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diff --git a/28952.txt b/28952.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3d2ed1e --- /dev/null +++ b/28952.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7344 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Wicker's Window, by Carley Dawson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mr. Wicker's Window + +Author: Carley Dawson + +Illustrator: Lynd Ward + +Release Date: May 24, 2009 [EBook #28952] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. WICKER'S WINDOW *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that + the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + MR. + + WICKER'S WINDOW + + + + + by + + Carley Dawson + + + + Illustrated by + + Lynd Ward + + + + 1952 + + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON + + The Riverside Press Cambridge + + + + + Copyright, 1952, by + + CARLEY DAWSON and LYND WARD + + * * * * * + + + + +_For + +those at + +Second Family + +House_ + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER 1 + +[Illustration] + + +Christopher Mason felt numb. It seemed to him that he was as good as +an orphan already, for his father, a Commander in the Navy, was far +away at sea, and Chris's mother was in a hospital, not expected to +live. + +Chris scuffed along the brick pavements of Georgetown, but he did not, +as he usually did, look about at its familiar houses. This friendly +core of the growing city of Washington, D.C., today seemed to him +almost hostile. + +Georgetown, where Chris lived, is the oldest part of the capital city, +built by early English settlers long years before Washington itself +was even planned. Grouped at the head of the navigable part of the +Potomac River, above Georgetown's bluffs, the Potomac foams and dashes +over wild rocks and waterfalls, and across the river, the country +starts. + +Chris had just left his mother's sister, his Aunt Rachel. Aunt Rachel, +white-faced, was preparing to go to the hospital to be with his mother +and had asked him, "Don't you want to come too, Chris? For a little +while?" But a cold-edged wing of fear had brushed the boy like a bat +wing in the night. He had shaken his head, speechless, grabbed his +sweater, and slammed the front door. + +Now he hesitated on a corner, suddenly dismayed, not knowing quite +where to go or what to do. The whole city with its white marble +buildings and templed memorials, its elm-lined avenues, seemed all at +once very empty. + +He looked down to the Potomac, always, for Chris, just "the river," +where it glinted distantly blue and silver at the end of the street. +Factories along the riverbank cut off all but the farthest stretches +of water as the river moved under bridge after bridge beside the banks +of Maryland and Virginia. + +Chris made up his mind to see what might be in the Pep Boys' store, +far down the hill and along traffic-filled M Street. Somehow the +tawdry bustle of this street, with its many shops, appealed to the boy +who carried misery inside him like a cold, heavy stone. Running, he +started down the hill between the lines of old brick houses, left Rock +Creek Park behind him, and turning to the right up M Street, reached +the hardware glitter of The Pep Boys'. + +And it was there, as he stood staring in at the chromium bicycle +lamps, red glass tail lights, and wire baskets, that Mike Dugan found +him. + + + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +Mike was in his class at public school, the eighth grade. Mike was all +right. Chris liked him. + +"Hya, Chris!" + +"Hi, Mike!" + +"Whatcha doin'?" + +"Nothin' much. Just looking." + +"Say--you know sumthin'?" Mike wiggled himself across part of the Pep +Boys' window to gain Chris's attention. "Old Wicker's got a sign in +his window--he needs a boy. For after school, I guess. Think he'd pay, +huh? Whyncha try?" + +Chris looked from a nickel-plated flashlight to a car jack and spark +plug. + +"Oh--I don't know." + +Mike persisted. "Well, I'll tell you what. Know who needs a job bad? +That's Jakey Harris. His mother's sick, and he's got that bad foot. +Whyncha ask for him, huh? You sit next to him at school." + +All Chris heard was "--needs a job bad--mother's sick." + +"O.K.," he said. "Only why didn't you ask him yourself?" + +Mike became uneasy and fished an elastic band out of his pocket, made +a flick of paper and sent it soaring out into M Street. + +"Well--" he admitted, "I did. Wicker's such a queer old guy. That ol' +antique shop is dark an' spooky, an'--Well, I went in, and there +wasn't nobody there, on'y him and me." + +Mike stopped, and after a pause Chris said, "So what?" + +[Illustration] + +"So--" Mike swallowed. "So I said I was there about the job, an' do +you know what he said? He said"--he went on without urging, but with a +frown of perplexity ridging his forehead--"He said, 'Turn around and +look out that window, son, and tell me what you see.'" + +Mike stopped and looked at Chris with a comical expression. "Everybody +knows what's outside his window!" he burst out. "Of all the silly +things! But I turned around and looked, like he told me to, and of +course there was the traffic goin' by, and trucks, and cabs, and +people crossin' the street, and the freeway overhead, an'--_you_ +know." + +"So what did he say?" Chris asked, and for the first time that day the +heavy weight he carried within him lifted and lightened a little. + +Mike examined the toe of his worn shoe. "Oh, he just smiled, that +funny little crackly smile, and said, 'I'm sorry, young man, you won't +do.'" + +[Illustration] + +For a moment both boys stared into one another's eyes, each +questioning, wondering, and neither being able to supply the answer. + +At last, Chris broke the silence. + +"Queerest thing I ever heard. Gee! Whaddaya suppose?" + +Mike took heart, his experience believed and his bafflement shared. He +spoke cheerfully. "It doesn't make sense, but old Wicker's so old he +may be addled, don't you reckon? Who else would keep an antique store +where nobody ever looks? All the other antique places are along +Wisconsin Avenue where people go to shop." + +"You reckon Jakey really could use the job?" Chris asked, his courage +ebbing as he pictured to himself the dark little shop with its bow +window of small panes, and Mr. Wicker, so thin and wizened he seemed +only bones and wrinkles. "Think he really needs it?" he pursued. + +But Mike was certain, or perhaps he needed a companion in this curious +experiment. + +"You bet he does! He tol' me at noon today he wished he could find +something that would help bring some money in. His mother's sick," he +repeated, "an' Jakey don' look so good himself." + +"Well--" Chris said, half agreeing. + +"I'll go with ya!" Mike announced, as if that finished the argument; +which, as a matter of fact, it did. + +Chris did not feel too happy about his mission and hung back a moment +longer, looking in the Pep Boys' window at things he had already seen. +He would have liked to get the job for Jakey, who needed it, but +somehow the task of facing Mr. Wicker, especially now that the light +was going and dusk edging into the streets, was not what Chris had +intended for ending the afternoon. Although he had not been quite +certain how he had meant to spend the rest of the remaining daylight, +Mike's plan did not seem to fit his present mood. + +"Are you coming?" Mike challenged, with a hint of derision. + +"Yes," said Chris suddenly, "I'm coming. I'll ask for Jakey." + +Mike's expression changed at once to one of triumph, but Chris was +only partly encouraged. + +The two boys walked to the corner of M Street and Wisconsin Avenue. +Traffic roared up the first short block of Wisconsin from under the +high steel freeway down to their left. + +Chris glanced down the slope of Wisconsin. Houses and shops thinned +suddenly on both sides of the street. Far down at the very end, on his +side, he could see the brick walls and slate roof of Mr. Wicker's +house. Chris knew it well, for times without number he had pressed his +nose to the square Georgian panes of Mr. Wicker's window to gaze at +the strangely fascinating jumble of oddments that were displayed. Now, +however, he felt in no mood to visit the curiosity shop and stood +shifting his feet and looking aimlessly about. Mike, beside him, was +becoming restive, and gave him a poke. + +"Betcha aren't goin' after all!" + +Chris turned on him. "Am too!" + +Mike looked disdainful. "Aw--you're stalling!" + +"Not any sucha thing. I'm going now." + +"O.K. Let's see you." + +Chris turned his back on Mike and started down the hill. After a step +or two, not finding his friend beside him, he turned. Mike was +standing on the corner. + +"Hi!" Chris called, indignant. "You said you were coming with me!" + +"Well, I was," Mike howled back, "but I just remembered. My mother +told me to bring her some stuff from the Safeway. I'll run all the way +and come back and meet you." + +"Aw shucks!" Chris kicked at a nonexistent pebble and scowled. But a +chore was a chore, and was never worth discussion. + +"I'll meetcha in fifteen or twenty minutes," Mike shouted. "It won't +take me long," and throwing out his hands to signify that there was +nothing he could do about it he disappeared. + +Chris started off once more, passing the bleak little Victorian church +perched on the hill above Mr. Wicker's house. An empty lot cut into by +Church Lane gave a look of isolation to the L-shaped brick building +that served Mr. Wicker as both house and place of business. Chris +paused to look below him. Even from where he stood, fifty feet above +the house, the slope of the hill was sharp and the plan of the house +below him could be plainly seen. + +It was built like an inverted L, the short wing faced towards the +street and the traffic of Wisconsin Avenue. The longer wing, toward +the back, had a back door that opened onto Water Street. The space +between the house and Wisconsin Avenue had been made into a neat +oblong flower garden, fenced off from the sidewalk by box shrubs and a +white picket fence. Behind it, along the other side of the long wing, +lay a meticulously arranged vegetable garden and a few apple trees. + +His gaze moved back to the house itself. It seemed to have been built +at about the same time as the vacant storehouses opposite, for they +had a similar look of design and age. The windows of Mr. Wicker's +house had smaller panes of glass than were used nowadays, and like the +warehouses across from it, Mr. Wicker's had many dormer windows +jutting out from the slated roof. Unlike the warehouses, however, +which were rickety and down-at-heel, Mr. Wicker's home was well cared +for. The windows--except for the bow window of the shop to the right +of the front door--had shutters painted a pleasing bluey-green, and at +their sides could be seen the edges of gay curtains. The traffic +freeway rose high above the roof, dwarfing the old house and casting +a deepening shadow over the whole length of Water Street, shading even +Mr. Wicker's back door, so close did it rise beside the house. The air +was filled with mechanical sounds--the roar of cars speeding up the +hill, the grind of gears, the shuddering throb of wheels along the +freeway, and the clanking bang of chains and weights in the factories +along the shore. + +[Illustration] + +The sun was dropping, and the sky behind Chris made a sinister promise +for the following day. A livid yellow stained the horizon beyond the +factories and gray clouds lowered and tumbled above. The air was +growing chill and Chris decided to finish his job. All at once he +wondered how his mother was, and everything in him pinched and +tightened itself. + +At the foot of the hill he reached the house. As he came to the bow +front the old familiar excitement that always seized Chris when he +looked in Mr. Wicker's window touched him again, and he stopped to +look at its well-memorized display. + +For as long as he had stopped to look into Mr. Wicker's window, which +was as far back as he could remember, Chris had never known the +objects to vary or be changed. There were three things that always +caught his eye, amid the litter of dusty pieces. On the left, the coil +of rope; in the center, the model of a sailing ship in a green glass +bottle, and on the right, the wooden statue of a Negro boy in baggy +trousers, Turkish jacket, and white turban. The figure was holding up +a wooden bouquet, the yellow paint peeling from the carved flowers. +The figure's mouth was open in an engaging toothy smile, and its right +hand was on one hip, on the chipped red paint of the baggy trousers. +The ship, so often contemplated by Chris that he knew every tiny +thread and delicately jointed board, was a three-masted schooner, +sleek of line, painted--at one time--a dazzling white. Now with dust +dulling the green sides of the bottle, its sails looked loose, its +sides grimed. But the name still showed at the prow, and many a time +Chris, safe at home in bed, had sailed imaginary voyages in the +_Mirabelle_. It lay there snug and captured, as if at the bottom of a +tropical sea, seen through the glass sides of the bottle, and Chris +never tired of looking at it. + +But perhaps the coil of rope, so meaningless, so meaningful, held his +imagination by an even stronger hold. Why a coil of rope in an antique +shop? Who would want it? People bought rope in a hardware store--there +was one farther along M Street near the old deserted Lido Theatre. But +here, in an antique shop? Chris shook his head as he stared. He had +never seen anyone go into Mr. Wicker's shop, now he thought of it. +How then, did he live, and what did he ever sell? + +A sudden car horn woke him from his dream. He looked up, seeing for +the first time the small card hung at eye level in the window. In a +beautiful script such as Chris had never seen before, but very +legible, the card read: + +Boy Wanted. +Good Pay. +_W. Wicker._ + +Jakey Harris came back into Chris's thoughts. He looked over his +shoulder at the darkening sky streaked luridly with citrous strokes; +noticed the wheel and tackle high up at the loft door of the warehouse +opposite, and put his hand on the doorknob. The last flicker of light +scudded across the steel sides of the freeway to pick out the +lettering above the shop window. + +W-LLM. WICKER, CURIOSITIES + +Chris opened the door and a bell jangled, very faintly, but with +persistence, far away in some distant part of the house. + + + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +The last reverberations of sound hung in the air and jangled in +Chris's head. Of the many times he had examined Mr. Wicker's window +and pored over the rope, the ship and the Nubian boy, he had never +gone into Mr. Wicker's shop. So now, alone until someone should answer +the bell, he looked eagerly, if uneasily, around him. + +What with the one window and the lowering day outside, the long narrow +shop was somber. The ceiling seemed close above Chris's head. Heavy +hand-hewn beams crossed it from one side to the other. A few dusty +pieces of furniture stood about, whether for sale or for use Chris +could not determine, and almost lost in the black shadows at the far +end were what appeared to be boxes and bales, piled one upon the +other. + +[Illustration] + +The growing silence, now the bell had stopped, gripped Chris. A chill +made itself felt in his feet and spread rapidly over his body so that +he gave a convulsive shiver. He was about to turn and go out when, at +the farthest end of the gloomy shop, a small primrose oblong of light +seeped for a little way along the floor and a door opened. +Fascinated, Chris stared, as into this distant pallor stepped the +short and remarkably spidery figure of a man. Mr. Wicker's back being +toward the source of light, Chris could not see his face. The figure +paused, with a fragile hand scarcely bigger than that of a child's on +the doorhandle, and then came forward. + +The silence, Chris noticed, was still unbroken as Mr. Wicker advanced +toward him, and Chris shuddered again as he stood waiting and +watching, but whether it was with cold or with fear--and the room was +indeed very dank and unaired--it would have been hard to say. + +When Mr. Wicker had come within a few feet of Chris, the final +vestiges of daylight from outside reached the extraordinary man facing +the boy, and for the first time Chris was able to examine the old man +who was more legend than fact throughout Georgetown. + +William Wicker's face in itself was not forbidding. What made an icy +mouse seem to run the length of Chris's spine was the impression of +enormous age in the appearance of the man confronting him. The thin +lips crackled the withered and multi-wrinkled cheeks in the ghost of +what had once been a smile. The nose, once hawk-like and proud and +denoting strength of character and purpose, was now pinched by the +ever-tightening fingers of a progression of years. The double fans of +minute wrinkles breaking from eye corner to temple and joining with +those over the cheekbones were drawn into the horizontal lines across +the domed forehead. Little tufts of white fuzz above the ears were all +that remained of the antiquarian's hair, but what drew and held +Chris's gaze were the old man's eyes. + +Mr. Wicker's eyes were not those of an old man at all. They had the +vigor of a man in the prime of life, and their presence in that +puckered face of age which confronted Chris was horribly +disconcerting. Chris blinked and looked again. Yes, they were still +there. Eyes so deeply brown they might well have been black, but +clear, sparkling, and with a decided glint of humor and mischief. +While the boy had been too frightened to move at the sight of Mr. +Wicker's ancient cheeks, pinched nose, and hairless head, he was +encouraged by the friendly eyes. Chris could not help but like those +eyes, even though it was hard to believe they belonged to the man +before him. + +As though from a great distance Mr. Wicker's voice came to his ears, +and this too, Chris found difficult to credit. There, not four feet in +front of him was the old shopkeeper, and yet the high thin voice might +have come from anywhere else--the rafters, the room beyond the lighted +door; anywhere. + +"Well, my boy? You wanted something?" + +Chris swallowed and his voice came back to him. "Yes sir," he said. "I +saw your sign, and I know a boy who needs the job." He looked at Mr. +Wicker as though he were unable to look elsewhere. "He's a schoolmate +of mine. Jakey Harris, his name is, and he really needs the job. I +wondered--" Mr. Wicker's eyes, laughing at him just a little, confused +Chris and he began to stammer. + +"I--I just wondered if the place was still open." + +Mr. Wicker studied Chris for a moment or two before he replied. What +he saw was a fresh-cheeked lad tall for thirteen, sturdy, with +sincerity and good humor in his face, and something sensitive and +appealing about his eyes. His chin showed obstinacy and tenacity; his +nose would shape itself well as he grew older. Unruly tawny hair was +blown and ruffled in every direction and his hands, even young as he +was, showed ability and strength. + +"Hm-mm," said Mr. Wicker, and his remote smile broadened while his +eyes sparkled with the warmth of a fire on a winter's night. "Hm-mm. +Yes. The job is still open, young man, but while you're here, why not +apply for it yourself?" + +Chris, somewhat less ill at ease, now he had got his message out, +shifted his feet and gave a short laugh. + +"Oh no, thank you, sir. You see, I don't really need it, and Jakey +does. It wouldn't be fair for me to take it if Jakey has a chance." + +He looked away, and saw that the light from the distant hidden room +was jumping and flickering on the shadowed walls. He guessed there +must be a lively fire in that room beyond. + +"Of course," Chris added anxiously, "I don't know what the job is. You +don't say, on the sign, and Jakey isn't awfully well. He has a twisted +foot and it makes him slow in walking. Would that interfere with +Jakey's getting the job, sir?" Chris enquired. + +The reply was slow in coming, and Chris heard as if the words had been +spoken, not before him, where the black outlined figure still stood, +but as if at his very ear. Soft but clear, the words sounded. + +"It would not interfere, Christopher my boy. But now that you are +here, you must make the test. Jakey will be cared for, never fear." + +Almost as in a dream, Chris felt an atmosphere drenching him as though +a powerful scent filled the air. His head swam a little, and he +realized that it was a long time since he had had lunch. He thought he +detected a pleasant smell of herbs, like the potpourri his mother had +in bowls in their house. The sharp black outline of Mr. Wicker +impressed itself on his eyeballs, and in the room, now totally dark +except for the light that streamed from the faraway open door, Mr. +Wicker's body seemed to radiate a bright edge, like a carbon paper +held up to the sun. The voice at his ear once more filled his head and +his hearing. + +"_You_ will make the test, my boy. Now. Just turn around, and tell me +what you see out my window." + +[Illustration] + +Chris, in spite of the strangeness rising about him like a mist, +remembered very well what lay outside the window. But even as he +slowly turned, the thought pierced his mind, Why had he not seen the +reflection of the headlights of the cars moving up around the corner +of Water Street and up the hill toward the traffic signals? And why +had the sound of wheels, of gears and of horns, been so completely +muffled out? The room seemed overly still. + +Then, in that second, he turned and faced about. The wide bow window +was there before him, the three objects he liked best showing frosty +in the moonlight that poured in from across the water. + +Across the water! Where was the freeway? It was no longer there, nor +were the high walls and smokestacks of factories to be seen. The +warehouses were still there. They were the very same, for Chris could +make out the winch and tackle he had noticed as he opened the door. +But instead of factories, instead of the freeway, the river flickered +silver under the moon, and the hulls and masts of countless ships +broke the starry sky. + +Flabbergasted and breathless, Chris was unaware that he had moved +closer to peer out the window in every direction. No electric signs, +no lamplit streets. Going as far as the wall to his left and leaning +forward, Chris looked up toward M Street. + +Where the People's Drugstore had stood but a half-hour before, rose +the roofs of what was evidently an inn. A courtyard was sparsely lit +by a flaring torch or two, showing a swinging sign hung on a post. The +post was planted at the edge of what was now a broad and muddy road. +Even as Chris stared, not knowing whether to believe what his eyes saw +or not, there was a great sound of hoofs and of a cracking whip. A +coach with its top piled high with luggage stamped to a halt beside +the flagged courtyard. Ostlers ran out to hold the team of horses +steaming in the cool night air, and linkboys carrying torches and +orange lanterns ran out to help the travelers in. The coachman wore +knee breeches and a cockaded hat; two gentlemen got down from the +interior of the coach, stretching their cramped legs. Chris could +catch the shine as lantern glow touched the silver buckles on their +shoes. Their full-backed coats were slightly lifted, on the left, by +the tips of their rapiers, and a froth of white, lace or muslin, fell +from their necks onto satin waistcoats. They moved into the inn; the +coach rattled off to the stable. Before the window, farm carts rumbled +by, and instead of the crowded outline of Georgetown roofs, Chris +could see only a few chimneys against the stars, and many lofty trees. + +"What do you see, boy?" asked the voice, so gentle, at his ear. Chris, +frightened and dumbfounded, shook his head. + +"I will tell you," Mr. Wicker said. "My window has a power for those +few who are to see. You are looking back into the past, my boy. The +way it used to be." + +Then the coldness, the strangeness, the fluttering of the light was +too much for Chris. Blackness descended on him as if a hood had been +dropped over his head, but before he was quite gone, he heard what he +thought was Mr. Wicker's voice saying kindly: + +"You will do." + + + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +When Chris came to himself he woke from sleep and lay for a moment +without opening his eyes. He waited with his usual sense of irritation +for Aunt Rachel's step at the door, and her voice saying, "Get up, +Chris! You're late again!" But the step did not come, and feeling +rested and hungry, Chris opened his eyes. + +What was this? The high regular walls of his bedroom were not around +him, nor the familiar furniture. Chris sat up, rubbing at his eyes as +if this would help to clear his vision, and looked about him. + +He was in a narrow bed in a small sunny room. An attic room, it would +seem to be, for the walls slanted down in different sharp angles from +the low ceiling to the broad wood planks of the floor. Two dormer +windows projected from the room beyond the roof, making two niches in +the wall across from where Chris lay, and a third window in the wall +above his head showed that the room, as well as being at the top of +the house, was also at a corner of it. A door was just beyond the +foot of the bed; a chest of drawers and a table with a blue and white +porcelain wash bowl and pitcher, stood along the farther side. Wooden +pegs were placed at hand level here and there, and a rag rug in bright +colors lay on the floor by the bed. The walls were white and the +sunlight poured in to dash itself upon the floor and splash up the +walls in irresistible gaiety. There was no doubt about it, bare though +it was, it was a pleasing room, snug, clean and cheerful, and somehow +well suited to a thirteen-year-old boy. Chris half smiled as he +looked, leaning on one elbow, and then his smile faded as he caught +sight of the chair and what it held. + +The only chair in the room was laid with carefully folded clothes. But +they were not Chris's clothes. Chris jumped out of bed and then looked +down with a quick startled intake of his breath. He was wearing a +white nightshirt, something he had never even seen before and barely +heard of. The sleeves were long and cuffed, and the nightshirt fell in +linen lines to his feet. + +"Golly Moses!" Chris exclaimed, completely baffled. + +He returned to the examination of the clothes that were obviously laid +out for him. There was a fine white shirt with full sleeves and +turned-back cuffs. White cotton stockings; knee breeches of a +blue-gray worsted material, and matching frock coat with silver carved +buttons. Below the chair, Chris saw, was a pair of black leather shoes +with polished silver buckles. + +"Fancy dress, huh?" Chris murmured, and then, as if he had been +slapped into full awareness, came the remembrance of the evening +before, of Mr. Wicker, and of the dark flickering shop. + +Chris sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed, his mouth, in spite +of all his efforts, drawn down at the corners, and his eyes blank with +confusion and misery. + +"Oh my golly!" Chris said, and stared at the clothes he still held in +his hands. + +Then another idea struck him, and he jumped up to run to the nearest +dormer window, the floorboards, where the sun had lain on them, warm +under his bare feet. + +But no. No freeway, no factories. The window looked out over Water +Street, skirting the edge of the Potomac banks, and there below +Chris's amazed eyes rose a forest of masts and spars of ships at +anchor along the shore. Water Street, below him, was swarming with +activity, but not the activity that Chris had previously known. Men +dressed in the same sort of clothes as those laid out for him pushed +at cotton bales, rolled hogsheads along to the docks, or rowed out to +ships anchored in midstream. Most of the