 when she spoke the ruins flew about her, wounding 
 her, cutting her to the quick. He had answered 
 her brutally. His answer had come, as it were, set 
 to the music of the drunkards above. It would 
 not out of her head. All her nerves shook with it, 
 as though the blow struck her in her face. He 
 had sworn at her, jeered at her, called her a lump 
 of cold batter, told her to get to the devil, told her 
 that he was sick of the sight of her, that he had 
 
 276 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 married her for her money, that if she gave him 
 any more of her canting preaching he'd hit her one 
 that she'd remember. Later in the night, as she 
 lay crying at his side, he bade her for God's sake 
 to stop snivelling, so that he might get to sleep. 
 As she could not stop, he had arisen, telling her 
 that she might cry herself sick, but that he was 
 going to Mrs. Inigo, a woman who wasn't quite 
 such a cold poultice. She had not stopped him. 
 She could not stop him. He had gone from her ; 
 leaving her life too empty for her to wish even to 
 kill herself. 
 
 Another dreadful thing, still dreadful, although 
 so much was numbed in her, was the meeting with 
 her husband the next day. She had thought him 
 some common stranger ; that had been the dread- 
 ful thing. He had seemed vulgar to her ; a person 
 out of her circle ; she could not bring herself to 
 speak to him. All that she could do was to glance 
 at his neck continually. It had a horrible fascina- 
 tion for her, this neck that the rope was laid for. 
 She did not hate him. He was dead to her ; that 
 was all ; the worst horror was when she remem- 
 bered her love-days, seeing him now as he was. 
 She bore her lot alone, shut up in her cabin, seldom 
 venturing out. At times she would lie back, in a 
 nervous crisis, clenching her fingers into her palms, 
 shaking with the hate of Captain Margaret. He 
 might, she thought, have spared her that scene 
 at the Governor's. But no ; it was all his plan ; 
 all ; from the very first ; his plan to have her near 
 him. That was his love for her, to have her near 
 him, to poison her against her husband, to tempt 
 her husband with another woman, to heap all these 
 
 277 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 indignities, all these torments, so that he, the lover, 
 might triumph. All the voyage he had been at it. 
 Little things came back to her now ; little tender, 
 insinuating acts. They came over her in a shock 
 of shame. She hated him, she hated him. And 
 yet, for all her hate of him, she could not think 
 of leaving the ship, nor of what her future was 
 to be ; that was all dead and blank to her. England 
 was dead and blank to her. She could not go back 
 to England, save as some wounded hare, with the 
 blood glazing on her fur, limping to her form 
 to die. She was stunned ; she could not think. 
 Her death in life would go on for a little ; perhaps 
 for a long while ; it did not matter how. Then 
 it would stop ; all that she could ask would be 
 that it might soon stop. Perrin was the only person 
 whom she could bear to see, or to speak with. It 
 was through him, she guessed, that her husband 
 was removed from her sight. He was living now, 
 Perrin told her, in the 'tween-decks, having his 
 meals in the wardroom. Perrin, Margaret, and 
 Cammock had taken to living in their cabins, so 
 that she might not be oppressed with company. 
 She filled in the unsaid portion of Perrin^s speech 
 with ' living with Mrs. Inigo ' ; and she knew from 
 Perrin*s face that he understood her thought, and 
 that she was right. She liked Perrin more and 
 more as the days passed. She understood him 
 now, she thought. The world had gentled him by 
 some such blow as had crushed her. She could 
 never think of him as the thoroughly foolish man 
 he was. She only thought of him as a poor hurt 
 waif, almost a woman in many ways, who felt for 
 her keenly enough to know that he must not show 
 
 278 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 his feeling. She liked his shy way of coming into 
 the cabin in the late afternoon, when the steward 
 served the chocolate. He would enter shyly, speak- 
 ing with a false air of jocularity, to propose chess, 
 poetry, a game at cards, or a little music. The 
 time would pass quietly. He would lose that false 
 air of his ; they would talk together almost like 
 sisters, until the change of the watch at six o'clock. 
 He helped her through her worst days, nor did she 
 ever know that the tales he told her, the little 
 jokes in his conversation, were repeated from the 
 talk of the man she hated ; as the hated man had 
 planned, in his blind love for her. 
 
 Captain Margaret had his little hell about him ; 
 the days were bitter to him. All day long, and 
 through the night, he had the image of his dis- 
 honour with him. All the weeks of deceit, all the 
 acts of deceit, all the long strain of pretence ; they 
 were all over. They had ended in her hating and 
 suspecting him. He would lie awake in the night, 
 and the memory of his deceit would eat into him 
 like acid, burning. He would blush, lying there 
 in his bunk, at the thought of his baseness ; it 
 stuck in his throat, now that he could see things 
 clearly. He had eaten dirt in a vile cause ; all 
 honest men must loathe him, he thought. Then 
 came another memory, the memory of Olivia, her 
 beauty, her paleness, her voice, her sorrow. It was 
 bitter to him to feel that he was the bitterest part 
 of her sorrow, and that he could not help her, nor 
 comfort her, but only prompt Perrin to help her. 
 He tried to tell himself that her beauty was an 
 excuse for him. His love had been noble enough ; 
 it had not been selfish ; he had had little joy of the 
 
 279 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ignoble things he had done for her sake. He 
 wished that some spirit would surround his tor- 
 tured head with heavenly essence, so that he might 
 see clearly, as God sees, all the moral value of his 
 acts, all the right and the wrong, in fiery letters, 
 easy to read. She was very beautiful, and still 
 young. Meanwhile he had his life to live, and his 
 task to do. It was not going to be an easy task. 
 He was coming to it broken. His only comfort 
 in these days was the knowledge that Stukeley had 
 lied when he had said that Olivia was going to have 
 a child. That horror was removed for ever. Stuke- 
 ley had lied. He prayed that some day the patient 
 fates would take Stukeley, and show him, for an 
 instant, before death, the image of himself. He 
 needed not to have prayed. To most of us the 
 patient fates come, holding up that image. Besides, 
 Margaret knew well that Stukeley had had his 
 image spoiled for him by the accident of his birth. 
 The man loved animals; was truly kind and thought- 
 ful with them. He should have been a groom, a 
 hunt groom, with an alehouse and ostlers for his 
 evenings. Margaret could see Stukeley holding up 
 his hands, when his image came to him, saying 
 that it was not his own work, but the work of the 
 drunken fox-hunter his father, who came home 
 bloody from the mangling of a fox, to give his 
 little son drink, and to tgg him on to kiss the 
 maids. 
 
 Cammock was not free from trouble ; he had his 
 own share. The Bro\en Heart was no happier to 
 him, though he no longer suffered from Stukeley. 
 The men of war were the cause of the trouble, even 
 as he had feared. They were too independent, 
 
 280 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 they resented control, they had a bad effect upon 
 the ship's discipline. He had had trouble with 
 them from the very first, when they came aboard 
 drunk, twenty-seven of them, bringing with them, 
 as members of their company, the two deserters 
 from the trading-booth. He had promptly put the 
 two deserters into irons for a night. He had then 
 turned them forward, stopped their rum for the 
 voyage, and forced them to work on deck from 
 eight in the morning till four in the afternoon, on 
 all days, whether it was their watch or not. This 
 had caused a mutiny among the men of war. They 
 had come on deck to demand the return of their 
 mates. Margaret, having called all hands aft, had 
 spoken to them, as Cammock confessed, * like a 
 father.' He had read his commission to them. 
 He had promised them that, if they showed any 
 signs of rebellion, he would land them at an 
 English colony, where they should be drafted into 
 the Navy without mercy. He had then called out 
 the two men who had been most noisy in the 
 mutiny, and had put them in the bilboes abaft the 
 main mast, under a sentry, for the next three days. 
 But though the mutiny was crushed, the ill-feeling 
 remained. The men of war went about their duties 
 sullenly, showing that they resented his action. 
 The fo'c's'le hands, quick to catch the mutinous 
 temper, became ' soldiers,' who loafed and skulked, 
 till the mates, goaded by their insolence, made pro- 
 test, with a bight of the topgallant brace. Cam- 
 mock had more than the anxieties of office on his 
 shoulders. He had to walk the poop, the captain 
 of all on board, in a false position. In a sense he 
 was a privateer. Had he been, as he once was, 
 
 281 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 a privateer only, he would have known how to 
 handle the privateers beneath him. He understood 
 them. He could even feel for them ; he knew how 
 they felt towards him ; when he saw them hanging 
 round the hatch, cursing the cruise and all on 
 board. But in the Bro\en Heart he was less the 
 privateer than the merchant captain going trading. 
 He had divided interests to manage ; he had a 
 divided crew under his comniand. He could see 
 that the temper of the ship was as bad as it could 
 be. The men were in that difficult state a little on 
 this side of mutiny, always on the verge, never 
 quite declaring, but sullen enough to make their 
 captain's life an anxious life. He expected that 
 their arrival at Springer's Key would put them in a 
 better spirit. He wished that he could give them 
 some fighting on the way ; for it was the belief of 
 his old commander that there is nothing like the 
 sight of a dead or wounded comrade to make a 
 man look to his leader with trust and thankfulness. 
 Meanwhile he drilled all hands daily at the guns, 
 expecting a refusal of duty at any moment. 
 Thinking of the situation in the quiet of his cabin, 
 he decided that the crew would not stand failure. 
 ^ If we fail,' he said, ' this gang will not try twice. 
 No privateers will. And these aren't the pick of 
 the Kipe.' He felt that the cruise would fail. 
 His forebodings obsessed him. When he walked the 
 poop at nights, walking athwartships now, not fore 
 and aft, lest the helmsman should attack him from 
 behind, he was sure that he would never see home 
 again. He was always imagining a place of noise 
 and smoke, with himself falling forward on the sand, 
 looking his last, shot in the body. The obsession 
 
 282 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 made him more serious than usual. He borrowed 
 a Testament from Perrin and read the last chapter. 
 Perrin angered him by saying that the last chapter 
 bored him to death. 
 
 As for Stukeley, his senses were gratified ; he 
 asked for nothing more from the world. He had 
 every reason to feel satisfied. He had not been 
 arrested in Virginia, that was good ; he had broken 
 with his batter-pudding of a wife, that was better ; 
 and he was no longer tortured by the prigs of the 
 cabin. He was messing now in the wardroom, 
 with Cottrill and Ramage, visiting Mrs. Inigo 
 openly, whenever he liked ; that was best of all. 
 Neither Margaret nor Perrin had spoken to him 
 since he had bragged to them of having broken 
 with Olivia, of having fooled them about her child. 
 Cammock had told him that he was to leave the 
 cabin precincts and that when they wanted him as 
 an interpreter they would send for him ; but that 
 until then he would either lie low or go in irons. 
 At the moment he was too pleased with his suc- 
 cesses to regret his loss of power. He was content 
 to lie low, and to refrain from offering insults to 
 all who irritated him. He patched up a truce with 
 Mr. Cottrill, whom he found to be good company. 
 He made friends with Smut, the ship's cat, and 
 taught one of her kittens to walk on bottle-mouths. 
 He made friends with several of the men of war, 
 who had their mess without the wardroom. He 
 would sing * Old Rose ' and ' TwankydiHo * to 
 them, in the fine bass voice of which he was so 
 vain. Like most seafaring men, the privateers 
 thought much of a fine singer. They used to hang 
 about the wardroom door after supper, to hear him 
 
 283 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 singing quietly to himself, going over his trills and 
 gurgles. He had but to come out into the 'tween- 
 decks to find himself a popular idol. Men would 
 rise up from their chests, with real courtesy, as he 
 came among them. If there were singers there 
 they became silent suddenly, tale-tellers ceased in 
 their stories. There came a low murmur of Good 
 evening, sir. Good evening, Mr. Stukeley. Will 
 you sit down, sir } Are we past the Serranas yet, 
 d'ye know, sir ? ' till he was entrapped among them. 
 As he did not know sailors, he took all this to be a 
 tribute to his good looks, to his fine physique, to 
 his manner, to his taking conversation. He used 
 to get them to tell him of their lives on the coast, 
 believing that it was a kind of life which might 
 please himself. He inquired also of the life in 
 the Spanish towns, that lazy, luxurious life, with so 
 many opportunities for amassing wealth and for 
 self-indulgence. A buccaneer would handle a 
 guitar, and sing, in a high, false, musical whine, 
 about ' my Santa Marta.' Another buccaneer, 
 drumming on his chest-lid, would begin about the 
 Spanish girls and the sack of Porto Bello. Listen- 
 ing to them, down in the half-darkness, Stukeley 
 felt that he, too, would soon taste of that life. 
 He would lie in a grass hammock, fanned by a 
 Spanish-Indian girl, whose great eyes would look 
 into his. Eh ? He would eat skewered * soldiers ' 
 from the hands of an Indian wife. He would catch 
 fireflies to stick in her hair. Perhaps he would see 
 the sack of a town, with the women crouched in 
 their rooms, waiting for the conquerors. ' Brown 
 women ; modest, lively little things,' so Raphael 
 Gamage told him. 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 The days dragged by slowly. The Bro\en Heart 
 crawled like a slug, leaving a slug's track on the 
 sea. The bells struck, the sails slatted. The sun 
 arose greyly in mist, then burned the mist away, 
 a spilling spring of light, in a sky like blue fire. 
 Then in the glare of noon the chart was marked, 
 the pencilled dot moved forward in its zigzag, past 
 the Serranas, past Roncif, past the Roncadores. 
 Then the wind came fair for a few days to help her 
 to the south, her bows in a heap of smother. 
 Presently, when the first land-wind came to them, 
 in a faint breath, smelling, as they said, of arnotto 
 roses, there came drifting butterflies, white and 
 blue, very lovely, settling and dying on the deck, 
 like petals from a fruit tree in spring. A strange 
 bird sailed past them, drooping her legs, her wings 
 beating like a mill-wheel, rhythmically, her fierce 
 eyes looking ahead, searching the sky. AJ.trce 
 tumbled in their wash, rolling over and over. A 
 creeper from the branches sank in the wake, its 
 leaves like little green hands, clutching out, far 
 down, among the globes of the bubbles. Then 
 when the sun was sinking, when the air was intense 
 and clear, like the air in a vision, far ahead a bluish 
 mist showed, so dimly, in such blue faintness, that 
 one could not be sure. Till dark they watched it. 
 When the dawn made each cloud a scale of scarlet, 
 edged with fire to the mid-heaven, the mist took 
 outline. Long before sunset the land lay clear, a 
 long purplish line of land, with a gleaming peak or 
 two round which the cloud streamed. It stretched 
 away on each side of them like an army in rank. 
 Parts of it were dim ; its wings were dim ; but 
 ahead the hills were gathered close ; one could 
 
 385 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 count each fold in them. Margaret, loitering on 
 the poop with Perrin, watched them intently, with 
 emotions which mastered him. A voice seemed to 
 be talking to him. ' What went ye out for to see V 
 it repeated. He had gone out to see this land, 
 to hear the multitudes of sea-fowl scream. There 
 lay the land. Like all lands seen from the sea, it 
 seemed to lure him, to beckon to him, to be full 
 of mystery, of mystery which he could solve. 
 
 'So that's the land,' he said at length. * What 
 do you make of it, Edward } ' 
 
 ^\}' said Edward. * It makes me shudder 
 somehow. It's the end of something. Change is 
 always horrible to me.' 
 
 Cammock joined them, thumbing the leaves of 
 a portolano. 
 
 ' We're away to the east, sir,' he said to Mar- 
 garet. ' If you'll stand in a bit further, sir, we 
 shall open Golden Island clear, before dark. That'll 
 give me a landfall to go by.' 
 
 'And when shall we make Springer's Key, cap- 
 tain .? ' 
 
 ' To-morrow, some time, sir. But we'll stand 
 in further here, if you don't mind. There may be 
 some of those friends of ours in the harbour here. 
 A nice little sandy bay in there, sir.' 
 
 Soon the hills drew nearer. The line of land 
 became jagged. What had seemed to be the main 
 now showed as islands, a long, low island, dark 
 with mangrove, and to the south of it a sloping 
 peak, wooded to the top, a cone of green, with 
 rocks about it over which the breakers toppled. 
 Margaret could see the line ,of the breakers ad- 
 vancing towards them, blue and glassy. In the 
 
 a86 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 stillness, he could see the curl on the wave, the 
 slow running of the curl along the line, then the 
 intense brightness of the burst, a momentary marvel 
 of white. He looked at Cammock, who was 
 looking at the wooded hill, full of memories. A 
 few of the men of war, faking a hawser in the 
 waist, stopped their work to look with him. One 
 or two of them, raising their caps, waved to the 
 island. * Good old Golden Island,* they cried. 
 ' The good old Golden Island.' 
 
 ^ Yes,* said Captain Cammock to Margaret. 
 'That*s Golden Island. Last time I was ashore 
 there we were three hundred strong, going across 
 the Isthmus. We*d fires on the sands there, I and 
 my brother Bill, roasting crabs together. I remem- 
 ber we chucked pebbles over that palm on the spit 
 there. Queer the palm being there and Bill gone, 
 sir. He could chuck good, too ; further'n I could.' 
 
 ' You were very much attached to your brother, 
 weren't you } ' Margaret asked him. 
 
 ' I didn't set much value by him at the time, sir. 
 It's afterwards one feels it. There's a little black 
 devil of a reef beyond there, two feet under water 
 at a low spring. You don't see it, and yet it rips 
 you across all right. Ready oh, Mr. Cottrill. 
 Haul the foot of the mainsail up. Hands about 
 ship. Ease down the helium.' 
 
 They sailed past Golden Island, and past Sasardi, 
 watching the colours of the sunset on the rocks and 
 woods. The brilliant birds flew homing, scream- 
 ing. A faint smell, sickly sweet, came to them in 
 puffs from the shore. Now and then, in the quiet, 
 they heard the wash of breakers bursting on reefs. 
 The noise kept them company at intervals through 
 
 287 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 the night, as they drove on, under the stars, past 
 Pinos, past Zambo Gandi, towards the Point of 
 San Bias. It burst upon them mournfully, like the 
 blowing of a sea-beast, a wash, a breathing of the 
 sea. When the dawn broke, flashing the flying- 
 fish into silver arrows, they were at their hearts' 
 desire. The palms on Springer's Key were trem- 
 bling, in the light air, before them. The ring of 
 reef on the key's north side stood up black amid 
 the surf that toppled tirelessly. Pelicans flew past 
 to fish. Macaws screamed from the fruit trees. 
 Two Indians, with gold in their noses, waved to 
 them from their canoe as they paddled softly, to 
 spear cavally. Beyond them, at anchor off the key, 
 was a small sloop. Her men were filling water 
 ashore, wading slowly up the beach with puncheons. 
 The saluting gun, fired by Cammock's order, made 
 them gather together in a group. One of them 
 waved. Others, still in the boat, rowed out to 
 show the channel. The sun shone bright over the 
 multitude of islands. The sea was so blue that 
 the beauty of her colour was like a truth appre- 
 hended. It was so perfect a beauty that Margaret, 
 looking on it, felt that he apprehended the truth. 
 
 * Perrin,' he said, * Edward, what do you think 
 of our home .? ' 
 
 ' Fm not thinking of that,' he answered. ' I 
 think that all these things are images in an intellect. 
 I think, by brooding on them, one passes into that 
 intellect.' 
 
 The colours and house-flag blew out clear as the 
 ship came to her berth. The sloop fired a salute ; 
 the Broken Heart answered her. Soon she was 
 opposite the little sandy beach in the centre of the 
 
 288 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 key. Her sails drooped, her way checked ; then, 
 at Cammock's shout, the anchor dropped, the cable 
 running with a rattle, making the little fish scurry 
 past, in view, though a fathom down. 
 
 ' Well, sir,' said Cammock, ' we've broken the 
 neck of that.' 
 
 * Yes, captain. And now } ' 
 
 ' I've had the old sail-room turned into a dining- 
 room. It's laid for breakfast now, sir. I've got to see 
 the captain of that sloop and learn the news. That's 
 the first thing. Call my boat away, boatswain.' 
 
 The privateer sloop was the Happy Return of 
 Jamaica, Captain Tucket, bound on a roving cruise 
 with twenty men and a French commission. She 
 carried six small guns, and her men wore arms, all 
 of the very choicest make ; but her hold was full 
 of goods which Captain Tucket wished to sell. 
 From Jamaica he had brought beads and coloured 
 cloths, with which he was buying gold-dust, wax, 
 and bird-peppers from the Indians. He had also 
 several tons of Guiaquil chocolate and sweetmeats 
 lately taken on the sea. He had come to Springer's 
 Key, he said, to fill water, before going east along 
 the coast, as far as the 'Seniqua, looking for log- 
 wood. Things were quiet, he said, along the 
 Main ; there was nothing doing ; only a few barca- 
 longas taken. There had been talk at La Sound's 
 Key of combining and going to the Santa Maria 
 gold-mines, but it had come to nothing. The 
 French and English would not agree upon a leader. 
 For his own part, he said, he believed there was 
 logwood along some of these rivers east there, and 
 he was going to look for it. He was a shrewd, but 
 frank, elderly man. 
 
 u 289 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * Look here/ he said, taking out a handkerchief. 
 ^ There's some of it. 1 dyed that of a slip I cut. 
 None of your business where. There's a pretty 
 red for you. And I got another dodge I'm work- 
 ing at. Here. What d'you make of these ? ' 
 
 He flung upon the table a few little sticks, some 
 of them crimson, some blue. 
 
 ' What are these } ' said Margaret, examining 
 them. ' Are they wax } ' 
 
 * Yes, sir. Ordinary beeswax.* 
 
 * You've got them a very beautiful clear colour. 
 Look, Edward. Did you learn the secret your- 
 self.?' 
 
 ' You wouldn't learn to do them at one of your 
 English colleges, sir.' 
 
 ' No. Will the colour stand fire } ' 
 
 ' They're very good coloured wax anyway,' said 
 Captain Tucket, putting them away. 
 
 ' We was thinking of trying to trade at Tolu,' Cam- 
 mock said. * Would you care to stand in with us.-^' 
 
 ' At Tolu ? ' 
 
 ' They may not trade, of course ; but ' 
 
 ' I've come here,' Margaret said, * to establish a 
 trade. Captain Tucket. If I'm not allowed to trade 
 with the Spanish towns, I shall trade here, like 
 you, and defend such traders as come to me. All 
 this coast is going to waste. I want to see all you 
 roving traders banded together to make use of it. 
 The Spanish can't work it. Why should not you 
 join us, with your men, for a beginning ? ' 
 
 ^The jackal went a-huntin' with the lion, sir. 
 But it wasn't him got the tender-loin,' said Tucket. 
 
 'You mean you're afraid that my men might 
 impose on yours ? ' 
 
 290 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 'Ah come, come, Abel,* said Cammock. 'We're 
 old hands, you and I. It's all a matter of articles.' 
 
 ' I must talk it over,' said Abel. ' I'll run over 
 to La Sound's Key and talk it out with my mates. 
 I won't say. No, sir. I won't say. Not one way 
 or the other.' 
 
 He left soon after breakfast, and, having now 
 filled his water, sailed from the key. 
 
 ' He's afraid of me,' said Margaret. ' He's 
 afraid that I come from the Government, to put 
 down privateering. Isn't that what's in his mind } ' 
 
 ' No, sir,' said Cammock. ' He's pleased with 
 the notion. He's a trader. He wants to cut log- 
 wood without any fear of guarda-costas. He'll 
 take all the defence you care to give ; but he won't 
 come cruising with you till he's got enough friends 
 to stop you taking the lion's share. He'll be back 
 to-morrow with some friends.' 
 
