i might as well say in the beginning that, while i have a sailor’s taste for liquor, i’m not especially noted as a drunkard or spirit-wholloper. by the latter i mean given to ruffianism or brawling while under its influence. it is because of a naturally refined and peaceful disposition that i am so constituted, and i take no glory on that account. it is nonsense to suppose all sailors ruffians and all tales of the sea coarse, because some swabs have found that the hand of a knowing mate or skipper lies heavy upon an empty pate. the story of many voyages on american ships is gentle and uneventful as the daily run of a lady’s carriage. for evidence, read their logs. we entered the den of our little ferret-faced companion, and had no sooner sat at a table to order the ale than i was aware of the tall, dour man who had followed us from the pier-head. my second mate was too much taken up with the inmates of the place to notice anything 9else. i might as well confess richards was a very pious fellow, and it must have been much against his wish to have been where he was. the tall man paid little attention to him, but looked at me.
he did not come into the room, but stood in the doorway, his fierce eyes fixed upon my face, and his long, drooping moustache hanging below his jowls, giving him a most sinister appearance. our companion appeared not to perceive his presence at first, and only when he tilted his mug and threw his head back did his weasel eyes seem to fall in with those of the stranger.
“come in, you terrier!” i cried. “come in and have a mug to soak your whiskers in. sink me, but barbers must be scarce around here. soldier o’ the guard, hey? no one but a voltigeer-r-r o’ the guard-r-rd would wear such hangers.”
“young man,” said the stranger, quietly, “your language is rather unseemly, and should not be applied to one of the cloth. hark ye! i am a man of peace, sir. i am richard raymond, chaplain of the guerrière frigate. i never indulge.” he raised a lean, sinewy hand and shook his head gently at the proffered ale.
“may the devil seize me if you ain’t the holy joe i’m looking for!” i cried. “sit down, man, sit down.”
“not in such a place. i but came to plead with 10you not to fill yourself with that liquid. it is ruinous.” here he looked across the room where the proprietor was attending to a group of sailors who were about a table. “it is ruinous, i say, and here i implore you not to drink too much. as a man of god, i ask you, and the chaplain of the guerrière,” and he raised his eyes aloft and clasped his hands as if in prayer. i now noticed his clothes were somewhat clerical in cut, though shabby. at this moment, a buxom maid brought some fresh mugs, foaming full, and i tossed her a piece of money. she looked at me and smiled, saying something i failed to understand. then casting a look at the tall man in the door, she laughed and went her way.
“and why not on the frigate now?” i asked mr. raymond, who still seemed to be absorbed in prayer.
“lost, man, lost!” said my little companion, taking a fresh mug. “don’t you know she was lost?”
“well,” i cried, “what difference? should a holy man desert his ship any the sooner for being holy, hey? answer me that. why didn’t you get lost in her? sink me, but i like a man who will do something more than talk for the good of a soul. i like a bit o’ sacrifice now and again to show the meaning true. i’d like to see our friend drink 11this mug of ale to save me from the devil, for, if he’ll drink it, i vow i’ll not buy another for myself.”
“deliver us from evil,” moaned raymond. “oh, henry, i couldn’t do it,” and his eyes rolled up.
“so your name is henry, is it?” i asked my little companion.
he looked queerly at me.
“why didn’t you say so before?” i asked, roughly.
“you never asked me,” said he. “the chaplain has known me many years.”
“well,” i cried, rising and advancing upon mr. raymond, “you’ll either drink this ale or get it in the face, for i’ll not be badgered by every hairy heaven-yelper i run against. drink!” and i held the mug toward him.
his fierce eyes gleamed curiously, and he reached for the tankard. then he raised it to his lips, and the long moustache was buried half a foot in the foam. when he let it down it was empty. the next instant something crashed against my head, and i saw many stars. then came a blank. it must have been some minutes before i came to, and, when i did, i found myself lying upon the floor with my mr. henry and the barmaid wiping the blood from my face. the tall man had disappeared, and i struggled to my feet, my head whirling. upon the floor lay pieces of the mug.
12“did that sky-pilot do it?” i asked, feebly.
henry grinned.
“ah, ah, pauvre gar?on, pauvre, pauvre--what eet is, boy? pauvre boy. c’est poar boy, poar boy,” said the stout girl, wiping my clothes gently and laying a hand on my shoulder.
the effect of a little sympathy was strange, especially from a woman.
“never mind,” i said, taking her hand from my shoulder and holding it a moment. “get some fresh ale. there is no damage done. if that fellow was a man of peace, i should not like to come across his breed as man of war. sit down, you son of a fox,” i continued to henry, “and let’s have your yarn, and if i see you so much as grin, this shop will be unlucky.” we drew up again to the table.
“i should think,” said richards, “you have had your say long enough now, and would listen to reason. steady yourself and get back into some ship before you get in jail. i don’t care any more for the hooker you just left than you do, and wouldn’t go back in her if there was any other vessel wanting hands.”