stevedores were hatless, and +Chris snickered at the sight of the short braid of hair at the napes +of their necks. Many wore brilliant scarves tied around their heads, +red, or mustard-yellow or green, and the sound of deep voices +swearing, laughing, or rising in unfamiliar sea chanteys excited Chris +and sent the blood tingling along his veins. + +He rushed to the high-placed window overlooking Wisconsin Avenue. No +Key Bridge was to be seen in the distance, only stretches of fields +and orchards, scattered with occasional houses of russet brick, and +when he craned his neck there was the inn where the People's Drugstore +ought to be, the sign swinging high above the road. + +Wisconsin Avenue! Chris had to laugh. If it could see itself! Only a +wide muddy road full of ruts and puddles, along which someone's line +of geese was waddling, impervious to the cursing of passing carters +and riders on horseback. A little below him Chris could see the two +old warehouses he remembered from the night before. But now they +looked quite new, their bricks bright and their walls solid. Barrels +were being lifted by the winch and tackle into the upper loft, and +Chris watched the busy scene for quite some time. + +His rolling stomach and a simultaneous smell of food reminded him of +his hunger. Dressing quickly in the strange new clothes, he opened the +door and peered outside. + +His bedroom door was at the top of a narrow curling stair that twisted +away to the left out of sight. It was steep, and Chris stood silent +and intent on the top step, listening. A deep woman's voice loudly +singing, "Farewell and Adieu, to you, Spanish ladies--" came rolling +up the stairwell to the accompaniment of a brisk clatter of pots and +pans. What rose also to Chris's nostrils was a smell of newly baked +bread, frying bacon, and woodsmoke, and the combination put an end to +his indecision. For a while he decided to call a truce to any attempt +at solving the mystery in which he found himself, and following his +nose, went softly down the stairs. + +Rounding the last turn of the staircase, Chris remained in its shadow +while he stared with unbelieving eyes at the room and figure before +him. If this is a dream, he said in himself, it's the best one I've +ever had--the very best! + +What confronted Chris was Mr. Wicker's kitchen. This room took up +almost all of the side wing of the house. Across from Chris two +casement windows showed the shrubs and flowers and white picket fence +of Mr. Wicker's garden, and at his left was the back door opening onto +Water Street, flanked by two smaller windows. These seemed most +inviting, each possessing a window seat from which one could watch +the busy comings and goings of the docks, with a view of the ships +beyond. + +But what drew Chris's eyes and made them grow round with wonder was +the extraordinary figure in front of the fireplace. The vast, deeply +set fireplace was in the wall that faced the back door. So deep it +was, that there was even a bench on one side of it, and over the +smoking logs were hung all manner of trivets, spits, and cooking +irons. It was, in short, a fireplace such as Chris had never dreamed +of. Yet the tall buxom woman stirring the hissing pots and singing to +herself was what held Chris rooted to the last step of the attic +stair. + +The woman stood easily six feet, broad and brawny enough to be a match +for almost any man. Countless yards of sprigged cotton must have gone +into the making of her dress, to say nothing of her apron. A massive +fichu of freshly laundered muslin went around her neck and was tucked +into her bodice; a white turban was on her head, but on top of the +turban--! Chris simply could not believe his eyes as he counted +rapidly. On top of this amazing woman's head was a gigantic hat +supporting twenty-four roses and twelve waving black plumes! Chris's +jaw dropped at the sight of the turbaned, hatted head, the flowers +bobbing and swaying, the ostrich plumes blowing and curtseying with +every slightest movement. + +[Illustration] + +As if blissfully unaware that her costume was not the usual one for +cooking, the woman hummed and stirred, tasted, and hung up her ladle. +But the sight was too much for Chris. Before he could stop it a shout +of laughter exploded from his lips. He laughed and laughed, and the +indignant expression on the woman's face when she turned, to stand +glaring at him with her hands on her jutting hips, only added to +Chris's laughter. At last, sobering up somewhat as he realized that +his behavior was rude, to put it mildly, Chris stopped and caught his +breath, shaken only now and again by a diminishing paroxysm. Seeing +the spark of bad temper in the red face of the enormous woman, Chris +decided to pour oil on the troubled waters. + +"Good morning, ma'am. I--I'm Chris Mason, from upstairs, and I'm sorry +I laughed so loud. I--" he floundered and grabbed desperately at any +passing idea "--I saw something comical out the window there"--he +pointed wildly--"and it just set me off. I hope I didn't disturb you?" + +Mollified, though not entirely, the woman accepted this effort at +peacemaking and her face eased a little. + +"Well now. So you are awake at the last, eh? And hungry, bein' a boy, +I don't doubt?" + +She moved to the dresser and took down a mug and plate, the roses and +ostrich plumes nodding in evident agreement. + +"So you are Chris, did you say? Christopher, that would be? And I am +Mistress Rebecca Boozer, should you be wanting to know. Becky Boozer, +they call me." + +She bustled over to a covered bowl, dipped out creamy milk with a +long-handled dipper, and set bread, butter, and bacon in front of +Chris at a table pulled up to one of the window seats. + +"Eat up now, young man," Becky Boozer advised, every red rose and +feather accenting her words, "for Mr. Wicker will be wanting to see +you when you have done. It's late. Past eight of the clock." She +glanced out the window. "It might be just possible that Master Cilley +will be passing by before long for a midmorning snack and here I am +gossiping with you instead of getting on with my work." + +Chris ate with a will, looking around as he chewed. The spotless brick +floor and the starched curtains at the windows, the shining copper +pans hung beside the huge fireplace, were proof of Becky Boozer's +housekeeping. + +"Don't you have an icebox?" Chris asked, his mouth full. + +"What may that be?" Becky asked sharply. + +"To keep the food cool," Chris answered. + +Becky stopped to consider this, her hands on her hips. "We have a +larder on the cool side of the house, if that be what you mean," she +told him, nodding. "Keeps the food pretty well up to April or May. +Then the heat makes everything go. Oh! This heat! Prosperity, +Maryland, where I come from, and on the sea coast as it is, was never +like this!" + +A table with a wooden tub and dishes stacked nearby caught Chris's +eye. Buckets of water stood beneath the table, and presently Becky +Boozer took off a small pot of steaming water from a hook above the +fire, poured it in the tub, and dipped cold water from one of the +buckets into it. + +What a system! Chris thought as he watched Becky busy with her dishes, +thinking of the neat white kitchen he knew at home. + +Aloud he said: "If you had a little wooden trough that led from that +tub out through the window there, you could pull out a bung when you +were ready and the water would run outdoors. It would save you +carrying that great tub about, when you are in a hurry." + +Becky Boozer rested her soapy hands on the edge of the tub and looked +at him admiringly over her shoulder. + +"I would never have thought it," she said, "by the look of you. Never +in this world. You have brains, young lad, that's what you have. A +better idea than that I never heard! Indeed, it is just what I have +been a-needin' since years, and that simple I might have thought it +out myself! I shall set Master Cilley to work on it when he comes. +He's right handy with tools, is Ned Cilley." + +At this moment a short knock sounded on the back door, and an instant +change came over Becky Boozer. It was impossible to imagine that +anyone as ponderous as Becky could be coy, but at the sound of the +knock, this is what she became. Wiping her hands hastily on one of +many petticoats, she pushed and pulled at her hat (which remained +immovable), straightened her fichu, and smoothing her dress, she +minced her huge bulk to the door with a welcoming smile. + +A little man scarcely higher than Becky's barrel waist, with a rolling +sea gait and twinkling blue eyes, bounced into the room and strained +up on tiptoe toward Miss Boozer's blushing cheek. Chris, behind the +opened door, had not yet been perceived. + +"Come now, Becky me love!" shouted Cilley the sailor in a good-humored +roar, "How can I start the day right 'thout a kiss from my Boozer?" + +Becky blushed and simpered and cast down her eyes. "Get along with +you, Cilley! What a way to behave," she admonished, delighted and +abashed. "See--there's company here." + +She pushed her suitor off with an elephantine shove and gestured to +Chris. + +Chris was feeling the contagion of laughter catching up with him again +at the scene he had watched, and was glad when the sailor turned and +came over to where he sat. + +"A visitor, eh? Well, well. Off a ship?" + +[Illustration] + +"No--no!" Becky put in quickly, and gave Chris a look. "No. He is a +friend of the master's, from--" she searched her mind--"from another +part of the country. He got here last night and slept late, as you +see." + +"Indeed and indeed!" said the sailor, settling himself comfortably, +and as if for a long stay, in his chair and observing Chris through +his keen blue eyes. "Well, young man," he announced genially, "I am +Cilley," he said, and stretched out a hard brown hand. + +"Christopher Mason," Chris said in return, and they solemnly shook +hands, taking account of each other as men do when they meet. + +"I shall sit here, Mistress Becky, by your leave," Cilley called out, +as if Becky Boozer were a mile away, "to keep this lad company, as it +were." + +"So you shall!" Becky answered warmly, smiling broadly, wrinkles of +pleasure at the corners of her eyes. "And could I tempt you with a +morsel, Master Cilley?" + +Ned Cilley appeared to consider this invitation from all sides before +he gave his reply, cocking his head on one side like a parrot as he +reflected. Finally, he answered. + +"How could I refuse when I know your fame as a cook?" he said with a +smile at Becky and a wink at Chris, and put his horny forefinger and +thumb the distance of a thread apart. "But a crumb, Mistress Becky. A +morsel. A taste. Just to pay my respects to your art, as it were." + +Then such a commotion took place in the kitchen. Chris watched +flabbergasted, as Becky set before Cilley a meat pie, a large cheese, +fruit preserves, two kinds of bread, cakes and cookies, latticed +tarts, and pickles in jars. And with a beaming smile Becky drew from +a cask a jugful of ale which she set down on the table with a thud. + +"Just a morsel, Master Cilley," she said, adding in a coaxing tone, +"Try just a taste, to please me." + +Ned Cilley, his eyes winking with anticipation and smacking his lips, +attacked the meat pie and the cheese, tarts and pickles, with a will. + +"Here--try this," he urged Chris, heaping the boy's plate as lavishly +as his own, and the two ate in silence and gusto while Becky stood by +with roses and feathers bobbing. + +"You must keep your strength up, Ned Cilley," she admonished, "for +'tis a hard life that you lead," she warned him. + +Ned paused long enough to swallow. "Aye, that it is, that it is!" he +agreed, wagging his head, champing his jaws, and digging into the +food. "A hard life, has a sailor," Ned said with an effort at sorrow, +which failed signally, and he took a great draught of the ale. + +After a while Cilley slowed, wiped his mouth with his hand and leaned +back in his chair, rolling a dazed eye at the anxious face of the +waiting Becky Boozer. + +"Mistress Boozer," he announced, "I am a new man." He heaved a sigh of +repletion. "You have saved me again. Ah! Mistress Becky, what a +treasure you are!" + +Becky curtsied and giggled, her fabulous hat shaking as if with a +secret all its own. Just then a bell tinkled, at the end of the +kitchen passage. + +"That will be the master," Becky said, bustling away. Then she turned. +"I shall be back, Master Cilley! I pray you, do not leave!" + +Chris seized his opportunity. "Please, Master Cilley," he asked, +leaning across the empty plates in his interest, "Why does she wear +that queer hat?" + +Master Cilley cocked an eye at the boy before him, picked comfortably +at his teeth with an iron nail which he took from his pocket, and +loosened his belt buckle. + +"Ah!" he said, "So you've not heard? Quick, then, I shall tell you, +for that is truly a tale." + +The sailor stretched back in his chair, one hand holding the mug of +ale. His short nose and red, wind-burned cheeks seemed to share the +joke with his eyes as he finally leaned forward across the table with +an air of conspiracy. + + + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +"Well now," began Cilley, "that's a tale that not everyone knows, +don't you see. And Mistress Becky would not care to be reminded of it, +mark you, for reasons I shall shortly tell." + +His eyes, humorous as they were, took on a shrewdness under their +sandy brows as if judging the character of the boy before him and his +ability to keep a secret. + +"First and foremost," he said, "You had best know who I am." He leaned +back and hooked his thumbs under his armpits in a prideful gesture. + +"My lad," said Ned Cilley, thrusting out his chin, "I am a member of +the _Mirabelle's_ crew!" + +"The _Mirabelle_!" Chris exclaimed, "Why--that's the ship in the +bottle!" + +"Aye," agreed Cilley, nodding sagely, "The model of it's in a bottle +right enough, since it's meself that made it, the last trip home from +the Chiny Seas." + +"You made it _yourself_?" Chris breathed, looking aghast at the +gnarled knotted fingers, thick and roughened by work and weather, +picturing to himself the delicacy of the miniature ship that lay so +snugly in its transparent walls. "How in the world could you get it +inside?" he asked. + +Ned wagged his head. "Ah, 'tis a trick and a tedious thing, no +mistaking, but there's time and to spare for it, coming home from +China." + +"China? You've been there? What's it like?" Chris wanted to know, his +eyes eager. + +Cilley smiled at him, a snaggled-toothed friendly grin. "That's a tale +for another time, my boy, for there's much telling there. You wanted +the story of Becky's fine hat." + +"Yes--yes!" Chris urged. "Before she comes back." + +"Well, now," began Cilley, "Bein' a member of the _Mirabelle_ and all, +means I see quite a bit of this port when we're home." He looked arch +as if Chris must know the reason for that. "An' seein' as how Mistress +Becky and me are fast friends, well--she's told me a thing or two that +not everyone knows." + +He took a pull on the mug and wiped the froth from his lips. + +"It seems," he began, "that in her younger days, Mistress Becky had +one craving. She'd seen this hat that she now wears, in a milliner's, +and have it she must. + +"Now--" and the sailor leaned forward as the story held his own +interest--"now a hat of that sort costs many a shilling, and Becky +worked and saved for that bonnet for over a year." He eyed Chris again +closely. "If you tell what I tell ye, Chris lad," Cilley conjured him, +"I shall get even with ye, I swear I will! For I would never want to +hurt the feelin's of Becky Boozer, on my oath." + +"I'll not tell, sir. Not to anyone," Chris assured him. + +Ned Cilley seemed satisfied. "Well now," hunching closer with his +chair, "It seems at long last she paid for that bonnet, and decided to +wear it to the spectacle, that very afternoon." + +"The spectacle?" Chris questioned, his forehead wrinkled. "What's +that?" + +"Haw--Haw!" cackled Cilley, "You _are_ a country boy! Why--the +_spectacle_, where the players are. The _theatre_--what else?" + +"Oh," Chris said shortly, and thought of television and the movies, +and held his tongue. He was beginning to try to fit himself into two +centuries before his own time. + +"Yes," took up Cilley, "so as I was saying, Mistress Boozer bein' +young and flighty in them days, and rightful proud of the bonnet she +had took so long to earn, wore it to the spectacle, together with her +best gown. + +"Now as you seem not acquainted with the theatre, me lad, let me tell +you that we give it here in any hall standing vacant, and out of doors +in fair weather, and we set the benches in rows for those that pay for +seats." + +He pulled out an evil-smelling clay pipe and stuffed it with tobacco, +tamping it down with one grubby forefinger, and when it was well lit, +pointed the stem at Chris by way of emphasis. + +"Mistress Becky gets herself a good place, on this occasion, and sits +herself down, a-tossin' of her feathers and her flowers, and as proud +as a peacock, every inch of her. The people pack the benches, and the +performance then begins. + +"Rightly--" and Cilley jabbed the pipestem at Chris--"Rightly, only +ladies of quality wear such hats as Becky wore, and should they go to +the spectacle--which would be doubtful, for the crowd makes it no +place for gentlewomen--they would be sitting off apart, don't you see? + +"But Becky sat spang in the center of the hall, and--you've seen the +hat? 'Tis big enough for two and no mistake, and spreads along as well +as up--well, the time came to begin. The players came out on the +stage, a-speakin' of their parts and abrandishin' of their arms as +they do, when all at once a gentleman sitting behind Becky Boozer +leaned forward and asked her--ever so polite--'Madam,' sez he, 'please +be so good as to remove your bonnet!'" + +[Illustration] + +Here Cilley leaned forward, one hand on his stomach to facilitate a +bow, aping as best he could the speech and manners of a gentleman. In +a flash he resumed his own character and turned to Chris. + +"Well, did she take it off?" Ned demanded of Chris, frowning with +concentration. "'Twas asked with rare politeness, anyone would agree +to that." He shook his head solemnly. "Why no, Master Christopher, +that she did not! Our Becky had just paid the final pence upon that +hat, and after a year, seven months and eighteen days, the hat was +hers. She wanted all beholders to admire it. What cared she if the +gentleman seated on the bench behind her saw more of her bonnet than +of the play? In Becky Boozer's opinion, 'twas a more than fair +exchange! So she tossed her head, did Becky, and deigned not even a +reply." + +[Illustration] + +Cilley tossed his own sun-bleached thatch and pursed up his mouth in +imitation of Becky. Then, with another rapid change of grimace, he +squinted up his eyes to signify the growing intensity of the +situation, and leaning half-way across the table, shoved the dishes, +pies, and pickles out of his way with his elbows. His deep voice sank +to a husky whisper. + +"So the performance went on, and never a glimpse of it did the poor +gentleman see, seated as he was behind our Becky Boozer. So once more +he bends forward and he speaks at her ear, urgent-like--" + +Cilley's eyebrows rose and fell with his agitation. So strong was the +grip of the story upon him that it was evident that he fancied himself +at the play, and could see the whole thing before him as plain as day. + +"The poor gentleman says again," he took up, "'Madam,' he says, 'I beg +of you--please to be so kind! Nothing of the spectacle can I see! +Please and be so good as to remove your hat!' + +"And would you believe it, my lad--no." Ned Cilley shook his head from +side to side, "No, no, you would not." He leaned back, waving his hand +as if to wipe away any lingering doubt in Chris's mind. "Mistress +Rebecca Boozer was that proud--_that proud_"--he dropped his +voice--"that not for the world would she remove her bonnet. Dear me +no! She tossed her head again, feeling all them plumes a-tossin' too, +and sat up straighter than before. An' she a tall woman." + +Master Cilley took a red bandanna handkerchief from his coattail +pocket and mopped his face, so excited and heated had he become at his +own telling of the tale. Then once more he leaned forward +confidentially. + +"Well, little did she dream, our Becky Boozer. For when she tossed her +head the second time and made no motion to remove her hat, the +gentleman bent toward her, and--no doubt, his words were for her +alone. And this is what he said." + +Ned Cilley's blue eyes popped and he cupped his hand by the side of +his mouth so that his words could carry no further than the few inches +dividing the boy and the man. + +"He said--and so she told me, it did sound like a roar of thunder, +though no one else did seem aware of it--'So, then, Rebecca Boozer, +_wear_ your hat!' the gentleman said. 'The Devil himself shall have no +power to take it off'n you'! + +"And do you know," whispered Cilley in a low rumble, his eyes starting +out of his head as were Chris's own, "'Tis our belief it must have +been the Devil himself who sat behind her there, for from that very +time Rebecca Boozer has been unable to remove that hat, neither by +pushing, pulling, prying, steaming, cutting, tearing, nor by any +method howsomever! The Devil it was! The Devil it must have been!" + +Master Cilley, exhausted by his recital, fell back in his chair, with +just strength enough left to replenish his pewter mug from the jug of +ale. Then, refreshed, he set the mug down, wiped his lips, and cocked +an eye at Chris who sat staring at him open-mouthed. + +"Try it yourself," he suggested wagging his head. "I have. You'll not +be able to heave it off, that I promise you. That hat is there for +good and all. Mistress Boozer will doubtless be buried in that +bonnet." He cocked his head the other way. "And what do you think of +_that_?" Ned Cilley enquired. + +After a long and thoughtful pause Chris found his voice. + +"Master Cilley," he said respectfully, "Does she--does she _sleep_ in +it?" he asked. + +The picture of the elephantine Becky Boozer with a counter-pane under +her chin and the hat with twenty-four red roses and twelve waving +black plumes rising above the pillow took hold of the sailor's fancy. +He tipped back in his chair and laughed till he cried, and as he was +coughing and spluttering, Mistress Boozer herself came rustling out of +the passageway and across the kitchen to the table. + +"Be off with you, boy!" she cried. "You and Cilley--you're two of a +kind, that is plain to be seen!" + +She looked from one to the other and Chris decided that it was a good +thing for him that Becky likened him to the object of her doting, +Master Cilley. + +"Get along with you!" she cried again, pulling Chris up out of his +chair by his coat collar. "You are wanted by the master in his study, +so look sharp! It's down the passage and to your right," Becky said, +"and knock before you go in!" + +Chris started off, but in the dusk of the passage he looked back in +time to see Becky Boozer lost in tittering giggles and wild blushes as +Master Cilley, reaching up as high as his arm would go, chucked her +under the chin. + + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +Chris stood for a moment before the closed door of Mr. Wicker's study. +His head was full of the story of Becky Boozer's hat or he might have +glimpsed the room beside him--for the passage stopped at this point. +Beyond the passage lay the dimly glimmering shop with its bow window +at the far end, and the door to the street beside it. He might have +been able, had he not been so intent on Becky's story, to slip past +the dusty bales and cases and out into--what? But Chris's head was +ringing with Ned Cilley's tale, and with all the things, so different +and so absorbing, that surrounded him. He put out his hand, knocked, +and on hearing a low reply, stepped inside. + +The room Chris entered, his eyes round in order to take in every new +sight, was a small study. It stretched across the back of the house. +The kitchen fireplace had its echo in a fireplace on this side of the +wall, and facing Chris three windows looked out onto the pleached pear +and apple trees; the ordered rows of the vegetable and herb garden. A +final window at the end of the room, at Chris's left, looked out on a +little hill behind the house. Chris, without thinking, stepped forward +a pace or two in order to look for the familiar ugly red and gray +church at the end of Church Lane. It was not to be seen. There was +only a pasture hemmed by woods and fine trees with, in the distance +where M Street should be, a roof or two. + +A thin voice, that came from nowhere and was everywhere, broke in to +Chris. + +"No, my boy. The church is not yet built. That will come in seventy +years. In eighteen-sixty, to be exact. Confusing, is it not?" + +Chris whipped about at the sound of the antiquarian's voice but for a +moment longer he could not see him, and looked toward the other end of +the room with interest. + +Mr. Wicker's study was cosy and bright, well warmed by a cheerfully +burning fire. The heavy curtains, drawn back now from the windows to +let in the morning sun, were of a fine ruby damask. The furniture +consisted, as far as Chris was concerned, of antiques. Two wing chairs +covered in red leather, tacked at the edges with brassheaded nails, +looked invitingly comfortable. One had its back to Chris and the door, +and the other was empty. Both were drawn close to the snapping logs. A +grandfather clock stood in the corner between the fireplace and the +first window, and gave out a steady deep tock. The carpet was a soft +Indian rug of fine texture and many colors, red, blue, and gold +predominating. Most surprisingly, a steep spiral staircase of polished +wood came down into the room in the right-hand corner near where Chris +stood, and Chris wondered for a moment, if Mr. Wicker's voice had come +from the top of the stair. + +Turning back, he saw that a desk, opposite him, stood between the two +windows that faced the garden. It seemed very old-fashioned, to +Chris--no neat folded writing paper, but large bold sheets covered in +Mr. Wicker's delicate handwriting lay on the open top, with several +goose-quill pens standing at the back in a penholder. Chris noticed +prints of sailing ships on the walls, and candlesticks holding candles +and candle snuffers on the desk, table, and mantelpiece. A closed +cupboard with carved doors stood at the far end of the room. + +Once again Chris turned back to look for Mr. Wicker, and to his +astonishment, now saw him in the chair that he had thought empty a +moment before. Mr. Wicker, his elbows on the arms of the chair and his +fingertips touched lightly together, was watching Chris with interest +and amusement. When the boy caught sight of him, Mr. Wicker nodded, +smiling, and motioned Chris toward the other leather chair across from +him. + +"Good morning, my boy," said the old man. "I trust you slept well?" + +Chris slowly let himself down into the offered chair. "Oh yes, thank +you sir," he replied. "I don't even know how I got to bed." + +Mr. Wicker made a sound that seemed to indicate that that did not +matter. + +"And breakfast?" Mr. Wicker asked. "Becky fed you?" + +"Yes sir. _And_ Mr. Cilley--he fed me too." + +"Indeed?" Mr. Wicker's eyebrows went up in an inverted V above his +bright dark eyes. "Ned Cilley so early? Well, he is a loyal soul, is +Cilley. You shall know more of him." + +[Illustration] + +He fell silent, observing the boy sitting on the edge of the big +chair. Mr. Wicker looked, as if casually, at the clothes Chris now +wore and which fitted him as though made to his measure. What he saw +seemed to please the old man for he nodded his bald head and his +wrinkles multiplied themselves across his face in a way Chris took to +be his smile. At last he spoke