Читать книгу Joan of the Pilchard - Mary Gaunt - Страница 5

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'I made me great works; I builded me houses; I planted me vineyards; I made me gardens and orchards, and I planted trees in them of all kinds of fruit; I made me pools of water to water therewith the wood that bringeth forth trees; and behold all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun.'

Daniel Reynell came to himself on the narrow track that led round the cliff in the direction of Talland. Through the pelting rain the wind off the sea drove in his face, but dimly by the light of a ship's lantern he saw three men bending over him. The rough, sea-worn, sun-tanned faces did not look unkindly, though the mouth of one man was bleeding and another had a huge bruise over his eye.

Half dazed as he was, he guessed he had fought hard for his liberty.

'He's all right, Bill,' said the leader, with an oath of satisfaction. 'Damned if I didn't think you'd finished un. Come on, mate. You's a weighty parcel. Dost think 'ee could walk a bit.'

'I can walk my own way,' said Reynell. 'Let me up like good chaps.'

'Aha, mate, but it's our way you must walk,' and Bill, as if to impress on him his helplessness, turned the lantern slowly—its light all blurred by the rain—first on one and then on another of the party.

They were four stalwart men young and strong. The rain dripped in great drops from the edges of their sou'-westers, and ran down their oilskins in little rivers.

'I am skipper and owner of the Reaper,' said their captive struggling into a sitting position, 'with a protection. When I am found missing there will be a great shindy.'

'I reckon we'll take that risk,' said the leader serenely. 'Come along quiet now.'

Quiet in the clutches of the merciless press gang! And his wedding day fixed!

The thought drove him frantic! With clenched fists he rose to his knees only to realise he was a child in their hands.

He had worked hard all the evening; he had run; he had fought; now he was done. If he could walk it was all he could do. They were four to one. It was no good attempting to defy them.

Bill of the black eye looked down at him with a twinkle in the other as if he understood all about it. Probably he did.

'You come along 'o us mate and to-morrow you can put that there protection to the Lootenant.'

He struggled to his feet. It was lonely here on the hillside. There was absolutely no hope of help. The sea was beating on the cliffs below; the gale shrieked as it rushed inland. No sound of life was there. But they were breasting the steep hill that led up to old Talland church. His hopes rose again when he made sure which way they were taking him. Once he spoke to Parson Trevenick all would be well. These men were regarding the parson as Quested's friend—doubtless he was. But he knew Daniel Reynell, the son of his lifelong friend; he had christened him; prepared him for confirmation; was going to marry him next Wednesday week. He would not see him wronged.

He could have shouted aloud so relieved was he. Already he was seeing this night as but an incident for memory and laughter.

It was a stiff pull, but with a mind almost at rest his strength was coming back to him. By the time they reached the church porch he felt equal to making a bolt of it with some hopes of success.

As they turned into shelter he looked back into the wild night. Doubtless one of them would go for the key and the parson would come out himself. He knew Parson Trevenick was not the man to let anyone shelter in his church. Now—now——Oh it would be worth it all when he sat in the parson's study over a pipe and a glass of grog. Or no, he would go straight to Polperro. What did he care about the wild night so long as he was free?

Then, like a puff of cold wind, came the first breath of doubt. Bill held up the lantern so that its light—the water on the horn made it nebulous—fell on the stone wall to the right. There, on a little hook, hung the church key.

The leader took it and opened the door. Reynell, almost mechanically hung back and looked over his shoulder.

'None of yer little games now,' said the man beside him, giving him a shove forward which sent him stumbling into the church.

He put a curb upon his temper.

'I must speak to the parson.'

'Oh you must, must you? Wantin' the banns put up, I presume. Well, the Bounty's bound for the South Seas, an' then for Jaimacy, an' then—an' then—we'll call it three year.'

And only this afternoon he had looked into Loveday's dancing hazel eyes.

'God! Man! It's not much to ask. I want to see the parson.'

He had come up the hill happily believing he should. If they prevented him now——He felt as if a band were drawn tightly round his chest cramping his breathing.

The leader turned round.

'Well, Parson's away to Looe on some jinks. How d'ye think we got the key else? We squared the wench, a right smart wench she is. I guess you'll have to wait for the Lootenant.'

And he laughed. It was nothing to him.

These sailor men, friendly enough, had not the slightest intention of allowing him to escape. Laughing, they hustled him to the end of the church, set their little lantern on the big square knight's tomb, and—despite his struggles, and he struggled all he knew, they succeeded in binding his legs and arms with good stout rope which was coiled up there ready for that very purpose. Then he was helpless and he knew it.

'Us can't afford to take no risks,' said Bill half apologetically. 'There's others acomin' along. Bless you, mate, in a week you won't mind. It ain't three months since I was pressed meself.'

'But I have a permit, and I'm to be married Wednesday week!'