 Margaret went ashore, after this, to view the key. 
 It was one of the larger keys of the archipelago. 
 It was about a mile long, running east and west, 
 and about a quarter of a mile across at its broadest 
 part. In its highest part it was not more than 
 sixty feet above the water ; but the trees rising up 
 above it to great height made it seem hilly. A 
 sandy beach shelved down into the water on the 
 side facing the Isthmus. On the north side the 
 shore was rocky and steep-to, and hemmed about, 
 by a five-mile sweep of reef, in a ring of breakers. 
 Indeed, the reef ringed the key round ; but the 
 rocks about the beach did not break the seas. The 
 island could only be approached from the south 
 and east. On the other sides neither ship nor boat 
 could come within great-gun-shot. To the east, 
 
 291 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 for a dozen miles or more, an array of palm keys 
 stretched, with reefs in tumult round them. To 
 approach the key from the east one had to sail 
 within these keys, in a channel or fairway known 
 as Springer's Drive. This channel was bordered to 
 the south by the keys fringing the Isthmus. The 
 double line of keys, separated by three miles of sea, 
 made a sort of palm hedge, or avenue, up to the 
 anchorage. There was good holding-ground and 
 riding in every part of the Drive ; but ships 
 usually rode near Springer's Key, for they could 
 get water there. Unlike most of the keys, it had 
 a spring, which bubbled up strongly on the beach, 
 through an old sunk tar-barrel, some yards beyond 
 the tide-marks. The water was cold and clear, 
 gushing up with a gurgle, making the sand grains 
 dance. The bottom of the cask was covered with 
 rusty iron, old nails, old blades of knives, old 
 round-shot, laid there by sailors, long ago, in the 
 belief that they would make the water medicinal. 
 Some one had dammed up a pool below the cask, for 
 the easier filling of the water-breakers. The water 
 gurgled away, over the lip of the pool, amid a tangle 
 of water plants that bore a profuse, sweet blossom, 
 like a daisy. Margaret had never seen a lovelier 
 place. The brightness of the sun on the sea, the 
 green of the trees towering up beyond him, the 
 macaws of all colours, making their mockeries in 
 sweet notes, were beautiful exceedingly. It was all 
 new and strange to him. He half wished that 
 he might be left alone there. He had no longer 
 any wish to succeed. Had Olivia been on the 
 other side of the v/orld, his strength would have 
 gone to make this spot a home for half the ships 
 
 292 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 in the world. They would have lain there, with 
 their sails as awnings, at anchor off the city he had 
 builded. His citizens would have made those 
 islands another Venice, another Athens, a glorious 
 city, a city of noble life and law. All that was 
 in his imagination might have existed, he thought. 
 All the splendour should have come in praise of 
 her. Nothing would have stopped him. In his 
 heart her face would have flowered, that beautiful, 
 pale face, the image of the woman he loved ; he 
 would have made his city glorious. Marble bridges 
 should have spanned the channels. His empire 
 would have spread. It would have spread over the 
 sea there, over the keys, over the low coast fringed 
 with mangroves, over the hills, dim in the south, 
 over the crags where the clouds streamed, beyond 
 the great bay, far into the south, past Garachina, 
 past Tumbez, beyond Ylo to the Evangelists. He 
 would have been a king. His ships would have 
 scented all the seas of the world, bringing balms 
 and spice home. Now all that was over, he saw 
 what might have been. It would not now be. 
 He had no wish now to see his city rise. He 
 found his imagination dulled. The woman who 
 had been his imagination, through whom, alone, he 
 had lived imaginatively, walked, a tired shadow, 
 with heavy eyes, in the ship beyond the reef. If he 
 passed her she shuddered, averting her eyes. If 
 he spoke to her — twice he had tried to speak 
 to her — she drew in her breath, her eyes shut ; she 
 drew away from him as from a snake. He had no 
 heart left to think of cities. All that he wished 
 now was to do what he could for the merchants who 
 had risked their money. The city would have 
 
 293 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 to wait till the other lover came. The city would 
 rise up glorious from the beauty of some other 
 woman. All his love, and high resolve, and noble 
 effort had come to this, that Olivia thought him 
 something lower than Stukeley, something baser 
 than the beasts. 
 
 He walked with Cammock to the island's eastern 
 end, where a rocky hillock stood out from the 
 trees. He saw that a fort there would command 
 the channel. Six of his long-range guns planted 
 there under cover would be enough to defend the 
 anchorage against any probable attack from 
 guarda-costas. He drew a sketch-plan for a 
 small redoubt, and ordered half his crew ashore to 
 begin the clearing of the ground. He would have 
 a wall of unmortared stones, backed by gabions, 
 leaving embrasures for the six cannon. The out- 
 side of the fort would be covered with earth and 
 sand, so that from a little distance it would look like 
 a natural hillock. He caused a dozen men to cut 
 down bejuco cane, and to plait it, while green, into 
 wattle for the gabions. An Indian prince came to 
 him from the Main that afternoon. He enter- 
 tained him with ceremony, giving gifts of beads 
 and petticoats, with the result that, the next morn- 
 ing, there were fifty natives on the key helping in 
 the clearing of the ground. They, too, were bribed 
 by beads. They were kindly, intelligent fellows, 
 accustomed to be reckoned as the equals of white 
 men, so that Cammock, superintending the work, 
 had to watch his hands, lest they should treat their 
 guests, in the English style, as niggers. The fort, 
 such as it was, was finished on the third day. Its 
 outer face showed from the sea like a sloping 
 
 294 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 hillock, which in a few days would be again green 
 with creepers. Within the wall of gabions, backed 
 by wattle-bound piles, was a gun platform, with 
 dry powder storerooms twenty feet behind each 
 gun. The guns were mounted on iron carriages, 
 and so arranged that each of the six could play 
 across some ninety degrees of the compass. A roof 
 of felt was rigged over each gun, to protect the 
 gunners in the rains. Margaret wished to hoist 
 the colours over the fort ; but Perrin begged that 
 the new republic might be spared, at any rate till it 
 was worth appropriating. Cammock advised him 
 to refrain, lest the buccaneers should suspect him of 
 playing for the hand of the Crown. So no flag was 
 hoisted ; though within the fort, daily, military 
 sentries paced, firing a gun at dawn and sunset. 
 
 While the fort was in building some of the 
 Indians cleared a space among the wood. In the 
 clearing they built a great house for the workers : 
 a thatched house twelve feet high, with wattle walls 
 made rainproof. The uprights supported the ham- 
 mocks at night. Those who slept ashore built 
 always a fire of aromatic leaves in the house's 
 centre. Before turning in they sprinkled this with 
 water to make a smoke. Those who woke in the 
 night smelt the sweet, strong smoke which made 
 their eyes smart, and heard without the never- 
 ceasing march of the surf, the drone of the dew- 
 flies, and the drowsy twang of the mosquitoes, 
 plagued by the smoke. 
 
 Captain Tucket returned after some days with a 
 sample of logwood and a consort. The consort 
 was that Captain Pain who afterwards made such a 
 stir in the Western Gulf He was a prosperous 
 
 295 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 captain even then. His ship was a fine French- 
 built vessel of great beauty. His crew numbered 
 ninety-seven hands, the very flower of the trade. 
 He seemed suspicious of Margaret, who opened a 
 trade with him on liberal terms. The privateers 
 bought arms and clothes, paying for them with 
 silver and gold ; but there was constraint on both 
 sides. The privateers were suspicious. At dinner 
 in the trade-room Captain Pain gave voice to his 
 suspicions. 
 
 ' You're a gentleman,' he said. ' I don't know 
 what you want out here.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Margaret, * I've already told you. 
 I've a scheme for breaking the Spanish power here. 
 But before I take any violent action I wish to try 
 once again to establish a trade on ordinary, peace- 
 ful, European lines. There is no reason why they 
 shouldn't trade.' 
 
 ' And if they do,' said Pain, ' where do we come 
 in?* 
 
 ' You will be my partner, I hope,' said Margaret. 
 ' We will have all these islands laid out in vanillas, 
 cacao, indigo, anatta, cochineal, everything. All 
 the Isthmus there will be our estate. We shall 
 trade with the Spaniards and the whole of Europe.' 
 
 * Very nice, too,' said Pain. * But if the Spaniards 
 won't trade ? ' 
 
 ' Then we shall declare that they've no right 
 here, and that we, in the name of the rest of the 
 world, have a right to assist the rightful owners of 
 the country, who wish us to trade.' 
 
 * And then a governor '11 come, and stop our 
 going on the account,' said Pain. 
 
 ' Yes. But if he does,' said Margaret, ' you 
 296 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 must see that with the Isthmus in your hands 
 you'll be better off than you are now. What do 
 you do now ? You pick up a boatful of sugar 
 once a month, and share a crown a man. Then 
 you run short of food and go to Toro for turtle.' 
 ' That's it, Pete,' said Cammock. 
 
 * Your scheme's very pretty,' Pain said. * But 
 you're a gentleman. I ain't a gentleman myself, 
 thank God, and I don't know what your game is. 
 You're either a bit off your biscuit, or you're in 
 with the Government. That's my candid opinion.' 
 
 ' All right,' said Margaret. ' We won't go into 
 that.' 
 
 At this moment Stukeley entered, a little flown 
 with rum, from the ward-room dinner. 
 
 ' Hello, Maggy,' he said. ' I've come to talk 
 with Captain Pain here. Your servant, captain. I 
 suppose these twisters here have been talking about 
 and about it. Eh } They make a man sick, I say. 
 Eh ? Hold your tongue, Maggy. Wait till you're 
 spoken to. I've got something to say. The men 
 of war — my friends in the 'tween-decks there — 
 they've been talking with me while you've been 
 talking here. You talk all day, and leave off just 
 where you were.' 
 
 ^ And what have you done } ' said Perrin. 
 
 ' I'm not addressing you, Pilly.' 
 
 * Do you come as the spokesman of the men of 
 war ? ' Margaret asked. 
 
 ' Yes, I do, my little Maggy.' 
 ' Gamage is a shy, retiring soul,' Perrin said. 
 ' He isn't a little crawler, anyway.' 
 ' Well,' Cammock said, ' let's have the message. 
 Here's Captain Pete waiting on us.' 
 
 297 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' Right/ Stukeley said, sitting down at the table. 
 ' Then I'm to tell you that the men of war want to 
 know when they're going to have what they came 
 for. They're sick of doing sentry-go in the ant- 
 heap yonder. They signed for a roving life.' 
 
 'They signed to obey our orders,' Cammock 
 said. 'They'll get all the roving they've a need 
 for soon enough.' 
 
 ' So they say,' Stukeley answered. ' If you 
 don't give it them they'll take it, and half your 
 crew besides.' 
 
 ' I'll look after my crew,' Cammock said. 
 
 ' Not with Captain Tucket and Captain Pain 
 here,' said Stukeley, grinning. ' You see. If you 
 cut up nasty, Cammock. Why. You've a very 
 good ship, and a lot of useful weapons in your 
 hold. Long eighteens. Eh } Carry a mile and a 
 quarter. What's to stop us putting you ashore. Eh V 
 
 'That's what we did to the Frenchman,' Cam- 
 mock said. ' D'you remember, Pete } ' 
 
 ' At the Isla Vache,' said Pain, looking down 
 modestly. ' I remember.' 
 
 He spoke with such a strange inflection that none 
 there could guess his meaning, though all looked at 
 him curiously. He turned to Stukeley with atten- 
 tion, as though expecting something more. 
 
 'So,' Stukeley continued, 'your humble ser- 
 vants of the 'tween-decks ask that you will give 
 them a brush. Or ' 
 
 ' Or what 1 ' 
 
 'They'll ask Captain Pain here to find them 
 hammock-space.' 
 
 Captain Pain seemed to search Stukeley's face 
 for something further. 
 
 298 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 ' You seem determined to put me in a queer 
 position, mister/ he said. * But come now, Mr. 
 Margaret. What's wrong with having a go at 
 Tolu } We've a hundred and ninety men. Why 
 not .? ' 
 
 * 1 must trade, or try to trade. Fve told you. 
 I'm a merchant.' 
 
 ' Quite right, sir,' said Tucket. * I'm a merchant, 
 too. I'd be only too glad to trade.' 
 
 ' They won't let you,' said Stukeley. ' So why 
 not look at the position honestly.' 
 
 ' Well. Trade. Try it,' said Pain. * If you 
 try it, you'll get a sickener. Then you'll fight all 
 the better, after.' 
 
 * They used to trade,' said Cammock. * I've 
 known a lot of interloping done. At Maracaibo 
 they traded.' 
 
 ' They won't now,' Pain said. * Any man caught 
 trading without the King's licence is up for the 
 everlasting prison remediless. You don't believe 
 me. You try.' 
 
 * I shall try,' Margaret said. 
 
 * Right O,' said Pain. * Then we'll sail to-morrow. 
 Our two ships will keep out of sight of land. We 
 could lie by among them Bernadoes. You can 
 send in samples with your interpreter in Captain 
 Tucket's sloop. If they see a big ship standing in 
 they'll fire at her. So send the sloop. They'll not 
 listen to you. They'll likely fire at the sloop. So 
 the next morning we'll land and take the town. 
 There's twenty pound a man in Tolu. Silver.' 
 
 Cammock, to give Margaret the cue, for he 
 knew that Pain held the whip hand, said that he 
 approved. ' That sounds like business,' he said. 
 
 299 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * This is Tolu, Captain Margaret/ He pulled out 
 a quarto pocket-book containing elaborate charts of 
 many places on the Main. The book had been the 
 work of many days, and of many hands, for some 
 of the charts had been copied, some made on the 
 spot, some taken in fight, others bought, or drawn 
 from hearsay, or bequeathed. It contained manu- 
 script notes worth a lot of money to a good many 
 people. 'This is Tolu, sir. In Morrosquillo Gulf 
 here. This long beach runs twenty miles. It's 
 all hard sand, shelving, and shallowish water in the 
 gulf. Then back of the town there's forest. But 
 all very flat land, as far as Cispata. Ain't that so, 
 Pete .? ' 
 
 * Flat as your palm. Them's nice maps you got, 
 Lion.' 
 
 ' Yes. I got some nice ones of these here 
 islands. Every anchorage and spring marked. 
 Basil done them. You remember Basil, Pete. He 
 was a very good drawrer.' 
 
 ' Doctor Basil ? Yes. He drawed a tooth of 
 mine once.' 
 
 ' Ah } Now as for Tolu, Captain Margaret. 
 It's a walled town. But the only guns are in the 
 sea-wall. And the wall ain't much more than 
 gabions. Not much stone about it. If it comes 
 to fighting, we'll land on the beach away south here, 
 and creep up, wading, along the beach, so as to 
 arrive about dawn.' 
 
 'Well, Captain Pain,' said Margaret. 'We'll 
 sail to-morrow. We'll see which of us is right.' 
 
 He smiled pleasantly ; but his thoughts were 
 bitter. He saw that to succeed on the Main one 
 needed to be one of the crowd. Pain there, the 
 
 300 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 inscrutable, pale man, had long ago decided how to 
 use him. He, a cultured gentleman, with a King's 
 commission, was in Pain's hands. He must either 
 go with Pain, or lose his crew. His crew would 
 follow Pain at a nod. If he tried to coerce either 
 Pain or his crew, he saw that there would be trouble. 
 The Bro\en Heart would be taken from him. He 
 had not thought of this chance ; but he remembered a 
 word of Cammock's : ' Give them some little success, 
 and they'll do anything.' If this trading venture 
 prospered, he could proceed to Jamaica, he could 
 come to some treaty with the Spaniards, pledging 
 himself to put down privateering. If the trading 
 venture failed, then it would rest with him to make 
 a conquest of the Indies, to gather all these thieves 
 into a company, and strike at Spain till she tottered. 
 After Tolu, and Tolu would have to be a success, 
 he would lead them against Cartagena. Then he 
 might be able to make a head. At present he was 
 a ' new standard.' He understood Pain's point of 
 view. He knew that he must appear to Pain as an 
 uppish youth who thought that he knew more than 
 old hands. He would show them that he did 
 know more. 
 
 ' By the way, Pete,' Cammock said, ^ what come 
 of George Bond ? ' 
 
 Pete laughed. ' Oh, him,' he said. ' He went 
 to Portobel, and joined the Spaniards.' 
 
 ^ How did the Spaniards treat him } ' Perrin 
 asked. He had heard of that wild spirit from 
 Cammock. 
 
 * Dunno,* said Pain carelessly. * Give him a 
 position in the Government, I heard.' He turned 
 to Cammock. ^One of Bill Knight's lot was in 
 
 301 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Panama a year ago,' he continued. ' He said he 
 was got to be a big one there.' 
 
 'Ah .?' said Cammock. 'Well. It's right, too. 
 There's very good openings for a man in a Spanish 
 town here.' 
 
 ' Indeed,' said Margaret. ' I should have thought 
 there was bitter feeling.' 
 
 ' Not a bit of it, sir. There's only the religious 
 trouble.' 
 
 ' That didn't worry George much,' Pete said. 
 
 After this the conversation died down, till Stuke- 
 ley asked if a herald from a landing party ran risk 
 of being shot. 
 
 ' No,' said Pain. ' I done it two or three times. 
 You go ashore under a white flag, holding up your 
 hands, and then they come and blindfold you, and 
 take you into the town. Then you say your piece 
 to the Governor, and then you come back.' 
 
 'Then,' said Stukeley, 'you'd better prime me 
 now in what you want said, Maggy. I must have 
 a set speech ready for anything the old cove 
 asks me.' 
 
 ' That's quite true. I'm glad you reminded me. 
 We'll go into it. To-morrow morning, then. 
 Captain Pain. But I wish you could have waited 
 till my ship was scrubbed.' 
 
 'Time enough, Mr. Margaret,' Pain answered. 
 ' We'll careen her when we come back.' 
 
 He went on deck with Cammock, leaving Mar- 
 garet to instruct Stukeley in the matter of his 
 speech to the Spanish Governor. One speech, 
 which ran, ' Your Excellency, I hold my King's 
 commission. If you permit me to trade here I 
 pledge my honour to assist your King against his 
 
 302 
 
The LANDFALL 
 
 enemies in these seas,' seemed to Stukeley to be a 
 pleasant jest. He repeated it, grinning, till he had 
 it letter perfect. Then he repeated it in Spanish, 
 and left the cabin, laughing. 
 
 * Come back here a moment, Stukeley,' Margaret 
 called. ^ I've got something I want to say to you.' 
 
 ' What now .'' ' Stukeley answered. 
 
 ^Stukeley,' he said, 'we're going on a dangerous 
 business to-morrow. I want you before we leave 
 the ship to see your wife. Will you do that ^ I 
 don't want to preach. I only ask you to realize 
 what it might be to her if anything happened to 
 you.' 
 
 ' I'll manage my own relations with my wife,' he 
 answered. 
 
 ' Stukeley, she's a long way from friends. Life 
 isn't very sweet to her.' 
 
 ' I'll make it a good deal sourer if you come 
 crawling round. Well, I'll see her. Now then. 
 No more. Good night. Captain Maggy.' 
 
 The door slammed behind him with a clatter of 
 swinging hooks. Margaret was alone, his face 
 buried in his hands, with his world tottering about 
 him, ready to fall. 
 
 303 
 
XI 
 
 The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 * Was it not sin enough, and wickedness, 
 Thus like a rotten rascal to abuse 
 The name of Heav'n, the tie of marriage. 
 The honour of thy friends, the expectation, 
 Of all that thought thee virtuous, with rebellion, 
 After forgiveness, too ? * 
 
 The Womans Prize 
 
 TN the morning, when they were under way, with 
 the two little hills of Pinos astern of them, 
 and the ship's bows turned towards Morrosquillo, 
 far to the east, still two days distant. Captain 
 Margaret sent Perrin to the cabin to request an 
 audience with Olivia. As he had feared, she 
 refused to see him. She sat, pale and exhausted, 
 at the table, Perrin said, too weary of life to ask 
 whither they were bound, or to ask the nature of 
 their consorts, now sailing easily, under reduced 
 sail, near the lumbering Bro\en Hearty foul with 
 long weeks at sea. She did not care what hap- 
 pened ; but, finding Perrin importunate, she left 
 the cabin, and for two days saw no one. On the 
 second day the ships anchored between Ceycen and 
 the Overfalls, in a harbour shut away by wooded 
 keys, from which the brooks fell pleasantly, with a 
 rippling chatter, that was drowsy and delight- 
 some, after the glare of the sun on the sea, 
 in the hot calms. They loaded the sloop with 
 samples during the afternoon, and chose out 
 
 304 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 hands to go in her. Stukeley was to go as herald 
 and interpreter, Margaret as principal, in case the 
 matter came to a conference ; while as crew they 
 picked ten from the BroJ^en Hearty five from Pain, 
 five from Tucket, all good shots, well armed. 
 Perrin was to stay aboard with Cammock, so that 
 Olivia might have a friend aboard, in case the 
 sloop was lost. 
 
 After breakfast, Margaret made a last attempt to 
 speak with her. He entered the cabin unan- 
 nounced, to find her sitting there, in a black gown, 
 a Bible before her, and her face all pale, her eyes 
 with dark rings round them. She looked up as he 
 entered, then sank back, closing her eyes, with a 
 sharp intake of her breath. 
 
 * What do you want with me ^ ' she asked in a 
 hard voice. ' Have you come to see if — if ' 
 
 * Olivia,* he answered, * I've come to tell you 
 that I'm going to a town, now. There's danger. 
 I'm going with. I mean. Your husband is com- 
 ing. It's a dangerous service. I want you to try 
 to realize, that. That your husband's going on a 
 dangerous service. That you might like to see 
 him.' 
 
 *Yes,' she answered. ^That I might like to 
 see him. Go on.* 
 
 'That is all,' he said. 'Except that I may not 
 see you again. That I wouldn't like.' The words 
 dragged ; his mouth was quite dry. He stumbled 
 in his speech and began again. 
 
 ' Olivia,' he said. ' My conduct. I thought 
 I acted for the best. I ask you to forgve me.' 
 
 ' Forgive you } ' she said. ' Thank you. But 
 I've no wish to. You lied to me from the 
 X 30s 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 moment I came into the ship. You lied at Sal- 
 combe. At Falmouth. All the voyage. In Vir- 
 ginia. And then you thought you had lied enough 
 for your purpose. You let me learn the truth.' 
 ' Yes,' he answered, ' I lied. I lied to save you.' 
 ' Ah,' she said, with disgust. * You lied to save 
 me, till it was too late for me to hear the truth.' 
 
 * Olivia,' he continued, ^ I won't speak more of 
 myself. Your husband. I think he wants. He 
 wants to see you. There may be danger. He 
 wants to see you. He wants to say good-bye. 
 I am going now,' he added. ' Olivia, we've been 
 in each other's lives a long time. Could you. 
 Could you let this.' He stumbled in his speech 
 again. She did not help him. His throat was 
 dry like a kiln ; he seemed unable to speak. ' I 
 am going now,' he said again. ' I'll send your 
 husband to you.' He bowed, and left the cabin. 
 As he closed the door he thought that he could 
 not remember his last sight of her. He could 
 not remember her face as it had last looked upon 
 him. 
 
 In the alleyway he met Stukeley coming from 
 Cammock's state-room. 
 
 * I was looking for you,' said Stukeley. ' We're 
 waiting for you. It's time we went.' 
 
 ^ Your wife's in the cabin,' he answered. ' She's 
 waiting for you. To say good-bye.' As he spoke, 
 the cabin door opened, and Olivia came out into 
 the alleyway. 
 
 ' Tom,' she said, ' where are you going with this 
 man } ' 
 
 'Hello, Livy,' he answered. 'I'm just going 
 ashore, to interview the Spaniards.' 
 
 306 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 * He says that there is danger.' 
 
 * Danger ? Rubbish. You ass, Maggy. Why 
 can't you keep your head shut } ' 
 
 ' Oh. So perhaps he lied again.' 
 
 * ril leave you,' Margaret said, turning away. 
 
 * No. Do not go,' she answered. ' I've some- 
 thing to say to you, Tom. I want you to hear it, 
 Charles. Tom, there's danger in going ashore 
 here. Oh, I know it. I know it. Tom, dear, 
 since we came here there's been something between 
 us always. Ever since. Tom, dear, you were 
 afraid that I should be angry. Unforgiving. You 
 might have trusted me, Tom. You were afraid 
 I should hate you. I wasn't very wise. It was so 
 sudden. And I wasn't myself, Tom. It's not too 
 late, dear. Don't let it be too late, Tom.' She 
 paused, looking to her husband for the answer 
 she had put into his mouth. Stukeley found it 
 hard to answer. * Oh, Tom, I want you back. I 
 want you back.' 
 
 * There, Livy,' Stukeley said. ^ There, Livy.' 
 He took her in his arms and kissed her. ' When 
 I come back, dear,' he added. ' I must go now. 
 I'm going ashore.' 
 
 * Don't go, Tom. Oh, Tom, don't go. There's 
 danger. You may be hurt. Charles, tell him.' 
 
 ' It's all right, old girl. They all swore there's 
 not the slightest danger. We shall be back by four 
 o'clock if the wind holds.' 
 
 'There's danger,' Margaret said. 
 
 ' Tom, you wouldn't leave me at a moment like 
 this.' 
 
 ' I must, Livy.' A thought seemed to strike him. 
 * Look here, Livy. It must be our first step to 
 
 307 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 — to our new life together. To a new life out 
 here.' 
 
 'Tom, my darling, are you sure there's no 
 danger ? ' 
 
 ' There is no danger. None. How many more 
 times } * 
 
 ' Charles,* she said, ' come here. I've been. 
 Been. Not myself. I spoke cruelly. I want you 
 to forgive me, Charles. Take my hand. And 
 yours, Tom. This is going to be the beginning of 
 a new life together. Will you let it be that, Charles } 
 You will, Tom ^ ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Tom. 
 
 ' It shall be that,' Margaret said. They shook 
 hands in the alleyway, making their bonds of peace. 
 
 * You're my Tom again now,' she said lowly. 
 *■ I've forgotten all the rest, dear.' 
 
 ' Right,' he said, kissing her. ' I was a beast. 
 Good-bye, dear.' 
 
 ' Not a beast,' she said. * Never that.' 
 
 Margaret turned aside, crushing his hat-brim, 
 wondering what new misery was in store for 
 her. He walked softly out on deck, leaving the 
 two to their farewell. Perrin said something to 
 him. Cammock was not in sight. A little knot of 
 men stood in the waist, idly watching the sloop. 
 
 Presently Stukeley came from the alleyway with 
 a grin upon his face. 'Anything for a quiet life,' 
 he said. ' Down into the boat with you, Maggy.' 
 
 As they shoved off from the Bro\en Hearty Olivia 
 waved to them from her state-room port. Mar- 
 garet felt a pang of remorse that he had not shaken 
 hands with Perrin, nor spoken with Cammock, 
 before leaving the ship. He was nearly alongside 
 
 308 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 the sloop when he saw Cammock*s hat above the 
 poop nettings. 
 
 * He's hailing you, Captain Margaret/ said the 
 stroke oar. 
 
 ' Oars a moment.' The men lay on their oars, 
 watching the drops fall from the blades into the sea. 
 The roar of Cammock sounded. 
 
 * What does he say } ' said Margaret. ' I can't 
 make out.' 
 
 ' Something about a map, I think he said, 
 sir.' 
 
 ' Did you hear, Stukeley ? ' 
 
 ^ Map or tap, or something. But let's go on. 
 We're late.' 
 