again, and his voice was strangely +gentle and kind. So kind that the forlornness Chris had momentarily +forgotten at the mystery of his position, the puzzlement and lost +feeling that reclaimed him instantly should he allow himself to wonder +at how he could get back again into his own life and time, was +reawakened by the something he heard in Mr. Wicker's voice. The tears +gathered in his throat and he had to swallow and cough several times +before he could reply with any degree of clearness. + +[Illustration] + +"Feel? Well--all right, I guess, in a way. But there's a sort of +spinning in my head and my stomach if I try to figure any of this out. +I just don't get it." He shook his head dubiously. "I feel alive all +right, and the food tasted good just now, but how in the world can all +the changes come about, or be? And there's something I should see to, +at home--" All at once he needed desperately to know how his mother +was, that morning. He stood up abruptly. + +"If I can just go now, please?" Chris asked politely but firmly. "It's +been very interesting, but I--" + +His throat tightened up again and he made a helpless gesture with his +hand, and looking toward the window, wondered if he could jump out +into the flower beds and be off. Mr. Wicker's voice, soft but with +such authority that one did not question it, came again, and it had a +healing in its sound. + +"Sit down, Christopher my lad," he said, and his eyes were kind, +intent and eager. "We have much to talk of, you and I. But first, your +mind and heart shall be put at ease. Do you know who I am?" + +Restive and anxious to be off, Chris nevertheless found it necessary +to reply. + +"You sell old stuff. That's all I know," he answered, beginning to +feel a trifle surly. + +Mr. Wicker nodded, tapping his fingertips together. "Yes," he agreed, +"I sell old things--in _your_ time. But now--in _this_ time, what do +you know of me?" + +As he spoke there was a change of tone, as if a younger man was +speaking, and in spite of his impatience to get home, Chris looked up +sharply. Mr. Wicker was leaning forward, and Chris felt himself +immovable under the vigor of those dark eyes. + +"Nothing, sir," he heard himself saying, not taking his eyes from +those of the man before him. + +"I am a shipowner, Christopher, for one thing," Mr. Wicker drew a +slow breath. "A merchant trading in tobacco, cotton, corn, and flour. +But I am also--" he paused as if to give Chris time to hear each word, +"I am also quite a fine magician," said Mr. Wicker. + +Chris leaned back, disappointed and scornful. "Rabbits out of hats?" +he inquired. + +"No, young man," Mr. Wicker answered with no show of annoyance, "Not +rabbits out of hats. That--as you would say--is for toddlers. Suppose +I prove to you just how good?" + +"Go ahead," said Chris, whose only thought was still to get home but +who admitted to himself a faint stir of curiosity. + +"Watch closely then," commanded Mr. Wicker. "I have been in my +twentieth-century shape so that you would recognize me. Now I shall +regain my appearance of _this_ time--not a great change, I grant you, +but there will be a difference. Watch me closely." + +Chris leaned forward in his chair. The room was well lit from three +sides; sunlight and firelight mingled to wash Mr. Wicker in their +joined apricot glow. Added to this, the two chairs--Chris's and Mr. +Wicker's--were not more than four feet apart. Chris hunched forward +yet a little more to lessen this space and watch for any movement, +however swift. He had seen magicians before, he told himself. + +But what he saw was so amazing that Chris's lips parted in +astonishment and his eyes stared unblinkingly. For the tiny figure of +the old man before him, wizened with age and wrinkled past belief, +before his eyes shook off not ten or twenty years, but one hundred and +fifty! It left him, while not a young man, middle-aged; a vigorous man +of forty years. The face was smoothed out and firm; thick chestnut +hair was caught back with a black ribbon bow. Dark eyebrows were level +above the steady eyes. + +"I don't believe it!" Chris breathed. "You looked almost like a mummy, +before. And now--" + +Mr. Wicker rose from his chair, and now he stood six feet, no longer +wizened, no longer feeble. + +"Fascinating, is it not?" he remarked, with a sardonic smile. "A good +trick, do you not agree?" + +Chris sat looking at him, amazed but still incredulous. "Well yes," he +admitted, "but maybe with make-up, or something--" + +"Ah," said Mr. Wicker, and his voice was deeper and more vigorous too. +"Ah. Then we shall try another. See if you can find me." And before +Chris's eyes Mr. Wicker vanished into thin air. + +Chris looked about and got up. He looked under the chairs, under the +table, behind the curtains, up the chimney, up the spiral staircase, +out the windows--in short, everywhere and anywhere a man might hide, +and in a great many places where it was impossible for him to be. +Finally he stood in the middle of the room. + +"You're not here," he said aloud. + +"Oh, yes, I am," said Mr. Wicker's voice. "Look on the table." + +Chris looked on the table. A bowl of flowers stood in the center. A +small silver tray with a finely blown glass and a round-bellied silver +pitcher of water stood at one side. A few leather-bound books were all +else to be seen, except--if one could count that--a bluebottle fly +that buzzed, lit on the flowers, and buzzed again. + +[Illustration] + +"It's not fair!" Chris challenged aloud. "You've got some trick hiding +place. You're just not here." + +"Yes I am," came the voice. "I am within reach of your hand, +Christopher," Mr. Wicker told him. "And I will reappear in whatever +part of the room you wish. Choose." + +Chris looked around him, and then pointed to the end window. + +"There," he said, "by the window. There's nothing anywhere around it. +Come back there." + +"Very well," sounded Mr. Wicker's deep new voice. + +The bluebottle fly buzzed upward from the table, flew directly at +Chris's nose, hit it, flew around his head, and bumped into his ear. + +"Darn that ol' fly!" Chris muttered, and made a grab at it. The +bluebottle buzzed towards the window, swirled about, hit Chris on the +nose again with remarkable stupidity, and blundered off once more +towards the window. + +Chris ran after it, saw it on a pane of glass, swooped down, and felt +the angry wings and heard the enraged buzz in his cupped hand. But +before he could either squeeze the fly or open his hand to let it +free, Mr. Wicker stood before him, and Chris found himself holding on +to the tail of Mr. Wicker's coat. + +"And what did you think of _that_ trick?" asked Mr. Wicker smiling. + + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +Chris was speechless, and Mr. Wicker answered himself. + +"Yes, it is a good trick, but before we talk, I should like to show +you one more." + +He dropped his hand on Chris's shoulder and somehow the firm touch was +wonderfully comforting to the boy. + +"You want to be at home, do you not, Christopher?" Mr. Wicker asked. + +"Yes sir. Please." + +"Well, that cannot be for a time," Mr. Wicker replied, "for you have +important work to do." + +Mr. Wicker turned and walked back to the two leather chairs with his +hand still on Chris's shoulder. He stopped near the table and looked +down. + +"I know that all this--" he waved a hand to take in not only the room +but, Chris thought, the different time as well, "--all this seems +impossible to understand." He paused, pondering. "Perhaps we had +better sit down and I will try to make it understandable." + +"Let me put it this way," Mr. Wicker began when they were seated once +more in their chairs before the fire. "You have a television set at +home?" + +"Oh yes!" Chris agreed enthusiastically, "And say! Some of the +programs--" + +"Yes, they are splendid, I know," Mr. Wicker broke in. "But will you +please explain to me how television works?" + +Chris stared at his questioner for a moment and then settled back in +his chair, his forehead puckered with concentration. + +"Well, gee--" He stopped. "Well," he began again, "I _think_ it has to +do with light rays passing through a--well, hm-mm, there's an electric +impulse, see--I guess it's that that sends out--" He stopped +altogether. "Well golly Moses, Mr. Wicker," he ended lamely, "it seems +to be pretty complicated to go into." + +Mr. Wicker smiled, a wide engaging smile showing strong white teeth. + +"It is," he agreed warmly, his eyes twinkling, "Is it not? Very +complicated. You probably would not be able to describe to me the +details of how the radio or long-distance telephone work either, would +you, young man?" + +Chris had to grin back when he saw that Mr. Wicker was not laughing at +him, but rather at the complexity of such mechanical things. + +"No, sir, I guess not. We're just glad to be able to use them, I +expect." + +"Ah!" said Mr. Wicker in a tone of immense satisfaction, "Quite so. +You are just glad to be able to use and enjoy them. Well, then, my +boy, the things I have just shown you, and what I am about to show +you now, are parts of knowledge which are yet to be discovered and +learned, in a time beyond your own. And the ability to move _within_ +Time--_within Time_," Mr. Wicker stressed, leaning forward toward +Chris, "that faculty is also still in the future. In the meantime it +remains a rare gift." + +Mr. Wicker put out a lean strong hand and tapped Chris's knee. + +[Illustration] + +"You have it, Christopher. You were born with the ability to move +backward into time that has passed. Whether or not you will ever +master the gift of moving into the future, that, of course"--Mr. +Wicker shrugged--"is impossible to tell. You may. But for my purposes, +that you have been able to return this far is enough." He looked +searchingly at Chris. "Have you understood what I have been saying up +to now?" he asked. + +"I think so, sir," Chris answered slowly. + +"This ability to move back and forth in Time," Mr. Wicker continued, +"is no more farfetched than the ability to send colored images and +sound across the land into your own house, where you can see and hear +them. It is something which, so far, and I mean, of course, in your +time, has not yet been discovered. But it will be," mused Mr. Wicker +thoughtfully, pulling at his underlip with thumb and forefinger. "Yes, +it will be." He looked across at Chris as if returning from a great +distance. "But until it has been it appears fantastic, does it not?" + +"It certainly does!" Chris replied with fervor. "If it weren't +happening to me I wouldn't believe it!" + +"No," nodded Mr. Wicker, "and I would not blame you. But now," he +announced, rising and turning toward the table, "you must have your +mind set at rest regarding your mother." He motioned for Chris to join +him. "You will need to know only once and they say--" he smiled down +at the boy beside him "--they say that seeing is believing, so you +shall see for yourself." + +Mr. Wicker picked up the round-bellied silver pitcher and set it in +front of Chris. + +"They say too," Mr. Wicker said scornfully, "that crystal balls are +the things to look into. Perfect tommyrot. This will do equally well. +Look and see." + +Chris bent to peer at the polished silver side of the pitcher. At +first, it shone as no doubt it always did from Becky Boozer's powerful +rubbing. Then, as he watched, the rounded side of the pitcher misted +over, as if it had been filled with ice water. Next, the center of the +misted portion cleared away, and as it cleared a picture formed, +welling up into his sight as if from within the pitcher through the +silver of its sides. + +What Chris saw was a hospital room. On a white bed lay his mother, and +beside her were his Aunt Rachel and a white-coated man Chris took to +be a doctor. Then, as if inside his head, for he was not conscious of +sound within the room which had grown deeply still, he heard voices +and words, and saw the lips of the doctor and his Aunt Rachel move. + +The doctor said, "The turn has come. She will pull through, but she +will need watchful care." + +"Oh, thank God! Thank God!" his Aunt Rachel cried, and covering her +face with her hands, she burst into tears. + +The scene misted over once again and when it cleared, the pitcher was +merely a pitcher on a table in Mr. Wicker's room. Chris looked up at +the man who regarded him gravely. + +"Is that a trick too?" he asked. "Just to make me stay?" he demanded +more loudly. + +"No, son," the man replied, and his eyes confirmed his words. "That is +how it really is. My word of honor." + +And to Chris's great surprise, all at once he felt tears on his cheeks +while simultaneously a great lightness invaded him, and a wild wish to +laugh. + +Mr. Wicker poured him a glass of water and held it out. + +"Drink this," he said. "All is well. You can be at peace. And now," he +went on in a brisker tone, replacing the glass Chris had drained, "let +us begin our talk." + + + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +Chris returned happily to his chair and curled up in it as if he were +at home. Even Mr. Wicker's expression seemed to have changed, and as a +matter of fact it had, for the relief and portion of content that +showed now in the boy's face, was reflected in some measure in that of +the man. Before seating himself Mr. Wicker rang a silver bell on the +tray by the pitcher. In a moment Becky Boozer knocked on the door and +stuck her gigantic hat through the opening. + +"You rang, sir?" she inquired, the feathers and roses bobbing as +cheerily as live things around the sweeping brim. + +"I did, Becky. It occurred to me," said Mr. Wicker, looking sideways +at Chris, "that some hot chocolate for Master Christopher and coffee +for me would not be amiss at this hour of the morning. And," he added, +seeing the interested spark in the boy's eyes, "some of your delicious +little cakes, perhaps?" + +"Most certainly," beamed Becky, "most certainly sir. I have the +chocolate hot, as it so happens, and some cakes new-baked." + +She bustled off and in no time returned with a tray of china cups, +matching flowered pots for coffee and for chocolate, a bowl of sugar, +and a plate piled high with cakes. From one corner Becky pulled out a +small table which she placed between the two chairs. The tray was +safely settled, the fire given a poke and a fresh log before Mistress +Boozer removed herself, in her starched dress and apron and her +outrageous hat, from her master's study. + +"Now," said Mr. Wicker, pouring out the steaming drinks, "we shall +refresh ourselves and you shall listen, if you will." + +Chris took a sip of the hot chocolate and a bite of golden cake, +deciding that he had never tasted better. This point decided on within +himself, he gave his attention to the man across from him. + +"I told you," Mr. Wicker said, "that I was a shipowner and a merchant. +That is true. But these are troubled times. A revolution has had the +land in its grasp. Times are bad, and this vast land is now convulsed +with the birth throes of democracy. Money is hard to come by, and much +needed, for General Washington's troops were farmers called away from +their harvesting or sowing. The period of healing, for them and for +the land, will be long and costly." + +He paused to sip his coffee and then put the cup down. + +"Destruction is so fast, and to construct and build," Mr. Wicker said, +staring at the fire, "that is what is slow." He turned to Chris. +"Without financial help, without money for the beginning of this new +land and this new government that is struggling to be born, this free +place and this fine democratic experiment will fail. I know a way to +save it, and you have been sent back into the past from our future--my +future and yours, and that of the land--to help us and make it real. +You will not disappoint me, Christopher?" Mr. Wicker turned burning +eyes on Chris's face. "You will help your country get its start?" + +A wave of excitement such as he had never known surged over Chris and +he started to his feet, almost upsetting the table and making the cups +rattle on their saucers. + +"Oh, yes sir! You bet! If I can, I'll help!" + +Mr. Wicker's face expressed his satisfaction. He rose too and held out +his hand. + +"I knew you would," he said. "It had to be, for it could be no other +way. But there is always doubt. Your hand, my boy, for we have work to +do together." + +The two hands, large and small, were firm, one in the other, and Chris +felt a new power coming to him from the man whose hand he grasped. + +"Listen closely," Mr. Wicker said, and Chris drew nearer. "There is a +wondrous thing, unique in the world, and which, for the benefit of +this growing country, we must obtain. Its possession will mean we can +pay for many things--a new city here, tools; building materials. This +wonderful object is the Jewel Tree belonging to the Princess of +China." + +Chris waited, listening. + +"This Jewel Tree," Mr. Wicker went on, "is a tree that grows, that +puts out leaves and flowers and bears fruit, but here is the wonder of +it," and he bent his piercing eyes on Chris's intent face. "This +growing tree is made of jewels; leaves and flowers and even seeded +fruit. The leaves are emeralds; the flowers, diamonds and sapphires; +the fruits, huge rubies seeded thick with pearls. Imagine such a +treasure if you can!" He spread his arms wide and Chris's eyes were +shining with excitement. + +"Imagine the possession of such a plant!" Mr. Wicker went on. "Break +off a branch of it--another grows. And flowers and fruit--much like +your orange trees--bear both their fruit and flowers at the same +time." + +They sat down again, the better to continue their conversation. + +"The taking of such a prize would be hard enough," Mr. Wicker +continued, "for it is well guarded. But there is a greater hazard." He +rose from his chair to walk about in his nervousness and eagerness at +what lay ahead. Then he went on. + +"There is a man here, posing as a merchant. Claggett Chew. You will +see him in the town when you walk there, which you shall do, +presently. But he has some magic powers, and knows me well. Too well." +Mr. Wicker shook his head and his eyes became slits of rage. "We have +been enemies for long," said Mr. Wicker, "but he has yet to get the +better of me." + +"Is he after the Jewel Tree too?" Chris wanted to know. + +"He is. He heard of it, by power of magic certainly, for it is a +secret so well guarded that those who carry knowledge of it--all but +myself, up to this time--all others have died before they could make +use of it. You can well imagine," Mr. Wicker enlarged, turning his +gaze on Chris, "that a treasure that replenishes itself is beyond +price. The Chinese Emperor knows it well. So do the guards about his +palaces, and so does Claggett Chew." + +Mr. Wicker strode about, striking the closed fist of one hand into +the palm of the other, and Chris scrambled out of his chair to stand +watching the pacing figure. And it came to Chris as he followed with +his eyes the black swinging coat, the silver-buckled black knee +breeches, the neat white stock and black-brocaded waistcoat of the +magician, it came to him that he had a great confidence and affection +for this man. Even knowing him as little as he did, having to take so +much on trust, still, in Chris's mind there was no smallest grain of +doubt, suspicion, or distrust. He knew, without having to think it +out, that Mr. Wicker was a great man, great in knowledge and in heart. +Reliable and kind and wise. In that moment Chris put his whole faith +in a man he had not known yet for a day. + +[Illustration] + +"There is one way," Mr. Wicker said, wheeling about and standing +still, "and that is where I need your help." He strode back across the +room towards Chris. "This villain, Claggett Chew--for that is what he +is, no better--this villain knows me and he knows my power. But if my +power were in a boy--a lad he never would suspect--then--" Mr. Wicker +put both hands on Chris's shoulders and looked searchingly at +him--"then only would we have an opportunity to seize the Jewel Tree. +Can you learn what I know?" demanded Mr. Wicker. "Can you learn my +magic?" + +"_Magic?_" Chris stammered. "Those tricks--the fly--and others?" + +"Yes," said Mr. Wicker quietly. "Many more." + +"Well," Chris answered after a moment's thought, "I got here, didn't +I? I've gone back all these years, so I guess I could." He looked up +with a grin. "At least I can try," he said. + +Mr. Wicker gave Chris's shoulder a little shake of pride and +acceptance. "Good lad!" he said. "I know that you can learn. For you +it will not be hard." + +"There's just one thing," Chris said, with puzzlement in his voice. +"You say, sir, 'Seize the Tree.' That means just stealing it? Must we +do that?" + +Mr. Wicker looked at Chris and his face was serene and smooth with the +great satisfaction of his feelings. + +"You are the lad for me!" he cried, and Chris felt himself coloring +with pleasure at the tone of Mr. Wicker's voice. "I knew it from the +first! It _would_ be stealing, boy, but for one thing. When--and +heaven willing, if--you reach the Tree, you will break a branch from +it and stick it in the ground. It will root itself and grow and +thrive, and the Princess will still have delicate jewel flowers for +her hair." + +"And now," he said, "I smell a broiling chicken. Off you go and eat +your lunch, and later we shall talk again." + +Chris went out smiling. + + + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +In the kitchen, Chris leaned against the corner of the passage and +kitchen wall to watch Becky at her tasks. How different from the +compact white kitchen they had at home! And yet there was a cosy +feeling about the huge room in front of him with its ruddy copper +utensils, tub-size wicker basket of vegetables, steaming pots hung +over the fire, and the browning row of four chickens on a revolving +spit, that gave out a friendliness and welcome modern kitchens did not +have. Becky finally paused in her work long enough to glance out from +under her hat at Chris. + +"Now then, me lad! 'Tis not yet time to eat. That young belly of yours +takes a bit of filling, and no mistake! Be off now, and do you not go +a-bothering Becky for a bit. I will soon call you when all's done." + +Chris would have liked to go outside and put his hand on the handle of +the back door, when a momentary confusion overtook him. He wondered if +in going out he would step back into his own time before he had +completed the work Mr. Wicker wanted him to do, and suddenly unsure, +turned away regretfully. Not knowing where else to go, he climbed the +stairs to his bedroom. + +Becky had made his bed, and the little room looked spruce. Chris +walked into one of the niches made by the projecting windows, pushed +up the sash, and leaned perilously out. + +This was to be the first of many such times that Chris was to lean out +so, king of this new world spread out below him as far as the eye +could reach. A vast and absorbing panorama lay beneath and beyond him. +Immediately below turned Water Street, narrow and muddy, while the +broad wharves and wooden storehouses spaced themselves at intervals +along the shore. Beyond, the sailing ships of all kinds that he had +admired that morning pointed their bowsprits along the docks or swung +at anchor along the river. + +Chris looked down at the many vessels. He could not tell one from +another, but names began to drift into his mind from some forgotten +trip to a museum, or from the pages of a book read long ago. Frigate, +schooner, brigantine. Good ships all. The creak of rigging sounded in +the names, the harsh whip of salty winds, and the heart-lifting sight +of white sails cutting across blue water. Chris leaned on his arms, +his eyes shining. If he should ever go to sea in a sailing ship, what +a day that would be! And then he remembered that he must do so if he +were ever to obtain the fabulous Jewel Tree. All at once the dangers +of such a quest were terrifying, and Chris turned his thoughts away +from them to look at the view. + +Where the city of Washington lay in his time were only woods and +marshlands. No Monument, no Lincoln Memorial, no houses. Lying in the +river like a great green ship, he could see the island which had once +belonged to his ancestor, George Mason. Once? Now it probably still +did. He could make out figures moving at the bank of it, and a ferry +pushing off from the shore. + +[Illustration] + +What fun this was! Chris gave a chuckle out loud. What a chance--to +see what once had been! He was enjoying himself increasingly as he +glanced down at the activity along the riverbanks. + +[Illustration] + +So close to noon, the sailors and stevedores had vanished to eat their +meal, and passers-by were few. The street was nearly deserted when +along the hardened muddy ruts of Water Street Chris heard a wailing +cry: "Pity the blind! Pity the pore blind!" The boy looked down, and +the drop below him to the road made his head swim, until he refused to +think of it. He saw below him a grotesque figure making its way, +turning its head toward the houses as it made its cry. + +It was a hunchbacked man with a wooden peg leg and a crutch. Tied +crisscross over his snarled hair were two black eye patches. He was +unshaven and in a rare state of filth, his coat green with age and +speckled with greasy stains, the stocking on his one good leg +wrinkling down into his shoe, and his hands gnarled with long-nailed +fingers. Chris gave an involuntary shudder, but the sight of the man +held his gaze, for he had never seen anyone quite like him before. + +As the cripple advanced slowly past the few houses of Water Street, +here and there a window was opened and a coin tossed out, which the +cripple held his cap for, or grubbed with his filthy hands where he +heard it fall. Watching his progress, Chris became fascinated with the +accuracy with which the blind man caught the coins or found them in +the road. After a passing gentleman on horseback had tossed a silver +piece in his direction, the hunchback made off around the corner of +the stables beyond Mr. Wicker's garden. + +The boy hung out even farther and craned his neck to see what the +blind man would do, for from his determined gait he seemed to have a +purpose. Feeling along the side of the barn to guide himself, when he +came to the back of it the cripple darted around, and then, to Chris's +amazement, lifted the corner of one black eye patch and peered out +from under it! Seeing no one, and thinking himself unobserved, the +cripple nonchalantly pushed both eye patches onto his forehead, fished +in his pocket, and began examining the silver piece he had just +retrieved. It appeared to satisfy his scrutiny, turn it over and over +though he did, but to be quite sure of its value he bit tentatively on +it with his back teeth. This seemed to be the final test, for the +cripple grinned from ear to ear, disclosing even fewer teeth than +Master Cilley. + +Next, the hunchback sat down upon a heap of straw, laying his crutch +beside him, and with a quick movement, wriggled himself out of not +only his jacket but his humpback too! + +Chris could scarcely believe his eyes, but he now saw that a false +hump had been cleverly sewn into the jacket from inside. The cripple +untied a patch that formed a trap door in the hump, and putting his +hand inside the hollow, drew from its hiding place in the false hump a +small bag tied at the neck with a string. Then, as Chris watched, he +counted the contents of the bag, pieces of money that winked in the +sun, and added to his horde those pieces he had begged that morning. +The bag was then retied, replaced, and the jacket and hump put back on +its wearer with evident satisfaction. + +But the cripple had not yet completed his work. Holding the silver +piece between the blackened stubs of his front teeth, with difficulty +he managed to hoist his peg leg over his good knee. Then, after +darting many a sly look all about him, he