He awoke to a hoarse rumble of voices at no great distance, and, sitting up, found himself very heavy and languid, his faculties dulled by the pain of his aching head; so for some while he crouched miserably, staring blindly at the opposite wall, for before the eyes of his mind was ghastly vision of a rope that jerked horridly ... quivered ... swung ... and was still. He groaned and bowed pain-racked head between clutching hands ... and now the murmur of these hoarse voices was like the vague, harsh muttering of a pushing, jostling crowd that watched a man die. But in to him through the open lattice came a soft, fragrant air that touched his hot brow like the hand of a loving friend and soothed his rising horror like the blessing of God.
At last, rising uncertainly, he came to this open window and saw that it was evening and three men rolling dice in a rosy sunset. Then he heard the door open behind him and therewith the pleasant, cheery voice of the man Absalom:
"How is it with ye, lad, how d'ye do now, I wonder?"
"My ... head ... aches!"
"Good, and 'tis no wonder, considering how I dosed thee, boy, for better head that acheth than heart that breaketh."
"It is ... broke."
"Good again, for sink and burn me but ye look all the better for it, more manly, my lad, I lay my oath ye do! There's some must needs break their hearts or ever they are men enough to mend 'em. Look at me! I broke my heart five year agone and ha' been better man ever since, ay and got me more out o' life, or damme! I changed me from dreaming young fool, sighing and puling for the impossible, into sober man and right cheery soul content to take whatsoever comes and make the best o't, a fellow bold in adversity and jibing at woe, ay so, or may I rot! So, never grieve, m' lad——"
"How should I—not?" groaned Adam.
"By other thinking. Lookee, Adam boy, I was once a mother's darling, then an Oxford scholar, next a fool-lover sick for love, but she proved false, and with my friend, so her I trounced, him I killed in fair fight, bundled me off to sea and to-day here am I a shipmaster without a ship, low in pocket yet high in heart, bold to dare Fortune and spit in the very eye of baleful Circumstance,—and what o' thee, boy, what?"
"That ... rope!" said Adam, staring on vacancy with eyes wide in horror. "You'll mind that murderous rope ... how it ... jerked ... quivered? 'Twas death. Oh, 'twas agony manifest."
"Ay, lad, but by death, agony may be transmuted into abiding joy—if the God of my good mother sits aloft indeed, so comfort thee, Adam."
"Ah but—the rope! I see it yet! I shall see it so long as I live ... so would God I die soon!"
Bowing head, Adam twisted both hands in his long hair and cast himself face down upon the floor to lie there writhing; and when Absalom stooped to lift him, cried out as in bodily agony and bade him go away, which at last the tall mariner did, shaking his curly head and muttering as he went, and so left Adam prone in his misery.
Now as he lay thus, heedless of time and all else save horror and grief, a heavy foot spurned him painfully and a harsh, jeering voice spoke above him:
"Eh, what cursed younker be you, and what doing, eh, kid, eh?" Adam neither spoke nor moved, wherefore this foot stirred him more savagely and the voice jeered him again:
"How then, are ye sick, or drunk, or only dead, eh, boy? Curse ye,—if y'ain't dead, pipe up and answer me." Still Adam made no response and was kicked till he gasped. Then was sound of other feet and a familiar voice:
"Ha, Abner, is't you, and must ye boot my messmate? Why then feel my toe and be damned t' ye, and now my fist, ye lubberly scum!" Here ensued sounds of violent movement with howl of savage pain cut short by slamming door.
More than once, through the long hours, this door opened softly, and though Adam sensed eyes watching him, yet he lay mute and still, face hidden and clutching fingers buried in his long hair.
And so at last came slumber, lulling him to forgetfulness.
His next awaking was to a dazzle of sun and the feel of a hand upon his shoulder, and though he did not look up, he knew this for the hand of a friend.
"Adam," said a voice. "Adam, my poor lad, how are ye now? Speak to me, boy, speak!"
Now in this familiar voice instead of usual jovial ring was something so much the reverse that Adam, moving cramped limbs, turned, then sat up with an effort to blink at the down-bent face of Absalom Troy.
"What now, sir?" he demanded huskily. "Why do you look on me so strangely?"
"Why, Adam, lad, 'tis because yourself is so ... ay, so mighty strange ... very marvellous strange! Something hath befallen you in the night ... and I'm wondering how ... and what. Come, lad, and see for yourself!"
So saying, he lifted Adam to his feet and pointed to a little mirror that hung on panelled wall nearby. Thither, stiff-legged, walked Adam and, looking at his reflection, started, peered close, then fell back a pace, to gaze wide-eyed, for the long, tousled hair framing lined brow and haggard face, hair that should have been glossy black—was white as snow.
"Well, Adam, well? How of it? What d'ye say?"
"Mighty well!" he answered, turning from the looking-glass with strange, mirthless smile. "My loved father was white-haired ... so this white hair honours me and shall be his memorial to bear with honour whiles I live."
CHAPTER II
TELLS HOW ADAM SMOTE SAVAGERY
"And now, sir," sighed Adam, "if you'll show where I may wash me and comb my old man's hair, I'll thank you and go about my business."
"Ay, ay, lad. I'll bring thee with clean towel to pump i' the yard and thereafter shalt feed, my poor boy." Adam shook white head wearily.
"Mr. Troy, you are crassly blind to so mistake me. I alas, am no boy! A man am I these two years, and to-day am aged beyond my years, as you may see."
Tall Absalom looked down at this small, slim figure, this shape of youth crowned by hair silvery white; he looked away, rubbed his chin, shook his head and finally spoke:
"Why then, friend Adam, go along o' me and I'll pump new life and hunger into thee with sweet, fresh water."
So forth went they into a morning bright with sun and glad with song of birds, for the day was young. And presently, stripped to the waist, Adam bowed white head and slender body and was pumped upon and deluged with sparkling water until he gasped, then towelled and rubbed down by Absalom until he glowed and thrilled with new life. Now as Adam, thus half naked, turned for his garments, he chanced to catch his companion's eye, and flushed:
"Ah," said he, frowning, "Master Troy, I perceive you are considering what small, puny wretch I am, eh, sir?"
"Why now, Adam, let me die but there a'n't a vasty deal o' thee,—now is there?"
"Howbeit, sir," retorted Adam in the act of donning shirt and therefore speaking in tone a little muffled, "I have wrought and studied in divers ways and with a painful diligence to make the utmost of what there is of me. I must not be measured by my inches, sir,—or lack of them. Moreover, I——" He broke off with a gasp and ducked suddenly behind his tall companion, for a buxom woman was nodding and smiling at him from an open window nearby.
"Breakfast, Capten!" she cried in laughing tone. "And the little gen'leman needn't show so fearsome modest and coy, I've seen growed men aplenty and I be old enough to mother him, ay and you too, Cap'n Troy!"
"Why so ye do, Martha, Lord bless your handsome face, and never was younger mother or more dutiful, loving son! Messmate, you behold our hostess, commander and general mother—dame Martha Purdy."
"Not as I won't say," chuckled Mrs. Purdy, as Adam struggled desperately with his shirt, "but what your little gen'leman 'ave got the prettiest smooth skin and white as any maid's. Hows'ever, my Ben's this moment a-drawing your ale, there's gammons a-frizzling, likewise eggs, so come your ways this moment, both o' ye, and eat 'em."