 ' No. I must hear. Back a stroke, port oars. 
 Way, starboard. I'll pull back to find out. Way 
 together.' 
 
 Fifty yards nearer to the ship they again lay on 
 their oars. This time the hail was clear. 
 
 ' Have you seen my book of maps ? ' 
 
 ' No,' Margaret shouted. * You had it in your 
 pocket last night.' 
 
 * What's that you say } ' 
 
 ' You had it in your pocket last night.* 
 
 ' Yes. But 1 can't find it.' 
 
 ' I've not had it. Ask Mr. Perrin.' He sat 
 down in his seat, Cammock shouted a farewell, to 
 which Margaret raised his hand in salute. 
 
 * He's lost his book of maps,' said Margaret to 
 Stukeley. 
 
 ' Nothing can be lost in a ship,' said Stukeley. 
 ' Besides, what's a book of maps ? ' 
 
 ' That book was worth a good deal. The Span- 
 iards would pay a high price for it. With all 
 
 309 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 those charts to help them, they could put down 
 privateering when they pleased.' 
 
 ' Oh, rubbish,' said Stukeley, swinging himself up 
 the sloop's side. ' He could easy get duplicates.' 
 
 The sloop was already under sail. The men 
 climbed aboard, and let the boat drag astern. The 
 helm was put up a little, the fore sheet was let 
 draw. Soon, as the boom swung over, straining 
 the blocks, when the mainsail filled, they slipped 
 clear of the anchorage. Looking over the rail, 
 they saw the nettings of the two ships lined with 
 men, some of whom waved caps in farewell. 
 
 Captain Tucket came to command his sloop. 
 He talked little ; for he was trying a new dye. 
 He was boiling a handkerchief in a pan of herbs, 
 over a little brazier fixed on the deck. The experi- 
 ment made him silent ; but in moments of enthu- 
 siasm he spoke a few words, stirring the mess with 
 a fid. 
 
 ' What colour are you trying to get ^ ' Margaret 
 asked. 
 
 'One of them bright greens the Indians get.' 
 
 *" You never will, cap,' said the helmsman. 
 'Them Indians use moss; a kind of tree moss. 
 I've seed 'em do it.' 
 
 'Well, if this don't turn out a green, I'll wash 
 in it.' 
 
 ' What's the matter, Stukeley } Is anything the 
 matter ? ' Stukeley had burst out laughing without 
 apparent reason. 
 
 ' Nothing's the matter,' Stukeley answered. ' 1 
 was thinking of my interview with the Governor.' 
 
 It was high noon when they arrived at Tolu 
 Road. They hoisted a white flag, and stood in 
 
 310 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 boldly till they were a mile to the south-west of the 
 town. Here the sloop was hove-to, while the men 
 prepared for their journey. The six oarsmen of 
 the whale-boat stuffed loaded pistols within their 
 shirts, and laid their muskets in oilskin cases 
 below the thwarts. Margaret and Stukeley sat in 
 the sternsheets, both wearing their swords. 
 Tucket, who steered with an oar, was armed with 
 pistols. A flag of truce was hoisted in the boat. 
 Tucket told his mate to keep a sharp look out in 
 the sloop, and to run in to pick them up * if any- 
 thing happened.' Then the little lugsail was 
 hoisted, and the boat began to move towards the 
 town. 
 
 Margaret was disappointed with himself as the 
 boat crept on towards the town. He had so often 
 lived over this adventure in his fancy that the 
 reality seemed tame to him. He was disappointed 
 with the look of the city ; it seemed but a mean 
 place ; a church, a fort, a few stone houses, a gleam 
 of red pantiles against the forest, and a mud wall 
 ringing it in. The bell tinkled in the belfry, 
 tinkled continually, jerked by a negro who had had 
 no orders to stop. It seemed to Margaret that a 
 bell was out of place in that half-savage town. It 
 was not a Christian town. Those were not Chris- 
 tians on the beach. They were Indians, negroes, 
 convicts, runaways, half-breeds. They needed 
 some bloodier temple than that old church in the 
 square. They needed a space in the forest, lit by 
 fires in the night. They needed the reek of sacri- 
 fice and the clang of gongs. And this was the 
 place he had sailed to. Here his life's venture was 
 to be put to the touch. Here, in this place, this 
 
 311 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 little old squalid city between the sea and the 
 jungle. All the long anxieties were to be resolved 
 there. There on the sand, beyond the spume of 
 the breakers, the doubts were to end. He could 
 not bring himself to care. His thoughts ran on the 
 pale face of Olivia, on her words to him, on the 
 possibility of a new life for her. 
 
 * Stukeley,' he said, speaking very quietly in his 
 hearer's ear, ' look here. I want to say this. 
 After this business, if you care, would you like to 
 settle in Jamaica or somewhere } Or in France } 
 You and Olivia } You could draw on me, you 
 know. We could start something together.' 
 
 Stukeley seemed to measure the distance between 
 the boat and the shore. He looked at Margaret 
 with a gleam of humour in his eyes. 
 
 ' Thanks,' he said. ' I'll think it over.' 
 
 * Very well,' Margaret said. ' There comes the 
 captain. What strange little horses. Are they 
 imported, Captain Tucket } ' 
 
 ' No, sir. This country horses. Imported horses 
 die of the heat, or the change of grass. Beyond 
 Carta-yaina there's very good horse country,' 
 
 The rabble on the beach drew back now towards 
 the town, handling their arms. Half a dozen 
 horsemen rode as though to meet the boat, almost 
 to the lip of the sea. One of them, a negro, who 
 held his stirrups with his toes, carried a pennon. 
 
 ' The lad on the pinto's the capataz,' said Tucket 
 in his beard, ^ Stand up with the flag in the bows 
 there. Down sail. Let your oars swing fore and 
 aft in their grummets, ready to back her off. Wave 
 your flag of truce, Ed. Don't shake your pistols 
 out though. Stand by. Captain Stukeley.' 
 
 312 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 ' Are they friendly, do you think ? * 
 
 ' Sure; 
 
 ^ Oh, Stukeley,' Margaret said. ' This little case 
 contains a ring for the Governor. Say that you 
 trust that it may have the felicity to fit.* 
 
 ' I will,' said Stukeley. ' They carry some plate 
 on their headstalls, don't they } ' He put the case 
 in his pocket. 
 
 The bow man waved his flag of truce, then 
 lowered it, and knelt, waiting for the shock of 
 the grounding. Very gently, in the wash of little 
 waves and slipping shingle, the boat's nose 
 took the sand. Captain Margaret stepped across 
 the thwarts, holding a white cloth in his hand. 
 Watching his time, he leaped nimbly beyond the 
 water, and uncovered. Stukeley followed him, 
 jumping clumsily. It seemed to Margaret, as he 
 turned sharply, thinking that the man had fallen, 
 that a book in Stukeley's inner pocket was surely 
 Cammock's map-book. It half jolted out as the 
 coat flew open. It was a glimpse, nothing more. 
 Perhaps he was wrong. The two men stood un- 
 covered before the horsemen, who watched them 
 with the grave eyes of animals. An elderly man 
 among the riders rode forward for a pace or two, 
 uncovering with a gesture full of dignity. He had 
 the bearing of a soldier. It seemed to Margaret 
 that the gesture explained the might of Spain. 
 Stukeley advanced towards the horseman with his 
 hat beating against his knee. He spoke quietly in 
 Spanish. After a few words, the elderly man dis- 
 mounted, and the two walked to and fro together, 
 talking with a grave politeness, which seemed 'to ex- 
 tend to the listeners, whether they understood or not. 
 
 313 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Presently Stukeley bowed very low to the cap- 
 tain, and walked jauntily to Margaret. ^ It's all 
 right,' he said. ^ I think they'll do your business 
 for you. They're very friendly. They're going to 
 take me to see the Governor.' 
 
 ' Am I to come ? ' 
 
 ' Only one man, he says. I may have to stay to 
 dinner.' 
 
 ' You think you run no risk ? I'm willing to 
 come if you think you run any. I ought to 
 share it.' 
 
 'They're all right. There's no risk. But he 
 offers a hostage.' 
 
 ' One of those cut-throats } ' 
 
 *It ain't very polite to accept. Eh ? I'll go 
 alone. He knows you've a commission. I've 
 shown him that duplicate. It's all right. I'll go 
 off now. So long, my Maggy. Con Dios, cabal- 
 lero. Try and keep warm on the sands here.' 
 
 He saluted the boat's crew, gave Margaret a 
 queer glance, and rejoined the capataz, who bowed 
 to them gravely. The negro with the pennon led 
 the dismounted horse. The capataz walked with 
 Stukeley, followed by the other troopers. They 
 went slowly towards the gate of the city. The 
 troopers made their horses curvet and passage, 
 clashing their silver gear. Margaret stood at the 
 lip of the water, watching them, till they had 
 passed within the gate, followed by the rabble. 
 
 The boatmen held that it would not be politic to 
 return to the sloop. ' It might seem as we didn't 
 trust them,' Tucket said. So they rigged the boat- 
 rug as an awning over the sternsheets, and whiled 
 away the time, suffering much from the heat. It 
 
 314 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 was a stifling day. The time passed slowly, with 
 many calls for the water-breaker. They made their 
 dinner of plantains, then smoked, exchanging stories, 
 longing for Stukeley's return. Margaret found 
 the time less irksome than he had expected ; for 
 Tucket began to talk, out of a full heart, about the 
 subjects dear to him. He had never had such a 
 listener before. Margaret drew him out, with his 
 usual sympathy, till the man*s inmost life was bare 
 before him. Such woods would take a polish, and 
 such other woods would take a stain ; and such and 
 such resins, why should they not stain a wood to all 
 colours of the rainbow, if treated with care in the 
 right way } It would be fine. Captain Tucket said, 
 to be a chemist, and have nothing else to do but to 
 watch your dye vats all day long. Vats of indigo, of 
 
 anatta, of cochineal, all the lovely colours, and 
 
 Say. If one could get a green that showed the 
 light in it, like the water breaking on a reef. The 
 hours passed ; it was nearly three o'clock ; but 
 still no Stukeley. 
 
 * The Guv'nor dines late, I don't think,' said one 
 of the men. 
 
 * I guess it's difficult to get away from the 
 donnas,' said another. The others laughed ; for 
 Stukeley's faults were well known. 
 
 ' I dunno, sir,' said Tucket. ' It seems a bit 
 odd.' 
 
 * He seemed very sanguine about it,' Margaret 
 answered. 
 
 ' I ain't much charmed with your friend, myself,' 
 said Tucket. * I don't trust that Master Stukeley.' 
 
 ' You don't think he's deserted ? Is that your 
 meaning ? ' 
 
 31S 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Well, I wouldn't a trusted him to be my inter- 
 preter,' Tucket answered, with the growl of one 
 whose superior wisdom, now proved, is proved too 
 late. *We could a give you Thomas Gandy. 
 He'd have done as good. He knows Spanish just 
 like a book, Tom do. And you could a trusted 
 Tom with your life. Now you ain't on too good 
 terms with the Mr. Stukeley feller.' 
 
 ' Shall I go into the town, then } To see if 
 anything's wrong } ' 
 
 ' Why no, sir. That's putting your joint in the 
 fire to hot your soup. Stay here, sir.' 
 
 'Well, we'll wait a little longer. What d'you 
 say to bathing } ' 
 
 ' It's not really safe, sir. There's cat-fish on this 
 coast. Besides, we better not get all over the place 
 like shifting backstays. Them Dagoes might come 
 some of their monkey-tricks.' 
 
 ' The town is quiet enough.' 
 
 ' Siesta time,' said one of the men. * They likes 
 a doss in the afternoon.' 
 
 ' I dunno what to think,' Tucket said. * But 
 't'ain't too wholesome, to my mind.' 
 
 ' He said he might be kept for dinner.' 
 
 ' He could a sent word. Or they'd a sent dinner 
 here. I've knowed Dagoes do that. You got 
 good eyes, Ed. What d'you make of the woods 
 there, back of the sand } ' He turned to Mar- 
 garet. * He been with the Indians three or four 
 years, Ed done. He sees things in brush like that, 
 just like an animal.' 
 
 All hands stared into the wall of green, which 
 rose up eighty yards away, beyond the line of the 
 sand. The trees towered up, notching the sky with 
 
 316 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 their outlines. The sun blazed down upon them, 
 till they flashed, as though their leaves were green 
 steel. They made a wall of forest, linked, tangled, 
 criss-crossed, hiding an inner darkness. A parrot 
 was tearing at a blossom high up on a creeper, 
 flinging out the petals with little wicked twists of 
 his head. He showed up clearly against the sky 
 in that strong light. 
 
 * Nothing wrong there,' said Ed. ' Look at the 
 parrot.' 
 
 They looked at the parrot, and laughed to hear 
 him abuse the flower. 
 
 'They're the kind you can learn to speak, sir,' 
 said a seaman. ' I've known some of them birds 
 swear, you would think it was real. Some of them 
 can do it in Spanish.' 
 
 ' The Spaniards don't swear,' said another man. 
 
 ' They've got caramba,' said the first. ' Caramba. 
 That's the same as God damn is in English.' 
 
 ' Funny way of saying it,' said the other. 
 
 ' Some one's in that brush,' said the man called 
 Ed. * See the paharo .? ' 
 
 Something had startled the parrot. He leaped 
 up with a scream from his liane, made a half-circle 
 in the air, and flew away, wavering, along the 
 coast. One or two other birds rose as quietly as 
 moths, and flitted into the night of the wood. A 
 deer stepped out on to the beach daintily, picking 
 her steps. She sniflFed towards the town, listened, 
 seemed to hear something, caught sight of the boat, 
 and fled. There came a sudden chattering of 
 monkeys, a burst of abusive crying, lasting only 
 for a moment. 
 
 * D'ye see anything, Ed .? ' 
 
 317 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^ There's plenty of em, cap, I guess/ 
 
 ^ Can you hear 'em ? Lay your head on the 
 ground.' 
 
 *The wash of the sea's too loud. 1 can't hear 
 nothing.' 
 
 * They're coming from the town, are they .? ' 
 
 ' Sure.' 
 
 ' Is there a road at the back of that wood } ' 
 Margaret asked. 
 
 'No, sir. I guess not. The Dagoes use the 
 beach as a road.' 
 
 'Yes,' said a seaman. 'They go to Covenas. 
 A town along there. They always go by the 
 beach.' 
 
 ' Do you know this place, then .? ' 
 
 ' I worked on them walls a year, once. I'd ought 
 to know it.' 
 
 ' D'ye make out anything more, Ed } ' 
 
 ' They're not far off yet, I guess, cap.' 
 
 ' Do you think it's an ambush. Captain Tucket ?' 
 Margaret asked. 
 
 'No saying, mister. May as well make ready,' he 
 answered. ' We'll lay out our boat's kedge to sea- 
 ward, so as we can warp off in a hurry.' 
 
 They rowed the boat out into the bay, dropped 
 their kedge, and backed her stern-first to the beach. 
 They struck the awning, hoisted sail, and laid their 
 oars in the thole-pins. They waited for another 
 half-hour, watching the mysterious forest. 
 
 ' I guess we'll go off to the sloop, cap,' said a 
 seaman. ' He's give us the flying foretopsail.' 
 
 'Them paharos is back among them berries,' 
 said Ed. ' I guess it was boys come for plan- 
 tains.' 
 
 '318 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 * I dunno/ said Tucket. * It's odd our man 
 ain't come/ 
 
 *■ I must go up to the town to find out about 
 him,' Margaret said. * I can't wait like this.' 
 
 ' I wouldn't, sir,' said Tucket. * What do you 
 say, boys ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said the men. ' No. It wouldn't do.* 
 
 ^ But I got him to go. I can't let him get into 
 trouble through me. I'm responsible. I must see 
 about him. I can't go back without him.' 
 
 * He's give you the foresheet, sir,' said one of 
 the men. 
 
 ' Yes. The son of a gun. I guess he has,' said 
 another. 
 
 'There's some one in that brush,' said Ed. 
 ' Them paharos has topped their booms for keeps.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Margaret, taking out his white 
 cloth, noting the wild, frightened flight of a half- 
 dozen parrots, ' I'm going to the some one, to find 
 out.' He leaped from the sternsheets into the 
 shallow water, and began to wade ashore, holding 
 his cloth. 
 
 ' Don't you try it. You come back, sir,' called 
 Tucket. 
 
 Margaret heard some one (he thought it was 
 Ed's voice) saying, ' He's brave all right,' and then, 
 behind him, came the click of gunlocks. He 
 glanced back, and saw that two of the men in the 
 sternsheets had taken out their guns, while a third 
 man laid other loaded guns ready to their hands. 
 Ed called to him as he turned. 
 
 ' You come back, sir.' Then, seeing that his 
 words were of no avail, he leaped into the water 
 and caught him by the arm. ' Back to the boat, 
 
 319 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 sir/ he said. * It's not you only. It might 
 be us.* 
 
 * 1 must find out about my friend,' said Mar- 
 garet. ' I can't leave him as he is,' 
 
 ' Bring him back, Ed. Make him come back,' 
 called the boatmen. 
 
 ^ Now you go back,' Ed repeated, grinning, * or 
 I'll have to put you.' He looked up suddenly at 
 the forest. * My Santa Marta I ' he cried. ' Into 
 the boat. Here they are.' He thrust Margaret 
 backwards towards his fellows, and instantly bent 
 down to shove the boat clear. Both were up to 
 their knees in water at the boat's side. Some one, 
 it was the man who had worked in Tolu, leaned 
 out and grabbed at Margaret's collar. 
 
 * Look out, sons ! ' cried Tucket. 
 
 At the instant a swarm of men burst from the 
 edge of the forest. One or two of them who were 
 mounted charged in at a gallop. The others ran 
 down, crying, firing their guns as they ran. The 
 water about the boat was splashed violently, as 
 though some one flung pebbles edgewise from a 
 height. Margaret drew his sword and turned. 
 He saw a horse come down within twenty yards of 
 him. Some one shouted * Crabs ' derisively. Half 
 a dozen fierce faces seemed staring on him, rushing 
 on him, their mouths open, their eyes wide. There 
 was a crack of guns. Men were falling. Then 
 the wildness passed ; he was calm again. A 
 Spaniard, the rider of the fallen horse, was in the 
 water, thrusting at him with a lance, calling him 
 cuckold and bastard in the only English words he 
 knew. Margaret knocked the lance aside with 
 difficulty, for the man was strong and wild. His 
 
 320 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 thought at the moment, for all the danger, was 
 * 1 can't be both/ He wondered in that flash of 
 time whether a man could be both. All the beach 
 seemed hidden from him with smoke and fire and 
 the hurrying of splashing bodies. Where was Ed 
 gone .'' It was all smoke and racket. He was 
 being hit. Something struck his left arm. Strik- 
 ing at random at a voice in the smoke, his sword 
 struck something. He dragged his sword back, 
 and slipped with the effort. He was up to his 
 waist in water for an instant, below the smoke. 
 He saw men's legs. He saw water splashing. 
 Then there was smoke everywhere. Smoke of a 
 hundred guns. A racket like the chambers shot 
 off at the end of Hamlet ; exactly like. A wave 
 went into his face. Some one fell across him and 
 knocked him down again. It was Ed. 
 
 ^ Hold up, you fool,' Ed cried. The voice was 
 the high, querulous voice of the hurt man. 
 
 ' You're hit, Ed,' he said, catching him about the 
 body. His arm stung along its length with the 
 effort. ' Where are you hit, Ed ? ' 
 
 ' Abajo. Vete al carajo, hijo de la gran puta. 
 Cabron ! Mierda ! ' The words came out of the 
 smoke like shots. The roar of the battle seemed 
 to be all about him. He backed, staggering, 
 to get out of the smoke. A half-tamed horse's 
 teeth ripped the sleeve from his hurt arm, knocking 
 them both down again. Some one jabbed him with 
 a lance in the shoulder. He struck the horse as he 
 rose half choked, still clutching Ed. The horse 
 leaped with a scream. The smoke lifted. It was 
 all bright for a moment. A mad horse ; a trooper 
 swearing ; Ed's body like a sack with blood on it ; 
 Y 321 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 a smoke full of fiery tongues. There was the boat 
 though. Then the smoke cloaked it. Bullets 
 splashed water in his face. The butt of a flung 
 lance banged him on the side of the head. The 
 horse reared above him, screaming, floundering in 
 foam, then falling heavily. He was almost out of 
 his depth now, half swimming, half dead, lugging a 
 nether millstone. Blood was in his eyes, his sword 
 dangled from his wrist, his free hand tried to swim. 
 He clutched at the boat, missed, went under, gulp- 
 ing salt. He clutched again as the white side slid 
 away. His fingers caught upon the gunwale, near 
 the stroke's thwart. He made the boat sway to 
 one side a little. * Trim her,' said Tucket, as he 
 hauled, face forward, on the warp. He did not 
 look round ; merely trimmed her mechanically, 
 flinging the warp's fakes aft. ' Away-hay-hay-i-oh,' 
 he sang. ' Lively, Jude^' said another. ' If you 
 fire like you load, your bullets has moss on them.' 
 Two of them were firing sharply, lying behind the 
 backboard. * Cut,' cried Tucket. There was a 
 shock of chopping on the gunwale. A hand sculled 
 way upon her with the steering-oar as the sail 
 filled. The midship oars were manned. 
 
 'Give me a hand here, please,' said Margaret 
 weakly. ' Catch Ed.' 
 
 ' Lord. I thought you were in,' said Tucket. 
 ' Up with him. Ed's gone. Don't capsize the 
 ship, you. I'd forgot you two.' 
 
 Margaret managed to scramble in, helped by the 
 boatmen. Then he collapsed in the bottom of 
 the boat over Ed. He had had a moving time. 
 He came-to quickly, with the taste of rum in his 
 mouth and a feeling of intense cold. His teeth 
 
 322 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 chattered ; he was weak and sick. ' Land and 
 bring off Stukeley,' he said. * I can't leave Stukeley.' 
 
 * We'll be in the sloop in a minute,' said one of 
 the men. * We'll shift him there. He got a prod 
 in the shoulder.' 
 
 * How is it, Ed ? ' said another voice. ' You're 
 all right.' 
 
 ^ What's wrong with Ed } ' said one of the 
 rowers. 
 
 * Got a bat with a stone, I guess. I can't see no 
 shot hole. Hold up, Ed. You ain't dead yet.' 
 
 M'm all right,' said Ed weakly. ^That Mar- 
 garet fellow fell all across me and knocked me 
 down.' 
 
 ' He pulled you quit of the mix,' said Tucket. 
 ' Don't you forget it.' 
 
 ' He did, hell,' said Ed. 
 
 Margaret rose up in the boat. ' I can't leave 
 Stukeley,' he said. ' Pull in. Captain Tucket, and 
 bring him off.' 
 
 ' You lie down, sir, and stay quiet,' said Captain 
 Tucket. ' We'll be there directly.' 
 
 One or two of the men tittered. Margaret 
 tried to raise himself to look at the land. He 
 heard the roar of cannon from somewhere astern. 
 'That's a heavy gun,' he said. * Who's firing a 
 heavy gun }' Then he felt suddenly very tired, 
 the boat and the guns became blurred to him, he 
 felt that there were ships sailing into action, firing 
 their guns in succession, shaking with the shock. 
 An array of ships was sailing. There were guns, 
 guns. Guns that would never cease firing. There 
 was water roaring. No. Not water. Horses. 
 Horses and ships. Roaring, roaring. They were 
 
 323 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 calling some one 'Puta.* When he came-to, he was 
 lying below in the sloop, with a cold mess on his 
 arm and a fiery pain along his shoulder. 
 
 ^ Is Mr. Stukeley on board } ' he asked. 
 
 ' No, sir,* said Tucket, drying his hands. ' Mr. 
 Stukeley*s ashore. It*s my belief our Mr. Stukeley 
 put that ambush on us. Mr. Stukeley'll stay 
 ashore.* 
 
 ^ I must bring him off. Land me, captain. 
 There's his wife.' 
 
 ^ You just have a lap of this lemon-drink,' said 
 Tucket. ' We had about as near a call as may be. 
 Ed got a bat on the head. You been pretty near 
 killed. There's a pound's worth of paint knocked 
 off the boat. Jude's got a slug in his pants. The 
 sail's like a nutmeg-grater. If we'd not laid that 
 warp out, the land-crabs would be eating us at this 
 present. There's a couple of hundred soldiers on 
 the beach ; besides the guns.' 
 
 *They came at us in a rush,' said Margaret. 
 The words seemed not to come from him. His 
 meaning had been to ask Tucket what had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 ^That's why they fired so wild,' said Tucket. 
 ' They rushed. They saw you and Ed, and thought 
 they'd take you.' 
 
 ' But Stukeley. We must get Stukeley. They 
 may have killed him.' 
 
 ' He's all right. You settle off.' 
 
 After some hours of quiet, Margaret rose up, 
 feeling very weak. The cabin was hot and foul, so 
 he dressed, and went on deck for the freshness. 
 The boat's crew were telling the sloop hands exactly 
 what had happened. Margaret knew from the way 
 
 324 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 in which they spoke to him, from the plain words 
 of ' Good evening, sir,* and ^ I hope you're better, 
 sir,* that he was, for some reason, the hero of the 
 moment. His shoulder pained him, so he sat 
 down, with his back against the taffrail. A sailor 
 placed a coat behind him, so that his rest might be 
 easy. Tucket was steering. The lights of the 
 Broken Heart were visible a couple of miles ahead, 
 against the mass of Ceycen, which hid the stars 
 to the north-eastward. 
 
 ^ Are you dead yet ? * said Tucket. 
 