unstrapped the wooden peg +off the stump of his leg. + +First, from the interior of the stump he pulled out an assortment of +rags used for stuffing, and to cushion the weight of his stump. Then, +after spreading a torn bandanna handkerchief near him, he tipped up +the stump and from its hollow peg, out rained a shower of coins! + +Chris looked, and looked again. Gold and silver money flashed on the +crumpled handkerchief, and adding to it the last silver piece he had +held in his teeth, the loathsome cripple stirred the heap around and +around with one dirty forefinger, his mouth stretched in a cackle of +greed. + +After a while he caught up the coins, counting them over not once but +many times, and at last let them fall slowly one by one into the +hollow peg of his stump, strapping it back securely. Finally, after +looking about with his face close to the ground to make sure that no +smallest coin had escaped him, the cripple replaced his eye patches +and heaved himself up with his crutch under his arm, turning to make +his way once more toward the docks and the ships. His wailing cry +lagged behind him like a cur dog: "Pity the blind! Pity the pore +crippled blind!" Yet Chris now noticed that his head was tilted back +to enable him to see under the patches as he went. + +The boy was straining to see him out of sight when a resounding bellow +from Becky Boozer let him know that dinner was ready. Hastily shutting +the window and running downstairs, Chris could think of only one +thing. + +"Becky!" he cried, bursting out at the bottom of the stairs, "Who is +the blind man that just went by--the hunchback?" + +Becky never even turned from the plate she was preparing. "Oh, him? +That would be Simon Gosler, one of Claggett Chew's men. How he can be +a sailor beats me, but Claggett Chew has hired him for years, plague +take him! Now," and she came toward the sunny table with a beaming +smile, "eat up, young man, or I shall think my cooking does not please +you!" + +Chris hurriedly set about proving his appreciation. + + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +The learning of magic was by no means easy. The days went by with +Chris's mornings and afternoons spent in Mr. Wicker's study, reading +books too heavy for him to lift, learning incantations by heart, and +how to blend simple formulae over the fire. He had told his master at +once about Simon Gosler, his horde of money and his hiding places for +it. Mr. Wicker though interested and attentive, gave Chris the +impression that what he had been told was not new to him. At times +Chris was allowed to run about the large vegetable garden and climb +the orchard trees, but he was told that the moment had not yet come +when he could wander at will in early Georgetown. + +Chris had tried it once, rebellious and bored at the now familiar +ground, but it was as if an invisible wall kept him in the confines of +Mr. Wicker's land, a slippery glass wall he could feel but not see, +and in which he could discover no chink in which to put his toe to +find the height of it. So there was nothing left to do but to work as +fast and as well as he could. "There are rumors," Mr. Wicker had told +him quietly, too quietly, "that Claggett Chew is preparing his ship, +the _Venture_, for a voyage East. There is much activity about his +ship, and he is laying in stores, so I am informed. We must get +forward with all haste, for his ship is a fast one--faster than the +_Mirabelle_." + +Chris therefore threw himself into all the preliminaries of his task. +His head swam when he laid it on his pillow at night, and Becky Boozer +would stand with her hands on her barrel-sized hips, shaking her hat +until its plumes and roses waved madly, over "her boy's" shadowed eyes +and weary air. + +For Chris was now as accepted a member of the household as Mr. Wicker +himself, and had it not been for the robust guffaws of Ned Cilley, and +the ministrations of the now devoted Becky, Chris's days would have +been tedious indeed. + +One afternoon when he returned, after a rest, to Mr. Wicker's study, +he saw that there was something new in the room. A bowl with a +goldfish in it stood on the table, but Mr. Wicker was not to be seen. +Now, however, Chris was not the boy he had been a few weeks before. He +went straight to the bowl and addressed the fish. + +"Sir," he said to the goldfish, "I am here. What shall I do first?" + +The goldfish might almost have been said to have changed its +expression and smiled, before, brushing a drop of water from his +sleeve, Mr. Wicker stood beside the table smiling. + +"How you have improved, my boy!" he exclaimed. "It is now time for you +to try, and this is as good a change as any." + +All at once, at the imminent prospect of really changing himself into +some other form, Chris became frightened and his hands grew cold. + +"Oh, sir! Do you really think I know how?" he cried, gazing up into +the face of his master. "Suppose I change and can't change back?" + +Mr. Wicker shook his head with a smile. + +"Never fear, Christopher. You know enough to start, and I feel +reasonably sure that you will be quite able to change back again. If +you get stuck I can help you. Come now," he said, putting out his hand +to touch Chris's shoulder in a reassuring way, "here you go. Remember +Incantation Seventy-three, Book One." + +Chris stared at the fishbowl, empty now. He remembered Incantation 73, +Book One, quite well, but his knees began to tremble and he stood as +if paralyzed. Mr. Wicker waited patiently beside him for a few moments +for Chris to get up his courage. + +Then as nothing happened, with a voice like a whip Mr. Wicker said: +"Start at once!" + +Chris was so startled at his usually gentle master's tone that without +further thought or effort on his part, he began intoning to himself +the words and sounds of Incantation 73, Book One. As he went on, +concentrating on becoming a goldfish in the bowl on the table, he +became aware of a humming sensation in his head. This grew until it +seemed that all his body was filled with the strange new vibration, +tingling from his feet to the crown of his head. The sensation spread, +faster and faster. His head swam and he felt faint and a little sick, +but he persisted through the final words. Somewhere deep inside him +there seemed a sudden lurch, and then a wonderfully cool, liquid +sensation. He felt buoyant and rested and looked about, only to get a +wavery, enlarged glimpse of Mr. Wicker, looking more like a reflection +in a circus mirror than himself. With a light twist of his body Chris +floated over, to see that the room looked the same, and rolling back, +could see that Mr. Wicker was peering in at him from above and smiling +broadly. + +[Illustration] + +"Good Lord--I'm a fish!" Chris said, and he heard the words muffled as +they came back to him through the water of his bowl. Well, what do you +know? he thought, not without a feeling of pride, and commenced +experimenting with his tail and fins with such enthusiasm and delight +that some little time elapsed before Mr. Wicker's voice boomed close +by. + +"Better come back now. Take it slowly, son. Seventy-four, Book One: +The Return." + +The same strange sensations flooded Chris as he made the change back +to his own shape, but when he stood once more on his own two feet on +the carpet in Mr. Wicker's study, he was pleased and happy despite his +weakness. Mr. Wicker took hold of his arm and helped him to a chair, +and taking a small vial from the cupboard at the end of the room, he +dropped a pellet into it and handed it to Chris. + +"This will seem to smoke. Sniff the smoke and drink the liquid that +remains," he said. + +[Illustration] + +Chris did as he was told, and his momentary weakness vanished, leaving +him quieted and as strong as usual. + +"There now," Mr. Wicker said, rubbing his hands with immense +satisfaction, "that was not so bad, was it? A peculiar feeling, but as +you come to do it more often and more quickly, the change will come +more rapidly and in time you will be scarcely aware of the sensations +at all." He looked at his pupil with pride. "You will do famously, my +boy. In another moment, when you have rested, we shall try another +one." + +From that time, Chris became increasingly proficient, and as his +ability grew he began to find magic a wonderful game, which he and Mr. +Wicker played together. They played this new and unique form of +hide-and-seek, each one taking a new shape, turn by turn, as a +challenge to the other's powers of imagination and detection. Soon +Chris could turn himself into a limited number of things, for even Mr. +Wicker's magic had a limit: a singing bird in a cage, a part of the +pattern in the brocaded curtains, or a section of the design in the +Indian rug. The bluebottle fly or the goldfish became as easy as +saying "Eureka!" and on one occasion Chris turned himself into the +chair on which Mr. Wicker was sitting, and then walked across the room +on his four wooden legs carrying Mr. Wicker, who laughed more heartily +than he had in years at this display on the part of his student. + +One day Chris wandered alone into the dusty shop. The time had nearly +come when he could walk about in early Georgetown and know that it +would still be the Georgetown of the past, and not the one into which +he had been born. This afternoon, a rainy one, he had tired of +changing himself into and out of objects. Mr. Wicker was busy, and +Becky Boozer had gone off to market accompanied by Ned Cilley. Chris +felt somewhat forlorn and lonely, as any boy might, and kicked an old +piece of wood ahead of him into the darkness of the shop. + +Going up to the shop window, he stood with his hands thrust into his +pockets staring glumly first out the window and then, idly, at the +three objects he had once loved to contemplate, the _Mirabelle_ in her +bottle, the coil of heavy rope, and the carved wooden figure of the +Nubian boy. + +Without interest at first, Chris stared at the little Negro boy, so +gaily dressed in full red trousers, gilded jacket and white turban. +The figure's shoes, carved in some Eastern style, had curved +up-pointing toes. Then all at once the idea came to Chris. If he was +to be a magician, could he make this boy come to life? + +The prospect excited him wildly, for he had no companion with whom to +laugh and share jokes. Grown people, however gay and kind, were never +quite the same. The more he thought of it, the more Chris knew it had +to be attempted. He squatted on his haunches, examining the carved +wooden figure attentively, and felt convinced that, once alive, the +boy would be an ideal and happy companion. + +But how did one change inanimate to animate? Chris got up and stole +back to Mr. Wicker's door. He heard the magician going up the spiral +staircase to his room above, and after changing himself to a mouse to +slip under the door and see that the room was really empty, Chris +resumed his proper shape and opened the doors of the cupboard at the +far end of the room. + +On its top shelf was Book Three, a book a foot thick and bound in +heavy brass studded with semi-precious stones in the form of signs and +symbols. With difficulty, standing on tiptoe, Chris lifted it down, +and placing it on the floor, turned over page after page. + +The afternoon, rainy before, increased in storm. Dusk came two hours +before its time; thunder snarled in the sky. + +At last Chris found it. There were the words, and there the charm. +Certain elements were to be mixed and poured at the proper time. He +hurried, memorizing as he closed the book, and hoisted it once more to +its high shelf. Looking about, he found the ingredients that had been +listed, and in an empty vial poured first two drops of this, and then +seventeen of that, and ran to heat it at the fire. + +Mr. Wicker began moving about upstairs; the floorboards creaked, and +still Chris could not leave until the potion fumed and glowed. + +After what seemed an endless time, amid a growing grind of thunder and +in the almost darkened room, the phial in Chris's hand gave off an +arching rosy glow. Chris, his cheeks hot from excitement and the fire, +tiptoed out just as Mr. Wicker's step creaked on the topmost tread of +the spiral stair. With infinite caution Chris closed the door silently +behind him, and running lightly forward, reached the figure of the +Negro boy. + +The words came out, interrupted by peals and cracks of thunder. The +shop was black except for the paler crescent of the bow window giving +onto the street. With a crash of thunder all but drowning out his +words, the boy shouted in the emptiness of the shop as he poured the +rosy liquid on the figure made of wood. + +And then, appalled at his audacity, Chris dropped the phial which +splintered on the floor. Watching there in the darkness, he shook so +with nerves that he had to kneel. + +For in the blackness lit only by the lightning and its own eerie glow, +the wood was changing as he watched. + +It was as if the stiffness melted. Under his eyes the wooden folds of +cloth became rich silk, embroidery gleamed in its reality upon the +coat, and oh! the face! The wooden grin loosened, the large eyes +turned, the hand holding the hard bouquet of carved flowers moved, and +let the bouquet fall. The feet of the boy twitched and shifted in +their pointed shoes. + +[Illustration] + +Aghast, Chris remained frozen as the boy moved slowly, and a final +_Boom!_ of thunder seemed to split the sky apart. Outside, the rain +poured down as if over some skyward dam. + +The boy looked down at Chris with a radiant smile and put out his +hand. + +"I'll help you up," he said to the kneeling boy in front of him. "I am +Amos." + +And as they turned, the light and the dark hands holding firm, the +firelight was streaming from the distant door and Mr. Wicker waited. + + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +From that time on Chris and Amos were inseparable, with the exception +of those times when Chris studied alone with Mr. Wicker. Amos, during +these hours, soon endeared himself to Becky Boozer, to whom he became +invaluable, for he took over those chores Chris had undertaken as his +share. These consisted of carrying water, peeling potatoes, or +watching the roasting meat in case it should burn. For Chris had less +and less time for such jobs, and Amos's laughter and willing happy +nature soon made Becky spoil him as much as she did Chris. + +Another cot was put into Chris's room, and night after night they +would hang out the two mansard windows, watching what went on below +until it was too dark to see. Or else they would talk by the light of +their candle until they fell asleep. + +Chris now knew how lonely he had been until he set Amos free from his +wooden shroud, but, warned by Mr. Wicker, he did not tell his new +friend that he came from another year as yet unreached by the time +they lived in. + +"It is enough for a while," cautioned Mr. Wicker, "that Amos get used +to being limber and alive. That is change enough from a carved wooden +figure. It would only confuse and trouble him to think you do not +really belong where you are. So let him be happy. And I shall seal +your lips with regard to the secret of the Jewel Tree, for that must +be known to no one," and so saying he rubbed a salve over Chris's +lips. + +"Now tell me what you are to journey after," commanded Mr. Wicker. But +when Chris attempted to talk of the Jewel Tree, the words would not +pass his lips but remained in his mouth like a handful of marbles. + +"Good," said Mr. Wicker, rubbing his hands. "Not even to me. Excellent +stuff, this," he added, turning the tiny case that contained the salve +in his fingers. "I got it in India years ago, and this is the last of +it. But I hardly imagine I shall need it again. Its use is somewhat +drastic, but occasionally wise." + +"Mr. Wicker," Chris said thoughtfully one afternoon after his lessons +and memorizing were over for the day, "of the three things in your +shop window that I liked best, two have been explained. Yet the third, +which still interests me, seems to have had, so far, no significance. +I mean, of course, the rope." + +"Ah yes," Mr. Wicker agreed, nodding and stretching his feet out +toward the fire, "the rope. Very well, my boy, since it has come into +your mind again, that means that the time has come for you to discover +its use. Go and bring it to me." + +Chris ran to get the coiled rope. He experienced almost a shock when +he touched it. It had looked harsh and coarse to the touch, of rough +hemp fibre, but on picking it up, the coils in his hand seemed almost +silky. Certainly they were more than usually pliable. Returning to the +study, the boy put the rope beside Mr. Wicker's chair. The magician +did not move, his feet still stretched comfortably towards the flames. +His dark handsome face was dreamy and remote, and Chris wondered in +what faraway place or time his teacher moved. The apprentice sat down +cross-legged with his back to the fire, and presently Mr. Wicker took +his gaze from the sparks and smoke to look thoughtfully at him. + +"You have heard of the Indian rope trick, Christopher?" + +"Yes--and no, sir," Chris replied. "I'm not sure how it works." + +Mr. Wicker gave a chuckle. "Indeed? Well, let me tell you, my boy, no +one else does either. The rope is made to go up in the air, so stiffly +that the fakir--that is, the Eastern magician--can climb it. Some +claim to have seen the fakirs climb up it and vanish from sight, and +the rope disappear after them." + +Mr. Wicker waved one hand as much as to say that those who had seen it +could believe as they pleased. + +"A good enough trick, in its way," condescended Mr. Wicker, "but this +rope is capable of so much more remarkable possibilities as to throw +the Indian rope trick completely in the shade." + +With one of his quick gestures, Mr. Wicker reached down for the rope +and was up and out of his chair, all in one movement. + +"You shall learn, last of your lessons, a new way of using a lasso. +Not lassoing--" Mr. Wicker held up a finger to stress his point, +"that, too, you shall learn, but how to use this particular rope to +make the most of its--shall we say?--qualities." + +Mr. Wicker smiled his sardonic smile, though his eyes were snapping as +brightly as the fire. + +"Now Christopher," he began, running the rope through his long, fine +hands, "just push that table and the chairs to the wall, there's a +good lad, and we shall get the stiffness out of this rope." Chris +cleared the room. "And pull the curtains, my boy," added his master, +"for one never knows but that Amos or Becky Boozer might pass by at +the crucial moment. What they do not know," murmured the magician, "is +best for them." + +[Illustration] + +When the room was satisfactorily arranged, and candles had been lit, +Chris returned to stand by the fireplace beside his master, who was +turning the rope lightly in his fingers. + +"Now Christopher, your attention please," said the magician, and his +tone was crisp and authoritative. "Imagine that you are in need of a +boat, and there is no boat." + +With several twists of his hands the rope spun out into the middle air +of the room. It moved and twisted like a live thing, and Mr. Wicker, +Chris thought, seemed to be drawing the outline of a boat in the air +with the moving line. Even as this thought flickered in his mind, the +rope formed in mid-air the skeleton of a dingy, and then, +mysteriously, the rope added to itself until the bare struts and sides +were filled in and there, rocking lightly from the speed of its +creation, a small row-boat hovered in the air, as if it were tied up +to a dock. + +"Go and feel of it, Christopher," Mr. Wicker urged. "Climb in it if +you like. I have left the two ends of the rope long enough to make +oars, if necessary." + +Chris ran over and felt the sides of the boat. It was sound and +secure, no doubt of that. He went all around it, pounding its sides, +and at last heaved himself over to fall into its center. The boat +never stirred, and stamp as he would, the rope bottom and gunwales +resisted firmly. + +"Gee! Mr. Wicker!" Chris exclaimed. "This is the best yet--except for +Amos. Golly Moses!" and as he sat down and took up the two loose ends +of rope still remaining, he found that he held not rope ends but two +oars. "Even oars!" Chris cried in delight. + +Mr. Wicker stood with his hands behind his back, the firelight +outlining his black clothes and neat dark head. + +"Yes," he said, in a matter-of-fact voice, "Quite so. Now climb out +and I will show you some of the other shapes of which it is capable. A +ladder," Mr. Wicker remarked as Chris rejoined him, "is almost too +simple. We can do that at any time." + +Grasping the end of one oar, with movements too fast for Chris's eyes +to follow, in an instant the boat was a rope again, coiled over Mr. +Wicker's arm. + +"Now!" said Mr. Wicker, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. The rope +flew out again, but this time took a strange outline--the outline of +an elephant. + +"It will have to be a _small_ elephant," murmured Mr. Wicker, his +hands flying, "because of the size of the room." + +The elephant, like the boat, took shape, the final ends of the rope +hanging down at its trunk and tail. After the elephant came a horse, +an eagle, and a dolphin, and Chris's admiration and zest to learn the +secrets of the rope grew with every change of shape. + +"Very well," ended Mr. Wicker, "you shall learn." And placing his +hands over Chris's while the boy held the rope, he began slowly to +show him the magic twists and turns. + + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +The time had come when Chris could go out beyond the confines of Mr. +Wicker's gardens. It was a bright fall day when Amos and he stepped +out the kitchen door. Becky Boozer's huge frame blocked it behind them +as she stood in the sun to see them off. Each boy had been given meat +and bread, some cakes and apples, for their midday meal, and Chris +stood looking up and down the street for a moment before starting, +savoring the promise of new sights and new adventure. The only +drawback was that Amos would not, and must not, know why Chris might +be surprised at certain places. Georgetown in the year 1790 might be +new for Amos, but not nearly as new as it would be for Chris. + +"Where-all are we going in the first place?" Amos asked. + +Chris had long ago decided. "We'll take a look at the _Mirabelle_," he +said. + +While looking about him, Chris glanced more than once at Amos. The +colored boy's brilliant foreign costume was very noticeable, his +friend thought, but when no one paid any attention, Chris decided +Amos's clothes were not unfamiliar to the seafaring men among whom +they were walking. + +A ship had just come in, the sailors browned and cheerful at being +once more in their home port. Merchants in coats of fine but sober +cloth were talking with the captain and mate, while they kept an eye +on the cargo being laboriously unloaded by stevedores. + +For some time Chris and Amos stood watching the men carrying out bales +or kegs on their shoulders. When one part of the cargo had been +assembled on the dock, an auction was held forthwith to sell it off at +once to the highest bidder. + +Listening and looking, Chris saw bolts of silk, hardware, china, wines +and liquors, needles and pins--all manner of things auctioned and +sold. The ship, American-owned, had come from England, and Chris +overheard one man say to another: "See there, the thin man. That be +Mr. Mason's agent. I heard he's here to buy the ballast bricks for his +master's plantation on the island." + +Chris, not understanding, asked, "Ballast bricks? Please sir, what's +that?" + +The men, astounded to be interrupted by a boy, and looking down to see +two, each with an apple in his hands, turned around, and after a +moment's scrutiny, answered. + +"Ballast bricks? Why, anyone knows that these are the bricks brought +over in the hold, my lad, should there not be sufficient cargo, both +to make ballast for the vessel and to sell once here. English bricks +are cheaper than those we can make ourselves. Did you not know, young +man," he said, frowning with disapproval, "that our bricks for +building houses have all come from British kilns?" + +"No sir, thank you sir," Chris said, and moved away, not in the least +abashed. + +How I should have loved to have told him I didn't belong in this age +anyway, and that in _my_ time, we _do_ make our own bricks! he +chuckled to himself. + +Further on, a ship being painted a dazzling white caught their eyes. + +"The _Mirabelle_!" Chris cried, running forward, and sure enough, +black and gold letters along her bow pronounced that indeed it was the +_Mirabelle_. + +"I'd know those lines anywhere!" Chris said to Amos, and the two boys +stood gazing at Mr. Wicker's ship. + +The _Mirabelle_ was a three-masted schooner of more than usually trim +lines. Even at the dockside, the curve of her bow gave an instant +vision of how the waves would curl back as she drove forward over the +sea. At the waterline, a clear light green contrasted well with the +white of her sides. Above decks, the size of the masts and neatly +furled sails showed at a glance that the _Mirabelle_ was hardy enough +to weather many a storm, and also that her crew were able and well +trained. + +Looking about, Chris soon spied Ned Cilley, on deck lounging against +the side of the ship and smoking his pipe. Master Cilley's eyes lit up +as he saw his friends, and hurrying down the gangplank, shook them by +the hand as warmly as if he had not seen them for a month, instead of +just the night before when he had shared with them what Becky termed, +"a taste, a mere spoonful" of supper. + +"Eh well, lookee here!" he exclaimed, delighted. "Chris and Amos, by +me soul!" Ned Cilley beamed on them and leaned back on his heels for a +better view. "Lookin' about, lads? Eh, that's the way. Is she not the +finest ship that ever ye did rest your eyes on?" + +The boys were agreeing enthusiastically when a remarkable couple came +into sight, pacing the decks of the _Mirabelle_. Soon the watchers +were given a better look, for the two men came down the gangplank to +examine cases that had been brought to the dock for loading, and Chris +and Amos were hard put to it not to laugh out loud at the comical +pair. + +The first man was so round and so short he appeared to have no legs at +all. Below a tight round paunch, two small feet looking rather like +mice, went in and out as he walked. The roundness of his face was +underlined by three folds of chin, but his small piercing blue eyes +had a way of suddenly opening wide that made Chris feel the man was no +fool. He constantly burbled with laughter and was in a high good +humor, occasional remarks from his companion causing him now and again +to chuckle with amusement. + +What the other man could be saying that was so entertaining Chris +could not imagine, for he was the opposite of the fat good-humored +one. + +This second person was twice again as tall as the plump little fellow +beside him, and was as dour and thin as the other was cheery and fat. +He seemed in a state of perpetual depression, and no amount of +chuckles on the part of the plump gentleman could cause even a passing +smile over the long sad face of the dour man. + +"Who in the world are they?" Chris asked of Cilley as they drew near. +Cilley looked scandalized at Chris's impertinence in finding them in +any way droll. + +"Them? Why, bless me cap and buttons! That-there's the captain of the +_Mirabelle_ no less, and his first mate. Captain Ezekial Blizzard, he +is, and Mr. Elisha Finney," Ned Cilley told them, watching the earnest +conversation of the pair with evident affection. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + +"Blizzard and Finney, that's them," he said. "And a better captain and +first mate is not come by in the whole land, I shall warrant you. He +may look too plump for his own good," Master Cilley went on, lowering +his voice and bending down to be on a level with Chris and Amos, "but +believe me, there's no sounder captain afloat. They all know it +hereabouts, for Ezekial Blizzard knows the Chiny Seas better than the +sight of his own feet, make no mistake about it. As to Elisha Finney, +he's glum, I don't deny, but faithful! That's true of the two of +them--whatever they can do for Mr. Wicker is law for Ezekial Blizzard +and Elisha Finney. They swear by Mr. Wicker, so they do," Ned said, +wagging his head with the certainty of it. "Mr. Finney's kind, too," +Ned went on, "though he don't look it, bless me cap and boots! He's +tenderhearted as a bird, under that gloom, is Finney." + +"Could we go on board the ship?" Chris asked, when the Captain and Mr. +Finney had moved off to the far end of the wharf. + +"No, me lad," Cilley answered gravely. "'Tis better not. Wait till the +master do present you proper to the Captain, for the _Mirabelle_ is +Captain Blizzard's castle, like. I would sooner ye were asked aboard +by him." + +Then, seeing Chris's crestfallen face, Cilley clapped him so heartily +on the back that the boy staggered forward a pace or two. + +"Come now! Cheer up!" Ned cried. "Come meet some of the crew!" he +invited, and taking Chris and Amos's arms, drew them towards a group +of seamen. + +Chris looked quickly around at the faces of the men, for these, he +secretly knew, were to be his companions on a long sea journey soon to +start. With a deep sense of relief he found that he liked them all. +All, perhaps, but one. Then he gave his attention to Ned Cilley, who +with a flourish was making the introductions. + +"Me lads!" he cried, "Here are two likely young 'uns, living at the +house of Mr. Wicker. Ye've heard me speak of them. Amos, here, on me +right, and Chris, that's on me other side." He beamed at both and on +the men confronting him. "Now boys," he roared, "this good man here is +Bowie." + +A short, muscular, bowlegged man with a friendly grin, nodded his +head at them and cut off a piece of black tobacco with his knife, +stuffing it into his mouth, knife blade and all. Chris gave a shiver +as the blade went in and came out and Bowie champed contentedly on his +chew. + +"This here's Elbert Jones," Cilley went on, "and that one's Abner +Cloud, and that one," pointed Ned, "that one's Zachary Heigh." + +Chris smiled and nodded, or shook hands, and Amos followed suit, but +when they had reached Zachary, a tall young man of eighteen years or +so, Zachary bent his handsome surly face and fumbled at his shoe. +Chris stood there with his hand out, feeling the red blood surging +angrily up his cheeks, and then he wondered who Zachary was looking at +from the corner of his eye. + +Chris turned his head and did not have to hear the name muttered by +Cilley or by Bowie at his back. Chris found himself staring at +Claggett Chew. + + + + +CHAPTER 13 + + +Claggett Chew possessed a face and bearing not easily forgotten. A +giant of a man, standing well over six feet three, he stood bareheaded +in the morning sun. Contrary to the custom of the time, he wore no +pigtail at his neck, nor even hair caught back, tied with a bow. +Claggett Chew's head was shaved so close that the pale skin of his +skull showed through the peppery stubble, making him seem bald. Below +the bare skull, as if in counterbalance, his black eyebrows started +out, tangled and thickly black, and under them, as out of a rocky +cave, his small pale eyes blinked like cornered foxes in their dens. +His nose, overlarge to start with, had at some time in his life been +broken, and its crooked shape leaned to the right as if still bending +beneath the blow that had battered it. + +[Illustration] + +A long untrimmed mustache shadowed his mouth, and stray hairs caught +inside his lips when he opened and closed them. His lips, like his +eyes, were pale, and his skin sickly as that of a man who sees but +little of the light. His cheeks and chin were stubbly, like his +head; his beard seemed more reluctant than half grown. His whole +appearance, in his sallow yellow vest, gun-gray coat and breeches and +canary-colored stockings, was one of mingled power and weakness; +strength joined with an unhealthy habit of never being in the sun, and +a cruelty best enjoyed when he knew that he could win. + +His cold eyes pinned Chris with their gaze as if the boy were a +butterfly transfixed by a pin. His thin, pallid lips curled with +disdain and yet, Chris thought, uneasiness perhaps, as he eyed the two +lads and the little knot of men. One strong, too white hand held a +whip, its long leather tail ending like a scorpion's sting, in a +length of wire. He held the five feet of the whip loosely caught in +his hand against the plaited leather handle, and Chris had an icy +sensation as he looked at it that it was never far from the large +white hand of Claggett Chew. + +A little behind Claggett Chew, examining the scene through a pair of +jeweled lorgnettes, stood an even weirder figure. + +"Osterbridge Hawsey," whispered Ned Cilley, as if to himself, as he +followed the direction of Chris's eyes. + +Osterbridge Hawsey, younger than Claggett Chew by twenty years to +Claggett's forty, was dressed in the height of the French mode. +Anything more out of place on the dirty swarming docks of Georgetown +could scarcely have been imagined. His three-cornered hat was rakishly +set at an angle on his fair hair, which was meticulously rolled in +curls above his ears, and the curls were caught at his neck with a +black velvet ribbon. Beside Claggett Chew's offensive bare skull, the +hat, in its delicate blue velvet, silver braid, and airy rim of +ostrich feathers, was ludicrous. Osterbridge Hawsey's costume was of a +piece with the hat, for his coat was of fine blue velvet of too pale +a shade for any use outside a drawing room. It, too, was edged in +silver braid, and its owner, holding a lorgnette with his right hand, +with his left pushed back the velvet folds to display the delicacy of +his flower-embroidered waistcoat. Satin knee breeches, a cascade of +fine lace at his throat, and lace falling gracefully over his small +well-kept hands made up the picture. As Chris looked at him, +fascinated and repelled, he noticed that the young man wore a patch in +the shape of a crescent moon, on his left cheek. + +Chris, who had been not a little overawed at seeing Claggett Chew, +could not restrain himself at the sight of this fop. The touch of fear +he had felt, looking into the pale expressionless eyes of Mr. Wicker's +enemy, found relief and release in an uncontrollable burst of laughter +when from his pocket Osterbridge Hawsey drew a tiny bottle of smelling +salts and held it delicately to his nose. + +Chris's young laughter rose in peal after peal. Amos's warmer, quicker +laugh joined in, and in a second, laughter had spread to the group of +seamen who doubled up, convulsed, fell on one another's shoulders as +they wiped their eyes, and slapped their hard thighs with their +roughened hands. + +The pair that so amused the rest, Claggett Chew and his fine friend, had +stopped some ten feet away at the first sound of mirth. Then into +Claggett Chew's gray-white face came astonishment, for he was used to +creating many impressions--fear, hatred, or cringing obsequiousness--but +never before had he or any of his friends been laughed at. Furthermore, +he, the dreaded Claggett Chew, and his gaudy friend Osterbridge Hawsey, +were held as being of so little account that a boy dared to laugh at +them! + +[Illustration] + +After a surge of deep ugly red to his head, Claggett Chew's face +became whiter than before, and his eyes were murderous. + +"Oh, Claggett, they seem to be laughing at me!" Osterbridge Hawsey +whined in a high-pitched voice. + +Unfortunately, at this moment Chris, forgetting caution in the grip of +his laughter, held on to Amos shouting feebly: "He's got a patch on +his cheek! What do you know--a beauty patch!" + +The derision in his voice, in spite of his laughter, was unmistakable, +but before he could so much as draw another breath, he heard Claggett +Chew's voice for the first time. + +"So--you ill-found ugly twirp! You idiot whippersnapper! Let me give +you one to match!" + +And quicker than the eye could follow, the whip flicked out, and with +a cutting sting, lashed Chris's cheek. The cut, from the metal wire, +was deep, almost to Chris's jawbone; but he did not feel the hurt as +much as he realized--his laughter gone--that Claggett Chew was now his +deadly enemy. + +"Next time," came Claggett Chew's sneering voice, "I shall take an +_eye_ from you, my laughing boy, and see if that amuses _us_ as well!" + +And turning on his heel, followed by the sauntering, giggling fop, the +pair picked their way along the wharf and disappeared. + +It was only then, looking around at the sobered, silent sailors, Chris +remembered that Zachary Heigh was the only one who had not laughed. + + + + +CHAPTER 14 + + +Barely were Claggett Chew and Osterbridge Hawsey out of sight, when +Chris simultaneously became aware of two things. One was the deep +throbbing ache of the whip cut, so painful it made him feel sick and +faint, and the second was the black figure of Mr. Wicker. Mr. Wicker +was threading his way in and out of the crowds and litter of the +wharves, and although to most he might have seemed leisurely, Chris +was able to detect in the step of his master a certain haste. He came +up to the little group of men, glanced at the back of Zachary Heigh, +who was moving away as if to some interrupted duty, and at Chris's +white face and the reddening handkerchief which he held to his chin. +Mr. Wicker looked slowly at all the faces and then raised his eyebrows +as if in surprise. + +"Well, lads," he said, "what has happened here? You all look angry and +somewhat a-frighted. What occurred, Ned?" he asked, addressing Ned +Cilley, whose kind face was puckered with sympathy for Chris and who +stood pulling at the stocking cap he held in his hands. But Chris +spoke up before Ned could reply. + +"It was my fault, sir. I expect I got what I deserved, but it seemed +to happen in spite of myself. I laughed at Osterbridge Hawsey's beauty +patch--and at him--all of him, really. We all did. Claggett Chew got +mad, and I guess I wouldn't blame him. It was a dreadful thing to +do--to laugh at someone to their face--and he lashed out with his whip +and gave _me_ a beauty patch!" + +In spite of the pain Chris managed a grin as he took the handkerchief +from his chin to bare the deep, cruel cut. + +"But truly sir," he ended, "I never saw anything like Osterbridge +Hawsey before. He's a dilly!" + +And before they knew it they had all, including even the habitually +grave Mr. Wicker, burst into another shout of laughter. Mr. Wicker +soon stopped, however, and reached back into the pocket in the flap of +his coattails. When he drew out his hand it held a small glass box. +With unhurried gestures Mr. Wicker's fine fingers took off the lid. + +"What a fortunate coincidence that I happened by just at this time," +he said casually, "and that I have with me such an excellent +ointment." Master and pupil looked at one another for a moment, and +there was the hint of a wink in Mr. Wicker's right eye, and the +vestige of an answer from Chris's left. + +"This will help to stop the bleeding, my boy," said Mr. Wicker, "and +take away the pain. It hastens the cure," he went on, lightly applying +the ointment to the wound. "In an hour you will scarcely know it +happened," he concluded. + +Seeing the color seep back into Chris's cheeks, the men touched their +caps to Mr. Wicker and went back to their interrupted tasks. Ned +Cilley, with his hand on Amos's shoulder, moved off to point out some +detail of the _Mirabelle_, and Chris and Mr. Wicker were left alone. +Mr. Wicker looked down kindly at the boy, but there was a sadness also +in his face. + +"Perhaps," he said as if to himself, "I have set you too great a task, +my poor Christopher, for you are but a boy." He laid his hand on +Chris's arm. "You are a boy, but what lies before you is a man's task, +and no mistake. You cannot in the future allow yourself the luxury of +such childish enjoyments as a laugh at Claggett Chew, or his friend!" + +[Illustration] + +"I know that now sir," Chris replied solemnly. "I asked for trouble +that time." + +"Yes," agreed Mr. Wicker in a tired voice, "You did. Too bad," he +added, and Chris saw fatigue for the first time in his master's face. +"The laughter you could not resist has meant that you came forcibly +to Claggett Chew's notice in such a way that you will never be +forgotten." Mr. Wicker looked from some distant horizon back to Chris. +"I saw it happening while I was in my study, but could not warn you in +time," he said. "So I came down with the ointment for your poisoned +wound." + +"Poisoned wound, sir?" Chris whispered, suddenly feeling much worse +than he had before. + +[Illustration] + +Mr. Wicker sighed. "Yes. Sometimes Mr. Chew has a way of wiping poison +onto the metal tip of his whip. It is a slow poison--it does not take +effect for days or weeks. In fact, so long after his lash that no one +attributes the whip cut to the death that finally follows. Never +fear," he said smiling his reassurance, "the ointment I have put on +will take care of that too, and your cut will be closed and healed +before the day is over. What is unfortunately more lasting," said Mr. +Wicker, "is Mr. Chew's memory. Well"--and Mr. Wicker shrugged his +shoulders--"there's no help for what is done. Use caution in the +future, Christopher. That is all I ask." + +"I shall, sir!" Chris assured him. They turned to join Amos. + +"Enjoy yourself the rest of the day, my boy," Mr. Wicker urged. "But +be constantly on the alert and look in all directions. Here," he said +putting his hand in his pocket, "take these few coins in case you +should need them. Now find Amos, and be off with you!" + +Although Chris would have liked to investigate all the wharves and see +as many of the vessels as he could, he understood the warning given +him by Mr. Wicker. So with Amos he moved away from the scenes he +preferred, taking the first road he saw leading off Water Street. + +M Street was, for Chris, completely unrecognizable. It was merely a +broad unpaved road in what seemed, at best, a country town. Groves of +old trees, pasture lands and orchards of large size surrounded the few +houses. It was hard for Chris to realize that this was the core of the +capital of the vast and teeming country into which he had been born. + +With difficulty, for the streets all had different names if they +existed at all, Chris looked for his own street. Going back along what +he had known as M Street, not even the Pep Boys' or Iron Horse Grill +was to be seen. Instead of two wide stone bridges, now there was only +a rickety one crossing Rock Creek Park. + +The boys walked to the bank above the park and looked down. The broad +asphalt traffic lanes were gone, and so was the tidiness of the park +lawns. Below him, Chris saw the tangled thick forests that had always +stood there. The creek itself, in the quiet of this earlier time, +could be plainly heard running over its stones. + +Chris turned and led Amos to where he half expected to see his +mother's house. But where his house would stand in some future year, +nothing was to be seen but a dense grove of trees growing along the +top of a little rise of ground. Someone had once built a fire at the +corner, where his front door would one day be. Chris kicked idly at +the ashes and picked up a metal button blackened by the fire. + +"What you-all looking for?" patient Amos asked. + +"Just something I hoped I'd find," Chris answered, filled with a sense +of desolation. + +Then he made himself remember that his house had yet to be built, and +aware of the hollowness of his stomach, he said to Amos: "Must be +lunch time. Let's go down to the creek to eat." + +They scrambled down the bank near where, in his time, there was a +children's playground, and weaving in and out of the thick wood, found +the creek, clear and fresh. Here they ate their lunch, and then, +running and leaping, followed the turns of the stream until they +neared the marshes and the river. + + + + +CHAPTER 15 + + +The two boys came out toward the mouth of Rock Creek and as the woods +thinned, they saw ahead of them a sandy sloping bank on which a small +boat was drawn up. Around the coals of a fire nearby, three men were +crouching. Remembering Mr. Wicker's warning to be cautious, Chris put +out a hand to touch Amos and the two stood still. + +"Let's climb up a little above them," Chris suggested. "We're beyond +the bridge--they might be--well, we'd better be careful. I want to see +what they're doing before they see us." + +Amos agreeing, the two boys, with extra care for rattling twigs, moved +stealthily up the banks of the Potomac that rose with increasing +steepness. The men, who were huddled near their fire now, came +directly into their view below, and Chris and Amos could see that they +were playing cards. One seemed to be losing to the other two. He had +piled a heap of his small possessions in front of him on the sand, in +lieu of money. + +[Illustration] + +They were certainly a villainous-looking trio. The boys could hear +some of their exclamations, and it was with a mingled feeling of +curiosity and uneasiness that Chris recognized the losing gambler to +be Simon Gosler, the humpbacked cripple. + +"Come now, Gosler!" they heard one of the men cry out in annoyance, +"Pay up--you've lost!" + +"I've no money to pay you," complained the sly voice of the cripple. +"I'm a poor man--well you know it. A cripple--just a poor old +cripple!" + +"Ah--none o' that!" cut in the second winner. "We know how well you do +at your begging--more in a day than we get in a month's pay. Pay up +now, or it won't go well with you," he rasped out, laying his hand on +a dagger stuck into his belt. + +"What about your glass, your spyglass, Gosler?" urged the first man. +"Put that up and it will cover your losses well enough!" he sneered, +but Simon Gosler hugged his coat to him and looked from side to side +searching for a way of escape. + +"No, no, good fellows," he moaned, "not my glass. I won that from the +Captain himself three years ago, and that I never shall part from +willingly." + +"You'd part from it for silver quick enough!" snarled the first +gambler, "and of that you must have plenty, for 'tis rare you ever +lose. Come now, we'll give you a few minutes more to make up your +mind, but make it up you must. Either the glass or silver, you may +choose." + +The two gamblers rose menacingly and moved away to put their boat into +the stream. Simon Gosler was left mumbling and sniveling and fingering +his coat pocket, in which he kept his glass. Chris, watching him, had +a sudden inspiration and whispered to Amos. "Hide here behind those +bushes and don't follow me. Don't move or show yourself. I'm going to +have that glass." + +So saying he moved carefully back until he was out of sight of Amos, +and then, for the first time on his own, he tried a change of shape. +Choosing a broad flat stone at the edge of the shrubbery and safely +removed from the sight of the two winners, he changed himself into a +silver coin and allowed himself to drop with a sweet metallic ring on +the stone, waiting winking in the sun for Simon Gosler. The old +cripple saw the coin before it had bounced twice on the stone, and +with a quick sly look over his shoulder at the backs of his companions +as they pushed at the boat, hoisted himself up on his crutch and began +hobbling over toward his find. + +But instead of a coin, he found only a resolute boy awaiting him, +tossing and catching a silver piece. It was one of those Mr. Wicker +had given Chris but an hour before. He looked Simon Gosler in the eye. + +"I've heard what went on, Simon Gosler," said Chris, his eyes on a +level with the rheumy watering eyes of the cripple, "and if you will +sell your spyglass to me, I'll buy it off you with this silver piece. +Otherwise you shall not have it." + +Simon Gosler's eyes dripped tears of greed at the sight of the coin, +and then another expression washed over them. Fast as he was and fast +as was his movement, Chris was faster. As the old beggar braced +himself and brought the head of his crutch down where Chris's head +should have been, someone from behind dealt him a staggering blow with +a sizable club, and yet when he turned around no one was there. When +he faced about again, rubbing his head and whimpering with rage and +frustration, he found himself once more facing the boy who was +tossing and catching, tossing and catching, the round silver coin. + +Chris stood with his legs apart, his head back, his eyes full of +scorn. His hand did not cease to toss and catch the silver piece. +"Well, you old villain," he challenged, "will you take the coin in +fair exchange, or shall I hit you again with that club you just felt?" +he asked. "It doesn't feel the same when you get it back as when you +give it out, does it, you old faker? Hurry up--your friends will soon +be coming back, and I don't think they intend to argue," he added. + +[Illustration] + +Gosler, still rubbing his head and muttering, finally spoke. "Very +well, you nasty young man, I'll sell my glass. Give me the coin!" and +he stretched out a dirty claw. + +"Oh no!" Chris shook his head decisively. "No indeed! You put the +glass down between us--carefully, mind you--and back away. I'll throw +you the coin when I've seen if the glass is worth the silver!" + +Mumbling to himself, Simon Gosler did as he was told. He reached back +in his coat pocket to draw out a small spyglass, which he laid down on +the ground. He then backed away. Chris picked up and examined the +glass, tested it, and then just as the two gamblers came back up the +riverbank, tossed the silver piece to the beggar. Gosler caught it in +mid-air with the dexterity of years of practice. In an instant Chris +had vanished into the thick shade of the wood, and going as fast but +as quietly as he could, regained the place where Amos waited for him. + +[Illustration] + +"Gee, Chris!" Amos exclaimed, for he had caught all Chris's expression +of speech, "We got us a spyglass!" + +"We sure have!" Chris agreed, "And it's a fine one--best I ever saw," +he said. "Here, try it out over the river there, where that ship is +anchored." + +Amos pointed the glass through the shrubs toward a distant ship that +swung at anchor close to the shore, and while he tried out their +prize, Chris watched the departure of the three gamblers. Gosler had +evidently paid up while Chris was returning to their hidden perch, for +he was now hustled into the boat by the other two. Soon the three were +far down the stream and their boat was moving into the main flow of +the river. + +"Here," Amos said passing back the glass, "you look. That's a mighty +fine ship out there, black as the _Mirabelle_ is white, but she looks +fast and strong just the same." + +But Chris, taking the glass, was idly following the progress of the +three men. Gosler, lost in gloom, sat in the stern hugging his rags +about him. The other two bent their backs to the oars and headed +straight for the anchored ship. + +Turning the glass to the brig Chris hunted for the name as the prow +swung about. Through the glass the letters, gold on the black-painted +side, leapt at his eye across the distance. _Venture_, Chris read, and +with a beating heart he saw his adversary's ship for the first time. + + + + +CHAPTER 16 + + +"Come along, Amos! We must get a closer look at that ship!" Chris +cried, putting his glass away. Scrambling down, the two boys ran along +the stream until it was shallow enough to cross. The water was icy, +telling, as well as the turning leaves and cooler air, that fall had +come and winter was on the way. + +Hurrying forward, Chris and Amos reached the mouth of the stream where +it joined the river. There on the left bank of Rock Creek, high rushes +grew in rank profusion on the marshy land. They rose higher than the +heads of the two boys and were too closely packed to allow for easy +passage. + +"We'll have to skirt the very edge," Chris said glancing about. +"Barefoot would be the best. This soft ground would soon go over our +shoes and maybe suck them down." + +"Keep right against the rushes," Chris warned Amos, "and if a boat +shows up coming from the wharves, we can't take any chances. We'll +have to dive into the rushes and hide, just in case it's Claggett +Chew." + +[Illustration] + +"That's right," Amos nodded his head vigorously. "I don't want to meet +_him_ again, and you do less'n me!" he chuckled. + +The two went on, making slow progress, for the river was deep at that +point, with little foothold between the end of the jungle of reeds and +deep water. + +"Keep an eye out, Amos!" Chris called back over his shoulder as he +went ahead. It was no time before Amos's voice came huskily up to his +friend. + +"Chris! Chris--hold on! There's a boat with four men in it just left +the last wharf, and they're headin' this way! Get in those rushes +quick--my clothes is mighty bright!" + +[Illustration] + +Rushing and panting, they shoved their way into the dusty rushes, +groping back until they could barely see the river through the stalks. +And it was just in time, for barely were they hidden when they heard, +carried over the water, the dip and splash of two pairs of oars and +the creak of oarlocks. Then, in another moment, came the high-pitched +voice of Osterbridge Hawsey. Chris gave a shiver as it reached him. + +"Claggett," came the voice of the fop, who with Claggett Chew was +sitting in the stern of the boat, "Claggett--I find myself quite, +quite fatigued. A little wine, I fancy, might revive me when we reach +the ship. Heated, I think, and spiced, to ward off the night chill. +And Claggett," went on the voice, almost upon them now it was so +clear, "what do you think of this muslin for my new shirts? Is it not +delicate? Irish, _cela va sans dire_, as the dear French say. I feel +sure it will be satisfactory." + +From Claggett Chew the two boys heard not a word, and peering out, +they saw the boat shoot by. Osterbridge Hawsey, wrapped in a great +cloak, was admiring a bolt of muslin that he held, but Claggett Chew, +his face shadowed by a hat, was holding his whip upon his knees and +glowering at the water. + +The boat passed, and some time after, the two boys heard from across +the water the echo of wood against wood as the dinghy reached the +_Venture's_ hull. After a while, as the boys were about to move along, +a heavy dropping sound, and the shuddering of the marshy ground, made +the two in hiding look at one another in concern. + +"What in the world?" Chris murmured. + +The sound, accompanied by steps, oaths, and a rhythmical drop and +shudder, continued farther along the shore. Stealthily, trying not to +shake the rushes and so show where they might be, Chris and Amos +pushed through the marsh. + +The sun was setting as they came near the steps and voices. Pushing +through the reeds towards the river, Chris found that they were nearly +opposite where the _Venture_ floated, below Mr. Mason's island, and at +a desolate part of the river. + +Chris gestured Amos forward, and they went on step by step until, in a +pause of the thundering dropping sound, they knew themselves to be +near its origin and parted the reeds enough to see. + +There, within a few yards of them and at the edge of a hard-beaten +track from the main shore, lay a mass of cannon balls and shot for +guns of various sizes, such as are used on men-of-war. The crew of the +_Venture_, able to carry but one at a time, kept a line going from +shore to pile, and this, as they dropped the cannon balls from their +shoulders, was the sound and shaking of the ground the boys had heard +and felt. Seeing the red caps and kerchiefed heads of men above the +rushes, the boys let the reeds fall back. + +"I'm going to have a look at the ship through