'Married!' It was a great joke. They were doubled up with merriment.

'Then I guess,' put in the leader, 'we're adoin' you a service, mate. Lord! You'll be sayin' hallelujahs in six months' time. I wisht some kind friend had a pressed me a fortnight afore I was tied up.'

The others guffawed. The jokes they made were unprintable.

At last Bill said soothingly, 'You put it to the Lootenant, mate.'

Reynell suppressed a groan.

It was a jest to them, a trifling thing.

The bitter part was he was but two miles from Polperro. The whole town would turn out to his help did they know his predicament. But if they missed him in the town they would think he was at Raphiel Farm. At Raphiel Farm they would not come down to the harbour so long as the bad weather lasted. No one knew.

Then, with a glow of thankfulness, he thought of Joan of the Pilchard. It was no good counting on Bet or the landlord or his wife. They would only know a man had been taken. But Joan had recognised him. She not only knew he had been taken but the way he had gone—of that he felt sure. She would give the alarm. An important man like him—the whole town would be simmering. He only wondered he had not been found before. He was sure the Polperro men were scouring the country looking for him. The moment they saw the light in the church they would come to find out the reason. Any moment they might be here now.

He strained his ears to listen for their coming.

They would come—they must come—not a fortnight to his wedding—the Fates would surely never be so cruel. He must be rescued.

Presently there came trampling of feet. His heart beat high.

His captors took it too coolly. Other men came in, bringing in two prisoners, three in fact, but one was a dead man. They flung the body down in a heap.

The chief of the men who had captured him turned on them angrily.

'What did you bring him for? Much use he is to the King! The orders was not to hurt any one, damn you.'

'That's all very well,' grumbled one of the culprits, 'but it were just a scrappin' match an' Job here has stout fistes of his own.'

One of the prisoners seized the lantern and flashed it on the dead man's face. Reynell saw that it was young Amos Garrett, who had married pretty Lavinia Curtis only this autumn and had been repenting the deed ever since.

'Good Lord! Poor Garrett!' he said. 'Well that settles his matrimonial difficulties anyhow.'

'Why, Dan!'

'Why, Bob Trevenick! You don't mean to say they've taken you!'

'Went to a deal of trouble about it too,' laughed Trevenick, a little ruefully. 'And a nice mess I've made of my friend's face here. All for nothing, for the King might have had me for the asking. Who's the other unfortunate?'

The other man was a fisherman from Polruan, who, unluckily for himself, was spending the night in Polperro. He had fought desperately for his liberty, and was now nursing a bruised shoulder tenderly.

'The skipper here has a protection,' went on Trevenick, 'I'd have come if the King had asked me nicely without all this scrapping. My father'll be glad to get rid of me for a bit. The old gentleman finds my presence upsetting in a quiet parsonage, and as for this poor chap——'

The Polruan man turned to his friend in affliction.

'An' Kitty wi the twinses,' he groaned, 'how'll her do wi'out I? 'A lost the boat last week——'

'Oh, did you,' said cheerful Bob Trevenick, whom even the sight of death could not damp for long. 'Well, his Majesty's not unfeeling. If you'll sign on quiet I've no doubt he'll send half your pay home to Kitty, and when you come back the twins'll be over their teething. It'll be a power of trouble saved.'

'Will her? Will her?' The Polruan man cheered up at once.

Trevenick clapped the leader of the press gang on the back.

'By my soul, mate,' he begun.

'I'm a bos'un,' said that worthy gruffly. 'You'll call me "Mr. Thompson," and you'll keep your paws to yourself.'

Evidently he was not too pleased with his night's work.

'Well; Mr. Thompson,' went on Trevenick unabashed, 'I don't wonder you feel it. You've gone to a great deal of trouble for nothing, and you've done for poor Amos Garrett. Why the poor fellow'd have gone cheerful if you'd only explained the matter to him. The wench he married had a tongue and——'

'For heaven's sake quit fooling, Bob,' said Reynell anxiously. He could hear no sound of the rescue party. They could not take him. Yet such things had happened. 'What are they planning to do with us?'

'Do with us? Don't you know? Here's the Bounty put in at Spithead bound for the South Seas. Four of her men had the bad taste to desert, so Captain Bligh, recalling the gallant men of Cornwall, suggests that Captain Quested should pick him out four men of Polperro and—why, bless you, it's as easy as falling down a hatchway. Clap us on board the Alert, and if this wind holds ten hours we ought to have the Nab behind us—and once on board the Bounty——'

'I have a protection,' said Reynell again. He had said it so often this evening. Trevenick shrugged his shoulders. 'Reckon a captain short of men and in blue water practically——'

One of the sailors interrupted. 'Mr. Thompson,' he said, 'there's some un at the door.'

'If it's one man let un in,' said the bos'un. 'We're short. And take that', pointing to poor Garrett, 'out, and if Job don't want to get into trouble over it——'

He nodded.