 'I'm well, thanks. I'm thinking of Mr. Stukeley.' 
 
 There came a sort of growl of ' Stukeley ' from 
 
 the seamen about him. ' Stukeley,' they said. 
 
 ' He's a mother's joy, the Portuguese drummer's 
 
 get.' 
 
 * Stukeley,' said Tucket. * He put that little 
 quiff on us on the beach. I ain't goin' to drown 
 no one, shedding tears for Stukeley.' 
 
 ' Nor I,' said the man called Jude. * I'd only 
 bought them pants a week.' 
 
 * Pants,' said Tucket. ' You'd not a wanted 
 many pants if Ed and Mr. Margaret hadn't been 
 in the water. Them two in the water made 'em 
 rush. If they'd come slow, you'd a been hit in the 
 neck with that chewed slug, my son. Don't you 
 forget it.' 
 
 * Did anybody see Mr. Stukeley 1 ' Margaret 
 asked. ' Was he in the rush } Could anybody see 
 in the smoke ? ' 
 
 * No, sir. No one saw him.' 
 
 'Then why do you think he, he prompted the 
 raid } What makes you think that ? ' 
 
 'They've always received flags of truce before,' 
 325 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 he answered. 'And you'd a commission besides. 
 You aren't like one of us. Why didn't they shoot 
 when we put the son-of-a-gun ashore 1 I'll tell 
 you. They thought we were ordinary flag of 
 truce. That curly-headed gentleman's son put 'em 
 up to it, after dinner. Why } I know. That's 
 why.' 
 
 ' I can't see your point,' Margaret answered. 
 His thought was that he would have a bad hour 
 with Olivia. The thought had no bitterness ; it 
 occurred to him simply, as a necessary part of the 
 pain of moving from the sloop. His shoulder 
 gave him pain ; the thought of climbing his ship's 
 side gave him pain. He had a blurred feeling that 
 he would have to stand painfully, explaining to a 
 nervous woman. He would never be able to do it, 
 he thought. He was too stupid with pain. He 
 was feverish. He was tired. He would have to 
 stand there, trying to be tender and sympathetic, 
 yet failing, stupid, blunt. They would have to 
 rescue Stukeley. Rescue him. ' Yes,' he said to 
 himself, ' I'll rescue him for you. I'll bring him 
 back to you from Tolu, Olivia.' He mumbled and 
 muttered as the fever grew upon him. ' I wish all 
 this had never happened,' he said aloud. 
 
 ' You're goin' off into the shakes,' said one of 
 the men, putting a blanket round him. ' You want 
 to take bark in a sup of rum, sir, and then turn in.' 
 
 ' Every one with a green wound gets the shakes 
 in this country,' said another man. * Now up in 
 Virginia you can go from September to May and 
 never have 'em once.' 
 
 'There's a light in the cabin,' said Margaret, 
 with his teeth chattering. 
 
 326 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 * That's your ship all right, sir. Ahoy, you ! 
 Broken Heart ahoy-ah ! ' 
 
 ' Ahoy, you ! ' came out of the night. ' Is that 
 the Happy Return ? ' 
 
 ^ We're the jolly come-backs.' 
 
 Bells were beaten from somewhere in the dark- 
 ness. To Margaret's throbbing brain the strokes 
 seemed to be violent lights. He thought in his 
 fever that all physical objects were interchangeable, 
 that they all, however different, expressed with 
 equal value (though perhaps to different senses) the 
 infinite intellect that was always One. He thought 
 that the boat was a thought of a thought ; and that 
 a ship and a house were much alike, very worthless 
 the pair of them. One should get away from these 
 thoughts of thoughts to thought itself. The Broken 
 Heart loomed large above him. 
 
 ' Send down a chair. Lion,' some one said. * Mr. 
 Margaret's had a nasty clip.' 
 
 ' Easy now with the chair,' said Cammock's 
 voice. * Is Mr. Stukeley there ? ' 
 
 * He's swallowed the killick,' said Tucket, with 
 a hard laugh. 
 
 ' He's got my map-book, then,' said Cammock. 
 * He's gone with my map-book.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Margaret, getting out of the chair. 
 ' Your map-book. It's in his pocket. I think I saw 
 it there.' 
 
 * Lean on me, sir,' said Cammock. ' The lady's 
 expecting you. She's sitting up in the cabin.' 
 
 ' Let me go. You turn in. I'll break it to her,' 
 Perrin said. 
 
 ' No. I must go,' Margaret answered. * How 
 has it been here, captain ? ' Feverish as he was, 
 
 327 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 he felt that he had been away for many days. The 
 ship was strange to him. 
 
 ' I've been throwing the ship overboard, looking 
 for my maps,' Cammock answered. ' How is your 
 hurt, sir } When you talk to the lady, you better 
 have a drop of something. Just stop at my cabin 
 for a moment/ 
 
 He fetched wine and bark from his cupboard. 
 Then ^he three men entered the cabin, where 
 Olivia stood expectantly, her cheeks flushed, wait- 
 ing for her husband's return. She had made the 
 most of her beauty for him. She had decked her- 
 self out with an art that brought tears to Perrin's 
 eyes. She had done her best, poor beauty, to keep 
 the heart which, as she thought, she had won back 
 again. Looking at her, as she stood there, Perrin 
 learned that Stukeley had commended a slip of 
 black velvet round her throat, that he had praised 
 her arms, that he liked the hair heaped in such a 
 fashion, with a ribbon of such a tone of green. 
 He guessed all this at a glance, telling himself that 
 he must never again speak of these things to her. 
 And the poor girl had rouged her cheeks, to hide 
 the paleness. She had pencilled her eyebrows. 
 She had drunken some drug to make her eyes 
 bright. In the soft light of the lamp she looked 
 very beautiful. She stood there, half-way to the 
 door, waiting for the lover of her love-days to take 
 her to his heart again. 
 
 * Where is Tom V she said. 'You're hurt, Charles. 
 Where's Tom .? He isn't killed .? He isn't killed V 
 
 ' He went into the city,' said Margaret dully. 
 * He went into the city.' His teeth chattered and 
 clicked ; he seemed to have been repeating his 
 
 328 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 phrase for hours. ' Into the city,' he repeated. He 
 was ill, really ill. He was in a dream of fever. 
 He was dreaming, he was in a nightmare, giving a 
 message in that dream-speech which none compre- 
 hends save the speaker. 
 
 * He went into the city,' said Olivia slowly. She 
 sank backwards, till she leaned against the bulk- 
 head, her arms straying out along the beading. 
 ' But he came back. He came back.' 
 
 * No, ma'am,' said Cammock gently. *He didn't 
 come back.' 
 
 ' He's not killed } Not dead ? Oh, can't one 
 of you speak } ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Margaret. ' We waited. 
 He went into the city with them.' 
 
 ' They made friends,' said Perrin. ' Your hus- 
 band went with the Spaniards.' 
 
 * Oh, won't you tell me what has happened } ' 
 
 * They waited in the boat, ma'am,' said Cammock. 
 'But your husband didn't come back. And then 
 the Spaniards attacked the boat. Captain Margaret 
 was wounded.' 
 
 ' And you came away without him ? ' 
 
 * Yes, Olivia. He's in the city.' 
 
 * Oh, my God, my God. But don't you know 
 if he is dead or alive } ' 
 
 * No, Olivia,' said Margaret. 
 
 ' Charles was landing to find him when the 
 Spaniards attacked,' said Perrin. 'He was wounded. 
 They wounded him, Olivia.' 
 
 * You left him, alone, Charles. Alone. To be 
 killed.' 
 
 ' We'll bring him back, Olivia. We can win 
 him back.' 
 
 329 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' Oh, but he may be killed. He may be killed. 
 He may be dead now.' 
 
 * Beg pardon, ma'am,' said Cammock. ' We 
 think he's gone over to the Spaniards, with my 
 book of charts as Basil draw.' 
 
 *You think he's left, left us. You think, 
 Charles. Do tell me. Tell me.' 
 
 'They think he's gone into the city, Olivia,' 
 Margaret said, ' to tell the Spaniards of our plans. 
 Into the city, Olivia. We saw him go into the 
 city a long time before. They think he caused the 
 attack on us. In the water. It was like a bad 
 dream. Don't. Don't. I'll bring him back, 
 Olivia. We'll bring him back to-morrow.' 
 
 ' I'm quite calm, Charles,' said Olivia in a shak- 
 ing voice. ' I'm quite calm. Look at my hand 
 here. You see.' 
 
 'Sit down, Olivia,' Margaret said. 'There. 
 In this chair. I want to say this. He went into 
 the city walking with the captain of the garrison. 
 The negro had his stirrup in his toes. They were 
 to dine with the Governor. They were friends. 
 He told me himself Your husband told me they 
 were friends. After the siesta they ambushed us. 
 Oh, my God. They offered a hostage even. And 
 your husband advised me to refuse it.' 
 
 'And you think,' Olivia said, 'that Tom, my 
 
 husband ' She paused. Then gave way to 
 
 the running gamut of shaking sobs, her head on 
 the table. ' Oh, Tom, Tom, come back to me. 
 Come back to me.' 
 
 ' It was after he had dined with the Governor 
 that they ambushed us,' Margaret repeated. ' And 
 I saw Cammock's map-book in his pocket.' 
 
 330 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 ^ But he'd no thought of it,' she cried. ' Only 
 this morning. Only this morning. It was so 
 sweet. Oh, he'd no thought of it this morning. 
 None. You know he had none.' 
 
 ' Of course, no one knows,' said Perrin. * He 
 may be only a prisoner.' 
 
 * They never kill prisoners,' said Cammock. ' Be 
 easy as to that.' 
 
 'And he's left me,' she sobbed. * Oh, but I 
 know he loves me. It's not that. I know he 
 does. I know he does. Oh, Charles. What 
 makes you think. I'm quite calm again. I can 
 bear it all. I'm calm. What makes you think 
 that he's gone } ' 
 
 ' One or two things he asked. He was asking 
 about life with the Spaniards. And his manner.' 
 
 ' Charles, did you suspect him } Did you 
 expect this when you chose him } Chose him 
 yesterday } ' 
 
 Margaret sat down at the table, looking at her 
 stupidly, his face all drawn. 
 
 ' Charles, you didn't suspect him ? You thought 
 of this.' 
 
 Margaret burst out crying, with the tearless grief 
 of an overwrought man. ' I wish all this had 
 never happened,' he said. ' I wish it had all never 
 happened. Never happened.' He checked him- 
 self, half aware, in the misery of his fever, that he 
 had to answer Olivia. ' I don't know what's the 
 matter with me to-night,' he said. * I've got such 
 white hands. Such white hands, like a girl.' He 
 laughed in a shrill, silly cackle. ' You must think 
 me a silly girl,' he said. 
 
 ' Charles,' Olivia cried. 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^Vm all right,' he said. * Tm all right.' He 
 pulled himself together with an effort. ' Look 
 here,' he said. ' Here. I oughtn't to have let 
 him go alone. It was my fault. All my fault. 
 Into the city alone. You say I thought of this. 
 Never entered my head. Never. I'm talking like 
 a drunk man. What's the matter with you } No. 
 It was my fault. But. Olivia. Olivia. Don't. 
 Don't cry. We'll get him back. We'll take Tolu. 
 I swear I'll take Tolu. I'll bring him back to you, 
 Olivia. Only. You don't mean what you said 
 then.' He sank back in his chair. ' I think I'm 
 tired,' he added weakly. 
 
 Olivia was on her knees at his side, pressing his 
 hand to her heart. 
 
 * Charles,' she said. ' Charles, you're hurt. 
 You're hurt. Wounded. I didn't mean that, 
 Charles. I was upset. But. Oh, you'll bring 
 him back. Bring him back to me.' 
 
 ^ I'll bring him back to you, Olivia,' he answered, 
 stroking her hand. * I'll bring him back.' He 
 raised her from the deck. 'And I'll help him to 
 that. To what you talked of. This morning.' 
 
 <To?' 
 
 'The new life together,' he whispered. 'Oh, 
 Lord, Olivia. Stop those guns. Stop those guns. 
 They're red-hot.' 
 
 From very far away, in the heat of the battle, in 
 the smoke and trampling, where the triumphing 
 horses laughed, he seemed to hear Olivia's voice. 
 
 'My God. I've kept him here. And he's 
 wounded. Edward. Edward. Is he dead ? * 
 
 'Help me, captain,' said Perrin's voice, 'You've 
 kept him on the rack, Olivia.' 
 
 332 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 ' Don't say that,' she said. * Lay him on my 
 bed. That'll be quieter. 1 must nurse him. 
 Let me have some bark and limes, Captain Cam- 
 mock. Lay him down there. Now some cold water.'- 
 
 He was half conscious of being lifted out of the 
 light, while a multitude of Spaniards charged him. 
 He saw the faces, he saw the horses' heads flung 
 back, and the foam spattering their bit-cups. He 
 was slashing at spear-heads, which pressed in a 
 crown of points about his skull. After that, he 
 fell into the wildness of fever, seeing that endless 
 vision in his brain, the endless, disordered proces- 
 sion of soldiers, and guns, and ships, which shouted 
 crabbed poetry, poetry of Donne, difficult to scan, 
 exasperating : — 
 
 ' Men of France,' 
 
 the procession shouted, 
 
 * changeable chameleons, 
 Spitals of diseases, shops of fashions.' 
 
 So he lay, for many hours, feverish and sick, 
 rambling and incoherent. 
 
 He was ill for some days, during which Olivia 
 nursed him tenderly. She found in the vigil a 
 balm for her own sorrow, a respite from the 
 anxieties which ate her heart. The uncertainty 
 made it worse for her. She would fall asleep, 
 sitting uneasily in the chair by the bed, to dream 
 of her husband lying in the earth, among the roots 
 of the creepers, the mould in his eyes. Or she 
 would see him chained to a log, working in the 
 gang, carrying mud bricks to the walls, or singing, 
 like the man in Cammock's tale, with whip-cuts on 
 his body. Sometimes, in the worst dreams, she 
 
 333 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 saw him with the veiled figure of a woman, and 
 woke crying to him to come back to her, knowing 
 herself deserted. She had at first prayed that the 
 men would attack Tolu at once, to bring him back 
 to her. The point had been debated among the 
 captains. But Perrin, at his best now, with his 
 quiet, clumsy sympathy, had shown her that this 
 was not possible. 
 
 ' You see, Olivia,' he said, ^ they must expect us. 
 And we must run no risk of failure. You see, 
 don't you, what a danger it would be to him if we 
 tried and failed } And the town will be full of 
 troops for the next week or two, expecting an 
 attack.' 
 
 There were other good reasons against instant 
 action. Cammock was sure that the Spaniards 
 would send a force against the lurking-places along 
 the Main, now that they had his charts as guides. 
 Other captains thought this possible ; so the word 
 was given to return to Springer's Key. After 
 their arrival, they prepared the fort against attack, 
 and warned all privateers at the frequented anchor- 
 ages. Then, having time, they careened the Broken 
 Hearty washing her with lime till she had something 
 of her old speed again. Other privateers joined 
 them when they heard that they intended to take 
 Tolu. Margaret, sitting in the cabin, a convales- 
 cent, talked of his plans with Olivia. Many of 
 the buccaneers were employed ashore, making long 
 'dug-out' canoas for the attack. He pointed to 
 one of these, as it lay bottom up on the sand, while 
 the seamen tarred it against the worm. 
 
 ' I expect we shall bring your husband off in 
 that one,' he said. 
 
 334 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 ^ Yes ? ' she answered. ' But IVe been thinking, 
 Charles, that I shall never see Tom again.' 
 
 * What reasons have you ^ ' he asked. * Look, 
 Olivia, I've been thinking it over. There is so 
 much possible to you. Your husband would be 
 happy at a kind of life I've planned for him. On 
 a sugar estancia in Jamaica. Or one of the big 
 plantations here, as soon as the ground is cleared.' 
 
 * Charles,' she said, ' the plantations here will 
 never be cleared. You've been dreaming. I've 
 been dreaming. And I shall never see Tom again.' 
 
 ^ You were always the despondent one in the 
 old days,' he said lightly ; then, growing grave, he 
 added, ' Olivia, all the voyage, I helped your dreams. 
 I lied to you. All the voyage long, I lied. I longed 
 to spare you. I could see no better way.' 
 
 ' I was a great fool, you thought.' 
 
 ^ No love is folly,' he answered. * But now I 
 see what is possible. After a wreck one finds the 
 planks loose for a raft.' 
 
 ^ You think that, Charles ? A woman finds no 
 planks, as you call them. Do you think my life 
 can be patched up by planks } Do you know why 
 I pray for you to go to Tolu } ' 
 
 ' To restore your husband to you.' 
 
 * No,' she said. * I've been thinking, Charles. 
 I want you to go to Tolu to restore Captain 
 Cammock's book. That is the first thing. And 
 to make you sure that he isn't — that he wasn't 
 killed in your service. I know what you will find 
 at Tolu, Charles. He's not my husband now. 
 I see him too clearly. He's forgotten us all by 
 this time. Oh, you know he has.' 
 
 ' One has no right to say that.' 
 335 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 'It*s strange how a ship alters one's judgments,' 
 she said, with a little laugh. ^ I used to be afraid 
 of you. I couldn't bear ' 
 
 ' We were in the way,' he answered. 
 
 ' I was in a dream. A bad dream. Now it's over.' 
 She shuddered, turning her head aside. 
 
 *No, Olivia. Not that,' he said. 'Life isn't 
 over. I can't talk to you as I should. My wound 
 makes me stupid. You don't know men, Olivia. 
 Men are selfish, brutal, greedy. You were never 
 told that. You never saw that side of them. It's 
 only one side. I've no right to talk to you like 
 this ; but I'm your guardian here. Now suppose. 
 Men, even lovers, aren't single-natured, like women. 
 Suppose a man saw a woman in his better moment, 
 saw how beautiful and far above him she was, and 
 loved her for that moment, truly, before falling 
 back to his old greeds.' 
 
 ' Love is not like that.' 
 
 ' We're talking about life, Olivia. The moment 
 of love was worth while to both of them.' 
 
 ' To myself and to my husband } ' 
 
 ' Yes. If you care to put it that way.' 
 
 ' And now .'' What now } ' 
 
 ' Now that you know, Olivia, you know that 
 it's not all greed, any more than it is all love. 
 You've seen a man's weakness. His sin, even. 
 You've seen the part of him he hid from you. We 
 all have a skeleton to hide.' 
 
 ' I'm not to be moved by sophistry, Charles.' 
 
 ' Ship life tries the nerves, Olivia.' 
 
 ' Are you pleading for him now, Charles } ' 
 
 'Olivia, don't let me hurt you by discussing 
 your husband. But did you ever realize him .? ' 
 
 336 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 *Yes. I suppose I did/ 
 
 ^ He was unlike any man you had ever seen. 
 Ah. Don't answer. 1 know you too well, Olivia. 
 I know all this.* 
 
 ' It seems a long time ago/ she said coldly. She 
 was pulling a little arnotto rose to pieces, petal by 
 petal, crushing the petals till her finger-tips were 
 stained and scented. 
 
 * You never realized him, Olivia. I never realized 
 him. I did not know in Salcombe that day that 
 he is a man with a frightful physical energy. On 
 shore he could work it off. It's not easy to say 
 this. But at sea, in a ship, shut up here, it turned 
 inward. Do you see, Olivia } ' 
 
 ' Does that excuse a man .? That he has a fright- 
 ful physical energy, and that it turns inward ? * 
 
 ' IVe nothing to do with excuses. But, suppose 
 that that was the case. Suppose, too, that he had 
 but a moment to decide in Salcombe, between a lie, 
 you, and the possibility of a new life, and the truth, 
 arrest, and the certainty of disgrace. He chose 
 you, the lie, and the possibility. He lied to you. 
 The moment he told the first lie, you became, in 
 his eyes, in a sense, an enemy to beware of, an 
 enemy who must be kept from the truth at all costs.' 
 
 ' Yes. I have seen that, of course. And the lie 
 grew all through the voyage.' 
 
 * He was afraid to run the risk of losing you, by 
 telling you the truth.' 
 
 ^ That was not much of a compliment to me, 
 was it .? ' 
 
 'All through that voyage, Olivia, we were in 
 terror of being arrested on arrival. It was in our 
 thoughts night and day. We used to sit in my 
 z 337 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 cabin there, planning what we could do, if we found 
 a warrant waiting for us. The strain made him 
 reckless.' 
 
 * Why should it have made him reckless } * 
 
 ' Because there was no one on board, except a few 
 inferiors, who could console him. He could not 
 confide in you. He had lied to you. We were not 
 his sort. There was no one else to whom he could 
 turn.' 
 
 ' Except some inferiors, to whom he turned.' 
 
 ' Yes, Olivia.' 
 
 * And you could watch this, without a word, 
 without attempting to put the matter right.' 
 
 * Your husband wished to spare you, Olivia. We 
 could not speak. We thought. We thought you 
 were going to have a child.' 
 
 ^ Ah,' she said, breathing hard, * I understand 
 now.' 
 
 *A11 through the voyage, your husband was 
 probably thinking that you would soon learn, and 
 that when you learned you would have nothing 
 more to do with him. Imagination is rare in men. 
 He could think of no other possibility. He made 
 up his mind that you would cast him off, and 
 therefore he cast you off without giving you a 
 chance to do otherwise. Imagination is rare in 
 women, Olivia, and you could not see his point of 
 view, any more than he could see yours.' 
 
 ' You think I was proud and unforgiving. I 
 have. It. If he'd turned to me. And he left me 
 that morning with a stolen book in his pocket, in- 
 tending to see us no more.' 
 
 ' Ah. We see now all that can come of a hasty 
 moment.' He rose from his seat and stood before 
 
 338 
 
The FLAG OF TRUCE 
 
 her. ' Olivia,* he said, * I don't extenuate. I've 
 tried to explain. Perhaps neither of you saw very 
 clearly. After Tolu, Olivia, there's a life pos- 
 sible for you. You haven't plumbed each other's 
 natures. You haven't really lived yet. A fool's 
 paradise isn't life. You don't know what you may 
 make of each other's lives. He had not much 
 chance, with that ghastly business hanging over 
 him. You had none. Could you not start fair, 
 after Tolu } ' She pulled the remaining rose leaves 
 from the arnotto, one by one. ' It's worth it, 
 Olivia.' 
 
 ^ Thank you, Charles,' she said quietly. She 
 walked slowly to her state-room. 
 
 *Yes,' he said to himself, after she had gone. 
 * Yes. It's the best thing.' 
 
 339 
 
XII 
 
 The END 
 
 * The rust of arms, the blushing shame of soldiers.' 
 
 The Tragedy of Bon due a, 
 
 * Let's sit together thus, and, as we sit. 
 Feed on the sweets of one another's souls/ 
 
 A Wife for a Month, 
 * A fair end 
 Of our fair loves.' — The Elder Brother, 
 
 nnEN weeks passed before they felt the time 
 ripe for their attack. By that time Margaret 
 had made a good recovery ; his wound was well 
 healed over ; he could even use the arm a little. 
 Before leaving the anchorage, he put more guns in 
 the fort, and chose out a garrison to fight them. 
 He had every reason to be pleased with his success. 
 A large part of Springer's Key had been cleared, 
 under his direction, for plantain-walks and vanilla- 
 patches, as well as for Indian corn. More than 
 a hundred more privateers had come to him, and 
 he had planned with Tucket to load the Broken 
 Hearty on his return from Tolu, at a new logwood 
 forest, never yet cut, on the banks of the Azucar. 
 He felt happier than he had felt since leaving 
 England ; for now his way seemed clear. His old 
 suspicion of Pain had gone. Pain's men had 
 worked like slaves to clear the key for culture. 
 It seemed to him that he was going to succeed 
 after all, and that he would, as he had planned, 
 
 340 
 
The END 
 
 make something of the wasted energies of the men 
 of the account. He had even started Tucket 
 on a dye-works, with half a dozen cauldrons, and 
 a bale of cotton for experiments. The huts of the 
 Indians had been altered and enlarged. Springer's 
 Key Town was now a walled city, with a few 
 wooden shops, where the Broken Heart's goods were 
 sold for gold-dust. His thoughts ran much upon 
 gold-dust ; for the rivers were full of it, according 
 to the privateers. He went up the Concepcion 
 River with some Indians and a party of Pain's 
 men, during the last of the weeks of waiting, to 
 look for gold-dust in the sands. They washed with 
 sieves in several likely places, finding about six 
 ounces in all. The Indians said that there was 
 more higher up, in the rapid upper reaches, in the 
 torrents of the Six Mile Hills, away to the south. 
 On the way downstream, he cut a bundle of man- 
 grove, thinking that the bark might be of use 
 to tanners in Europe, since the Indians dressed 
 hides with it. The damp heat of the Isthmus 
 overcame him. He saw that nothing could be 
 done there. No Europeans would ever do much 
 in such a climate. But at sea in the bright Sam- 
 balloes, where the winds blew steadily, never dying 
 to a calm, he felt that much could be done. He 
 offered bounties to all who would clear patches for 
 tobacco, arnotto, cochineal, and indigo. Tucket, 
 a steady, shrewd man, who saw a chance of doing 
 what he had always longed to do, helped him ably. 
 The dye-works occupied their mornings together. 
 The rest of the day, after the noon heat, was passed 
 in the supervision and encouragement of the 
 citizens. The brush at Tolu, and the bringing off 
 
 341 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 of Ed, had made him popular. He found that the 
 privateers were fairly well disposed towards him. 
 Even the inscrutable Pain seemed friendly. 
 