the glass," Chris +whispered, and moved forward closer to the shore. + +Parting the stalks, he trained the glass on Claggett Chew's ship. It +was a fine, rich vessel, that was evident, and swarming with activity. +At this hour of dusk, other boats along the river had stopped their +commerce for the day and there were none to observe what Claggett Chew +might be about. Chris and Amos were the only watchers. + +The cannon balls and ammunition were taken out in boats and hoisted up +in nets. Chris observed everything closely, and saw still other +crewmen disappearing with their burdens down the hold. Then something +caught his eye and he examined the name along the side through the +spyglass. + +Curious, thought Chris, that all the letters of the ship's name seemed +exact except the second and third. Among the other letters of carved +and gilded wood, the _E_ and _N_ were not quite as straight in line as +the rest. + +Oh well, Chris thought, it's doubtless a custom of the time for all I +know. + +Putting the glass in his pocket, he rejoined Amos, but as he did so +the last two sailors put down their cannon balls and wiped the sweat +off their foreheads with their arms. In the ensuing silence the rustle +of the rushes as Chris and Amos moved away was plainly to be heard. + +[Illustration] + +"What's that?" one man cried out. "Is a spy there? Here--take this +club and beat about--we'll catch 'em!" + +The two men charged into the marsh so fast that Chris barely had time +to whisper to Amos: "Hurry Amos--run! I'll be all right. I'll draw +them off! I'll meet you where we ford the stream!" + +Amos safely out of sight, the men came only on a stray dog foraging +for rats, wagging its tail and letting out a yip or two as it followed +a scent along the ground. + +"Give it a kick--there--it's only a stray dog," one said. + +"Oh--devil take it--what do I care?" answered the other, turning back. + +The dog lay panting at the river's edge. Looking past the ship as it +rested, it saw what it thought was snow upon the water and the banks. +But it was just thousands of ducks migrating south, and when they rose +to move farther away, the sky was overcast and thunderous with their +wings. + +[Illustration] + +Long after dark, cold, dirty, and quite wet, the two boys reached the +house on Water Street. + +"Where did you go?" Becky inquired, frowning with solicitude at the +bedraggled pair. + +"Oh, no place much," Chris answered, yawning. + + + + +CHAPTER 17 + + +The following morning while Chris was telling Mr. Wicker of the +ammunition being loaded on the _Venture_, Becky Boozer announced a +visit from Captain Blizzard and Elisha Finney. + +"Show them in, Becky," Mr. Wicker told her. To Chris he said, "I +wonder what brings them here so early? It must be a matter of some +importance. Stay with me, Christopher. I shall present you to the +Captain." + +The extraordinary pair came in and Chris was introduced to Captain +Blizzard and Mr. Finney. The Captain was all smiles except for his +eyes; Chris noted that his eyes did not smile at all. Mr. Finney, true +to form, cast down his eyes, sighed, and let the corners of his wide +thin lips droop almost to his chin. + +When a chair large enough and solid enough had been found for Captain +Blizzard, and Becky had brought in a decanter of sherry and glasses to +set before the visitors, Chris shut the study door and sat down on the +floor where he could observe the three faces before him. + +Mr. Wicker spoke first. + +"Well, Captain, what brings you here so betimes? No trouble of any +kind, I trust?" + +Captain Blizzard set down his glass of sherry and cleared his throat. +"Now, sir, needs must I come with unpleasant news, and sorry I am to +bring it. I have heard that the _Venture_ plans to sail at any time, +and you well know she is a fast-sailing ship." He folded his plump +hands over his paunch and twiddled his thumbs with agitation. "Sir, it +has been noised about that the _Venture_ is headed for the West +Indies." + +He paused and glanced at Mr. Finney who nodded forlornly, his mouth +drooping. + +"But 'tis not so." The Captain looked with anxious eyes at Mr. Wicker. +"Early this morning Ned Cilley brought me the information that the +_Venture_ is to sail to the China seas." + +Mr. Wicker's face was grave but showed no surprise. "I knew some +trouble was ahead," he said slowly, "but did not know what form it was +to take." He paused. "News of sailings and destinations get about so +rapidly, it is more than likely that someone overheard the destination +of the _Mirabelle_, and sold his knowledge to Captain Chew. Although," +he added thoughtfully, "I think Claggett Chew guessed it. Well," and +Mr. Wicker looked alertly at the two men, "what advice do you give +me?" + +Captain Blizzard wagged his head. "Nay sir, 'tis for orders that I +came to you. It is for you to say." + +"How soon can the _Mirabelle_ put to sea?" Mr. Wicker asked, and +Chris's heart skipped a beat. + +"At any time, sir," the Captain at once replied. "We have nearly water +enough, and quite sufficient stores. The men are all assembled." + +The Captain fell silent and no one spoke for several minutes. Mr. +Wicker leaning his chin on his folded hands was lost in thought. + +"How move the tides?" he finally asked, raising his head. + +The Captain, with surprising briskness for so large a man, pulled some +folded charts from his pocket. Without a word the three men rose and +went over to the table, pushing aside the china bowl filled with +flowers to spread the charts flat on the table top. Captain Blizzard +leaned his knuckles on the boards. + +"The tide will be high at midnight, sir," he informed them. "See"--he +pointed a short forefinger at a spot on one chart--"here is the +sandbar that the tide covers for but a short time, and should there be +other ships crowding the river near this point, we must slip through +there then or not at all." + +Mr. Wicker examined the charts and nodded. "Very well," he said, "so +must it be," and Chris felt that his heartbeat would stifle him, it +pounded so fast and thickly in his throat. All at once, looking up at +the thoughtful face of his master, Chris longed to be able to stay +safe at home. The imminent journey, so far and perhaps so perilous, +seemed suddenly too much for him. Mr. Wicker had taken the river +charts and rolled them up, and now turned to the Captain and first +mate. + +"Captain Blizzard, and you, Mr. Finney," he said, "should water casks +be seen going on board, the whole of Georgetown will know you mean to +sail. I therefore ask you to so contrive it that the casks be hidden +in bales or boxes so that they seem to be anything but what they are." +He tapped the rolled charts thoughtfully on the palm of one hand. "Our +only chance to steal a march on the _Venture_ will be to sail at least +a day before her." The two men listening nodded in agreement. "There +is one other thing. Your orders for where you are to anchor, once +near China, will be secret, and carried on the person of this boy." He +laid one hand on Chris's shoulder. "He has a task of utmost secrecy to +carry out and will require your help, encouragement, and silence." + +Captain Blizzard and Mr. Finney looked solemnly at Chris who looked as +solemnly back. + +[Illustration] + +"Not only that," Mr. Wicker went on, "but his presence on the ship +must not be known until the _Mirabelle_ is well to sea." He glanced +down meditatively at Chris. "I shall arrange to bring him aboard +somehow, and give you your sailing orders later." + +He strode over to the window looking out to his gardens and the trees +where the apples showed their russet cheeks. + +"Leave me these charts for yet a little while, and I shall ponder on +our plans," said Mr. Wicker. He turned. "See that the water casks are +taken on at once, Captain, and hidden, and make a place for +Christopher, here," and at a beseeching look from Chris he added with +a smile, "and Amos." + +No sooner were the Captain and Mr. Finney gone than Chris spoke up in +great excitement. "Mr. Wicker, sir, I have a plan! May we look at the +river charts again?" + +Master and pupil spread out the charts once more, and Chris pointed +eagerly. + +"Look, sir! Here is the sandbar, and here"--he put his finger +down--"the _Venture_. Or she was, yesterday. Now sir, the sandbar +being just below and ahead of the _Venture_, once the _Mirabelle_ has +slipped by, wouldn't it be too bad if something happened to make the +_Venture_ drift with the tide and run aground?" + +He looked eagerly up into Mr. Wicker's face and saw in it the +reflection of his own excitement. + +"There are times, Christopher," said Mr. Wicker with his eyes +snapping, "when you surprise even me. But how is it to be done?" + +"Well, sir," began Chris, "it's a little tricky but I think, what with +the things we know, it can be worked." + +He began outlining to his master the details of his plan. + + + + +CHAPTER 18 + + +It was perhaps as well that Chris had more than enough to think of. +Otherwise the wrench at leaving home might have been even more +distressing than it was. His last day passed like a flash, though from +his attitude no one, certainly not Becky, would have guessed that the +next morning he would not be there to eat his breakfast in the sunny +kitchen window. Amos, quick to sense all Chris's moods, knew something +was afoot, and when Chris and Mr. Wicker finally told him of the +sailing plan, Amos's eyes grew rounder than ever and sparkled more +brightly, but he said never a word. + +At ten o'clock that night, when Becky had gone heavily to her room, +wondering perhaps why Chris had given her so hard a hug, Ned Cilley +knocked at the back door. He had brought a light cart on which there +stood a large wicker hamper. Ned and Chris lifted it into the kitchen +while Mr. Wicker drew the curtains and then held a candle high. The +candlelight flickered and flapped like a trapped bird at the corners +of the room, and sharp bird-wing shadows cut across Mr. Wicker's tall +dark figure. Yet to Chris, who was to hold the scene ever after in +his memory, the kitchen by the light of that one candle, and the +figure of his master standing in its center, moved Chris as he had +never been touched before. Amos stood near the basket, looking first +into its square depth filled with shadow, and then up enquiringly at +Mr. Wicker, but he did not speak. + +[Illustration] + +"Be of good heart, Amos," Mr. Wicker said to him kindly, "and look +after young Christopher as best you can." + +Then, at a gesture from Mr. Wicker, Amos, agog, stepped into the +hamper where he stood uncertainly, his expression half terrified and +half delighted. + +"Yessir, I will!" he piped up, shrill with excitement. "I'll keep my +eye on him!" he promised, and then curled up in the hamper. Ned Cilley +shut down the top and he and Chris lifted it to the cart. Mr. Wicker +spoke low into Ned's ear. + +"All is well understood?" he queried. "This is no time for +misunderstandings!" + +"Aye aye, sir! All is clear!" the good Ned replied. + +"Then Godspeed to you all and bring you safely home," said Mr. Wicker. +"Be on the lookout for this lad, Ned, when you get past the bar." + +[Illustration] + +"We shall," Ned whispered back, "and good luck to the two of ye!" + +Clucking to his horse, on wheels covered with rags, and with cloths +about the horse's hoofs to deaden their sound, Ned Cilley and his +hamper went quietly away in the direction of the wharfs. In a moment, +cart, horse, and driver were swallowed up in the denseness of the +night. + +A black night it was indeed. Although there was a moon, thick clouds +scudded over it and an autumn wind bent the trees, tearing the leaves +from them. A mist rose from the river, but it was blown away from all +but the most sheltered places. + +Mr. Wicker and Chris stood in the silent kitchen. Looking about him, +Chris remembered with a pang the first morning he had seen it, with +Becky in her gaudy hat standing near the fire. + +"Come, Christopher," Mr. Wicker bade him, taking up his caped black +cloak and another one for Chris. "First, wind the rope about your +waist, and once on board, bind it under your shirt. Let no one, not +even Amos, know of it." + +Chris did as he was told. Mr. Wicker then gave him a leather pouch +hung on a cord. + +"Here are some oddments of magic that may prove their usefulness," he +remarked. "Wear them about your neck." So saying he slipped the +leather cord over Chris's head. + +"What happens to the rope and pouch when I change my shape, sir?" +Chris asked. + +"They will remain with you, have no fear of that," the magician +replied. "What would be the use of magic if it proved unable to adjust +itself?" A smile played over Mr. Wicker's face. "So, all is ready," he +said glancing around. "Now we must be off and lose no time, for we +have much ahead of us," said Mr. Wicker drily, blowing out the candle. + +Before he knew it, Chris stood--until what far-off time?--outside Mr. +Wicker's house. His master locked the door. The wind, swooping down +like some great bird, tugged at their cloaks and chilled their faces. + +Chris led the way to the creek and the marsh. This time both he and +Mr. Wicker wore high boots which kept the icy water and mud from their +feet. + +"What I wouldn't give for a flashlight!" Chris muttered as they came +to the marsh. + +"Yes, the twentieth century has many conveniences," Mr. Wicker +replied, and Chris could imagine, behind him, the man's sardonic smile +and amused eyes. + +They came out suddenly from the blackness of the woods to the +wind-whipped river, and though the moon was still obscured, the river +held a pallid sheen of its own that gave a little light. There was not +a sound to be heard but the hurried lap of water against the shore, +the suck and pull of Chris's and Mr. Wicker's boots in the mud, and +sharp, hair-raising rustles, from time to time, in the reeds. Chris's +heart thudded in his throat at these furtive noises, for they could +only be made by rats or watersnakes, and Chris liked neither of these, +especially by night. + +Pushing along the marsh edge and feeling their way, the two figures at +last came in sight of their goal. The high dark hull of the _Venture_ +rose above the water, an amber lantern hanging at her stern. The wind +swung the ship, and the tide, still flowing up the Potomac, showed +that the bow, held by the anchor, was pointed somewhat downstream. + +"The anchor may have dragged," Chris whispered to Mr. Wicker. "Now for +our boat!" + +The rope seemed to uncoil from about his waist almost of itself, and +with the gestures he had been taught, Chris formed a very adequate +craft; a trifle lopsided, it must be admitted, as he had had small +practice, but seaworthy nevertheless. + +"I shall see that the men sleep soundly," Mr. Wicker murmured. "You do +the rest." + +"I shall, sir!" Chris agreed, and then the moon showed an edge for a +moment in the clouds. "Look sir--the _Mirabelle_!" + +Toward sleeping Georgetown, for it was nearly midnight now, a +whiteness showed itself, close against the distant wharfs. The +_Mirabelle_ was edging out, and Chris knew that Ned, Bowie, Abner +Cloud, and others were pulling her by the ship's boats into the main +flow of the river. Once turned, she would float noiselessly down the +Potomac past the _Venture_, and once he was aboard, would hoist her +sails and set her course to sea. + +"Then quick!" bade Mr. Wicker. "We took too long! It seems we are a +trifle late!" + +[Illustration] + +They stepped into the boat, each taking an oar, and with only a few +strong pulls came alongside the silent _Venture_. They moored their +boat to the anchor rope. Mr. Wicker touched Chris by way of wishing +him luck, and disappeared. For half a second more Chris waited. No +sound came from the ship but a light showed in the Captain's cabin. + +In a twinkling, a monkey with a pouch about its neck ran up the anchor +rope and pausing on the gunwale, sniffed at the pungent flower smell +that it now knew meant sleep for all the sailors. Then it bounded +toward the light. + +A window of the cabin on the lee side had been left open. Clinging to +a piece of rigging before it sprang to the sill, the monkey's eyes +caught what seemed to be a shadow darker than that of the mist or of +the night, moving away from the sailor left at night watch. The man +now lay slumped in sleep, and the same heady scent of spices and +flowers that had overcome Chris when he had first entered Mr. Wicker's +shop blew away on the gusty fall wind. + +The ship tugged and strained at her anchor, wind and turning tide +making taut the line that held her close to shore. The _Venture_, her +rigging and masts scarcely visible, so sombre was the night, lay +ominously silent, excepting for a murmur of voices from the cabin. +Abruptly aware of the passing of time and the approaching white cloud +on the water that was the _Mirabelle_, the monkey sprang to the side +of the open window and peered inside. + +[Illustration] + +A smoking lamp hung low over a center table, dropping a dusky round +glow on the larger circle beneath it. Claggett Chew was blearily +studying a paper spread out before him, leaning his ugly bare skull on +one hand. His eyes were blood-shot, and an empty wine bottle and glass +holding only wine dregs showed he had been drinking and was now half +asleep. + +Osterbridge Hawsey, in a heavy silk robe and embroidered slippers, +lounged sideways in a chair with his legs hanging over the arm. His +hand trailed an empty glass on the floor, and a silly drunken smile +played over his face. + +"Claggett," he was saying, "is the place marked?" He hiccuped +delicately. "Hup! Oh dear! the hiccups!" he complained with a frown. +"Let me have more wine!" + +Claggett Chew did not reply nor rise to fetch another bottle. +Osterbridge Hawsey gave a hiccup and spoke again, "Mark +it--hic!--Claggett. You may forget. All those--hup!--walls, to get +over, or--hic! under." He sighed. "Oh dear! Hic! _Think_ of those +jewels, Claggett! Hup! Devil take these hiccups!" he exclaimed in a +flurry of annoyance, but made no motion to change his comfortable +position. + +"Claggett!" Osterbridge Hawsey shrilled. "Are you asleep, or angry, +or--? Hic!--Put a cross where the Tree is, I say! I want +those--hup!--jewels, Claggett, and so do you! Hic!" + +Befuddled, his perceptions hopelessly blurred by excessive wine, +Claggett Chew made a mark on the map. "There!" he growled, his upper +lip drawn back over his teeth, "will that shut you up?" + +A moving shadow duskier than the shadows themselves came through the +door and hovered over Osterbridge Hawsey. Claggett Chew suddenly +started up. + +"I smell him!" he muttered thickly. "He's here! Hullo! Night +watchman!" he shouted drunkenly. + +As he got up, stumbling and thrashing about in the uncertainty of his +movements, his chair crashed to the floor and the monkey made a leap, +cuffing the lantern from its hook. The light was dashed out, and in +the dark as he jumped, the monkey seized the creased, well-thumbed +paper as he leaped back toward the pale square that was the window. +Behind it Claggett Chew's oaths and exclamations became fainter as +the spicy scent grew stronger, and at last his mutterings trailed off +into snorts and, finally, snores. The monkey, clutching the paper to +itself, sat on the window ledge stuffing it into the pouch about its +neck, and a monkey smile flitted across its face as it heard a final +dreaming sound from Osterbridge Hawsey. + +"Hm-mm. Hic! Jewels! Hup!" came from Osterbridge Hawsey. + +Down the anchor rope scrambled the monkey with the agility and speed +for which monkeys are famous. Mr. Wicker was already in the boat. + +"How shall it be, sir?" came the low voice of Chris. "Shall I become a +beaver and go down and gnaw the rope off at the anchor?" + +"No," said Mr. Wicker. "It can be more easily done than that and +nothing to trace it. Get in the boat. Here comes the _Mirabelle_." + +Taking his own shape once more, Chris saw the white ghost-like sides +of the _Mirabelle_ soundlessly passing down stream. Not a creak nor a +splash of water came from her as she passed, but from the stern a tiny +light, struck by a flint perhaps, blinked once, and twice, and then a +third time. + +"Now!" came Mr. Wicker's low voice. "Let me have my hand upon that +rope!" + +He only seemed to hold the anchor rope a moment and give it an easy +pull. The tugging strain was suddenly gone and the _Venture_ veered +away like a frightened waterfowl. + +"Will she go where she should, sir?" Chris wanted to know, leaning +forward. + +"That she will, Christopher!" came the familiar voice in the dark. +"And we must get out of her way, for here she comes down at us. The +wind and the tide and--hm-m--other forces will drive her solidly upon +the bar. If I mistake not, it will be several days before they get her +off," and on the night air Chris heard a faint short chuckle. + +"Pull, boy!" his master told him sharply. "Here she comes!" + +Chris grasped his oar and spun the boat only in time, for the +down-flowing tide and rising wind combined to drive the _Venture_ +forward at increasing speed. The tide being still high, the ship was +carried well upon the sandbar before it grounded, lolling over to one +side much like the sleeping sailors. + +[Illustration] + +"Quick, lad! Now we must catch the _Mirabelle_, and you and I must +part." + +"Oh, sir!" Chris cried, holding his oar above the water and turning +his head toward the man beside him. Mr. Wicker clapped Chris on the +shoulder and a glint of moonlight showed him to be smiling. + +"I shall miss you too, my lad," he said. "Now, let us send this boat +over the river as fast as she can go. And bear in mind--keep your own +shape at all times unless you can change it out of sight of prying +eyes." They pulled at the oars. "Oh yes, I nearly forgot. Among the +effects placed in your sea chest you will find a conch shell. Hold it +to your ear, Christopher, as children do to hear the sea. You will be +able to hear my voice, if ever you should need to." + +"Oh--like a walkie-talkie?" Chris asked, pulling at his oar. + +"Somewhat." And Chris knew his master smiled at him. + +"What about getting you to shore, sir?" Chris enquired, pulling in +rhythm so that the rope boat flew down the black and silver river. + +"Have you forgotten who I am, my boy?" he was asked in return. + +"No sir," said Chris, feeling a little small. + +"Then undo the dinghy and clamber up the side, for here we are," said +Mr. Wicker, and the towering hull of the _Mirabelle_ rose above them. + +Chris grasped a rope ladder that hung down beside them to the water's +edge and turned for a last word. + +"I'll do my best, sir, but I hope you'll stay with me!" he cried. + +"All that I can, Christopher," came the distant voice. "Godspeed!" + +And looking about, Chris made out, coasting on the air, a sea gull, +balancing upon its black-tipped wings. Swallowing a lump in his throat +that proved bothersome, Chris jerked at one oar and deftly coiled the +magic rope over his arm, holding to the ship's ladder with the other. + +A signal flashed, a lantern swung in an arc, and dim figures waiting +in their places hauled on the lines. As Chris stepped to the deck over +the side, the great white sails rose, spread, and bellied out from the +three masts. Chris looked in wonder as the _Mirabelle_, proud as a +woman, lifted up her head. + +Soon on the silent river only a dwindling sight of lonely sails was to +be seen, heading toward Chesapeake Bay and then to sea. But anyone +with eyesight good enough might have seen a solitary sea gull, +following. + + + + +CHAPTER 19 + + +The long days passed on board the _Mirabelle_. The hours rolled +majestically past as did the waves through which the _Mirabelle_ cut +her way. + +Amos and Christopher were kept out of sight until Mr. Wicker's ship +was several days out to sea, for the crew, not knowing that the +success of their voyage depended on Chris, would have been surly at +the presence of two such young boys on board, useless cargo, in their +opinion, who knew nothing of seafaring. But when Chris and Amos +appeared under the banner of "stowaways," the sailors considered them +full of spunk, and welcomed them warmly. + +Both Chris and Amos found life on a sailing vessel strange and +fascinating but difficult to get used to. Ned Cilley as their best +friend on board was the one to whom they turned whenever his duties +gave him free time. However, to Chris's surprise, it was the first +mate, sad-looking Mr. Finney, who would patiently instruct them in sea +terms and answer their endless questions. + +As the days passed and the _Mirabelle_ pursued her long course through +tropical water, Chris, with many free hours to occupy, at last +understood how the model of the _Mirabelle_ had been so painstakingly +arranged inside a bottle. For the time seemed long between glimpses of +shore and shore, or until they sailed for a time along some wild and +beautiful tropic coast. Then Chris would lean on the side of the ship +looking at the mountainous or jungled shore. A scent such as comes +from the opened door of a hothouse would drift out to sea to the +sailors, who looked yearningly toward the land and the greenness. A +warm breath of flowers, damp moss, and leaves in the sun would mingle +with the rough salt smell of the sea. Chris and Amos imagined to +themselves what the forest or the mountainsides would be like if they +could only land and investigate them. + +[Illustration] + +Now and again small flocks of birds, migrating perhaps or blown out +to sea, would land on the _Mirabelle_, and Ned Cilley made a large +cage for some of the sweet-singing gaily feathered creatures for Chris +and Amos. And on one occasion when the _Mirabelle_ was sailing past +Brazil, a flock of butterflies was carried out on a breeze from shore +and hung on the rigging until the boys imagined themselves in a +blossoming wood. + +Chris had found, his first day at sea, the conch shell Mr. Wicker had +mentioned, and he alone of all the _Mirabelle's_ crew knew how the +_Venture_ had fared. + +[Illustration] + +That first evening, in the little cabin Captain Blizzard had given +Chris and Amos, Chris had waited impatiently for Amos to sleep. The +two boys each had a hammock swung across the cabin by night which they +rolled up and put away to give more room by day. But that first night +poor Chris had begun to despair that he would ever hear Mr. Wicker's +voice from the shell, for Amos was excited and had no wish to go to +sleep. He swung back and forth, happy as a dark bird in his hammock, +his round eyes looking toward the porthole where there was a faint +gleam of night sea. + +"Chris," Amos said, "we're sure going on a mighty far trip! That +Mister Finney, he showed me on a map, but I never heard of any of the +places we pass by. The Bahamas, he say to me, then the West Indies, +Cuba, Barbadoes"--he was ticking them off on his fingers as he named +them--"an' on to South America. Away down at the tippy end +around--what's the name of that loud-named place?" + +"Cape Horn?" Chris said. He was scarcely listening. + +Amos tried to prop himself up on his elbow and promptly fell out of +the hammock in a flurry of arms and legs and a heavy landing thump +that brought a shout of laughter from Chris. After an attempt at +making his bed again in the hammock, and some little difficulty in +clambering safely back in again, Amos composed himself with the least +possible movement in his swinging bed and yawned. + +"I disremember," he said, "where else we're going. Wise Man islands, +or Solemn Islands--" + +"You mean, Solomon Islands?" Chris asked him. Amos gave another mighty +yawn. + +"That's what I said. Miss Becky, she read to me from the Bible about +Solemn, how wise he was." There was a pause. "On that way--" Amos's +voice was becoming indistinct. + +"We go past the West Indian Islands next," Chris murmured, almost to +himself. "I remember that." + +"And the Cell-Bees Sea," Amos said in a whisper. + +"Celebes," Chris