They opened the door, and there came in, not a man, but a woman muffled to the eyes in a dripping red shawl. She stood looking round her in a dazed sort of way.

For one wild moment Reynell thought it might be Loveday Corthew. Only for a moment though. She was much too tall for Loveday.

Dropping her shawl she came straight towards him. By the feeble light of the lantern he saw it was Joan of the Pilchard. Thank God!

'Why Joan, my pretty maid!' said Trevenick, who was still excited.

'Joan! Joan!' cried Reynell, too anxious to pay compliments, besides he didn't think Joan exactly pretty, 'did you raise the town?'

But, of course, his mind went on arguing, she wouldn't own to it if she had. That would be sheer foolishness. Still she might give some sign, some look—something to let him understand instead of standing there like a stuck pig—surely——

'A' followed 'ee,' said Joan. 'A' was afeared a' might miss 'ee.'

His heart sank. But of course, what else could she say? She had followed him. That was something. It was a line thrown to the wreck on which men were drowning. Now to make use of that line.

'An' here she stops,' said the bo'sun, 'till we've gone. We're not going to have the Polperro men down on us. Please God they've plenty on hand to-night, an' they won't be troubling over much for a day or two about a missing man. But Joan won't sell us, will you, my wench?'

Joan turned round gravely and looked at him in silence.

Reynell, commending her, felt it was policy on her part to keep on friendly terms with their captors. They were not bad-hearted. Evidently they thought these two were lovers.

'Here, Bill, Tom, let 'un alone,' said the bo'sun. ''Tis a three year voyage, an' the wench has followed un. Let be, on'y see as he don't give us leg bail.'

He drew off the men towards the door. Light-hearted Bob Trevenick burst out laughing.

'Well, I don't know if Mistress Loveday Corthew be jealous,' he began, 'but upon my word——'

Reynell could not chaff. Things were too serious.

'Joan,' he asked, 'are you sure the Polperro men don't know what's happened?'

'It was powerful dark,' hesitated Joan. She had begun to be painfully conscious of her slipshod English. She wished this man could hear her Spanish. But he had no tongue but his own, 'a', had all a' cud do to follow 'ee.'

'Follow me!' And he swore an oath he would have gulped down in Loveday's presence. 'It would have been much more to the purpose if you'd got someone else to follow me.'

Poor Joan! Dumbly she had faced the storm because she liked to be near him—because she had some vague idea that the sight of a friendly face might soften him towards her. But his voice sounded as she had felt when she let the men surround him—bitter—yes, bitter. Then he had given no thought at all to her. Now he was thinking of her—reviling her—feeling she had failed in doing all she might. She had failed too. She was no fool. It would have been much better for him if she had sent the Polperro men.

Of course then she would have stepped aside—for ever.

A careless word of thanks tossed to her as he prepared for his wedding would have been all her reward.

She would rather it was this way. Of course she wanted to be first with him. To be the one to whom he should turn as his only help. Oh, delicious thought—this grand man—this one man out of all the world should turn to her for help—to her, the despised drudge of the tavern. But he was angry—and his anger hurt.

'A' mocht help,' she said, sullenly twisting her fingers in and out of the fringe of her dripping shawl.

Reynell laughed, but there was no mirth in his laughter.

'You might,' he said, 'and my friend the bo'sun might let me go.'

Trevenick, the carefree, laughed too, laughed lightly.

'Come, Dan, old chap, don't be so damnably bitter. I daresay there's ways and means of turning the bo'sun's heart if we only knew them. Twenty pounds down now and he'd see your protection written all over you.'

In a moment Reynell had hitched himself into a sitting position despite his bonds.

'Twenty pounds! Well, of course——'

'I'm afraid it would have to be cash down,' said Trevenick, extinguishing the hope as soon as he'd raised it, 'for lieutenants ain't too pleased with bo'suns who see protections too quickly.'

'I haven't five shillings in my pocket,' said Reynell, sinking back again, 'but when the bank opens to-morrow——'

'I'm afraid,' said Trevenick, 'you'll be in blue water before the bank opens. But we could get it from my dad. Or, better still, he'll point out the iniquity of taking you, and you'll be twenty pounds to the good.'

'And how am I to get at your dad?'

'Why not send a message by Joan? He's in Looe. He'll swear to you, and Bligh himself wouldn't dare to keep you.'

'Joan, will you? Joan, will you?'

Reynell's voice was eager and full of hope again. The eagerness went straight to her heart.

'Iss, surely, that a' will,' she said. 'Deed, 'an 'deed a' will.'

'There now,' said Trevenick. 'Can you ride?'

There was a little twinkle in his eyes, for he had seen Joan helping to run contraband. He knew that at any rate she was at home on a quiet horse.

She nodded.