 It was not an easy matter to rule such citizens. 
 He began by making a rough division of labour. 
 Those who loved hunting went in parties daily to 
 the Main to hunt. Those who liked to work in 
 the islands cut and cleared jungle, planted plantains, 
 tobacco, or arnotto. Others took boats and fished. 
 Some built huts or canoas. Some dug wells and 
 trenches to supply the plantations. Many Indians 
 came to them. Springer's Key knew a few weeks 
 of bustling prosperity. Margaret began to worry 
 about another problem — the sex problem, the 
 problem of wives for his settlers. Where was he 
 to get white wives for three hundred men ? How 
 was he to avoid the horrors of the mixed races } 
 He remembered in Virginia the strange and hor- 
 rible colonial mixtures, the mixtures of white with 
 red, white with black, black with red, red with all 
 the mixtures, black with all the mixtures, creatures 
 of no known race, of no traditions, horrible sports, 
 the results of momentary lusts, temporary arrange- 
 ments. One could buy white transported women 
 in Jamaica at thirty pounds apiece. One could 
 buy redemptioners in Virginia for the same sum. 
 Many of the men at work about him had done so, 
 during their lives in the colonies. But how was a 
 nation to be born from convicted thieves, petty 
 larcenists, bawds, procuresses, women burnt in the 
 hand, branded women } He resolved to hurry 
 home as soon as the plantations began to bear, as 
 soon as the Spaniards began to recognize his 
 rights. He must get settlers, honest, reputable 
 
 342 
 
The END 
 
 settlers. He would have to search England for 
 them, hundreds of them, so that the bright Sam- 
 balloes might become the world's garden. He 
 began to know the islands now. He saw them in 
 all their beauty, Venices not yet glorious, sites for 
 the city of his dream. They shone in their blos- 
 soms, hedged by the surf, splendid in their beauty. 
 Among these hundreds of islands, these sparkling 
 keys, were homes for the poor of the world, food 
 for the hungry, beauty for the abased, work for the 
 stinted, rest for the exhausted. For an army could 
 feed from them in the morning, and pass on, yet in 
 the evening there would be food for another army. 
 The earth brought forth in bounty. All the fruits 
 of the world grew there. The trade winds smelt of 
 fruit. The bats from the Isthmus darkened the 
 stars at twilight as they came to gorge the fruit ; 
 yet in the morning, when they flew screaming to 
 their caves, it was as though they had scattered but 
 a husk or two, scattered a few seeds, a few sucked 
 skins. The sea gave a multitude of fish. The 
 woods were full of game. It was an earthly para- 
 dise. It went to his heart to think that he was 
 almost a king here. To the Indians he was more 
 than a king : he was a god. 
 
 He loved the Indians. He loved their dignity, 
 their pride in the white man's friendship, their 
 devoted service. It reminded him of his life at 
 school and of the devotion of small boys to their 
 captain. During his convalescence he had had 
 many talks with an Indian prince, whom the sea- 
 men called Don Toro. He had learned from this 
 man to speak a little in the Indian tongue, enough 
 to draw from him something of the Isthmus. He 
 
 343 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 wished to clear the Isthmus of its poisonous tangle 
 of forest, so that the shore might become savannah 
 land, as at Panama. He longed to see the jungle 
 go up in a blaze, in a roaring, marching army of 
 fire, that would cut a blackened swath to the hills, 
 leaping over tree-tops, charring the undergrowth, 
 making good pasture for cattle, for the great, pale 
 Campeachy cattle which his ships should bring there 
 from Sisal. He tried to make Don Toro under- 
 stand his wish, but failed ; for Don Toro was a 
 woodland Indian ; the forest was his home. That 
 stroke of policy, the bonfire, would have to wait till 
 he could bring the Indians to help him, and till the 
 logwood on the banks of the rivers had all been cut 
 and shipped. But he wished that all those miles of 
 wood were lying in blackened ashes. It was now 
 the bright, dry season, when the woods were plea- 
 sant, musical with bell-birds, sweet with blossoms. 
 In a few weeks there would come the rains, the 
 months of rain, the steaming months, when the 
 trees would rise up from a marsh, when the sound 
 of dropping would become a burden, the months of 
 the white-ribbed mosquito and the yellow fever. 
 
 He loved Olivia still. His passion was his life, 
 his imagination. While that fire burned in him the 
 world was a metal from which he could beat brave 
 sparks. He was not sure how she felt towards her 
 husband. He had done his best for her husband. 
 He could not say that there was much chance of a 
 happy life for her. It had been hard to counsel her, 
 doubly hard, for when she spoke gravely her voice 
 thrilled, the tone burned through him like a flame. 
 A little more, and honour would be thrown aside 
 like a rag ; the words would come in a rush, sweep- 
 
 344 
 
The END 
 
 ing him away. She had never seemed more beauti- 
 ful than now. She was pale, still ; her eyes had 
 dark rings ; but she had never seemed more 
 beautiful. She was still mysterious to him, though 
 he knew her better than he had ever known her. 
 She was an exquisite mystery, beautiful, sacred, 
 unthinkable ; but not for him, never for him. She 
 would only be a shy friend to him, giving a little, 
 hiding much, never truly herself before him. So 
 much he could see, hating himself for his clumsy 
 walk, for his gravity, for whatever it was, in him, 
 which kept her away. He saw that she was timid, 
 fearful of all rough and rude things, a shy soul, 
 refined, delicate. He guessed that his love for her 
 made her timid of him. Then came the thought of 
 Stukeley, the torment and hate of the thought of 
 Stukeley. He was to restore Stukeley to her, after 
 all these agonizing weeks. They had been bad 
 weeks, weeks of doubt, weeks of wicked opportu- 
 nity. Had he followed his own heart, during those 
 weeks, he might have wrought upon her, till the 
 thought of Stukeley was loathsome to her. He 
 could see no possible happiness for her in a life 
 with Stukeley, if Stukeley were restored. She 
 might find peace of mind in having him again 
 beside her ; but never happiness. He remembered 
 an old phrase of Perrin's, that women did not wish 
 to be made happy, but to have the men they loved. 
 It seemed true ; possibly it explained many horrible 
 tales of faithfulness. It had been a bitter task to 
 plead for Stukeley. It would be bitter to bring 
 him back, and to watch the new peace broken, as he 
 knew it would be, himself making time and place. 
 Still, it had been the right thing; the right was a 
 
 345 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 better thing than love. He bit his lips for loathing 
 when he thought how very far from the right his 
 love for this woman had led him. 
 
 Was he right, he wondered, in attacking Tolu, 
 in an attempt to win back Stukeley .'' The ambush 
 on the beach had been sufficient declaration of war. 
 They had shown that they wished for war. He 
 had put his hand to the plough ; it must drive on 
 to the furrow's end. But how many of his men 
 would fight for a righteous cause when the issue 
 was tried? To help the Indians, ancient lords of 
 America, was a righteous cause, though the ancient 
 lords lay in bones in the caves, dead long ago. 
 Only their grandsons, servile degenerates, or men 
 not yet dispossessed, now lived. And if he helped 
 the Indians, beating the Spaniards, was his colony 
 to sail away, or to have the fruit of their toil } 
 If they were to stay, how soon would the clash 
 come } How soon would the white men burn 
 the forest, so that they might possess the land } 
 When he asked himself this question, he could 
 not honestly say that he was fighting for the 
 Indians' sake. His men were fighting for loot, 
 like a gang of robbers on a road. And yet. If by 
 their means he broke a corrupt power, so that the 
 islands might become the world's garden and 
 granary, another Venice, a home of glory and 
 honour, as he prayed, as he truly believed, it was 
 right, the end justified him. Only he must see to 
 it that the Venice rose from all this noisomeness. 
 That was his task. That alone could keep his 
 sword bright. This must be no colony, no refuse 
 heap, where younger sons might work with their 
 hands unseen, and the detected family knave 
 
 346 
 
The END 
 
 escape his punishment. It must be other than 
 that. When they sailed home from Tolu he would 
 proclaim the republic of the keys ; they would 
 agree upon laws together ; they would send their 
 first-fruits home. He used to lie in his bunk at 
 night in a trance of prayer that he might make 
 these islands all that he had hoped. It might be, 
 he thought. But there was much to do, and 
 little could be done at once. When they came 
 home from Tolu ; perhaps, then, he would see 
 his dream made real. Now and then, in the 
 night-watches, he asked himself whether his men 
 would stand success. He remembered how Cam- 
 mock had said that they would not stand failure. 
 Thinking of Olivia, he knew which was the real 
 test. He began to tremble for the moment of 
 power. St. George became John Bull directly he 
 had killed the dragon. His fine standard in the 
 arts of life made him pray that he might never 
 succeed in that way. Better fail. Failure is spirit- 
 ual success. What is heavon to those who have 
 the earth ? 
 
 They sailed from Springer's Key three hundred 
 strong, packed in the two ships and three sloops. 
 Fifty men remained behind to garrison the key. 
 A party of Indians, under Don Toro, followed the 
 fleet in a large periagua. Each ship in the fleet 
 towed a bunch of canoas in which the attacking 
 force would go ashore. They were very gay 
 with flags when they left the anchorage. They 
 fired guns, and sang, glad of the battle. In a few 
 days a score at least of the singers would be 
 dead in the sand, others would be stricken down, 
 perhaps maimed. Margaret asked Cammock if 
 
 347 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 they ever thought of this before a fight ; but he 
 answered, ^ No.' 
 
 * No one would ever fight if he thought/ he said. 
 ' Fve been, now (with other fellows), in three big 
 fights. We'd not got a chance in any one of 'em, 
 if you'd asked before. I was at Panama, where 
 we were all starved and worn, while they'd a fresh 
 army, with a city to fall back on. I was at Perico, 
 and five or six boats of us fought three big ships 
 full of troops. I was at Arica, where about a 
 hundred of us fought what was really a brigade of 
 an army. I don't think once I heard any say, or 
 even think, as some would be killed and shot.' 
 
 'I was in the Low Countries,' said Margaret. 
 ' It was the same there. Each man thinks and 
 hopes that it will be the other fellow. Sometimes I 
 feel that if a man thinks with sufficient strength, he 
 really makes a sort of intellectual guard about him- 
 self. I mean, as faith saved the men in the furnace. 
 What do you think } ' 
 
 * Yes } ' said Cammock. ' A man who goes in 
 thinking about himself like that isn't going to do 
 much with his gun. Besides, h^ couldn't.' 
 
 * You see them sometimes.' 
 
 *Ay,' said Cammock. 'You see 'em swaying 
 from side to side to touch their next-hand man. 
 For company. You see 'em all swaying in a row. 
 Like this. Side to side. But the first shot locks the 
 ranks. When they begin to fire they forget it all. 
 They've got to manage their guns. And they get 
 all hid in smoke. That's another comfort. And 
 they can shout, "Give 'em hell. Give 'em hell. 
 Give it the hijos del horos." But afterwards. 
 What about afterwards ^ ' 
 
 348 
 
The END 
 
 * The dead and wounded ? Yes,' said Margaret. 
 * Poor wretches lying out without water. Ammuni- 
 tion carts going over them. Camp followers. The 
 night after a battle. 1 remember my first. It was 
 all still after the firing. Then one heard cries in the 
 stillness, from all round one. Awful cries. Like 
 wild beasts.' 
 
 *I never heard that, sir. But IVe seen blood 
 really running out of a ship's scuppers. That 
 gives you a turn. That was at Perico. She was 
 coming past us full tilt, under all sail. Her decks 
 were full of men ; full. We were only eighteen 
 of us in the long-boat. So we gave her one volley. 
 It was like a deer dropping dead, sir. The ship 
 broached to. There was scarcely a man left standing 
 in her. Their matches set her on fire. I was 
 aboard her afterwards. I never see such a sight.' 
 
 * And how many are over there, now, going about 
 the town, to be killed in a few days, not seeing 
 their slayer } Have you ever thought of the soul, 
 captain } It must be startled to be driven from the 
 body like that.' 
 
 * The faces are peaceful, sir.' 
 
 'Yes. Many are. But the faces one sees in a 
 fight. I never saw a noble expression on a man's 
 face in a battle. I've seen fear, and sickness, and 
 madness. I always feel a compound of all three. 
 What do you feel } I don't believe you do feel. 
 You are always so wonderful. I wish I had your 
 self-control.' 
 
 ' I don't know what I feel, sir. Fear of having 
 my retreat cut off. That's the thing I worry over. 
 I tell you, sir, frankly. I don't want that ever to 
 happen to me. I don't care who knows it.' 
 
 349 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * About our battle, captain. We shall land in 
 force to south of the town, while Tucket's party 
 makes a strong feint on the north wall. We shall 
 creep up along the beach, and attack the south wall 
 as soon as Tucket's party draws their fire. We 
 ought to be in the town by the time the sun's at all 
 strong. The canoas will follow us up, and lie 
 below the sea-wall, ready for us. The ships will 
 anchor within gunshot of the town as soon as we 
 hoist English colours.' 
 
 * It'd be well to get all hands off soon, sir. 
 They'll get straggled, looking for loot, and there's 
 three garrisons — Lobos, Covenas, and Cispata — 
 within an hour or two's ride of the place. Another 
 thing, they'll likely take to drinking.' 
 
 * We're not in the town yet, captain.' 
 ' That'll come, sir.' 
 
 'You know, captain, we may be taking our 
 friend back.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir. The lady, poor thing. She must be 
 suffering now, sir. We're anxious. But nothing 
 to her, poor thing, wondering if that man's alive.' 
 
 ' I'm wondering if we are making more trouble 
 for her by bringing him back to her.' 
 
 ' He's not been brought yet, sir.' 
 
 ' In three days, captain.' 
 
 * Maybe so, sir. If you ask me, I say no. 
 She'll never see him again. I ask Mr. Perrin that. 
 One always comes back to Mr. Perrin. They call 
 him a fool, forward there ; but he sees things 
 shrewder than some of these wise ones that tried 
 to drown the duck. He said, " No. You'll never 
 see him again. He's married to a Spanish girl, 
 and changed his religion, by this time." One never 
 
 350 
 
The END 
 
 believes Mr. Perrin till one finds he was right after 
 all. Then it's too late.' 
 
 * Perhaps,' Margaret said. * He may be right. 
 That may be it. He may be killed in the assault. 
 He may have left the town. We may never see 
 him again. It may be the end. 1 wonder what 
 sort of life it is going to be for her if it is the 
 end.' 
 
 ' Life goes on much the same, sir. Women feel 
 it more than men ; they live so cramped. But I 
 always say a man's a bigger thing than anything he 
 makes. If he makes trouble he'd ought to be big 
 enough to bear it.' 
 
 * And if the trouble's made for him } ' 
 
 ' There's always more than yourself in the world. 
 Come, sir.' 
 
 * I think, captain,' said Margaret, ^ you're the 
 only one of us all who comes up prepared and calm, 
 ready for everything. I ought to have been on the 
 Main with you and Morgan, instead of learning 
 Latin at a university. If I ever have a son, I shall 
 send him abroad with you to be a buccaneer.' 
 
 They entered the gulf in the darkness of the 
 new moon. They sailed in a clump together, 
 Tucket leading. They sailed without lights, but 
 for the night-lights in the binnacles. They moved 
 in blackness on the sea, great fish making fire- 
 streaks, lumbering whales with their brood. The 
 men aboard them, waiting in the darkness for the 
 word, struck their shins on guns and longed to be 
 off. Few of them took their hammocks from the 
 nettings that night. They passed the hours talk- 
 ing and smoking, in slow sea-walks to and fro, 
 humming old tunes over their pipestems. They 
 
 351 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 had made themselves ready many hours before. 
 Their guns had been oiled and loaded, and their 
 belts filled with cartridges, during the afternoon. 
 All that they had to do now was to buckle on their 
 water-bottles and snapsacks, and get into their 
 boats. They heard the surf tumbling on the 
 Mestizos. Setting stars, like ships* lights, burned 
 out into the sea. The seamen watched them as 
 they shifted their tides, talking of the past, with its 
 memories, of ships and women, its memories of life 
 and the sun. 
 
 The word was given some four miles from the 
 city, lest the Indian sentinels should sight the ships 
 from the walls. The land was like a cloud at that 
 distance, like a sharply defined blackness on the 
 sky, shutting off the rising stars. It was a dark 
 morning ; but to the seamen's eyes it w^as light 
 enough. They had been on deck since the setting 
 of the watch. They had grown accustomed to the 
 darkness. It was now an hour before the dawn. 
 It was to be a red dawn above Tolu. 
 
 Captain Margaret stood with Cammock at the 
 gangway watching his men go over the side to the 
 canoas. All the men of war, twenty of his crew, 
 and a few Indians, fifty men in all, were coming 
 with him from the sfiip. They loitered about the 
 gangway like sheep at a gap, they seemed a great 
 company. They did not talk much among them- 
 selves. One or two, the wags of the fo'c's'le, made 
 jests about ' Tolu soup ' ; and the laughter spread 
 in the canoas, where the men were packed tightly, 
 like lovers on a bench. One or two of the men, 
 the most intelligent among them, asked to shake 
 hands with Captain Margaret as they passed him at 
 
 352 
 
The END 
 
 the gangway side. Perrin touched him on the 
 shoulder when about half of them had gone. 
 
 * Charles,' he said, * Olivia wants to see you. 
 She's in the alleyway.' 
 
 ^ In a minute,' he answered. ' Good-bye, West.' 
 
 ' Good-bye, sir.' 
 
 *Look: after them, captain. Don't let them 
 shove off without me.' 
 
 In the darkness of the alleyway he found Olivia. 
 He could see her great eyes in the oval of her face. 
 She was trembling. 
 
 ' Well, Olivia,' he said gravely. He took her 
 hands in his, wondering, dully, if he would ever 
 see her again. ' I'm just off, Olivia.' 
 
 ' I wanted to see you,' she said, in a shaking 
 little voice. ' I know I've only a minute. I 
 tried last night. I -want to thank you, Charles. 
 You've been good. You've been very good to 
 me. Whether you succeed. Or don't succeed. I 
 mean now. On shore. I. I thank you. Thank 
 you. God keep you.' 
 
 ' You, too, Olivia.' 
 
 He felt that this was the supreme moment of his 
 life, this moment in the dark, with the forms of sea- 
 men passing across the door, and the white, beloved 
 face half seen, strained up towards him. He knew 
 that he might kiss her face. Their souls were very 
 near together, nearer, he knew, than, they would 
 ever again be. There was the beloved face near his ; 
 there was his reward, after all these days, after all 
 this wandering the world. 
 
 ^ Good-bye, Olivia.' 
 
 She did not answer, but her hands pressed his 
 hands to her side for a moment. 
 2 A 353 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * We shall be back in a few hours, Olivia/ 
 
 *Ah, not that. Not that,' she said, shuddering. 
 * Never that again.' 
 
 ' Perhaps, Olivia, he may be with us.' 
 
 ' No,' she said faintly. 
 
 ' I must go now, Olivia. Good-bye.' 
 
 ' Good-bye,' she murmured. ' God keep you, 
 Charles.' 
 
 He knew that he might kiss her face ; but would 
 not. He knew that it was the mood and the 
 moment which brought them thus together. She 
 should never reproach herself. He did not love for 
 pay. He pressed her hands for an instant. ' Good- 
 bye then,' he said lightly. 
 
 'Thank you,' she said, so lowly that he could 
 hardly hear her. 
 
 He knew that she stood there, leaning against 
 the bulkhead in the dark, long after he had reached 
 the deck. It was like waking from a dream to 
 come on deck again. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Cammock,' he said, putting his 
 emotion from him. 'We've got our bearings. 
 Don't stand further in for half an hour. If any- 
 thing happens. Well. We've talked that out. 
 Haven't we } Good-bye, Edward.' 
 
 ' Good-bye. Look here, Charles. Here are my 
 pistols. I should like you to have them.' 
 
 'Very well,' he said. 'Thanks. How do you 
 put them on } ' He slung the pistol-belt over his 
 shoulder, in the sea-style. ' Good-bye,' he said 
 again. ' Look after her.' 
 
 He passed quickly down the ladder to the wait- 
 ing canoas, which still dragged at the gangway with 
 their freights of armed men. A canoa was pulling 
 
 354 
 
The END 
 
 towards them out of the night ; her oars stroked the 
 sea into flame. Gleams of flame broadened at her 
 bows. Little bright sparks scattered from the oar- 
 blades as the rowers feathered. 
 
 ' Is that you, Captain Margaret } ' said Pain's 
 voice. 'I've sent Tucket's party on ahead. They've 
 got a mile further to pull than we got. We're all 
 ready ahead there. You're all ready and loaded, 
 and your guns flinted } ' 
 
 ' Yes. All ready here, Captain Pain.' 
 
 ' Your oars are in grummets, ain't they ^ ' 
 
 ' Yes, all of them.' 
 
 'And you've all got white scarves on your arms.? 
 Right. The word is " Up with her." ' 
 
 ' " Up with her." You hear that, all of you } 
 The word is " Up with her." ' 
 
 ' Up with her,' the men repeated. ' We'll rally 
 her up for a full due.' 
 
 'We'll shove ahead, then, cap,' said Captain Pain. 
 ' If any man speaks above a whisper, mind, we'll 
 deal with him after.' 
 
 ' Silence in the boats,' said Margaret. ' On a 
 morning so still as this we may be heard a couple 
 of miles off. Sound goes a long way over water. 
 Remember, all hands. No looting. There's to be 
 no looting. After the city's taken, we shall hold it 
 to ransom. After the fight, the trumpeter here 
 will sound the assembly in the Plaza. You will 
 all fall in there. Understand } ' 
 
 ' Are you ready in the bows there } ' 
 
 ' All ready, sir.' 
 
 ' Shove off. Give way together. Make it long, 
 stroke oars.' 
 
 ' Long and lairy, sir.* 
 
 355 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' We'll follow you, Captain Pain/ 
 
 'Right,' came the voice out of the darkness. 
 The hulk of the Broken Heart fell away into the 
 night. The ripple of flame at her bows died astern. 
 The boats drew up into order. Pain's canoa leading, 
 the other fourteen following close behind, two and 
 two together. There was silence in all the boats, 
 a silence like the hush in a theatre. The wash 
 of the hundred oars, and the slow breathing of the 
 rowers, was all that could be heard. All that could 
 be seen was the advancing oily swell of the water, 
 the gleam where the oars dipped, the track of the 
 great stars dancing on the swell. Dimly one could 
 see the other boats. One could see the transom 
 of Pain's boat, a ghostly oval, dying away ahead, 
 but never quite gone. Far in front, seeming slowly 
 to climb higher, was the blackness of the shore, 
 from which, very faintly, came the roll of the surf. 
 So they rowed on, in the darkness, pausing some- 
 times to change their rowers, two hundred men, 
 going to the presence of death. 
 
 Their first real sight of the shore was a twinkle 
 of fire upon the beach, below the city. Some in- 
 fected clothes had been set on fire there the night 
 before. The fire had smouldered all night, and 
 had then broken out, in little leaping tongues, 
 lighting the town's south gate. Those in the boat 
 wondered when they saw it, thinking that Indians 
 must be camped there, or travellers from Covenas, 
 perhaps, arrived after the shutting of the gates. 
 There was some anxiety lest it should be a signal ; 
 but the flames, lighting up the beach, showed them 
 no watchers, and no answering signal shone in the 
 south-west, either from shore or sea. They learned 
 
 356 
 
The END 
 
 from the fire that they were pointing too near 
 to the city. They swung off four points, and 
 rowed to the south-east, into the shallow water off 
 the mouth of the Pesquero. 
 
 They landed about three miles from the town, 
 and at once formed for action. Some Indian 
 scouts led the party, then came Margaret with a 
 dozen axemen, all carrying powder-kegs, for the 
 destruction of the gate. The Broken Heart men 
 formed the vanguard. Pain's men followed, in 
 rough order. The boats, with a boat-guard of 
 thirty or forty men, some of whom were leeches, 
 pulled out into the gulf, to prepare lint and salves 
 for the hurt. The landing party looked to their 
 firearms. There was a little confusion and splash- 
 ing, owing to the narrowness of the beach, which 
 forced some of them to stand in the sea. In a few 
 minutes they were all ready. They set forward, 
 as silently as they could, keeping a fast walk, lest 
 Tucket's men, now hidden among rocks a mile to 
 the north of the town, should grow weary of 
 waiting. It was still dark night about them ; but 
 they knew from the faintness of the wind that it 
 was near dawn. The macaws were waking in the 
 forest. Strange cries, strange primeval noises, 
 sounded in the forest. There were stealthy patter- 
 ings, quick scuttering droppings, as some animal 
 brushed among the scrub, knocking off the dew. 
 The Indian who walked by Margaret knew what 
 these noises meant. He paused at each sound, as 
 though to make sure that they were really what 
 they seemed. A chicaly-chicaly made her sweet, 
 sharp cry, from somewhere ahead. It touched 
 Margaret to the heart ; it was so like the tolling of 
 
 357 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 a cuckoo. The Indian bent his head back and 
 replied, so exactly that the bird answered. Mar- 
 garet had never before heard this done ; though 
 he had read of it. He wondered, as he marched, 
 if all knowledge ranked alike, if all power, all 
 imagination, ranked alike, and whether this Indian, 
 who could apprehend the natures of all these 
 creatures in the wood, were not really a finer 
 product than himself He could not imitate a 
 chicaly-chicaly, he could not raise the devil, he 
 could not see a three-days'-old track on stones. 
 He wished that in the march to a full life one had 
 not to forget so much. One should have all the 
 powers, all the savage powers even, one should be 
 a divine spirit of apprehension, one should inform 
 the whole world, feeling the pismire's want as keenly 
 as the saint's ecstasy. One should be able to ap- 
 prehend the wild things, the things of the wood, as 
 well as the spirit of a poet in his divine moment. 
 True life is to be alive in every fibre to the divine 
 in all things. He wondered whether the Indians 
 communed with the beasts, getting from them 
 something which the white men ignored ; coming, 
 through them, to secrets unknown to white men, 
 secrets of nature, of the universal spirit, of the 
 spirit which binds the herds of peccary, and slinks 
 in the wild cat, and sings in the bell-voiced golden- 
 comb. He thought little of the business in hand. 
 His mind was blank about it. All that he could 
 think of the coming struggle was that he must 
 bring back Stukeley, find him and bring him back, 
 or never go back himself. The men were all round 
 him, some of them even ahead of him by this time, 
 for, going fast as they were, often up to their 
 
 358 
 
The END 
 
 knees in the sea, It was impossible to keep good 
 order. 
 
