No wonder that all the children, now, stood openmouthed and open-eyed on the deck beneath in the sun till their necks nearly broke— such a Free Fun Fair and Circus!
And no wonder that on that passenger-schooner which Marpole, before going below, had sighted drifting towards them from the direction of the Black Key channel, the ladies had left the shade of the awning and were crowding at the rail, parasols twirling, lorgnettes and opera-glasses in action, all twittering like a cage of linnets. Just too far off to distinguish the tiny quarry, they might well have wondered what sort of a bedlam-vessel of sea-acrobats the light easterly air was bearing them down upon.
They were so interested that presently a boat was hoisted out, and the ladies — and some gentlemen as well — crowded into it.
Poor little Jacko missed his hold at last: fell plump on the deck and broke his neck. That was the end of him — and of the hunt too, of course. The aerial ballet was over, in its middle, with no final tableau. The sailors began, in twos and threes, to slide to the deck.
But the visitors were already on board.
That is how the Clorinda really was taken. There was no display of artillery — but then, Captain Marpole could hardly know this, seeing he was below in his bunk at the time. Henry was steering by that sixth sense which only comes into operation when the other five are asleep. The mate and crew had been so intent on what they were doing that the Flying Dutchman himself might have laid alongside, for all they cared.
II
Indeed, the whole maneuver was executed so quietly that Captain Marpole never even woke — incredible though this will seem to a seaman. But then, Marpole had begun life as a successful coal-merchant.
The mate and crew were bundled into the fo’c’sle (the Fox-hole, the children thought it was called), and confined there, the scuttle being secured with a couple of nails.
The children themselves were shepherded, as related, into the deck-house, where the chairs, and perfectly useless pieces of old rope, and broken tools, and dried-up paint-pots were kept, without taking alarm. But the door was immediately shut on them. They had to wait for hours and hours before anything else happened — nearly all day, in fact: and they got very bored, and rather cross.
The actual number of the men who had effected the capture cannot have been more than eight or nine, most of them “women” at that, and not armed — at least with any visible weapon. But a second boatload soon followed them from the schooner. These, for form’s sake, were armed with muskets. But there was no possible resistance to fear. Two long nails through the scuttle can secure any number of men pretty effectually.
With this second boatload came both the captain and the mate. The former was a clumsy great fellow, with a sad, silly face. He was bulky; yet so ill-proportioned one got no impression of power. He was modestly dressed in a drab shore-going suit: he was newly shaven, and his sparse hair was pomaded so that it lay in a few dark ribbons across his baldish head-top. But all this shoredecency of appearance only accentuated his big splodgy brown hands, stained and scarred and corned with his calling. Moreover, instead of boots he wore a pair of gigantic heel-less slippers in the Moorish manner, which he must have sliced with a knife out of some pair of dead sea-boots. Even his great spreading feet could hardly keep them on, so that he was obliged to walk at the slowest of shuffles, flop-flop along the deck. He stooped, as if always afraid of banging his head on something; and carried the backs of his hands forward, like an orangutan.
Meanwhile the men set to work methodically but very quietly to remove the wedges that held the battens of the hatches, getting ready to haul up the cargo.
Their leader took several turns up and down the deck before he seemed able to make up his mind to the interview: then lowered himself into Marpole’s cabin, followed by his mate.
This mate was a small man: very fair, and intelligentlooking beside his chief. He was almost dapper, in a quiet way, in his dress.
They found Captain Marpole even now only half awake: and the stranger stood for a moment in silence, nervously twiddling his cap in his hands. When he spoke at last, it was with a soft German accent:
“Excuse me,” he began, “but would you have the goodness to lend me a few stores?”
Captain Marpole stared in astonishment, first at him and then at the much be-painted faces of the “ladies” pressed against his cabin skylight.
“Who the devil are you?” he contrived to ask at last.
“I hold a commission in the Columbian navy,” the stranger explained: “and I am in need of a few stores.”
(Meanwhile his men had the hatches off, and were preparing to help themselves to everything in the ship.) Marpole looked him up and down. It was barely conceivable that even the Columbian navy should have such a figure of an officer. Then his eye wandered back to the skylight:
“If you call yourself a man-of-war, sir, who in Heaven’s name are those ?” As he pointed, the smirking faces hastily retreated.
The stranger blushed.
“They are rather difficult to explain,” he admitted ingenuously.
“If you had said Turkish navy, that would have been more reasonable-sounding!” said Marpole.
But the stranger did not seem to take the joke. He stood, silent, in a characteristic attitude: rocking himself from foot to foot, and rubbing his cheek on his shoulder.
Suddenly Marpole’s ear caught the muffled racketing forward. Almost at the same time a bump that shivered the whole barque told that the schooner had been laid alongside.
“What’s that?” he exclaimed. “Is there some one in my hold?”
“Stores…” mumbled the stranger.
Marpole up to now had lain growling in his bunk like a dog in its kennel. Now for the first time realizing that something serious was afoot he flung himself out and made for the companion-way. The little silent fair man tripped him up, and he fell against the table.
“You had much better stay here, yes?” said the big man. “My fellows shall keep a tally, you shall be paid in full for everything we take.”
The eyes of the marine coal-merchant gleamed momentarily:
“You’ll have to pay for this outrage to a pretty tune!” he growled.
“I will pay you,” said the stranger, with a sudden magnificence in his voice, “at the very least five thousand pounds!”
Marpole stared in astonishment.
“I will write you an order on the Columbian government for that amount,” the other went on.
Marpole thumped the table, almost speechless:
“D’you think I believe that cock-and-bull story?” he thundered.
Captain Jonsen made no protest.
“Do you realize that you are technically guilty of piracy , making a forced requisition on a British ship like this, even if you pay every farthing?”
Still Jonsen made no reply: though the bored expression of his mate was lit up for a moment by a smile.
“You’ll pay me in cash !” Marpole concluded. Then he went off on a fresh tack: “Though how the devil you got on board without being called beats me! — Where’s my mate?”
Jonsen began in a toneless voice, as if by rote: “I will write you an order for five thousand pounds: three thousand for the stores, and two thousand you will give me in money.”