'Well you beg, borrow, or steal a nag and off to the parsonage at Looe, the church close by the harbour, any one'll tell you. Put the whole thing to my dad, and tell him he must catch the Alert before she sails. Think you're up to the job?'

He looked the dripping girl up and down with eyes that seemed to condemn her as a useless drudge.

Her soul rose up in revolt. She would save this man.

She crept closer to Reynell. The thought that she might count for something in his life transfigured her face for a moment.

By the dim horn lantern on the Knight's tomb Reynell saw, and wondered a passing wonder—that he had not done full justice to her good looks before.

'A'll do all a' can for 'ee.'

'Penrhyn's got the bay mare,' said Reynell seeing how simply it might be done. 'You must borrow Kitty. Tell him I sent you for her, and if he isn't there just take her. The main thing is to get to Looe. I'll make it all right with Penrhyn afterwards. Ride, like a good wench, the moment you get the chance.'

'A'd do a deal for 'ee.'

'Good girl.' His eyes looked kind, and his voice softened, for he was thinking of another woman. 'If, by the worst of luck, you don't catch the parson, and I'm carried off, you'll tell Mistress Loveday Corthew at Raphiel Farm—that—that—tell her——'

It is not very easy when you come to think of it to send a message of love by the drudge of a fisherman's tavern. Reynell felt the difficulty. In those days paper and pencil came not readily to every man's hand. He had neither. Neither had Trevenick.

'Oh, don't worry. Joan'll get the mare.'

'Mind, if Dick Penrhyn isn't there just take her, Joan,' insisted Reynell. 'The great thing is not to waste time.'

'Don't be afraid. The skipper here'll see you through,' declared Trevenick. 'He's a good friend of Penrhyn's.'

'You understand?' said Reynell anxiously.

'Iss,' said the girl, dragging her shawl over her face. He was glad, for he felt all his love and longing must be written on his face. Yet that it had any interest for her never occurred to him.

'And if you don't get me free in time—if I'm taken you'll tell Mistress Corthew——'

'A'd a deal rather free 'ee.'

'Oh, if you could do that!' and his face lighted.

'That's the ticket,' said Trevenick cheerfully. 'Once you set eyes on that mare, Joan, you stick to her till you've told the sorrowful story to my governor. Get the mare and ride her for all you're worth. Have you got that clear, Joan?'

Joan nodded.

Trevenick was not particularly anxious to be freed. Things were likely to be troublous at home. There was a certain bill falling due—want of the necessary suggested that absence—that top'sle sheets in fact, would settle it better than any other way he could think of. Reynell's freedom was another matter. That Joan should be able to manage. He curled himself up and went to sleep. The Polruan man, comforted by the thought that his Kitty would get half his wages, and that the teething of the twins would not bother him, followed his example. Most of their captors were already snoring.

Joan sank down on the stones at Reynell's feet, drew her shawl over her face, and, though he did not know it, feasted her eyes on him. Never before in all her starved, miserable life had she been so close to the man she loved. She had only to put out her hand and she could lay it on his feet. She was cold; she was weary; but she would have been more than content if the night had stretched itself out to twice its normal length.

Reynell lay on his back, with his head resting on a step; gazed at the lantern; thought of Loveday; and feared. The light was so dim he could not see the beams in the roof of the old church—everything was nebulous like his future. Yet Joan should be able to get the parson on board the Alert before they sailed. It all seemed quite simple. Why fear? Surely Fate could not deal a man such a cruel blow!

The thought of what he might lose filled his whole mind, to the exclusion of everything else.

'There is no sorrow, like unto my sorrow.' We have all said it once we have left our childhood behind, nay even children feel it, and always it seems to us it is we alone who suffer.

Reynell would have been amazed could he have known that his trouble was but a small thing beside the agony of the girl crouching there on the floor. She was nothing to him—nothing but a dull, stupid lass who had not done all she might to save him. He felt impatient at having to trust her. But there was no one else.

And she knew—knew with gladness—there was no one else.

At last the bo'sun rose up, pushed the girl aside, and began to unfasten the ropes that bound the prisoner.

'Now then,' he said roughly, 'we're goin' to start. You'd better come along quiet like, or it'll be so much the worse for you. Here, you wench, out of the way. I guess you can't bring help till we're safe on board the Alert. If the Polperro men come there we'll know what to do with them. Stir yourselves now. Come along, mates, stir yourselves. Look lively now, Amos Garrett, up with you,' and he caught Reynell by the shoulder.

'I am not Amos Garrett,' said Reynell. 'My name is Daniel Reynell, skipper of the Reaper. I have a protection.'

'Reynell, is it? Well, I guess now, we have just buried Daniel Reynell and his protection in the churchyard here. A mighty handy thing is a churchyard. But if you don't like your own name you're perfectly at liberty to take another. Get a move on you, mates. March!'