“i feel flattered at your attentions, my dear peter,” said i. “it is good of you to follow me to take care of one so young. my morals are pretty bad, and i need a nurse.”
13“that is certain,” said the sailor, with conviction that angered me not a little.
richards’s manner was a bit trying to me at all times when i wanted to have a say, and this time i lost patience. yet, when i thought of it afterward, i saw a steady head would have kept me out of much trouble. he was a perfectly balanced man. he would neither lose his head with joy, nor sink with despair at some seeming desperate trouble. he had learned this by experience, and his steady eyes were not those of a dullard. he felt as much as any one, as i soon learned when i gave him the sharp edge of my tongue. he was not a large man, but rather small and wiry. his size, i often thought, had governed his actions, for aboard ship a small man cannot talk too loud. since he had served with me, i had reason to believe his body had little to do with his mind.
“peter,” i said, acidly, “i’m looking for a ship. will you go along in her with me?”
“that i will,” he said, but i thought he was simply falling into my trap to gain time.
“then, my weasel,” said i, turning to mr. henry, “you have two bully boys at your tow-line, for, sink me, i’ll hold my mate to his word if i ship in nothing better than a west indian sugar-boat. sail in, my bully. let’s have the old tune i’ve heard so often.”
14henry drew up his chair and gloated over us. we were two good enough men to tempt any sort of crimp, but, on account of my size, he addressed himself to me as the leader. i have always had this happen when there were others around, but i take no especial note of it, for it was nothing that i was a well-put-up man. i had nothing whatever to do with my birth.
“you see,” said he, “i don’t make any bones wot i’m up to. i’m after men sech as you an’ me. my father were a yankee sailor, though my mother were sech as i have to break the commandment wot arguefies for a long life every time i think of her.”
“you can honour her memory by keeping her name off your tongue,” i growled.
“perhaps so,” he assented; “maybe, but she were hung right here in this town, and her property taken, so that’s why i’m lookin’ out fer men wot’s men. i get ten shillings a head per sailormen, an’ i stands in with the crowd. no shanghai business with me. it don’t pay. why should a man ruin his business just to shanghai one or two men who will turn against him as soon as they come back, hey? a matter o’ a pound or two an’ a good name fer fair dealin’ gone. oh, no! i don’t run fer bad ships. i only takes the clippers, an’ i give handsome.”
“what’s the hooker’s name?” i asked.
15“that’s just what i’m coming to if you’ll only say the word to go in her. they want a mate, and they’ll pay a big whack for a good man.”
“name, you wolf,” i repeated, draining my mug. “give the name, or pay for this ale and clear.”
“i’ll take you to her--”
he was interrupted by the entrance of a small man who strode quickly into the room and sat at once in an empty chair near the door. as the newcomer entered, henry half-rose and saluted, receiving a slight nod of recognition in return.
“who’s your friend?” i asked, gruffly.
“sh-h! not so loud,” and he scowled at me. “that’s captain howard.”
“who the saints is captain howard? can he drink ale?” i asked.
“i wouldn’t ask him if i were you. he’s not a man of peace,” and he looked at me slantwise.
“i see,” i answered, and i looked the stranger over carefully. he was quite small in stature and his face was pale. his hands were soft, white, and effeminate-looking. upon one finger a huge diamond sparkled. just then he turned his gaze to meet mine, and i must admit his eyes gave me quite a turn. they were as glassy and expressionless as those of a fish. his whole smooth face, in fact, seemed to express nothing but vacancy. i had never seen a human face so devoid of expression. there 16was hardly a line in it save about the drooping corners of his mouth.
“he don’t look dangerous,” i said, with a chuckle. “however, i’m not hunting trouble, and, if you think he’ll be offended at my acquaintance, he can go without it.”
“he’s related to the great english house,--them--them ar’stocrats, ye know. that’s the way he’s got the king’s pardon.”
“pardon for what?” i asked.
he glanced sidewise at me with that ferret look upon his face. “you’ve heard, sure? no? well, then, that’s the skipper that held up the indian prince.”
then i remembered well enough. he was the little fellow with the pirate crew that had held up the big east-indianman in the china sea some years back. it was he who took the treasure and squandered it in mad riot in the streets of singapore, and defied the authorities. here, indeed, was the man feared by both whites and savages of the eastern seas, sitting in this little ale-house as unconcerned as though nothing unusual had happened to excite curiosity. i was so taken up looking at him and wondering at his foul crimes that he had received and drunk off his liquor before i realized what had happened. as he left, i seized my mug and drank it.
17“come along,” i said. “show me your ship,” and mr. henry paid the score and started for the door, while i followed. as i reached it, i turned to see what richards would do, but he was game.
“here comes your nourse, sonny,” he said. “i was paid off yesterday, and don’t mind a change if it’s for better,” and he looked so serious that i burst out laughing.