 After half an hour's march they forded the 
 Arroyo Francesco and came to the broader sands. 
 Here they all marched in the wash ; for now they 
 were within twelve minutes of the town. They 
 could see the dark mass of the town ahead of them, 
 a city of sleepers, no light burning, no one stirring, 
 only a little fire near the gate, and a dog baying in 
 the Plaza. The dawn was beginning to change the 
 darkness ; it was growing lighter. The screams of 
 the macaws set the monkeys swearing. The men 
 halted, formed into order, and hurried on for 
 another half-mile. They paused again, only four 
 hundred yards from the walls. The pioneers with 
 the powder-kegs made ready for their dash to the 
 gate. The fusemen, carrying many yards of match, 
 now lit their fuses in the scrub. The army marked 
 time, feeling the chill of the dawn, waiting for 
 Tucket to begin. Margaret could feel that many 
 of his men were nervous, waiting like that, with 
 the light growing above them. They had timed the 
 attack well ; but to stand, waiting, while the precious 
 moments passed, was hard. Very soon the sentinels 
 would see them. A low growl of discontent mut- 
 tered up and down the ranks. Voices urged Mar- 
 garet to attack at once, without waiting for Tucket. 
 ' We shall be seen.' * What's the good of waiting 
 here } ' ' Why, Lord love us, we could have took 
 the town by this time.' 'Shove ahead.' 'This is 
 a bit of " up with her," I don't think, waiting 'ere.' 
 There was a tendency to edge forward, to press 
 towards the front, to see what was going on. 
 Margaret urged them back, and passed word to 
 
 359 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Pain to keep his rear ranks from firing into the 
 backs of the storming party. The rear ranks were 
 the eager ranks, as they always are. The front 
 ranks are nearest to the bullets ; they have their 
 minds engaged. 
 
 Lighter it grew. There was colour in the sky 
 now ; the men were surging forward, swearing 
 that they would wait no more. Then from far 
 away, on the farther wall of the town, a cry arose, 
 a cry like a death cry, a cry of alarm. Two shots 
 followed ; then yells, shrieks, oaths, the roar of 
 many guns. ' Up with her. Tucket,' said the 
 waiting men. Cries sounded within the town, dogs 
 yelped, one or two women screamed, as the firing 
 increased. ' Come on,' Margaret called to the pioneers. 
 They splashed out of the water on to the sands, 
 and started towards the city at a run. As they ran, 
 they heard Pain keeping back the ranks till the 
 charge should have been fired. The feet splashed 
 behind them slowly, growing fainter. The fire on 
 the beach grew brighter, they were passing it ; the 
 walls were before them, only a hundred yards away. 
 * Against the door,' he said, panting. ' Against the 
 hinges. One keg spilled below.' The town was 
 aroused now. They could hear the cries and 
 hurry. Still no sign came from the walls. * Sen- 
 tinel's asleep,' said one of the men. ' There,' said 
 another. ' Up with her. Up with her. We're 
 seen.' A m.an showed upon the wall by the gate. 
 ' Ahi,' he screamed. ' Piratas. Piratas. Piratas. 
 Cuidado. Cuidado.' He fired his gun into the 
 air ; the flash shot up like the flash of a blast-charge. 
 There came cries and a noise of running. A few 
 heads showed. The wall spouted fire in a volley. 
 
 360 
 
The END 
 
 They were up against the wall, against the iron- 
 plated door, piling the kegs against the hinges, 
 tamping them down with sods and stones. Mar- 
 garet snatched one keg and spilled it along the 
 door-sill. ' There,' he said. ' There. Now your 
 fuse, fuseman.' The quick-match was thrust into 
 a keg. * Up along the walls, boys. Quick. Scatter. 
 Pronto.' He thrust them sideways. They saw 
 what he wanted. When the imaginations are alert 
 there is little need for speech. No man could have 
 heard him. The racket in the town was uproar 
 like earthquake. The whole wall above them was 
 lit with fire spurts. Mud and plaster were tinkling 
 in a rain upon them. They ran fifty yards like 
 hares, paying out the quick-match. ^ Now,' said 
 Margaret. The match flashed. A snake of fire 
 rippled from them. They saw the shards of pots 
 gleam, then vanish. They saw old bones, old 
 kettles, all the refuse below the walls. * Down,* 
 he shouted. ' Down.' They flung themselves 
 down. The beach to their left flashed, as the 
 pirates fired at the wall. 
 
 There came a roar, a rush of fire, a shaking of 
 the land. Mud, brick, stone, shards of iron and 
 wood, all the ruin of the gate, crashed among them, 
 flying far among the trees, thumping them on their 
 backs as they lay. After the roar there was a dis- 
 mayed silence. A wail of a hurt man sounded, as 
 though the wrecked gate cried. Then with a volley 
 the privateers stormed in. From where he lay, 
 Margaret could watch them plainly ; the dawn had 
 broken. He saw them charging, tripping in the 
 sand, their gun-barrels glinting. An Indian led 
 them, a screaming Indian, who danced and spun 
 
 361 
 
C ATTAIN MARGARET 
 
 round, waving his machete. * Lie still/ he shouted 
 to his pioneers. ' Let them pass. They'll shoot 
 you down. Lie still.' With yells and shots the 
 storming party swept up the ruin. ' Up with her/ 
 they shouted. ' Up with her.' They were clamber- 
 ing over the wreck, tripping, stumbling, kneeling 
 to fire, clubbing at the guard. ' Now,' said Mar- 
 garet, drawing his sword. They rose up from their 
 nest among the tip. They were with their fellows, 
 they were climbing the heaped stone, amid smoke 
 and oaths and fire-lit faces. Margaret was inside 
 Tolu. The south wall was won. 
 
 The land-breeze, very faint now, drifted the 
 smoke slowly. He could see little. He could see 
 in glimpses the whitewashed houses, the line of the 
 south road, a man with his back to a wall, a woman 
 fallen, figures rushing. He could see enough to 
 know that the enemy were making no stand. 
 He ran on up the road to the Plaza, one of a mob. 
 Windows opened above him. People fired from 
 the windows. Women were flinging pots, tiles, 
 braziers. Some one had begun to ring the alarm 
 bell in the church. The broken clang sounded out 
 above the screams and the firing. Now it was all 
 clear before him. He was in the Plaza, shouting to 
 his mob to form. There in front of him the troops 
 were mustering. They were running from their 
 quarters, half clad, in rags, just as they had started 
 from sleep. Heavy fire was rolling at the north 
 wall. Troops were running thither. In the centre 
 of the Plaza, about a cotton tree, a score of 
 Spaniards were forming in line. A halberdier was 
 dressing them. They stood firm, handling their 
 guns, hearkening to their capitan. Margaret saw 
 
 362 
 
The END 
 
 them clearly, and praised them in his heart for the 
 flower of soldiery. They were of the old Spanish 
 foot, the finest troops in the world. Even as he 
 looked he saw them falling forward. He was 
 among them. His sword jarred him to the 
 shoulder as it struck on a gun-barrel. He saw 
 them about him. They were breaking. They 
 were gathering into clumps. They were being swept 
 into the mob of citizens flying to the east gate. 
 
 Half an hour later the newly risen sun showed 
 him a captured town. In the streets, in the Plaza, 
 everywhere, lay the dead and dying. They lay in 
 heaps in some parts. All the clutter and wreck of 
 war, the clouts, the cast arms, the gear flung away 
 by the fleeing, lay littered in the sands. The walls 
 were chipped and starred with bullet marks. The 
 stink of powder was everywhere. Women still 
 screamed. Wounded men wailed where they lay, 
 with the pitiful whimpering cry, like that of a 
 beaten hound, which sickens all who hear it of the 
 glory of war. Firing was still going on ; but the 
 fight was over ; the town was in the hands of the 
 privateers. 
 
 Margaret found himself at the east gate with 
 Pain. About a dozen of the crew of the Bro\en 
 Heart stood by him, waiting for orders. He took 
 their names, and told them off to look out at the 
 city gates, and to spike the guns on the sea-wall. 
 
 ' I'm going to the Governor's house there, to 
 look for my friend,' he said. ' Where's my trum- 
 peter } Sound the assembly, trumpet. Muster 
 your men, will you, Captain Pain 1 ' 
 
 The assembly sounded. The men fell in, 
 answering to their names. The boat-guard with 
 
 363 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 the doctors landed. The captains checked oiff their 
 lists, scanning the ranks closely whenever a man 
 failed to answer. The men were powder-black- 
 ened ; some of them were wounded, many were 
 cut about the head. They sent the boat-guard with 
 the doctors to search the streets for the dead and 
 hurt. Thirty-three men were missing, all of them, 
 save one, from the party which had stormed the 
 south wall. 
 
 * Strengthen the guards at the gates,' Margaret 
 said. ' Captain Tucket, you take the north gate. 
 I'll see to the east. Captain Pain, will you send a 
 dozen to the south } Keep a sharp look out.' 
 
 He picked his own guard and sent them off to 
 their duty. The other gate-guards fell out unwill- 
 ingly. Some of the privateers were eating their 
 breakfasts in the ranks. 
 
 ' I'm going to the Governor's house now,' he 
 said to Pain. ' Call me at once if the Spaniards 
 send a trumpet. No straggling. No looting, 
 mind.' As he turned towards the Governor's house 
 he heard the men behind him snigger. He heard 
 a voice ask Pain if this was to be the new rule, 
 now that Springer's Key was full of college gents. 
 Pain told the man to take a severe turn. 
 
 Margaret drew his pistols as he came near the 
 house ; for though most of the inhabitants had 
 fled, a few poor men and slaves still lounged in the 
 streets, having nothing to lose. A single man, 
 richly dressed, might tempt these gangrels. He 
 hailed a negro, who sat in the sun in the Plaza, 
 sucking a wound in his wrist. 
 
 'Ho, muchacho,' he said in his schoolboy 
 Spanish. ' Donde esta la casa del Gobernador } ' 
 
 364 
 
The END 
 
 The negro waved his unhurt hand towards the 
 house with a gesture full of dignity. Then he 
 continued to suck his wound, like a dog licking a 
 hurt paw. 
 
 ' Gracias,' Margaret answered. * Pero el hombre 
 Ingles. Dondeesta?' 
 
 Again the negro waved his hand towards the 
 house, pausing in his suction exactly like a dog. 
 ' He,* he said ; then bent to suck again. 
 
 The house of the Governor fronted the Plaza. 
 It was a big house, with a patio. The lower story 
 had no outer windows, no door. Margaret had to 
 climb the stone steps to the balcony, where a 
 chained monkey leaped up and down in the sun, 
 between bites at a plantain. The door leading 
 to the inner part of the house lay open, just as the 
 fugitives had left it. A woman's shawl was on the 
 floor. One runner had upset the monkey's saucer 
 of water. A chair had been upset. As Margaret 
 entered the house, with his pistols cocked, he saw 
 something beneath the chair, something bright, 
 which he took to be a snake. It was the scabbard 
 of a sword, flung aside in a soldier's hurry. Mar- 
 garet, pausing on the threshold to listen, wondered 
 if Stukeley had flung it there. He listened in- 
 tently, expecting to see Stukeley coming from 
 the darkness of the corridor. His mind was busy 
 with the thought of Stukeley. What was he to 
 say to him } What was he to do to him } Sup- 
 pose Stukeley came out fighting } * I must bring 
 him back,' he repeated. 'I must, bring him back. 
 He must be brought back.' A step sounded on 
 the stairs behind him. It was West, one of the 
 Broken Heart's seamen. 
 
 365 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^ Beg pardon, sir,* the man said, ' may I come 
 with you ? There's maybe some of these Dons 
 in the house/ 
 
 * Yes,' Margaret answered. ' Listen.' 
 
 They listened in the doorway for a moment ; but 
 the house was still, save for the chinking of the 
 monkey's chain. 
 
 ' Gone, sir, I guess,* said West. 
 
 ' Come on, then,' Margaret said. ^ Cock your 
 pistols and come on.' 
 
 They passed through the littered hall into the 
 left-hand corridor. The jalousied shutters were 
 shut on the patio side ; but the doors of some 
 of the rooms were open, giving light to the passage. 
 It was a barely furnished house, hung with very old 
 Spanish leather, ant-eaten and mothed and mouldy, 
 falling to pieces. In the first room, a sleeping- 
 room, the mosquito-nets had been torn from the 
 cots, and lay wrecked on the floor with a silver 
 chocolate service. In another, a chair stood against 
 the wall, where a man had stood to snatch arms 
 from a trophy. In another sleeping-room they 
 found the clothes of a man and woman by the cot- 
 sides, just as they had been laid the night before, 
 when the couple retired. It was like being in the 
 presence of death to walk that house. It was 
 as though they were looking on the corpse of a 
 house, on a house dug up from the sands, the life 
 of it gone and forgotten, only the pathetic husks 
 left, that had once been helps to men. They 
 opened a shutter and looked out upon the patio. A 
 goat was tethered there, crying to be milked. 
 They heard the stamping of horses. One horse 
 was scraping with his forefeet against the floor 
 
 366 
 
The END 
 
 of his stall. There was no sign of Stukeley 
 there, no trace of him, nothing to mark his 
 presence. 
 
 ' Now the other corridor,' Margaret said. They 
 retraced their steps, walking on tiptoe, listening 
 intently. The first room in the other corridor was 
 a dining-room, furnished with heavy Spanish fur- 
 niture of the great period. A lute lay on the 
 table, among wineglasses half full of wine, a box 
 of Peruvian suckets, a box of candied quinces, a 
 dish of avocat pears. Some one had been playing 
 the lute, the night before. The unknown player 
 had fitted a new string. The broken string lay 
 among the litter where it had been thrown. Flies 
 were black among the suckets. The air smelt 
 of the stale gums which had burnt out before 
 a crucifix on the wall. A shaft of sunlight came 
 through a broken shutter. The dust quivered 
 in it. On the floor, in its road of glory, a column 
 of ants marched, stumbling over crumbs. There 
 was much silver in the room. Over the sideboard 
 was a Zurbaran, too full of personality to be 
 religious. Margaret looked at it, sighing, thinking 
 that only lesser artists could save their souls. 
 There was no trace of Stukeley here. ^ Let's get 
 out,* he said. ' He's not here.' 
 
 'There's three more rooms,' said West. They 
 entered the Governor's office. 
 
 It was a barer room than the others. It con- 
 tained a table and a few chairs. There were papers 
 on the table ; a locked account book, a list of resi- 
 dent Indians, a list of citizens capable of bearing 
 arms, a diary in cipher. Under the table, in a 
 coffer, were more account books, Cammock's porto- 
 
 367 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 lano, and a copy of the same, traced from the 
 originals, now nearly finished. 
 
 ' You see. West,' said Margaret. ^ You bear 
 witness that I take these two books } ' 
 
 'Yes, sir,' said West. He walked over to a 
 corner and picked something up from a chair. 
 
 ' Isn't this Mr. Stukeley's, sir .? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Margaret, crossing over swiftly. 
 ' It's his hat. And there's his sword-belt.' 
 
 They stood together, looking at the things, won- 
 dering how lately the owner had flung them there, as 
 he came in, hot, for the onzas. They felt him to be 
 very near them there. It was as though he were 
 coming sneering towards them, his fine teeth show- 
 ing. His very words came into Margaret's mind, 
 with their exact inflections. ' Found much } Eh ^ ' 
 Those were the words he would use. 
 
 ' Hark,' said West suddenly. They listened. 
 
 ' What did you think you heard } ' 
 
 ' There's some one speaking in the next room, sir.' 
 
 ' Listen.' 
 
 In the hush, they heard a sound like a sob, a 
 low murmur of words ; then a rustling, chinking 
 sound. 
 
 ' Like some one praying,' West said. 
 
 'Careful now,' said Margaret. 'Come on after me.' 
 They crept from the office on tiptoe, their pistols 
 ready. In the corridor a board creaked beneath 
 them. They paused guiltily, straining their ears to 
 listen. They heard some one cross the room quietly. 
 Then the door was flung open, letting a glare of 
 light into the corridor. A priest stood before 
 them, holding up a crucifix. Within was a bed. 
 A woman knelt by the bed. Some one lay on the 
 
 368 
 
The END 
 
 bed, covered with a cloth. Margaret raised his 
 hand, and the priest stepped back, looking at their 
 faces curiously. 
 
 ' Donde esta el caballero ingles } ' Margaret asked. 
 *• El senor Stukeley ^ ' 
 
 A faint smile showed upon the priest* s mouth. 
 
 * Here,' he said, in good English. He twitched 
 back the bed-cloth reverently, to show the body of 
 Stukeley lying dead. The face was a dull yellow, 
 the mouth was inflamed. There was no need for 
 further words. 
 
 *■ Vomito,' said the priest. 
 
 ' Yes,' Margaret said, uncovering. ' Vomito.' 
 
 * This morning,' the priest said. 
 
 The woman rose from the bedside, as though to 
 drive them away. She was a black-eyed, hawk- 
 nosed woman, of a crude and evil beauty. She was 
 dressed in red and brown, in an outlandish style. She 
 spoke in gasps, dreadful to hear ; using broken Eng- 
 lish, laced with oaths and Spanish words. ' Damn,' 
 she said. * Damn perros. Cabrones de piratas.' 
 
 ' De quien es } ' Margaret stammered, meaning 
 * Who are you } ' He had no gift of tongues. 
 
 ' Mrs. Stukeley,' the priest said. ^ The widow. 
 His wife.' 
 
 ' Me Anna,' said the woman. * Me 'is wife.' 
 
 Margaret bowed ; words seemed useless. He 
 was only conscious of the horror of it. He had 
 not been prepared for this. He had sat at meat so 
 many times with this corpse. He had seen him so 
 often, full of life and health, going with a laugh to 
 sin, in the pride of the flesh. Now a little thing, 
 the bite of a fly, no more, had brought him to a 
 death among strangers, in this low cot in the wilds, 
 2 B 369 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 with his beauty turned to horror, and his strength, 
 if anything, a fiery chain upon his soul. There he 
 lay, under an Indian cotton, gone to his reward so 
 soon. Margaret had hated him. He shuddered now 
 to think how he had hated him. Looking at him as 
 he lay there, in all the hideousness of death, he felt 
 the remorse which a death brings. He felt ashamed, 
 as though he had struck the corpse by hating him 
 whom it had covered. ^ It was my fault,' he said 
 to himself. ' It should have been otherwise. One 
 ought to live with this before one.' He saw where 
 he had acted hastily, where he had failed. He 
 knew all that he might have done. What moved 
 him most was the thought that Olivia had loved this 
 man, had loved him tenderly, and that he, Olivia's 
 lover, had never known his character, had never 
 guessed what it was in him which was beautiful to 
 her. Now he would never know. Standing by the 
 side of the corpse, he tasted all the bitterness of one 
 who has failed to apprehend another, and learns of 
 his failure too late. Stukeley was dead now, the 
 old life was dead now. He would to God that he 
 were dead in Stukeley's place, and that the old life 
 might be lived again. He would to God that 
 this man's passage to death had been made 
 pleasanter. He blamed himself. He was touched 
 and humbled almost to tears. * If I had only 
 understood,' he thought, 'you would not have 
 cast yourself away thus.' Now he had this to tell 
 Olivia. 
 
 'You were not what I thought, Stukeley,' he 
 murmured aloud, looking down at the face. ' You 
 were not what I thought. You won her love. 
 You were her chosen.' 
 
 370 
 
The END 
 
 ' My God,' he added to himself, ' you won her 
 by that very quality of certainty which made you 
 cast her aside.' He stood there trying to create, 
 in his moment of tenderness, fit words with which 
 to tell her, words which might comfort her, staying 
 in her heart. The words which came to him seemed 
 blunt and cold. The only help that he could give 
 to her was to bury this part of her with all reverent 
 and noble rites. 
 
 * He was the Governor's secretary,' said the 
 priest. * He was not here long. Not long in the 
 country. The vomito takes the new-comers.' 
 
 ' Ah,' said Margaret, starting. ' How well you 
 talk English. Look here. Come aside here. We 
 must bury him at once ^ ' 
 
 ^ Before the sun,' the priest said, with a shudder. 
 
 ' Where is the burial-ground } ' 
 
 He raised his hand in benediction over the 
 corpse, then led Margaret out of the room. West 
 followed them, reverent and awed, speaking in 
 a hushed voice. The priest led them by a back 
 way to the patio, thence by a postern to a side 
 street, a good two hundred yards from the house. 
 The burial-ground was hedged with stone, over 
 which some creepers had grown. Little green 
 lizards were darting among the creepers. They 
 glittered like cut glass. The gate of the cemetery 
 swung open on hinges of raw hide. When they 
 entered, some large rats scuttled to their burrows 
 among the graves. 
 
 ^ Much sickness here,' said the priest. ' It is not 
 good to dig deep in this ground.' 
 
 ' I must dig this grave deep,' Margaret answered. 
 * Look at the rats.' 
 
 371 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 * They are large/ the priest said. 'Much sick- 
 ness in this poor town.' 
 
 ' Where can I find a spade ? ' Margaret asked, 
 
 * Who knows ? ' said the priest. ' You will tell 
 your men to find one ? Ah } ' 
 
 ' I must do this myself,' he answered. 
 
 ' But your men on the wall,' said the priest. 
 
 * And your ship there. Ah 1 ' 
 
 Margaret looked towards the west, over the low 
 sea-wall. Some of his men were spiking the guns 
 on the platform. He could hear the click of the 
 malls upon the spikes, as they snapped the soft iron 
 flush with the gun. Beyond them, very far away, 
 were the ships ; the tide and the land-wind had set 
 them out to sea again. 
 
 ' They are waiting for the sea-breeze,* said the 
 priest. ' No getting in till chocolate.' 
 
 * No,' said Margaret. ' Now take me, please, 
 to find a spade.' 
 
 ' You are not a privateer } ' the priest asked. 
 ' You do not sack us ? ' 
 
 ' No,' he answered. ' I am not a pirate. I 
 demand the right to trade, and the recognition 
 of Andria, King of Darien.' 
 
 ' Don Andria,' the priest said. ' Ah } Don 
 Andria, the King. And so we are not sacked.' 
 
 ' Now let us find a spade.' 
 
 They searched for half an hour before they 
 found a spade. 
 
 ' We do not use spades,' the priest said. ' We 
 tickle the earth with our toes and it laughs fruits 
 for us.' 
 
 'I will lay him here, West,' Margaret said. 
 
 * Looking towards England.' 
 
 372 
 
The END 
 
 ' Sir,' the priest said, ' he was a good Catholic. 
 He must look towards the east/ 
 
 ' Ah,' said Margaret. * And his wife would like 
 that ? ' 
 
 * Yes. Ah, his wife, sir. Poor child. She was 
 only married six weeks.' 
 
 * It is sad for her. He did not suffer much, 
 father } ' 
 
 ' 111 for four days. But yesterday he was better. 
 Then the fever grew again. As it does, sir, in 
 some cases. The blood was before the dawn. 
 Like a child, sir. And his eyes turned upon the 
 Cross.' 
 
 ' Then I will dig the grave here,' Margaret said. 
 
 * This will be east and west by my watch.' He 
 scratched a narrow oblong with the point of the 
 spade. 
 
 ' I'll dig the grave here,' he said. 
 
 ' Not you. Not in the sun,' the priest said. 
 
 * There is very much sickness. Your men will dig.' 
 
 * I shall dig,' he answered. He felt that he 
 was burying a part of Olivia. He would do her 
 that service. He would make a grave for that 
 unworthy part of her. That act of his should be 
 a part of his penance towards the dead man's ghost. 
 
 * It is very bad to dig this ground,' the priest 
 said. ' It is dust of the dead. We do not dig 
 deep except for an Excellency. You see. The 
 rats. Why toil, since God will bring them to- 
 gether at the Resurrection ^ ' 
 
 ^This is an evil country,' Margaret answered, 
 driving the spade into the earth. 
 
 ' There is fever and death. Very evil,' said the 
 priest. * It is not wholesome to be in the sun, 
 
 373 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 turning the earth, before chocolate. I will go to 
 the widow.* 
 
 He left the cemetery, holding a handkerchief 
 across his nose. The rats in their burrow-mouths 
 watched him. One or two of them scuttled to 
 other burrows. They seemed to play a game of 
 general post, with Margaret as the ' he.' 
 
 ^ Let me have a go at that spade. Captain Mar- 
 garet, sir,' said West. 
 
 ' No. I must do this,' he answered. ' It is 
 dangerous at the top. Perhaps deeper down you 
 shall give me a hand. Gather stones from the wall. 
 I want you to keep away from me. West. This 
 soil is full of infection. Here is some tobacco. I 
 want you to smoke, all the time you are here.' 
 