corrected softly. + +"What I said," came Amos's voice, and then at last there was silence +in the cabin. + +He almost got as far as the China Sea! Chris thought to himself, and +holding to the hammock, eased himself out and on bare feet went +quietly to his sea chest. + +Its square bulk stood in the shadow of the wall, but fragments of +light from the night sky caught the brass nailheads and bands upon it +so that it appeared to wink cheerfully at Chris in the gloom. + +Slowly, to avoid any creaks that might awake Amos, Chris lifted the +lid, thrust in one hand and found the shell. He held it near the small +port for a moment, its rosy interior faded of color in the gray light. +Then he turned it in his hand and put it to his ear. + +At first he heard only the rushing sound of surf on a beach. Then the +sea sound became fainter and a voice so familiar that it meant home to +him came to Chris's ear as if from a long way off. + +"Christopher? Christopher, here I am," came Mr. Wicker's voice. "How +are you? All going well I hope. Please do me the favor to tell the +Captain not to put ashore at his usual place in Tahiti, but to go by +night to a cove he will find twelve leagues farther along the coast. I +will tell you what to do nearer that time. He will find ample fresh +water near that cove, but the _Venture_ is up to mischief. You must +escape it, and all on board the _Mirabelle_ shall be witnesses to what +Claggett Chew plans to do." + +The voice faded out and then returned. + +"You would probably like to know how far behind the _Venture_ is. She +ran aground--most unfortunately and most surprisingly--and is three +full days behind you. But she is a fast ship and will soon lessen the +distance. Please to tell the Captain so; he is the only one to know of +my gifts and that it is possible for me to communicate with you. Tell +him not to stop for water or food until his stores are running low. +You must not waste time. Have you heard me? Tap the edge of the shell +three times for 'Yes.'" + +Chris tapped three times, feeling much happier and all at once not +quite so much alone. The voice came back to his ear. + +"I am following your progress from this room in the manner you know. +Practise your magic alone, or you will lose the knack. And now good +night. Oh yes--Becky Boozer has been crying into her apron all day. +Partly for Ned Cilley but I fancy--" Chris heard a chuckle from a +well-remembered room--"but I fancy, largely for two boys! Good night, +Christopher. Sleep well." + + + + +CHAPTER 20 + + +As the Mirabelle sailed farther into tropical seas, Chris and Amos +worked out a pattern for their days. Before sunup, while the air was +still cool from the night, the two boys were awakened by Ned Cilley or +Abner Cloud. They joined the sailors on deck to do their share of +chores--mending rigging, patching sails, scrubbing decks, or polishing +brass. When the sun rose the boys breakfasted. + +The men of the _Mirabelle_ then went on with their various tasks, but +Amos went up to the Captain's bridge where he listened to Mr. Finney +and Captain Blizzard, and Chris went down to their cabin for an hour +or more. + +Supposedly, Chris was studying lessons. This was only partially true, +for instead of sums, he was practising magic, in which he soon +attained a high degree of proficiency. + +What he most enjoyed was turning himself into some small commonplace +creature to plague his friends on board--a mouse, one day, a flea the +next, a fly on the third. Quite naturally, no one suspected his +ability to adopt such fantastic disguises. So little did they +guess--he had one or two narrow escapes from being swatted or stamped +on. + +It was Zachary Heigh whom Chris wanted to watch, and as a flea or a +fly he often rode about on Zachary's jacket listening and observing. +But it was not until the _Mirabelle_ had rounded Cape Horn one morning +that Chris, in the disguise of a fly, rode unnoticed on Zachary's +jacket when that sulky young man, after looking around to make sure +the others were all at work, slipped down to the sailor's quarters +below decks. + +There he dragged out his sea chest, and from under his belongings +pulled out a second chest. Fitting a key to the lock, he lifted up the +lid. Chris, perched on his shoulder, peered over to see the contents. +They were disappointing--merely a gray powder carefully packed in a +piece of tarpaulin. + +Wonder why it has to be kept so dry? Chris pondered, but Zachary was +already refolding the tarpaulin and locking the lid. In the next +moment, Zachary had uncovered a length of white coils. Then Chris +understood. + +By golly! he exclaimed to himself, dynamite! Or gunpowder! And so +much! What's it for? + +Zachary made no other disclosures of interest that day, but after that +Chris spent all the time he could, both day and night, watching the +young sailor. He was determined to discover if he could what Zachary +intended to do with the gunpowder. + +It was hard for Chris not to be able to ask Mr. Wicker's advice and +not to have his master's superior knowledge to lean on. Yet had he +known it, it was just this lack which was making him quick witted and +more resourceful. + +One night a short time after Zachary's uncovering of the gunpowder, +Chris noticed that Zachary remained on deck after the others had gone +to bed, and continued to sit with his back to a stanchion dreamily +gazing at the starry sky. Chris was in a fever for Amos to sleep, +which his good friend soon did. Then a gray mouse scuttered along the +wainscot of the ship's passageways until it reached a good vantage +point from which to see the young sailor on deck. Chris had chosen +well; a mouse is used to the dark. + +For several hours Zachary remained still and the mouse dozed, woke +with a start, twitched its ears, and waited. Then, long after midnight +when, alone of the entire ship's company, only the helmsman and night +watch were awake, Zachary very slowly slid his way to the ladder +leading to the hold. The mouse, scurrying forward, was able to follow +by means of a dangling rope and a leap into pitch-blackness at the +rope's end. The poor mouse hit something and ricocheted off. It lay +stunned for a moment or two a few inches from Zachary's feet as the +sailor stood at the foot of the ladder in the black heavy air of the +hold. Then Zachary lit a candle end he had brought in his pocket, and +lifted it up above his head to give the maximum amount of radiance. + +The glow of the candle stub, like a yellow daisy in a cavern, spread +petals of light for only a short distance. By its sputtering, the +mouse looked up to the towering figure Zachary now made above it, and +hearing the sharp squeakings and furtive scratches that signaled rats, +the mouse thought it more prudent to adopt the shape of a fly. This +Chris did, and on Zachary's shoulder the fly's many-faceted eyes could +not only see everything, but see them several times over. + +Zachary then put the candle on the corner of a packing case and from +under his shirt pulled out the coils of the fuse Chris had seen a few +days before. He took up the candle stub and began a long and patient +search, measuring with the length of fuse, and hunting for a secure +hiding place for the gunpowder. In the end he found a cramped space, +just big enough for him to slide into, made by the shifting of the +cargo which had seemingly rewedged itself firmly, forming a curious +little cave of barrel sides, crates, and heavy bales of cotton +overhead. Dangerous, thought Chris, should anything rock the +_Mirabelle_ in such a way that the cargo shifted back suddenly to its +original tight formation. The hold of the _Mirabelle_ was large, the +packing case cave was surrounded by hundreds of pounds of solid cargo. +It gave Chris a trapped feeling that he did not like, and he was +relieved when Zachary edged and squeezed himself out again into a +freer part of the hold. + +[Illustration] + +Zachary measured with his fuse from the crate cave, where he evidently +intended hiding the gunpowder, to the farthest point away from it and +nearest the ladder, for the treacherous young man wanted all the time +he could get to escape from the doomed _Mirabelle_. Time to climb the +ladder, reach the ship's side, and perhaps row away to a safe +distance. + +The fuse proved to be rather shorter than Zachary Heigh wished. His +candle stub, set on a crate, was burning very low and he had only a +few more moments in which--that night at any rate--to decide where he +would hide the lighting end of the fuse. Just before the candle went +out, Zachary's fuse coil reached a group of molasses barrels, and here +the young man decided that the fuse, when the time came, would be +hidden and lit. He made a mark in white chalk behind one of the +barrels and then hurriedly began coiling up the fuse as he turned +toward the ladder. + +[Illustration] + +At that moment the candle end, drowned in a pool of its own melted +tallow, guttered, blinked, and went out. The utter blackness of the +hold rushed over Zachary and the fly who clutched at the threads of +the sailor's coarse shirt. Zachary was only a young boy, scarcely +older than Chris himself, and the fly could almost feel the quickening +of Zachary's heartbeat at the sudden flood of dark, the sense of the +late hour, and the rat-infested hold. Zachary moved quickly in the +pitch-black, his hands outstretched to feel the ladder, his breath +coming and going rapidly through his parted lips. The heat of the +airless place, the heavy smells of the cargo itself, oppressed and +weighed on both Zachary and his unsuspected companion. The _Mirabelle_ +was moving slowly forward in calm tropic seas, scarcely making headway +on an almost breathless night. Down in the hold the ladder eluded +Zachary's reaching fingers, and the creaking of the ship was all that +was to be heard except for the faint sound of Zachary's breathing. + +Then all at once, as sometimes happens in a roomful of talking people, +there came a moment of total silence. For a second there was a space +in the creaking of the ship, the pad of rats, or the slight shift and +reshift of boxes. And in that second, just as Zachary's fingers +touched the ladder, to Zachary and to Chris on his shoulder, came the +distinct sound of another man's breathing. + + + + +CHAPTER 21 + + +Exhausted as he was by his long vigil and the effort needed to change +his shape, it was another hour or more before Chris could sleep that +night. The sound of that heavy but held-back breathing, so close to +Zachary and himself in the black hold, frightened Chris almost more, +once he was safe in his cabin and hammock, than it had at the time. +Zachary had bolted up the ladder like a frightened squirrel, with +Chris, as a fly, holding on for dear life. Even so, Zachary moved none +too fast to suit Chris, who flew off toward his own cabin in a +chattering fright. The lumpy form of Amos, asleep in his hammock, was +reassuring, but Chris lay shivering and puzzling for a long time +before he finally fell asleep. + +The next day, lying on his stomach in the hot sun, he dozed with his +cheek on his folded hands, his mind going over and over the details of +the night before. Try as he would, Chris could not remember having +seen any member of the crew even near the hatch leading to the hold. + +Let's see, he began in his mind, a bunch of the men were +singing--Bowie was one of 'em. They went down to their quarters first. +They were really closest to the hatch. Mr. Finney called Abner up to +the bridge, and Abner came back and went down a while later. Guess Mr. +Finney went to his quarters--I don't remember seeing him cross the +deck or come over that way at all. + +Then--let's see--Captain Blizzard took a turn around the deck. It was +getting dark. He joked with the cook at the galley door, and probably +went on, for I didn't see him come by again. Next, Ned Cilley was +relieved at the helm by Elbert Jones, who took over. Ned went on down. + +Or did he? Chris wrinkled his brow with concentration. I _guess_ so, +he thought, but I don't _know_ so. It looks to me as if it could have +been one of several people, and I'll be switched if I know who. I'll +keep my eyes open. Maybe whoever it was will give himself away somehow +and give me a clue. + +The _Mirabelle_ was nearing Tahiti. The air was balmy, and already a +different fragrance pervaded it, together with a softer quality which +Chris now knew meant land. + +At noon one day Captain Blizzard announced to Chris and Amos: "Should +the wind keep up as it is now, by nightfall or by dawn at the latest, +we should sight Tahiti. We've water and fresh stores to take on +there." He beamed over his many chins at the two boys. "'Tis a fair +place, is Tahiti, and one you lads will have an interest and a +pleasure in seeing." + +Chris lost no time, as soon as he could do it without being noticed, +in hurrying down to his cabin. Locking the door, he took the conch +shell from his sea chest and held it to his ear. The voice of his +friend--so far distant now!--came to his ear and Chris smiled with +the pleasure this brief link with home gave him. + +"Nearly to Tahiti, eh, my lad?" came Mr. Wicker's voice. "Then listen +carefully. Ask for a private interview with the Captain, and when you +are alone with him, tell him that these are my orders: He is to sail +on past his usual anchorage, making all speed. You will know the +reason for it at sundown today. Tell Captain Blizzard to go around the +point--he will know--and continue for twelve leagues farther on. This +must be done by night, for he must not slacken. Then he will see by +moonlight a reef. The water is phosphorescent, and when it breaks over +the reef it will shine in the night. Then must he heave to, and you +will go over the side, and as a fish, find out the channel, for the +coral is dangerous and the way into the cove almost impossible to find +even by day. + +[Illustration] + +"The land there is like a cup with a chip in its rim; the chip is the +entrance to the cove. This entrance, overhung by slanting trees and +jungle, is just large enough to allow for the passage of the +_Mirabelle_. + +"Nevertheless," went on Mr. Wicker's voice in the shell, "the masts +and the sides of the ship could be seen from the sea. So with all +haste, once anchored in the cove, the men must go ashore, bring back +palm fronds and leafy branches and camouflage--as you say in your +time--the _Mirabelle_ from her topmost mast to the water's edge. + +"Let the men rest, but by midafternoon have them hide along the shore +facing the sea, for they shall all be witnesses to what is to +transpire. Then you must do your part, for you must board Claggett +Chew's ship and see to it that his vessel does not gain many days' +advantage over the _Mirabelle_. By daylight the _Mirabelle_ will find +her way safely to sea again, and you will rejoin her with the aid of +the rope." The voice paused and then enquired, "Is all this clear?" + +Chris tapped three times, his heart thumping with excitement at the +prospect of the imminent action. + +Going up to the Captain's cabin, he took advantage of a moment when +Mr. Finney and Amos were outside to ask Captain Blizzard if he might +speak with him alone. + +"Certainly my boy," boomed out the Captain, his blue eyes abruptly +keen and penetrating. "Mr. Finney will be some time on deck. We cannot +be overheard in here." + +He motioned to a stool as he let himself fall heavily into a teakwood +armchair made especially for his bulk. But Chris was too excited to +sit down, and delivered his message standing. + +When he described how in the night--that very night, he realized with +a jumping pulse--he was to go over the side of the _Mirabelle_ and +find out the channel, the Captain looked at him piercingly. + +"How now, lad," he said in his deep voice, "how are you to find the +channel in the dark?" + +This was a question Chris was unprepared for, but he took a long +breath which gave him a moment of extra time, and then replied. + +"I--I see uncommonly well by night, Captain sir," he said, "and I'm a +very strong swimmer." + +His face froze with nervousness that this might not do as an answer, +and he stood stiff and still before Captain Blizzard. The Captain sat +forward in his chair looking at him for a long moment, considering. +Then he said: "Well, I do not care for it, I cannot say I do. This +ship is more to me than wife or mother or family. She's all I have, +young man, and you can understand that to trust her to so young a lad, +clever though you may be, to go safely past jagged coral reefs into a +cove I never even guessed at, well"--he threw out a hand and then +rubbed his chin with it--"You can understand I do not fancy it. +However," and he leaned back in his chair again, "I take orders from +Mr. Wicker, the owner of the _Mirabelle_, and since he says so, this +is how it must be." + +He paused, fingering his lower lip and looking sideways in a +reflective fashion at Chris standing before him. + +"He told me you would have information from him for me, from time to +time. We shall say no more, but I trust you understand the +responsibility you have? This ship, its cargo, and its men will be in +your hands." + +Chris felt cold for a moment, chilled as he had never been before, but +he spoke up firmly. "Yes sir. I think I can do it safely, or I should +not try, sir." + +Captain Blizzard's round pink face creased in his winning smile. "Aye, +aye. No doubt. Just bear it in mind at the time, eh lad?" + +"I shall sir," Chris replied. + +He then went on to describe what else was to follow--the covering of +the ship with leaves to make it blend with its surroundings. +Camouflage was not a word the Captain, or anyone else of his time, yet +understood. + +"After we see--whatever we are to see," Chris ended, "I'll be absent +for a while. What can be said during that time, sir?" Chris thought to +ask. Captain Blizzard pondered for some minutes, and Chris was +grateful that he asked no questions. At last he answered. + +[Illustration] + +"I shall say you have a tropical fever, Christopher," he said. "I am +somewhat skilled in medicaments--I have to be, as captain of a ship, +and the crew know it. I shall say that you are in my own cabin so that +I can care for you. I shall allow no one to enter it but myself. It +will be a most contagious fever for a time," he added with his eyes +twinkling. "I shall bring you food with my own hands. Nothing +much--broth and gruel, and I daresay I can eat it myself if I cannot +throw it out the porthole!" He winked at Chris. "Have no fear on that +score, Christopher." He looked steadily at the boy in front of him. +"You have your part to carry out, I have mine." + +Not since he had left Mr. Wicker had Chris felt such confidence as he +did in the words and actions of Captain Blizzard. He knew now that his +absence, for as long as he had to be away, would be covered up and +satisfactorily accounted for. + +Their conversation had taken some little while. As they went over for +the last time all the details of what lay ahead of them in the next +few hours, Chris, glancing out the windows of the Captain's cabin, saw +the splendors of a tropical sunset streaking the sky. + +"Oh sir!" he cried, "Mr. Wicker said we'd know the reason why we must +take shelter tomorrow at sundown today. And now it _is_ sundown!" + +With quite surprising silence and agility for so large a man, Captain +Blizzard was out of his chair and half-way to the door of his cabin +before Chris had much more than finished speaking. Over his shoulder, +continuing with rapid quiet steps to the bridge of the _Mirabelle_, he +said: "Run down to your cabin and fetch up that good spyglass of +yours, my boy. We shall have a good look, for as you know, night falls +in a few moments after sundown in these waters." + +Racing to his cabin and back, even in those few seconds Chris could +see a change in the sky. The brilliance of the colors, their +extravagant and awe-inspiring cloud effects, had taken on an intensity +of light which meant they were at their peak. + +Standing beside Captain Blizzard on the bridge, Mr. Finney and Amos +just beyond, Chris and the Captain looked through Chris's powerful +spyglass at the wide stretch of the horizon. + +All around lay only the sea and the dazzling sky. Not even a porpoise +or flying fish broke the surface of the water which was placid save +for the long swells over which the _Mirabelle_ dipped her white sails. +The color ebbed from the sky as if drained from some celestial bowl, +and in the place of the scarlets and turquoise, the clear yellows and +the plums, came a deep blue that was the forerunner of a fine clear +night. + +Chris turned slowly, his glass to his eyes, searching the edge of what +was now their world, and especially the line where the sea and sky +meet. + +All at once, as if a white dagger had stabbed the rim of the ocean, +white sails grew upward against the encroaching night, and Chris found +what he had been looking for. + +"There sir!" he cried, pointing to the distance, and the Captain and +Mr. Finney swung their glasses to where his finger led, far astern of +the _Mirabelle_. + +Captain Blizzard's round cheerful face hardened as he looked, and Mr. +Finney's lugubrious countenance seemed positively despairing, while +Amos hopped on one foot crying: "Leave me look through your glass, +Chris! What do you see? What is it you-all see?" + +It was Captain Blizzard who answered him. + +"We see the _Venture_, Amos, Claggett Chew's ship, coming up fast +astern. Let us all pray that the wind holds." + + + + +CHAPTER 22 + + +The captain, turning quickly, bellowed for all hands to come on deck. +When they were assembled below him he spoke. "Men, you have followed +me for many a voyage and I have always brought you safely home. Is it +not so?" + +A good-humored and enthusiastic roar of assent came from the sailors. +Captain Blizzard began again. + +"What lies ahead of us in the next few hours will not make good sense +to many of you. Nevertheless I ask for your instant help, and you +shall see what lies at the end of my orders when we reach that time. +Are you with me?" + +"AYE!" cried the sailors, their faces close together below their +captain, and upturned to see him and catch every word. All but Zachary +Heigh, Chris noticed. Zachary remained sullen and apart, his arms +folded on his chest, taking no part in the enthusiasm of his +companions. + +"Well and good," roared Captain Blizzard. "I thank you. Now crowd on +all the sail she will take, boys, for the _Venture_ follows hard upon +us!" + +[Illustration] + +Without a word the men sprang to work, darting up the masts and out +over the rigging like monkeys. Every bit of sail the _Mirabelle_ +possessed bellied out on the night breeze, and Chris could feel the +ship leap under his feet as the additional canvas caught the wind and +the graceful ship surged forward. + +Night fell before the men had finished and Chris and the Captain could +no longer see the sails of Claggett Chew's _Venture_. + +The Captain turned to Chris. "It would be my advice, lad, to go below +and sleep for a bit. You too, Amos. I shall send Ned to awaken you +when land is sighted." + +[Illustration] + +This seemed good reasoning, and the two boys went below where they +snatched a few hours' sleep. It seemed only a minute to Chris from the +time he lay down in his hammock, knowing he was too excited to sleep, +until Ned Cilley was at his side with a lantern, bringing food for +Amos and himself. + +"Best eat up, lads," Ned told them, "and join the Captain, sez he to +me, for land is just ahead and the Captain do be waiting you on the +bridge, Chris, me lad." + +The food was bolted down in no time and Chris, feeling fresh and +alert, ran up to the warm darkness of the bridge. + +To his surprise the usual lanterns were not lit; only a small shaded +light shed its rays on the compass near the wheel. + +At his questioning look Captain Blizzard muttered: "Impossible to tell +how close behind the _Venture_ may be. We have come quickly, but they +have the faster ship. I have no wish to give them more clue than +necessary as to where we may be." He looked keenly toward the bow, his +hands clasped behind his back. "Land is off the starboard quarter, and +Abner Cloud is out on the bowsprit looking for the reef. We have +passed our anchorage--they expected us, or some other ship, for fires +were lit on shore. Sail has been taken in; we are going slowly and +will soon be there, by my reckoning." + +His eyes grown used to the dark, Chris now saw that it was a +remarkably light night. There was no moon, but a myriad of stars gave +a clear pallid sheen to the sea. Chris, looking to his left, could +make out the blacker mass against the stars that was Tahiti. The +_Mirabelle_ was close inshore, and the scent of hot sand from the +beaches, of flowers and of plants, made Chris take many deep grateful +breaths. + +"May I go forward and be with Abner?" he asked the Captain. + +"Aye," replied that good man, for by this time Chris was as surefooted +as any sailor and for the last month or more had been clambering +barefoot in the rigging with the best of them. "Aye lad," the Captain +told him, "and hurry. Happen your eyes are sharper than Abner's. Sing +out when you spy the reef. We will heave to, and then God be with you, +my lad, to find us out the channel to the cove!" + +Chris ran forward to the bow of the _Mirabelle_, and out along the +bowsprit where, at the tip, he could see the long form of Abner Cloud +stretched out at full length. They murmured a greeting and waited, +eyes straining ahead. + +Then both saw the phosphorus gleam and fade, gleam and fade as the +waves broke over the coral. Eerie jade-green and white-gold, the +phosphorus shone in the starlight. + +"Reef-ho!" sang out Abner, and the sound of his shout was echoed back +from the closeness of the shore in faint dangerous mockery. +"_Reef-ho!