 ^ No, sir,' said West, looking uncomfortable. 
 ' Not just now, thank you, sir.' 
 
 *It will keep away the infection. You do smoke V 
 
 * Yes, sir. But it wouldn't be right, sir, nor re- 
 spectful to Mrs. Stukeley.' 
 
 ^Ah,' said Margaret, feeling himself rebuked. 
 He dug for a few minutes in silence ; it was light, 
 sandy earth, easily shovelled. 
 
 ' I wish you'd let me do that, sir,' said West. 
 
 « No. Not yet. West.' 
 
 * He was a big man, too, sir. He'd 'ave been a 
 fine big man if he'd taken care of himself.' 
 
 ^ Yes,' Margaret answered. ' He was a beautiful 
 figure.' 
 
 'There's a lot of poor fellows killed, sir,' said 
 West. ' But somehow it don't come 'ome like this 
 one does. That yellow look, after what he was. 
 And the Spanish lady. She wasn't his real lady, 
 sir.' 
 
 374 
 
The END 
 
 ' No. She wasn't his real lady/ 
 
 So they talked as they dug turn and turn about 
 for an hour and a half, when they had to stop 
 digging. They were coming to water. The bottom 
 of the grave was an inch or two deep in water. 
 
 *■ We can go no further,' Margaret said. * Now 
 we'll get stones.' They lined the bed of the grave 
 with stones, and turned to the house for the body. 
 
 The priest and the woman had laid the body out. 
 Margaret ripped down one of the long, jalousied 
 shutters for a bier, while West searched in the patio 
 for rope. An old Spanish tapestry of the death ot 
 Absalom served as a pall. They carried Stukeley 
 to the grave, the priest preceding them, intoning 
 the burial service. Then, very reverently, they 
 lowered him. West and Margaret went aside after 
 this and gathered a heap of lilies while the woman 
 and priest prayed together. 
 
 ' Take her away, father,' Margaret whispered. 
 The priest led the woman to the house. She 
 walked like one stunned. Margaret and West 
 leaned over the grave, to look their last on 
 Stukeley. They could see the water soaking into 
 the linen, and above that the frayed body of 
 Absalom, the handsome youth, caught in the 
 thicket, as he rode. The town was noisy beyond 
 them, two hundred yards away. Singing and 
 shouting came from the Plaza. It seemed to Mar- 
 garet to be the dirge the man would have chosen, 
 this singing and shouting of men. 
 
 * Is that gentleman's service enough, sir ? ' West 
 asked. 
 
 * Quite enough,' he answered. ' You heard him 
 say that Mr. Stukeley had changed his religion ? ' 
 
 375 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^ I'd feel easier if you'd say a few words, sir.' 
 
 He spoke the few words. Then with the shovel 
 he began to fill in the grave, from the foot. He 
 placed many heavy stones among the earth, so that 
 the rats might be foiled. When he had levelled 
 the surface he heaped a cairn of stones at the head, 
 and laid the lilies there. He went to a neighbour- 
 ing garden, and dug up an arnotto rose-bush, to 
 plant upon the grave. When this had been 
 planted, the rites were over, he could do no more. 
 They stood looking down at the grave for a 
 moment, before they left the graveyard. The 
 singing was loud behind them. In front of them, 
 darkening under the breeze, was the bay, with the 
 ships and sloops running in, distant some two or 
 three miles. 
 
 * Come, West,' Margaret said. ' I must see after 
 the wounded.' He took a last look at the grave, at 
 the already drooping lilies and dejected rose-bush. 
 ' Good-bye, Stukeley,' he murmured. He stooped, 
 and picked some rose-buds, and a little scrap of 
 stone from the grave, putting them carefully in a 
 pocket-case. ' Now smoke. West,' he said. * And 
 rub tobacco on your hands.' 
 
 He reproached himself for having neglected his 
 wounded for so long ; but he knew that Tucket 
 and Pain would look to them. He wished that the 
 singing and shouting would stop. ' Old Rose ' and 
 ' The green grass grew ' were not songs which the 
 army in his mind had sung. Thermopylae was not 
 possible to an army which sang such songs. Pistol- 
 shots marked the singing of each stanza ; there 
 were yells and cries. He thought he heard the 
 screams of women. He saw two men come from a 
 
 376 
 
The END 
 
 house with their arms full of plunder. * My God,* 
 he said to himself bitterly. ' Is Stukeley to check 
 me even in death ? ' He drew his pistols again. 
 ' Come on, West,* he cried. He ran to the two 
 looters. 
 
 'What are you doing?* he said. 'Take that 
 stuff back where you got it.* 
 
 ' Git ter hell,* said the men. ' You ain*t our 
 captain. Who in hell are yer talking to ? * Both 
 men were drunk. One of them had been wounded 
 in the head. 
 
 ' 1 been doing your dirty work all morning,' said 
 the wounded man, with drunken gravity. ' I'm 
 a free man, and I'm getting a little for myself. 
 You ain't my cap. Wot d'yer talk to us for .? 
 Go and see 'em in the Plaza,' said the other man. 
 ' Git ter the swamps and shove yer *ed in.* They 
 rolled off shouting. The noise in the Plaza became 
 louder at each moment. ' It was useless to shoot 
 the looters ; two-thirds of the whole force were 
 looting. Pain himself was looting. 
 
 Indeed, the sight of the Plaza haunted Margaret 
 like a nightmare till he died. Of the two hundred 
 men gathered there, hardly thirty were sober. 
 These stood aloof under Tucket, guarding the 
 wounded and laughing at the antics of the rest. 
 A heap of loot was piled under the cotton tree. 
 At every moment a buccaneer added to the pile. 
 Wine casks lay open about the square, with drunken 
 men lying near them, in the sun, too drunk to 
 stir. Other drunkards, with linked arms, danced 
 and sang, making catcalls and obscene noises. A 
 half-conscious girl lay against a wall, gasping, 
 shaken by hysteria. Her wild eyes were hard and 
 
 377 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 dry, her hands clutched the dress across her bosom. 
 Parties of drunken men hacked at doors with axes, 
 and tossed household gear through the windows on 
 to the heads of other drunkards beneath. Some 
 had been torturing a Spaniard with woolding. The 
 man lay dead with the cords about him, his face in 
 the sands. Others, in wantonness, were now firing 
 the church, dancing obscenely about in the priests' 
 robes. Women were screaming in an upper room. 
 A dozen savages pursued one shrieking woman. 
 They bawled filthy jests to each other as they ran. 
 Margaret stood over her, as she fell, moaning, 
 unable to run further. He drove the ruffians back, 
 threatening them with his sword. 
 
 ' It's the cap,' they said. ' If the cap wants 'er 
 he must 'ave 'er.' He placed the woman in a 
 house which had been sacked ; it seemed the safest 
 place in that lost city. Pain came by him, drunk, 
 dragging a silver tray. 
 
 ^No looting,' the drunkard called. 'Strictly 
 college gents. No looting 'tall. None. Won't 
 have it. No.' He passed on, crying drunken cat- 
 calls. The eastern side of the town, fanned by the 
 breeze, was fast spreading to a blaze. The dry 
 wood crackled as the flame caught. The church 
 roof was pouring smoke. Little flames were lick- 
 ing out from the eaves. ' My God. My God,' 
 said Margaret. 'And this is my act and deed. 
 My act and deed.' He went to Tucket, who stood 
 with the wounded, grimly watching it all. He 
 could not speak. He could only shake his head, 
 white to the lips. 
 
 ' How's this for hell } ' said Tucket. ' This is 
 Captain Pain.' 
 
 378 
 
The END 
 
 ^ Are the guards at the gates still ? ' Margaret 
 answered. 
 
 ' Some of 'em are. Your own men are. Mine 
 are. I never saw men like these, though.' 
 
 ' Let's get the wounded to the boats. How 
 many have we ^ How many men are steady 
 still .? ' 
 
 ' Sir,* Tucket answered, * I've twenty-five men 
 by me. We lost fourteen killed. There's nineteen 
 hurt here. That's fifty-eight. Say there's twenty 
 at the gates still. That leaves a matter of a hundred 
 and seventy like what you see. Get them hurt 
 into the carts, boys, and start 'em to the boats. 
 Gently does it. That's you.' 
 
 They laid the wounded men in litters and carts, 
 and wheeled them down gently to the canoas. 
 Margaret walked by the side of the carts, talking 
 to the men about their wounds, fanning them with 
 his handkerchief, getting drink for them, wetting 
 their brows with water whenever they passed a 
 cistern. The ships were then coming to anchor 
 within half a mile of the town. 
 
 *You won't be long in the boats,' he told the 
 wounded men. * You'll soon be in bed on board. 
 You can see the ships. There they are. Do you 
 see ? ' 
 
 He spoke to Tucket, urging that they should 
 withdraw the guards from the east and north gates, 
 lest the Spaniards, guessing what had happened, 
 should attack suddenly, and overpower them. 
 
 * I've already sent,' said Tucket. * I ain't goin' 
 to lose good men because these swine choose to 
 raise hell. This was Captain Pain's piece. The 
 sooner we're off the better.' 
 
 379 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ^ rd sound the assembly,' Margaret said. ' But 
 the trumpeter's drunk.' 
 
 ^ Could we ring the church bell or something, 
 sir ? ' said one of the men. 
 
 * The church is on fire.' 
 
 ' Beg pardon, sir. But we'd oughtn't to wait,' 
 said Tucket. 'We'd ought to get these fellers on 
 board. The sun's strong. And we got to make 
 two journeys as it is.' 
 
 At the boats they were joined by the north-gate 
 guards, about a dozen men in all. 
 
 * We can only send away six canoas at a time,' 
 Margaret said. ' That'll mean twenty-four oars. 
 Two wounded men in each canoa. You can't put 
 more, comfortably.' 
 
 * That's so,' said Tucket. * Get 'em in, sons. 
 Ask Captain Cammock to fire guns.' 
 
 They manned six canoas, and laid the worst cases 
 in the sternsheets. The one sober doctor went 
 with them. He was a clever surgeon, pretty well 
 known all over the Indies as Doctor Glass Case. 
 He had left England under a cloud ; it was not 
 known why. No man knew his real name. 
 
 ' Take them aboard the Broken Hearty Margaret 
 said. 'And then come back for the rest. Tell 
 Captain Cammock how things stand here.' 
 
 The boats shoved off from the shore below the 
 water-gate. Boat-covers propped on oars made 
 awnings for the wounded. Margaret and Tucket 
 watched them quartering on each other, stringing 
 out into line, some of the stroke oars splashing, so 
 as to spatter water, by request, into the faces of the 
 wounded. 
 
 ' Gully-shooting,' Tucket said. 
 33o 
 
The END 
 
 ' They're racing/ said Margaret. He thought 
 how strongly these men resembled boys. They 
 never lost a chance of competing. Now, in that 
 hot sun, after seven hours of exertion, they were 
 making the broad oars bend, driving the canoas 
 through it, racing to the ship. 
 
 Men came straggling to the water-gate, asking if 
 they were to go aboard. Margaret and Tucket 
 told them to tend the wounded, while they re- 
 turned to the Plaza to try to bring off the rest of 
 the hands. There was no question of holding the 
 town. The east side was a roaring bonfire. All 
 that they could hope was that the Spaniards would 
 not attack. 
 
 'There are three garrisons only twelve miles 
 away,' Margaret said. 
 
 * Yes,' Tucket answered. * And them we fit this 
 morning must be in the woods.' 
 
 ' I thought I could have trusted Pain,' said 
 Margaret. ' They would have ransomed the town. 
 It's a merchant town. Look at all the balsam sheds. 
 And now they've thrown it away.' 
 
 'That was Captain Pain,' said Tucket. 'He 
 said as all he wanted was for you to help him 
 take the town. He'd do the rest, he said. 
 He's deceived you, sir. Deceived you all along. 
 He was telling his hands just now, he was going 
 to seize your ship, as soon as he got the stuff 
 aboard.' 
 
 They were entering the Plaza as Tucket said 
 this. They were just in time to see the church 
 roof fall in, with a sudden uprush of fire. Many 
 of Pain's men were dragging the loot out of the 
 heat. They were stripped nearly naked. They 
 
 381 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 tossed the heavy silver from hand to hand. Some- 
 times a piece was flung at a man's head, and then a 
 fight would begin. At least thirty men lay drunk 
 about the square, too drunk to move. About thirty 
 others formed a rank across the eastern side, firing 
 and clubbing at the rats which ran from the burn- 
 ing houses. They turned and fired at the rats 
 which broke through them. The Plaza hummed 
 with flying bullets. Bullets were chipping the adobe 
 walls. Splintered tiles of a soft warm redness lay 
 in flakes below each house. Whenever a rat was 
 killed, the slayers yelled and screamed, swinging 
 the corpse by the tail, hitting each other in the face. 
 Tears ran down Margaret's cheeks. He had never 
 before seen a sight like this. He had never seen a 
 mob at work. And these were the men he had led; 
 these were the men who were to found a new nation 
 with him. 
 
 A sudden roar of cannon made them turn to look 
 seaward. The Broken Heart was wreathed in smoke 
 from a broadside ; but as the smoke blew clear they 
 could see the danger signal ; the foretopsail drop- 
 ping to the cap, and a red weft dipped at the peak. 
 Two musket-shots followed from the fo'c's'le. 
 
 * Danger from the south,' said Margaret. ' Here 
 are the garrisons.' 
 
 Pain lay in the sand, propped against a wine 
 cask, with his hat tilted over his eyes. Margaret 
 ran to him and shook him. ' Up,' he cried. ' Wake 
 up, man.' 
 
 A man came running from the south gate shout- 
 ing, ' The Dagoes. The Dagoes.' He was bleed- 
 ing from his mouth. He was gasping his life out 
 as he ran. ' Dagoes,' he gurgled. * Dagoes, you.' 
 
 382 
 
The END 
 
 He stood for a moment, swaying, pointing half 
 round the compass behind him. 
 
 * Right, son,' said Tucket. ' Take a rest. You're 
 hit. Lie down.' 
 
 The man looked at him stupidly, groping with his 
 hands. *Take. These feathers. Off my teeth,' 
 he gasped, and sank forward gently from his 
 knees, dead. 
 
 Tucket kicked Pain savagely. 
 
 * Wha's a marrer } Wharrer hell's the marrer ? ' 
 said Pain, struggling to his feet. 
 
 ' We're attacked,' said Margaret, shaking him. 
 ' Get your men. Lord, man, get your men to the 
 south gate.' 
 
 ' Hands off, you damcarajo,' he answered angrily. 
 ' Why the hell couldn't you look out .'' Hadn't you 
 sense enough to set a sentry ? I'm awake. You 
 Port Mahon fiddler. What in hell are you looking 
 at me for ? Get the men.' 
 
 The guns of the Broken Heart opened fire in 
 succession, blowing white rings over the trucks. 
 Heavy musket-fire was breaking out at the south 
 gate. Some of the rat-catchers ran towards it. 
 
 ' Don't talk to me like that,' said Margaret. 
 ' You drunken little boor. See what you've done. 
 You and your gang of thieves. Look at your 
 work. Look at it. Answer me again and I'll run 
 you through.' 
 
 ' Lord's sake,' Tucket cried. ^ They're on to us. 
 Here they are. Cuidado, sons.' 
 
 ' I'll talk t'you later,' Pain said. ' Up with her, 
 sons. Rally an' bust 'em.' He unslung his piece, 
 and ran, followed by the others, to the south road. 
 They reached the mouth of it in time to see their 
 
 383 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 fellows scattering towards them from the breach. 
 All the wall was covered with clambering Spaniards, 
 hundreds of them. They came swarming on like 
 a wave of bodies, firing and dropping down to 
 load, firing again, ever firing, till the air was full of 
 fire. Margaret saw privateers running up to 
 support him. They came from all sides, fifty or 
 sixty men in all, enough to make a rough double 
 rank across the street. They made a stand here, at 
 the corner of the Plaza, fighting steadily and well, 
 but losing heavily. Margaret picked up a gun and 
 fired with them, praying only that a bullet might 
 find him soon. He had no thought of anything 
 save that. He had failed. Now he would die un- 
 pitied in a hopeless fight against odds. There were 
 several hundreds of Spaniards coming up, and the 
 privateers' ammunition failed. They were search- 
 ing the dead for cartridges. Men were running 
 back to the Plaza to search the drunkards for car- 
 tridges. A few men climbed to the roof of a 
 house, and fired above the smoke into the enemy. 
 Margaret climbed up with them, so that he might 
 order the battle. He lay on the tiles with the rest, 
 firing and cheering. For ten minutes they lay 
 there, firing till they had no more powder. Then, 
 as the smoke cleared away, he saw that a troop of 
 horse was coming up. He saw the Indian lances 
 swaying like boat-masts in a sea. He climbed down 
 from his perch, at that, and gave the word to 
 retire, fighting, to the boats. He knew that the 
 fight now was only a matter of moments. 
 
 The men fell back fast, losing heavily. The 
 Spaniards pressed on, cheering, trying to flank 
 them. At the boats was a mob of flying drunkards, 
 
 384 
 
The END 
 
 struggling with the boat-guard. They were trying 
 to get the canoas for the loot. The beach was 
 littered with loot. A couple of thousand pounds' 
 worth of plate was lying in the sands. Seventy 
 or eighty men were fighting in the water, shouting 
 and damning, tugging the canoas to and fro. They 
 left the canoas when the fight ranged down to the 
 beach. They ran to save the plate from the sands, 
 to snatch the loot from under the feet of the fighters. 
 They shrieked, with tears in their eyes, to the 
 fighters. They struck at them with fists and guns 
 and candlesticks, telling them to save the loot, 
 damn them, save this precious gear, never mind the 
 Dagoes. The fighters struck back at them, club- 
 bing their guns. That was the end of the fighting. 
 The ranks broke. Fighters, drunkards, boat- 
 guard, all the wreck of the force, were jumbled 
 in a mob among the boats, knee-deep in water. 
 Margaret, Tucket, and a few more, managed to keep 
 clear of the mob, and fired at the sallyport as the 
 Spaniards pressed through to end them. Tucket's 
 mate coolly filled their pockets with cartridges, 
 helping himself from the men about him. Two 
 canoas upset ; a third, with only three men in her, 
 drew clear and pulled for the ships. Spaniards 
 were on the walls above them, firing into them 
 from the platform. The dead and dying men 
 were beaten down and stamped on by the herd 
 of wild beasts in the water. Margaret was care- 
 less how it ended for him. He had no wish to 
 live. He felt only the horror of having mixed with 
 men like these, of having led them, of having 
 soiled his honour for ever with them. His gun 
 was shattered with a bullet ; the wound in his 
 2C 385 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 shoulder had broken out again ; he could feel his 
 shirt, sized with blood, gluing to his skin. He 
 drew his sword, and waited, looking at the walls, 
 watching the heads of the Spaniards showing in 
 glimpses among the smoke. As he looked, there 
 came a rush above him. A yard of the wall 
 shattered into dust with a burst. Cammock had 
 opened on the town with his broadside. That 
 saved them. 
 
 He was in the water still. Some loaded canoas 
 were pulling clear. The last canoas were loading. 
 A dozen steady men, calmed by the gun-fire, were 
 covering the retreat. One by one they climbed 
 into the canoas, firing over the gunwales, standing 
 up to fire, anxious to have the last word. A canoa 
 which had pulled clear backed up to Margaret, and 
 a voice shouted in his ear. Looking round, he 
 saw that it was Pain, a grimed and bloody scare- 
 crow, still savage with drink. 
 
 ' You Portuguese get,' the drunkard screamed. 
 * You called me down just now. Did you, by God. 
 You junk-laid carajo. Now I'm even. See?' He 
 swung his knobbed pistol on to Margaret's brow 
 with a smash, knocking him senseless. ' Give way,' 
 he shouted. ^ Give way. That's what I give to 
 college gents what gets gay with Captain Pain.' 
 
 When Margaret recovered consciousness he was 
 in the last canoa, a hundred yards from the shore. 
 One of the Indians was mopping his brow with 
 water. Tucket, who was steering, was uncorking 
 a rum-flask with his teeth. 
 
 ^ You'll be all right,' Tucket said. ' Take a 
 rinse of this.' 
 
 ' I'm all right,' he answered, with a little, hysteri- 
 386 
 
The END 
 
 cal laugh. * Where is that man ? The man who 
 hit me ?' 
 
 *■ Gone aboard your ship/ said Tucket. 
 
 * My God/ he answered. ' Give way then, 
 quick.' 
 
 He sat up, fully roused, splashing water over his 
 head. He felt ill and stupid ; but the thought of 
 possible danger to Olivia roused him. Looking 
 back, he saw Tolu blazing above the palm-tree tops, 
 the flames sucking at the forest, scorching the 
 boughs. Looking forward, he saw the Broken Hearty 
 with men struggling on her gangway amid the flash 
 of pistols. 
 
 * Captain Pain,* Tucket said. * Up with her, 
 boys.' 
 
 * I cain't row no harder,' said one of the men 
 petulantly, like a child about to cry. ' I see old 
 Jimmy shot, as I owed the dollar to. It ain't my 
 fault, cap.' 
 
 ^ If I put any more weight on,' said another 
 rower, ' this oar'll go in the slings. It's got a 
 chewed slug through the service.' 
 
 Margaret noticed then, for the first time, that 
 the canoa had a foot of water in her. There were 
 seven men in her. Tucket, himself, an Indian, and 
 four rowers, all of them wounded. 
 
 * Let me take an oar,' he said. ' Give me your 
 oar, bowman. You're hit.' 
 
 ' I ain't goin' to lay up,' the bowman answered. 
 
 'A sailor don't lay up, nor he don't take medicine, 
 
 not till he's dying, and then he don't need to.' 
 
 ^ Let me double-bank the stroke then.' 
 
 ' You stay still,' Tucket said. * You been as 
 
 near it as most. We're the last canoa. D'ye know 
 
 387 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 what that means ? We five got an upset boat and 
 righted her. The Spaniards were riding after us 
 finishing the wounded. Robin there, the Indian, 
 saved you. He swam a matter of thirty yards 
 with you before we picked him up. Then we'd to 
 lie-to and bale her out before she sank, with the 
 Dagoes blazing hell at us. As it is, we're only 
 crawling.* 
 
 ^ Robin,* said Margaret, ^ I shall tell Don Toro 
 to call you by my name.* 
 
 The Indian sucked in his golden nose-plate, and 
 cringed upon his hams, grinning. He was the 
 only happy man in the force, this Indian * sin 
 razon.* Tucket added to his happiness by hailing 
 him with his new name, in his own speech of San 
 Bias pigeon, a jumble of Spanish and Indian, 
 spoken as English. 
 
 * You Captain Margaret now, Robin. Sabe ? 
 You Capitano. Capitano sobre tula guannah 
 anivego. Mamaubah. Eh ? Shennorung Capi- 
 tano. Muchas mujercillas. Eh '^ ' 
 
 Five hundred yards further on the rowers had 
 to rest. They splashed themselves with water, 
 took a drink of spirits, and lay back in the stern- 
 sheets. They were worn out. Margaret was worn 
 out, too. He had no strength left in him. He 
 lay back, dully, watching the ship ; noting, though 
 with no intellectual comprehension, an array of men 
 passing down the gangway, making a great noise. 
 It was still, after the roar of the battle. The cries 
 and oaths came down the wind to him, clearly, 
 across the water. He saw three long canoas, full 
 of men, pull clear from the ship's side, with one 
 man, not very big, standing in the sternsheets of 
 
 388 
 
The END 
 
 the largest, shrilly cursing at the ship. * That's my 
 note,' were the only words which he could catch. 
 ' That's my note.' He wondered whose note and 
 what note it could be. But his head was reeling; 
 he didn't really care. 
 
 ' There's a woman in the canoa there,' said one 
 of the rowers. 
 
 ' My God,' he said, rousing up, as the beaten 
 boxer rises, though spent, at his second's cheer. 
 * It's not Mrs. Stukeley .? It's not Mrs. Stuke- 
 ley.?' 
 
 ' No, sir,' said a rower. * The other lady.' 
 
 * Yes,' he said, looking intently. ' The other. 
 Mrs. Inigo. What's happened "^ ' 
 
 ' Pain's got your crew,' Tucket answered. * He's 
 leaving you to the Spaniards.' 
 
 Dully, as they passed about the rum-flask, they 
 saw the boats draw up to Pain's ship. They saw 
 sail made upon her, the sprit-sail for casting, the 
 topgallant-sails in the buntlines. Soon she was 
 under way, lying over to the breeze, sailing a point 
 or two free, bound past the Mestizos to the south- 
 ward. Her men, gathered on her poop to hoist 
 the mizen, cursed the Broken Heart from the taff- 
 rail, firing a volley of pistols at her in farewell. 
 Two of the three sloops sailed at the same time. 
 As they passed away, crowding all sail, foaming at 
 the bows with their eight-knot rush, Margaret 
 heard the chanties at the halliards, a broken music, 
 coming in the gusts of the wind. 
 
 Tucket took one of the oars, and sat at the 
 thwart wearily, searching for a helper among the 
 sternsheets. Captain Margaret, the Indian, could 
 not row. The other five were exhausted. * Boys,' 
 
 389 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 he said, * if we don't get a gait on us, we'll be 
 sunstruck. We're losing way, too. The breeze is 
 setting us ashore.' 
 
 Margaret rose up wearily, like a man in a dream, 
 and sat down to row at the thwart. They pulled a 
 ragged stroke together. They were too tired to do 
 much. They pulled a few strokes, and paused, to 
 look round. Then pulled again painfully and 
 again paused. One of the men took up a pistol 
 and fired into the air. ' We'll never make it,' he 
 said. He fired again and again, till some one in the 
 ship caught sight of them and fired in reply. A 
 boat manned by half a dozen men put off to them, 
 veering out line astern, so that thos6 aboard might 
 heave them in at the capstan. Cammock and 
 Perrin were two of the rowers, the only two who 
 could pull an oar ; the negro steward steered. The 
 rest of them rowed like marines on pay-day going 
 through the platoon. The wounded and weary 
 smiled to see them ; they had never seen such 
 rowing. Slowly they drew up. Margaret saw 
 Perrin and Cammock glancing over their shoulders 
 at him. They cheered and waved when they saw 
 him. He waved his unhurt arm to them. The 
 canoa swung round and backed alongside. Cam- 
 mock, laying in his oar, shifted his towing-line to 
 the bow, and bent to it the painter of Tucket's 
 canoa, so that the boats might tow together. ^ Let 
 your oars swing fore and aft, boys,' he said. He 
 lifted his voice, and yelled to the ship to heave in. 
 'Well, sir,' he said, coming aft alongside Margaret. 
 ' And how are you } I'm glad to see you alive. 
 The men said you were killed.' 
 
 * I'm all right,' he said. ' But we had. We had 
 
 390 
 
The END 
 
 enough, over there. What has happened in the 
 ship ? ' 
 
 ' Well, sir,' said Cammock. ' Pain*s gone off 
 with most of what were left to us. That's what's 
 happened.' 
 
 ' Tell me,' Margaret said. ' How was it } ' 
 'I was on deck with Mr. Perrin till the last 
 canoas were putting off,' Cammock answered. 
 *We'd been working the guns. We saw there was 
 rather a mess. Then the doctor sends for us two 
 to help him take off Jowett's leg. So we went 
 into the wardroom, where he was working. We 
 heard the boats come alongside, and Pain lashing 
 out like a chocalatto-north ; so when we got the 
 arteries fast, and Jowett in a cot, we ran on deck to 
 see if you were safe and to see what the row was. 
 They'd been making enough row to caulk a flag- 
 ship. That was too late, then. Pain had been 
 saying that you were dead, that you'd spoiled the 
 show and got a hundred of 'em killed. God 
 knows what he hadn't said. More'n half of them 
 were drunk. Our lot had been up all night. So 
 by the time we got on deck they were bundling 
 their bags into the canoas. There was that Fraser 
 fellow going down the gangway with one of our 
 guns. I knocked him back where he belonged. 
 Then they began to fire. I'll show you my hat 
 when we get aboard. Then they tried to rush the 
 gangway. So I cut the fall, and spilled 'em off it. 
 We'd a lively fight for a few minutes. Pain and 
 Ackett's lots (Ackett's lot weren't so bad) went off 
 then. It was them really kept Pain back a bit. 
 They said they'd play hell with Springer's Key 
 for me. Ackett's lot said I'd better stand in with 
 
 391 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 them. They said they'd seen you corpsed on the 
 beach.' 
 
 ' He wasn't far off it,' Tucket said. ' But for 
 this capitano here.' 
 
 ^ Mrs. Inigo went off with lies,' said Perrin. 
 ' They've gone with Pain and the rest.' 
 
 ' The rest. The rest. What rest } We must 
 have lost. Oh, my God,' said Margaret weakly. 
 'We must have lost half. Was any roll called ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Perrin. ' Twelve of your men went 
 to your sloop, Captain Tucket, after bringing off 
 some wounded. They said there was hell to pay 
 ashore, so they stayed here. That was before the 
 attack. And you've five more here ; seventeen 
 that makes, besides your ship-keepers. 
 
 ' We've got eleven left,' Cammock said, ' besides 
 nineteen wounded and the doctor. Not counting 
 them. Tucket, we got thirty-nine able-bodied be- 
 tween us. Twenty-four of them yours.' 
 
 * By the way, I've got your maps, Cammock,' 
 Margaret said. ' Here they are. I'm sorry they're 
 so wet. I fell in the sea coming off.' 
 
 Cammock took the maps with a groan. ' Thank 
 you very much, sir,' he said. ' But I don't much 
 value the maps, though, when I think of what's 
 happened.' 
 
 ' It must have been hell,' said Perrin. 
 
 ' Yes,' Margaret answered. ' It was hell.' 
 
 * Why didn't Pain take the ship V Perrin asked. 
 ' That's what puzzles me.' 
 
 ' Afraid you'd government friends, sir. Besides. 
 He thought if he took your men the Dagoes'd 
 get you.' 
 
 Very slowly the men at the capstan walked the 
 392 
 
The END 
 
 canoas to the side. Margaret stood on his own 
 deck again, asking himself how many years had 
 gone since he last stood there. The guns were cast 
 loose. Round shot, fallen from the garlands, rolled 
 to and fro as the ship rolled. The decks were 
 littered with wads. Smears, as of lamp-black, 
 showed where the gun-sponges had been dropped. 
 The hammock-nettings were fire-pocked and filthy. 
 There were marks of blood on the coamings, where 
 wounded men had lain, waiting to be carried 
 below. 
 
 * Charles,' said Pcrrin, * you come to the cabin 
 and lie down. I'll fetch Olivia to you. She's with 
 the wounded. What about Stukeley .'' ' 
 
 * He's dead, Edward. He died of yellow fever 
 this morning. 1 buried him.' 
 
 ' My God. Dead ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. He was married there.' 
 
 * He deserted then, that time ? ' 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' And so he's dead. The dead are.' 
 
 ' The dead are our only links with God, I think,' 
 Margaret said gravely. * I've been in hell to-day, 
 Edward. In hell. In hell.' 
 
 He lay down on the window-seat in the cabin, 
 where Stukeley had so often lain. The breeze had 
 swung the ship head to sea. He had only to turn 
 his head to see the fire of Tolu, burning below its 
 pillar of cloud. The sea-wall spurted with smoke 
 at intervals. The flashes were very white and bright, 
 not like the smoke of firelocks. Cammock came 
 in to him with a mess of cold poultice for his 
 head. 
 
 * We're getting under way, sir,' he said. ' The 
 
 393 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 Dagoes are blowing the spikes out of their guns. 
 They'll be firing soon. WeVe cutting our cable, 
 sir. We haven't strength to weigh. Tucket the 
 same. Mrs. Stukeley is coming to you, sir. I 
 told her you were hurt. She wants you not to get 
 up, sir.' 
 
 He then went away. By and by Olivia entered. 
 
 ' Don't get up, Charles,' she said. * Oh. Don't 
 get up.' 
 
 He raised himself to greet her, looking at her 
 sadly. She came up to him and took his hand, 
 and sat at his side. 
 
 ' Olivia,' he said gently. ' Olivia, I bring 
 another sorrow for you. Your husband is dead, 
 Olivia. He died this morning.' 
 
 'Yes,' she answered quietly. *I knew he would be 
 dead.' 
 
 He tried to read her thought ; but his head was 
 stupid with pain ; he could not. He saw only the 
 calm, pale face with that quality of mystery upon 
 it which is upon all beauty. 
 
 ' I feel for your sorrow,' he stammered. 
 
 ' Yes, Charles,' she answered. ' You feel for my 
 sorrow, I know.' 
 
 ' Olivia,' he said, ' would it pain you too much 
 to hear. To hear about it } ' 
 
 ' You ought not to be talking with your wound, 
 Charles.' 
 
 ' I must tell you, Olivia. If you can bear it. It 
 may be harder to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Tell me then,' she said. ' If you feel. If you 
 wish. I am quite calm, Charles. Tell me every- 
 thing.' 
 
 ' He died of yellow fever, Olivia. In the 
 394 
 
The END 
 
 Governor's house there. The tall house above 
 
 the bastion there/ 
 
 ' I can't look, Charles. Don't tell me where. I'm. 
 
 Yes.?' 
 
 ' He was ill for four days,' Margaret continued. 
 
 * They thought he was getting better yesterday.' 
 ' They, Charles .? Who were " they " } ' 
 'The Governor and a priest, Olivia.' 
 ' He was in the Governor's house,' she said. 
 
 *As a friend ?' 
 
 ' A secretary there.' His mouth had grown very 
 
 dry ; it was hard to answer these questions. 
 
 * Then he stole the book of maps, Charles .? ' 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' Did you find it .? ' 
 ' Yes. I found it.' 
 
 * Was there fighting .? Fighting in the town ? 
 Was he alone when he died V 
 
 ' He died before the fighting began. An hour or 
 two before.' 
 
 ' Who was with him, Charles } ' 
 
 ' A priest was with him.' 
 
 ' A Roman Catholic priest } ' 
 
 ' Yes. I found the priest in the room with him. 
 The priest had attended him. At the end.' 
 
 ' He had become a Roman Catholic .? ' 
 
 * Yes, Olivia.' 
 
 ' I want to picture it, Charles. Was there fight- 
 ing in the town when you. When you found him.?' 
 
 ' There was a little firing. But the men were at 
 breakfast. I heard a few shots. Distant shots. 
 So. So I left the men. And West and I made a 
 grave. We buried him there, Olivia. The priest. 
 There was a service.' 
 
 395 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 ' And then. What happened then, Charles ? ' 
 
 * I picked these rosebuds, and this pebble, Olivia. 
 From the grave. For you.' 
 
 The rosebuds were crushed and dropping. She 
 took them in the hollow of her hand. There was 
 a grace in all that she did. The holding out of her 
 delicate palm was beautiful ; the movement showed 
 curiously her exquisite refinement ; it was as 
 though she had said some beautiful thing ; her 
 mind showed in it. She took the relics, looking 
 not at them, but at Charles, her eyes swimming 
 with tears, her dear mind wild with tears. 
 
 ^ Thank you,' she said, on a sob. ' You planted 
 the roses, Charles "^ You thought of it.' 
 
 He did not answer. He turned his head, to 
 look out over Tolu. The ship was moving slowly, 
 heading out of the gulf; the fiery town was dwin- 
 dling ; the wake whirled pale bubbles about the 
 rudder. 
 
 'I think no other man would have thought of it,' 
 she said quietly. 
 
 *Ah,' he said, sighing. 
 
 ' Charles,' she said, ' tell me now, will you. 
 That's over. That part. What happened in the 
 town ? ' 
 
 'The men got drunk, Olivia, and set the town 
 on fire. They sacked the place. When I came 
 back to the Plaza. Oh, I can't. I can't.' 
 
 * You sent off the wounded, then, did you not.f*' 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' I helped them, down in the ward-room. Oh, 
 poor fellows. I asked them about the battle. I 
 think I've. I think, Charles, I've come very near 
 to the world in these last days. They told me a 
 
 396 
 
The END 
 
 little. Then I heard firing. We were busy below, 
 with a sheet over the ports to keep out the sun. 
 Some of them are dreadfully hurt. I couldn't see 
 what was happening. But I knew you were at- 
 tacked. Then the cannon overhead began. The 
 ship shook. Then a wounded man came down. 
 He said you were dead, Charles. It was like the 
 end of everything.* 
 
 ' It was, Olivia,' he said. 
 
 * I know now, Charles, what war is.* 
 
 ' You didn't see that water,' he answered. ' Oh, 
 not that water. My act and deed. All of it. All 
 of it by me. And there was a girl in the Plaza. 
 I'm disgraced. Oh, I shall never. It's all over. 
 All over after to-day.' 
 
 * No, Charles. Don't say that. You. At Spring- 
 er's Key. You can begin again there. With 
 better men.' 
 
 ^ Springer's Key will be a failure, too,' he said 
 bitterly. ^ Oh, Olivia,' he added, going off into an 
 hysterical laugh, 'that water gets on my nerves. 
 There were two upset boats, and they can't right 
 them.' 
 
 ' Charles,' she said, frightened, * You're hurt. 
 You're hit again.' 
 
 * I think my old wound has broken out,' he said. 
 
 * Lie down,' she answered, rising swiftly, to lay 
 the relics on the table. ' I'll see to it at once. 
 Why didn't I think .? ' 
 
 ' I'll get Perrin,' he said. ' Don't you. You 
 mustn't. Oh, Olivia, you've enough without me.' 
 
 She ripped the coat of soiled linen with the 
 scissors in her chatelaine. The old negro, coming 
 in with chocolate, brought hot water for her. To- 
 
 397 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 gether they dressed the wound with balsam and 
 pitoma leaf, binding it with Indian cotton. The 
 steward brought in fruit and bread. They ate and 
 drank together, mechanically, not as though they 
 wanted food. 
 
 * Olivia,' Margaret said, ^ you are in great 
 sorrow. Some of it, Olivia, perhaps all of it, is 
 due to me. I want you. I want you to feel that 
 1 feel for you. Feel deeply. Oh, my God. I'm 
 sorry for you. You poor woman.' 
 
 ' Charles,' she said, ' you mustn't think. You've 
 no right. You mustn't think that. That what has 
 happened was due to you. Don't, Charles. You 
 won't, I know. I see too clearly what happened. 
 I see your mind, Charles, all along. I understand.' 
 She knelt very swiftly and kissed his hand. ' There,* 
 she said, very white. ' I understand.' 
 
 Margaret closed his eyes, then looked at a gleam 
 of flame far distant, and at the blue band on the 
 bows of Tucket's sloop, plunging the sea into milk 
 within hail of him. 
 
 ^ You were right, Olivia,' he said, in a shaking 
 voice. ' I shall never reap my plantations yonder.' 
 
 ' No,' she answered. ^ Nor I.' 
 
 There was silence between them for a little while. 
 
 ' Charles,' she added, ' we both had Darien 
 schemes.' 
 
 ' Yes, Olivia.' 
 
 ' They came to nothing. Because. There. We 
 were too wild to see what, what we were building 
 with.' 
 
 'Yes, Olivia. And you reap sorrow. And I 
 dishonour.' 
 
 'Not that, Charles. We reap the world.' 
 
 398 
 
The END 
 
 'Ah no, Olivia. This is the end of everything. 
 For me it is.' 
 
 * No, Charles,' she said. 'We were living in one 
 little corner of our hearts, you and I. In fools' 
 paradises. We were prisoners. This is not the 
 end. We only begin here.' 
 
 He sighed, thinking of the shame of the morn- 
 ing's work in Tolu. ' My father's sword,' he 
 thought. ' In that cause.' 
 
 ' Charles,' she asked, ' haven't you. Something 
 more to tell me .'' ' 
 
 He thought for a moment, dully, wondering in 
 his blurred brain if she wished to hear more of the 
 battle. 
 
 ' No,' he said. ' No. That is the end.' 
 
 She stood up, facing him, her great eyes looking 
 down on him. 
 
 ' I must go now to the wounded,' she said softly. 
 ' Edward and the doctor will be wanting me. God 
 bless you, Charles.' 
 
 ' God bless you, Olivia. And comfort you.' 
 
 Before she left the cabin she turned and spoke 
 again. 
 
 ' He was married, Charles,' she said. ' You 
 never told me that.' 
 
 ' Yes, Olivia, he was married.' 
 
 ' I knew that, Charles. I saw him so clearly. 
 With a woman with a cruel face. Oh, I knew it. 
 It was generous of you not to tell me. But I 
 knew all the time.' 
 
 Late that night, in the darkened cabin, Olivia 
 leaned upon the port-sill, looking out over the rudder 
 eddies, as they spun away in fire rings, brightening 
 and dying. She propped the cushions at her back, 
 
 399 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 so that she might rest her head. The nightmare 
 of the past was ashes to her. That evil fire had 
 burned out, as Tolu had burned out. The past 
 and Tolu lay smouldering together somewhere, 
 beyond Fuerte there, beyond the Mestizos. The 
 embers lay red there, crusted in ash. 
 
 She had come to see clearly in the pain of her 
 sorrow. She saw her life laid bare and judged. 
 She saw the moral values of things. Great emo- 
 tions are our high tides. They brim our natures, 
 as a tide brims the flood-marks, bringing strange- 
 ness out of the sea, wild birds and amber. She 
 had relics in her hand ; rosebuds and a pebble, 
 ' feathers and dust.' The rosebuds had spilled their 
 petals. She looked at them there, turning them 
 over with her fingers, holding them to the open 
 port to see them. There was no moon ; but the 
 great stars gave the night a kind of glimmering 
 clearness. The sea heaved silvery with star-tracks. 
 Fish broke the water to flame. The scutter of a 
 settling sea-bird made a path of bright scales a few 
 yards from her. She laid the relics on the port-sill, 
 near the open window. Very gently she pushed 
 the pebble into the water, leaning forward to see 
 the gleam of its fall. One by one she pushed the 
 rosebuds over, till they were all gone, too. She 
 watched the petals float away into the wake, chased 
 by the sea-birds. They were out of sight in a 
 moment, but the gulls mewed as they quarrelled 
 over them, voices in the darkness, crying in the air 
 aloft. Olivia leaned there, looking after them, for 
 many minutes. Then she drew close the window 
 and covered her eyes with her hands. 
 
 It took them ^yq days to win back to the 
 400. 
 
The END 
 
 Samballoes. They entered Springer's Drive a little 
 before noon, eagerly looking out towards the 
 anchorage. No ships lay there, no guns greeted 
 them from the fort. Margaret and Cammock, 
 walking the poop together, knew that Pain had 
 been before them. A thin expanse of smoke 
 wavered and drifted in films among the trees. 
 When it drove down into the palms, after rising 
 above their level, it scattered the macaws, making 
 them cry out. The flagstaff lay prone, like a 
 painted finger, pointing down the spit to the sea. 
 Tucket's sloop was fifty yards ahead of the ship, 
 plunging in a smother. There was a cockling sea 
 that morning, the reefs were running white, they 
 gleamed milky for fifty yards about them. There 
 was no other sign of life about the island. The 
 smoke was so thin that it was like mist. The 
 beach, which had so lately been thronged, was busy 
 now with crabs, which scuttled and sidled, tearing 
 at the manchineel trees. A wounded man limped 
 down the sand and waved to them. Margaret, 
 going in in his boat, saw that it was the seaman 
 West. 
 
 ' I been here two days, sir,' he said, * waiting 
 for you. I been living on sapadillies. There been 
 awful times, sir.' 
 
 * What has happened, man } * 
 
 • I came from the town, Tolu town, in one of the 
 sloops, sir,' the man answered. ^ The Lively^ as they 
 called her. When we come here. Captain Pain got 
 all the men you left, all the guard like, to sign on 
 with him. Then he set the town on fire, and 
 scoffed all your gear, the guns and powder and that. 
 So I got away and hid in the wood. I was afraid 
 
 2 D 401 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 they want me to join 'em, or put a knife into me. 
 Then I saw 'em flog that Don Toro, and two other 
 Indians. He flog 'em on the beach, and sent 'em 
 back to the Main, sir. He said that would put all 
 them Indians off giving you a hand in the future.' 
 
 ' What a devil the man must be,' Margaret said. 
 
 ' So I stayed hidden, sir, ever since, hoping no 
 Indians would come over and find me.' 
 
 ' So that's the end,' said Margaret to himself. 
 He would not go ashore there. He could see the 
 ruins of his city, a mass of fallen earth, a heap of 
 ashes, a sprouting crop blasted. He would never 
 set foot there again. That dream had ended like 
 the other, in savagery, in waste, in cruelty. He 
 would let it end. The fallen gabions of the fort 
 would soon be tangled with grasses. In three 
 months there would be shrubs on the city site. 
 The key would be jungle again, the Indians would 
 be savage again, the privateers would be plundering 
 vagabonds again. The dream was over. All that 
 he could do now was to proceed to Jamaica, to sell 
 his goods there, before sailing for England, a 
 beaten man, threatened by the law. 
 
 Tucket's men helped his crew to fill fresh water. 
 Tucket offered to take seven of the slightly 
 wounded men in his ship in exchange for five 
 unhurt men from his own crew. As the men were 
 willing to exchange, this brought the Broken 
 Heart's complement to twenty men ; enough, at 
 a strain, for the passage to Jamaica, if no enemy 
 threatened and no storm arose. When the water 
 had been filled, and the manger stacked with wood, 
 the men gathered stores of fruit. They were 
 ready to sail then. Margaret gave the Indian 
 
 402 
 
The END 
 
 Robin enough goods to make him a chief in his 
 own land. He made gifts to all of Tucket*s crew. 
 To Tucket himself he gave a pair of pistols, choice 
 weapons, made by the best artist in Paris. Tucket 
 asked for his address, in writing. 
 
 ' I shall come and look you up, one day,' he said, 
 as he put the paper in his pocket. * I shall be 
 coming home to set up dyer. We'll have a great 
 yarn, that day.' 
 
 ' I shall expect you,' Margaret said. ' You shall 
 dye for me. But won't you come home now, cap- 
 tain .? With me .? ' 
 
 ' No, sir,' he answered. * I want to get that 
 green the Indians get. Then I'll come home.' 
 
 ' I'm sorry,' Margaret said. ' Good-bye, then. 
 Captain Tucket. I wonder if we shall ever meet 
 again.' 
 
 * Well. We met. Haven't we } We neither of 
 us expected to.' 
 
 * Good-bye, then. Let me hear from you, if a 
 ship is going home from here ? ' 
 
 ' I will, indeed, sir. So long. So long. Lion.' 
 
 * So long,' said Cammock. 
 
 They were under way again, close-hauled to the 
 breeze, going out of Springer's Drive to the east 
 of Caobos. All the Holandes keys were roaring 
 with surf. The palms were bending. The smoke 
 from the key astern trailed in a faint streamer 
 towards the Grullos. That was the last picture 
 which Margaret formed of the keys. The sun 
 bright, the palms lashing, the noise of the surf 
 like a battle, the welter of the surf like milk on 
 the reefs. Tucket was in his sloop now, with all 
 hands gathered on deck, their faces turned to him. 
 
 403 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 The men of the Broken Heart were gathered at the 
 hammock nettings. Margaret thought of the sad- 
 ness of parting. Two men had shaken hands 
 only a moment before. Now there was this gulf 
 of sea between them. To-morrow they would be 
 many miles apart ; and who knew whether they 
 would ever meet again, for all their wandering. 
 
 The bells of the ships rang out together, a furious 
 peal. Cammock, standing on a gun, took off his 
 hat, and called for three cheers for the sloop. The 
 sloop's men cheered the ship. The men of the 
 Broken Heart answered with a single cheer. The 
 bells rang out again, the colours dipped, the guns 
 thundered, startling the pelicans. Tucket had 
 turned away now, to help to secure his guns. His 
 helmsman let the sloop go off three points. She 
 was slipping fast away now, bound towards Zambo- 
 Gandi. Now the figures of the men could no 
 longer be recognized. She was hidden behind the 
 palms of Puyadas. Tucket was gone. Margaret 
 never saw him again. 
 
 ' That breaks the neck of that,' said Cammock. 
 ' All gone, main-topgallant yard 1 ' 
 
 *A11 gone, main-topgallant yard, sir.' 
 
 * Then hoist away.' 
 
 Under all sail the Broken Heart swayed seawards, 
 treading down the rollers, creaming a track across 
 the sea, dark now, in its blueness, with crinkling 
 wind-ruffles. When the night fell, shutting out the 
 Main, and the stars climbed out, solemn and golden, 
 she was in the strength of the trade, rolling to the 
 northward, circled by the gleams of dolphins, 
 hurrying in sudden fires. 
 
 After dark that night Margaret sat on the locker- 
 404 
 
The END 
 
 top, looking at the wake, as it shone below him 
 about the rudder. He was thinking over his 
 manifold failure, feeling disgraced and stained, a 
 defeated, broken man. Olivia entered quietly from 
 the alleyway. He only felt her enter. There was 
 no light in the cabin. The steward was busy with 
 the wounded. 
 
 * Is that you, Olivia ? ' he asked, knowing that it 
 was she. He felt in his heart the gladness which 
 her presence always gave to him. Life could always 
 be noble, he thought, with that beautiful woman in 
 the world. 
 
 ' Yes, Charles,* she answered. ' I've been with 
 the wounded. They're better. How are your 
 wounds ? ' 
 
 * Better, thanks. They're always better at night.' 
 She drew up a chair and sat down beside him. 
 
 ' Charles,' she said, * I want you not to brood. 
 Not to grieve. That's all over, Charles.' 
 
 ' Not the dishonour,' he said. ' That will never 
 be over.' 
 
 * There is no dishonour, Charles. You failed. 
 The only glory is failure. All artists fail. But one 
 sees what they saw. You see that in their failure.' 
 
 ' Ah. Sometimes.' 
 
 * I see that in yours, Charles.' 
 
 * Thank you, Olivia.' 
 
 ' I shall always see that, Charles, when I see you.' 
 
 ' My city.' 
 
 ' Yes. Your city, Charles.' 
 
 ' It was for you, Olivia. My city.' 
 
 * I am proud,' she said humbly. 
 
 ' It failed, Olivia. It's in ruins. Yonder.' 
 
 * Charles,' she said, kneeling, taking both his 
 
 405 
 
CAPTAIN MARGARET 
 
 hands, hiding her face against him, ' it is in my 
 heart. That city. Our city.* 
 
 She trembled against him, drawing her breath. 
 He held her with his unhurt arm, waiting till the 
 dear face would lift, pale in that darkness, to the 
 laying of the gold foundation. 
 
 WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTO. 
 PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH 
 
BT THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 A TARPAULIN 
 MUSTER 
 
 By JOHN MASEFIELD 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, y. 6d, 
 
 *' Mr. Masefield's method is 
 
 frankly poetical, colour everywhere, 
 
 colour thick and rich. Here indeed 
 
 is life passing under our very eyes." 
 
 The Manchester Guardian. 
 
 LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS 
 
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