_" + +"Reef-ho!" came a third time from the bridge, and then "Heave-ho!" +thundered Captain Blizzard. "Drop anchor, lads!" + +Abner left his place to go back and lend a hand, and in his sudden +solitude Chris grasped a rope and swung down to the water. + +A porpoise slipped away from the _Mirabelle_ and moved this way and +that to get its bearings. Then the mass of the reef to the left and +the hidden shelf of a second but obscured underwater reef to the right +made dark patches in the phosphorescence. Far below lay the ghostly +spread of sand, and the porpoise nosed its way forward. + +The channel to the cove proved to be some five hundred yards long, and +it seemed no time before the porpoise passed from the shadow of the +trees at the shore into the starlit cup of the cove. Taking a turn +about in the enjoyment of flipping its fins and giving a leap or two, +the big fish then went back toward where the _Mirabelle_ hung +suspended on the glassy sea. + +A boy it was that pulled himself up hand over hand along the anchor +rope and stood dripping sea water on the bridge before Captain +Blizzard. + +"I've found the channel, sir," he said, abruptly conscious of his +importance from the admiring way in which Amos was staring at him. +"There's a dangerous shelf of coral that juts out on the port side--if +you let me go first, and the men man the boats and row her in, I think +we shall do it safely even in this light." + +Captain Blizzard looked at him, his expression both serious and +trusting. + +"Well lad, we do what we must, and you and I understand one another. +Ahoy there!" he roared down to the shadowy decks from which the black +spikes of masts rose high to break the sky. "Man the boats! We shall +tow the _Mirabelle_ to cover, for there's a channel here!" + +[Illustration] + +He turned to Chris as the sound of running feet and of the boats being +hoisted overboard came loudly in the stillness of the night. + +"Now Christopher, my boy, do you go down and go over the side again, +and remember what we spoke of a few hours agone!" + +The next half-hour was an exhausting one for poor Chris. It was an +impossibility for him to keep for long at a time, either his own, or +the shape of the porpoise. He had to enter the water under the eyes of +the sailors waiting with their oars poised above the sea, in the +shape they knew; Christopher Mason. But once he dived under, in order +to seek out the treacherous channel in the half-light, he needed his +fish's eyes and senses. He therefore would swim a few yards as a fish, +but had to surface again as himself in order to let the men see him, +and call: "The length of two boats, keeping to starboard, boys. Then +ease her over this way--to port." + +So it went, almost foot by foot until the _Mirabelle_ was safe inside +the cove and turned broadside to the entrance. Then, and only then, +with the anchor safely dropped to the white sandy depths of this +hidden harbor, did Chris, tired to his very bones, climb up the ladder +and over the ship's side. There remained the camouflaging of the +_Mirabelle_, for the stars were fading and before long, dawn would +banish secrecy. + +[Illustration] + +But Captain Blizzard and Mr. Finney awaited Chris on deck. Captain +Blizzard had his hands clasped behind his back in his habitual +gesture, and as Chris stood before him swaying with fatigue, there was +a look on the Captain's face that Chris had never seen there before. +The usually cheerful, joking man was grave, while Mr. Finney, so sober +and forlorn as a rule, looked positively jubilant. + +"My good lad," the Captain said, "you said you could do it, but truth +to tell, I doubted it from the bottom of my heart. Now that you have +succeeded where I am sure no other could have done as well, I find I +have no words of praise good enough for ye." He looked almost tenderly +at the tired boy. "I am proud of you, Christopher. You did a man's +task with a boy's body and mind. And it took a man's spirit, too." + +Without further words the Captain of the _Mirabelle_ held out his +pudgy hand to hold Chris's in a steadying grip, and Mr. Finney swung +out his hand, his long face breaking into one of the rare smiles Chris +was ever to see on it. + +"Now, me boy," thundered the Captain, "do you go to your well-deserved +rest. Depend upon it, we shall cover the ship with green until she +looks like the proverbial Christmas hall decked with boughs of holly, +as the song goes!" he added chuckling. "A little later in the day you +shall be called to see what you make of the result. And now, to bed +with ye both!" and he clapped Amos on the back. + +Never had his hammock seemed more like a cloud to Chris than it did on +that night, nor was sleep ever more engulfing. + + + + +CHAPTER 23 + + +When Chris awoke he saw that Amos had already stolen out of the cabin, +for his hammock was rolled up and put away. By the strength of the sun +and the heat that seeped even through the boards of the ship, Chris +judged that the morning was well advanced. + +Dressing was rapid, for Chris, like the rest of the sailors in the +tropic heat, wore only his breeches. His bare chest and shoulders were +tanned and healthy and the soles of his bare feet as tough as shoe +leather. + +Running up to the bridge he was startled at first, at coming on deck, +at the sudden green shade everywhere. Then looking up he saw that to +their very peaks the masts and rigging of the _Mirabelle_ had been +hidden with palm fronds. That side of the ship that could be seen from +the sea through the narrow channel entrance had been completely +covered with green. The work was not yet finished, but most of the +crew were sleeping during the hot hours, while a handful had +volunteered to complete the job. + +[Illustration] + +The cove by daylight was even lovelier than it had seemed by starlight +the night before. The deep water, with a white base of coral sand, +flashed in emerald, turquoise, or sapphire blue. Its clarity and +sparkling colors put the Jewel Tree into Chris's head and he had a +moment's throb of fright when he realized that it was this very night +that he must board the _Venture_ to impede her progress toward the +Chinese prize. + +He put these thoughts from his mind until the time came, and decided +to tackle what was most pressing. The most urgent matter that first +claimed his attention was breakfast, and when he reached the bridge he +was delighted to see fruits from the island piled in shady corners. +These and bread and cheese made up his meal, which he ate while +watching the final leaves and fronds put in place on the sides of the +_Mirabelle_. + +Captain Blizzard came up to him, his hands clasped behind his back, +and nodded toward the men pulling themselves slowly over the ship's +side and falling exhausted into the shade to sleep for a few hours. + +"They will be fresh enough in a while," he said, "and then we shall +one and all row ashore to see what we shall see." + +He paused, and Chris, looking up, saw that the Captain's gaze was +fixed on Zachary Heigh. Zachary was obviously not only far from +sleeping, but was restless, jumping up to look out to sea and then +sitting down again. It would be only a few minutes more before up he +would jump once more to pace the deck or lean at the ship's rail. + +"It would seem," the Captain said casually, "that Zachary has +something on his mind." + +Mr. Finney joined Chris and the Captain at that moment, and looking +down at Zachary nodded his long sad face in lugubrious agreement. +Chris opened his mouth to say something to the Captain of what he had +seen Zachary doing. Before the words could leave his mouth, he was +interrupted by the appearance of red-faced Ned Cilley. Cheerful as a +sand flea at the prospect of going ashore, Ned had come from his rest +with a small company of the sailors to ask permission of the Captain +if they might leave the ship. + +"Well, why not?" the Captain demanded. "And why not take along the +rest too? We were all to go ashore presently, in any case. Those who +still want to sleep can do so even more comfortably on the shady sand +under the palms." + +So in an instant the decks of the _Mirabelle_ were crowded with +laughing jostling men, duties over for that day, tumbling down the +ladders to the dinghies in which they rowed ashore. + +Chris and Amos were shoved along with their friends, Chris hiking up +his breeches to cover the coil of the magic rope around his waist; the +leathern bag hanging in plain sight about his neck. The sailors had +often teased him about it, saying that he kept his riches there, but +they made no attempt to snatch it from him. There had been no time to +warn the Captain, but as the last boatload of sailors leaped into +shallow water and scattered under the shade of the trees, Chris +searched and searched again for three faces among the crowd that he +did not find. Zachary Heigh, the Captain, and Mr. Finney were not to +be found. + +Aghast, as he understood now what Zachary's plan was--to blow up the +_Mirabelle_ just as the _Venture_ and its crew came near enough to +shoot down the unarmed men--Chris rushed back to the water's edge and +stood there hesitating in the powerful sun. How could he change +himself to a fish or other shape, unobserved? The sailors from the +_Mirabelle_ were everywhere--in the thickets for the shade, as well as +along the edge of the cove where he now stood, indecisive. To use the +rope was just as impossible, for the beach was broad and Chris was +acutely aware that he stood out like a single tree in a field, there +on the white sand in the broiling sun. + +"Better come outen that sun, Chris!" someone called to him. "There's +too much of heat in it to be good for unkivered heads!" + +Chris knew the voice of the sailor was right, and was on the point of +jumping into one of the dinghies, where they lay pulled up on the +beach. + +Far out on the cove, the decks of the _Mirabelle_ were deserted and +unlike themselves, so empty of life. Sweat started out on Chris's +forehead, as he imagined Zachary in the hold lighting the fuse, and he +wondered where the good Captain and Mr. Finney might be. He wondered +too if he could row over in time, or if he would be blown up with the +ship. + +The boy had his hands on the scorching wood of a dinghy, his muscles +tensed to thrust it into the waters of the cove, when out over the +still harbor, jangling in the heat, came a prolonged and piercing +scream. Hot as he was, Chris felt himself go cold at the sound. He +knew instantly, although he had never heard it before, that this was +the death cry of a man. The scream came a second time, terrified and +despairing, and out over the water following it came a low, scattered +rumble. + +Silence fell for several frozen seconds, and then all at once Chris +became aware as he stood rigid with horror by the boat that the +sailors of the _Mirabelle_ had rushed out from the coolness of the +shore to stand stiff and appalled beside him. A babble of voices broke +out, and one by one the boats were hastily launched, heading back to +the ship, leaving Chris shaking and unnerved on the sand. Over the +water as brawny backs bent to the oars the words came floating back: + +"Someone's dead for sartin sure--" + +"Who was left on board, you say?" + +"Leave the lads--no sight for young-uns." + +"_Pull_, you lazy lubbers! The Capt'n and Mr. Finney bean't among +us!" + +It was a little later that Chris remembered Amos having taken his arm +and led him into the shade, and of how sick he was--the heat and the +scream, the fear, and a sense of having failed in warning the Captain, +combining to churn his insides into a queasy place that violently +rejected his pleasant breakfast of so short a time before. Then weak, +but somehow feeling better, Chris lay in the cool while Amos found a +cold pool of water with which he bathed his friend's face, and then +sat fanning him without a word. + +Chris must have dozed, for when he came to himself the light had +changed, and men were carrying a shapeless bundle wrapped in canvas to +a grave dug in the sand. Chris started up and joined the men gathered +solemnly about the grave, and as he searched among them, knew a great +sense of relief and joy when he saw, standing at the grave head, the +Captain and Mr. Finney. As Chris came up to them, Captain Blizzard was +speaking, a Bible in his hand. + +"Men of the _Mirabelle_, by rights as captain of the vessel I should +read the burial service for Zachary Heigh, that met his death by +accident, boxes and crates killing him in the hold the way they did. +But," and the Captain scanned the tough weather-beaten faces near him +slowly, one by one, "you that helped to uncover him know what he meant +to do. We harbored a viper, men, who meant to destroy our ship and +cargo and leave us to who knows what fate? Had not the bung of that +keg of molasses above the lighted fuse most providentially fallen out +and the fuse been put out by the sirup, no doubt neither Mr. Finney +nor I nor the _Mirabelle_ would be here to tell the tale." + +He paused again, but there was not a stir from his audience. From +under their dirty headkerchiefs or straggly unkempt hair, the men who +knew no other life but the sea, no happiness or danger unconnected +with it, never took their eyes from their captain. + +"So, men," Captain Blizzard resumed, "the gunpowder that was meant to +be the end of our fine ship is now safe and out of harm's way, and the +traitor who intended this infamous deed has been dealt with by fate +and killed in a tomb of his own finding. Therefore, feeling as I do +for my ship and my men, I cannot bring myself to read the holy words +over this man who had no charity in his heart." + +[Illustration] + +Captain Blizzard handed the Bible to Ned Cilley and stood with his +hands behind him, nodding his head as if to stress his words. + +"Yet," he said, "he is being buried far from home and kith or kin. It +is not proper that he should be left without even a token of +respect." He gestured with his plump hand to the Bible. "Do you settle +among yourselves who shall do the reading, but pardon me that I am so +small a man, that I cannot forgive a villain!" + +So saying he turned slowly away, followed by Mr. Finney, who was more +than usually sober and solemn. Into the dry clatter of palm fronds +rose the rough voice of Ned Cilley laboriously reading. + +"I am the Resurrection and the Life--" + +But Chris, watching the disappearing backs of the Captain and first +mate, was thinking what a curious and fortunate thing it was that the +bales had fallen on Zachary just at the right time, and when there was +not a ripple on the cove. + +Chris watched the fat short man and the tall lean one go, resolution +and anger still evident even in the set of their shoulders. The boy +was thoughtful, thinking back over what Ned had said of them, that +first day on the docks: Faithful! he seemed to hear Ned say, that's +true of the two of 'em! Whatever they can do for Mr. Wicker is law for +Elisha Finney and Captain Blizzard. + +Chris thought them two very remarkable men indeed. + + + + +CHAPTER 24 + + +Barely were the last spadefuls of sand packed down into Zachary +Heigh's grave when Amos, who had wandered to the beach facing the sea +and long outer shoreline, sang out: "Ship ahoy!" + +Remembering their orders the men rushed over from the cove but +remained hidden behind trees or shrubs. Chris and Amos climbed a tree +from whose branches they had a fine unobstructed view up and down the +coast. To the left, far distant, a point of land jutted out into the +sea, tropical trees carrying their green out in a long curve. To the +right, just appearing from the direction in which they themselves had +come a few hours previously, came a majestic ship black from stem to +stern. Black was its hull, but black too were its sails. It looked +exceedingly ominous on the afternoon blue of the sea, and as it came +almost level with the channel to the cove, its sails were lowered and +the watchers on shore could hear the splash of the anchor as it was +heaved overboard. + +Then Ned Cilley, oldest of the _Mirabelle's_ sailors, came panting up +from the cove and Zachary's grave to look out from the leaves at the +base of the boys' tree. + +"Oh, Lordy, Lordy!" he exclaimed when he caught sight of the black +ship, the last of her somber sails being taken in, "what did I tell +you, lads?" he cried, addressing anyone and everyone near enough to +hear him. "That be the _Black Vulture_, the pirate ship. No vessel is +safe near the _Black Vulture_! What a God's mercy that all of us, and +the _Mirabelle_, are out of sight, for the men aboard the _Vulture_ +know no pity, lads!" + +Growls and murmurs rumbled along the shore from clump to clump of +leaves where the men stood hidden. Chris pulled his spyglass from his +pocket and looked eagerly at the pirate ship only a little way out +from shore. + +It looked familiar, although Chris had had time to see so few ships he +could not be certain. He shifted the glass, looking at details here +and there, and at the name in gold carved letters against the +black-painted side. _Vulture_. The letters stood out neat and clear +and then Chris's heart stopped and started again. + +"Ned!" he called down softly, for sound carries far and clearly over +water, as every sailor knows, "Ned, don't most ships just paint the +name on the side?" + +"Aye lad, that they do," Ned replied in a puzzled tone, looking up +through the leaves at the two boys. + +"Then isn't it unusual to have letters carved of wood and gilded, on +the side of a ship?" Chris persisted. + +"Aye, that it be." Ned's puzzled tone was sharper now and he looked up +at Chris and then out to the pirate vessel. "What're ye aimin' at now, +me lad, eh?" Ned asked. "What's in your mind?" + +"Just tell me what ships you know whose name is not painted on but +set in carved letters, Ned," Chris said, and he lowered his glass and +looked down. + +[Illustration] + +Their conversation, in the silence, had had some quality of excitement +in it that had been caught by the others, for when Chris glanced down +he saw half the ship's company knotted around the base of the tree, +and a half-circle of faces turned up to his, along with Ned's. + +Ned's face puckered with effort for a few moments, as he muttered: +"Let me see, now. There's the _Southerner_--no, that's painted on, or +the _Priscilla Drew_--no; that's painted too." He turned, searching +the faces of his friends. "Come, boys, what ship has carved letters +for her name, not painted ones? Where's a better memory nor mine?" + +The Captain and Mr. Finney came to join the crowd, standing back in +the shadow of the palm grove. Both men were listening attentively. It +was Bowie who finally spoke up slowly, as if unwillingly. + +"There's only one ship that ever I did see with carven letters on her +side, and that was Chew's ship, the _Venture_." + +He was surrounded at once by a low murmur of assent from all sides. +"Aye aye!" "That be so!" "'Tis so!" Chris from his higher perch, +pointed an accusing finger out to sea. + +"Look then, for there's your same ship! The _Venture_ and the +_Vulture_ are one and the same! Here--take my glass," he cried handing +it down. "See the two second letters--they are just a bit aslant. +Weeks ago, at home, I thought it seemed strange that the _E_ and the +_N_ looked loose. But loose they are! Once at sea they're +changed--bolted in, maybe, I don't know how--and there's your merchant +ship at home and pirate ship at sea!" + +The men turned, wonderingly but angrily too, for the remembrance of +what Zachary Heigh had tried to do, and so nearly succeeded in, +rankled, and they now began to understand many things. Voices began to +rise dangerously high in the growing ill-feeling. + +"Ah--the dirty dog--" + +"_And_ his friend with the airs!" + +"Have we then been harboring the like of him at home?" + +"Aye--to let him go free to scuttle the next fine ship, take all her +cargo, and leave her valiant men to drown!" + +The Captain came forward, his hands upraised. "How-now, men, be still! +We are here to see what may take place, but if your voices should +carry, as well they may, over the water, we should have little chance +of it. Do you be still and watchful." + +A low cry came from Amos, who had not taken his eyes from the sea. + +"Look! Around the point! Here comes another ship--looks like that was +what the ol' blackbird was a-waiting for!" + +Sure enough, as the fine white sails of a good-sized vessel made its +way around the point of land, distant shouts and confusion could be +heard on the _Vulture_. Looking through his glass, which he lent to +Amos every few moments, Chris could make out scurrying figures on the +deck of the pirate ship, men springing up the rigging and others +walking up the anchor as quickly as they could. On the bridge Chris +could see the tall gaunt height of Claggett Chew. The humpbacked +figure of Simon Gosler stood rubbing his hands, at one side of his +master, while on the other, observing the work of the sailors with a +supercilious air, leaned a familiar and ridiculous figure. Dressed as +if for a court ball at Versailles and holding his lorgnette a few +inches from his nose, Osterbridge Hawsey remained elegantly aloof from +anything so degrading as hard work. He looked on with a superior smile +as the black sails were unfurled, the anchor was heaved dripping from +its bed, and the hard-pressed dirty crew made all speed to go in +advance of the oncoming ship. Still others among the pirates could be +plainly seen manning the guns that had already been brought out from +their hiding places, while still more stood by to furnish their +comrades with cannon balls and powder. Amos became so excited he +leaned too far forward, and, nothing learned from his nightly +difficulties with his hammock, fell out of the tree onto the heads and +shoulders of the men below, causing astonishment and swallowed +laughter before he was hoisted back up again. + +"Bless my cap and buttons!" Ned Cilley cried, "there's to be a fight +for sartin. I can see the flash of light on the swords and axes!" + +[Illustration] + +Quicker than it would take to tell, the _Vulture_, black sails spread, +moved forward to head off the merchantman evidently homeward bound +from China. + +The pirate ship sailed down the coast, turned, and forced the oncoming +vessel to stop. Then, as well as the watchers could guess, a parley +ensued, but if the pirates thought the prey would be an easy one they +were mistaken, for the merchantman came forward suddenly, all sails +set, in an effort to ram the _Vulture_. But the rich cargo vessel was +hopelessly at a disadvantage. The pirate guns opened fire, ropes were +thrown over to the peaceful ship, and with yells of triumph that +carried even above the tumult of the fighting, the pirate crew leapt +on board. Tiny figures could be seen falling into the water from the +merchantman, and in a bitter hour or so the sound of fighting died out +altogether. + +The men watching from the shore had been kept there only by the +obedience the Captain was able to extract from them, for rage was in +the heart of every man at the sight they were forced to see, but were +powerless to prevent. Even among such hard-bitten old salts as they +all were, more than one could be seen mumbling a prayer for the +unfortunate men who had put up such a gallant fight. + +[Illustration] + +"Come, lads," Captain Blizzard said to them at last. "We have seen +what we had to see, and many is the witness now against Claggett Chew +and all his company!" + +"Aye! Aye! That we are! We'll bear witness to such villainy--they +should all hang for it!" the voices cried. + +"Then let us go back to our own ship, for the dreaded _Vulture_ is not +yet gone, and unarmed as we too are, what chance have we against +cannon balls and armed men?" + +The men turned about and trouped back to the dinghies, while Captain +Blizzard stayed behind a moment to speak to Chris. + +"My boy," he said, his hand on Chris's shoulder, as in front of them +in the late afternoon light the men of the _Mirabelle_ made their way +back to the ship, "'tis my advice you had best return with us now, or +you might be missed by one or another of the men, and they have much +time to think. You shall do what has been set for you to do--we shall +stay here another day to take on water and fresh fruits." + +He looked smilingly down at Chris but his eyes were concerned. "It +will not be a moment too soon for me until I see you safe and sound on +board again, my lad," he said, "for I like you well and would have no +smallest harm come to you." + +Together they went down to the beach and the waiting dinghy. Chris +dared not look at the sky above them for he knew night was darkening +it, and with the night he must leave. + + + + +CHAPTER 25 + + +As soon as the night was dark enough, Chris loudly complained of not +feeling well--of being hot and dizzy, and in no time Captain Blizzard +had, as loudly, told him he was to go to bed on a cot in the Captain's +cabin. Captain Blizzard closed the door behind him, and in Amos's and +Ned Cilley's hearing, told Mr. Finney that he was much afraid that +Chris had a touch of the sun and was coming down with a tropical +fever. + +Chris remained alone in the cabin from that time. Soon, in the cool of +the night, the sailors of the _Mirabelle_ set out in dinghies to a +cascade of fresh water that emptied itself into the cove at its +farther end, taking with them casks and barrels to replenish the +ship's water supply. Their deep voices swept back over the water to +where Chris stood by the open port of the Captain's cabin. He was +forcing himself toward the moment when he must board the _Vulture_. +His resolve was held back by his mounting anxiety as to how best to +carry out what would be necessary, and a strong natural reluctance to +leave the _Mirabelle_. + +Leave it he must. He stood pondering on what shape to assume, and when +he heard the cry of a belated night bird, and saw it coast by on +silent wings to vanish in the night, he decided to take that shape. It +took all his courage and determination, but this was the first step +toward what he had trained for so long to do, and he knew he must do +it, and at once. The boy looked a last time around the cabin, then +spoke the magic formula in his mind, and, with a sudden enjoyment in +the sense of flight, he soared away from the ship out over the cove. + +[Illustration] + +The bird swept twice around the _Mirabelle_, rising higher as it went. +Below, the few lights of the ship had been carefully hooded away from +the sea, and the bird, spiraling lightly on air currents, drifted out +from land. + +[Illustration] + +The black bulk of the _Vulture_ was easy to find in the clearness of +the night. She was riding at anchor close inshore farther down the +coast, and final boatfuls of men were returning from the merchantman +carrying the last of the spoils. Sweeping by toward the beach Chris +saw that most of the bandit crew were already drunk, shouting and +carousing around fires where they roasted wild creatures they had +earlier killed. He noticed that a few Tahitians stood apart at the +joining of the palm forests and the sand, watching the coarse faces of +the drunken men. The Tahitians, fitting so well into the beauty of +their island, gold of skin and crowned with flowers, carrying +themselves with dignity, were as far removed as could be imagined from +the idea of pagan men. They contrasted sharply at that moment with +those from "civilization," who in filthy rags of clothes and wild +disorder of gestures and voices staggered about aimlessly gorging +food and drinking. The watching pagans glanced from the brawling +pirates back a short distance down the beach where already a few +bodies had been washed ashore from the fight. Their distaste and +bewilderment were plain. + +Chris soared high above the din and the smoke of the fires, and then +seeing Osterbridge Hawsey being rowed back to the _Vulture_, followed +after. + +Osterbridge Hawsey had two baskets at his feet. One was filled with +carefully chosen fruits, and the other with the exotic flowers of the +island. Hastily changing himself into a green parakeet, Chris alighted +on the rail of the _Vulture_ just as Osterbridge Hawsey reached the +top of the ladder. Determined to make a good impression and perhaps +catch Osterbridge's fancy, Chris, in his bright parakeet plumage, +bobbed his head and sidled up and down the ship's rail, eyeing +Osterbridge Hawsey with his head on one side as he had seen parakeets +do. + +The maneuver succeeded, for Osterbridge, with a little cry of +pleasure, declared himself enchanted. + +"I must have that little bird!" he exclaimed, and carefully taking off +his fashionable hat--even more out of place in the tropics than it had +been on the Georgetown docks--he slapped it quickly over the parakeet +which allowed itself to be captured. + +This, Osterbridge Hawsey's own prize, made him crow with delight. +Clambering as gracefully as possible over the battle-scarred side of +the _Vulture_, he took the parakeet gently out from under his +tricorne. + +"A parakeet--as I _live_!" he shrilled, sounding very like a parakeet +himself. "My soul--what a prize!" he rattled on, entirely to himself +as it turned out, for the sailors were not at all interested in a pet. +Exhausted from the battle or drunk from captured wine, and all +despising the fastidious ways of Osterbridge Hawsey, they paid not the +slightest attention. They obeyed occasional orders from him, for they +knew they would be whipped by Claggett Chew if they did not, and so +hauled up the baskets of fruits and flowers, dumped them +unceremoniously in the Captain's cabin, and left as quickly as they +could to rejoin their shipmates on shore. + +Holding the parakeet firmly, Osterbridge Hawsey tied a long silk cord +to its right leg, fastening the other end to the arm of his chair so +that he could closely observe his new pet. + +Chris did not disappoint him. As the parakeet, he played the clown for +all he was worth. He strutted up and down, and bobbed his head +whenever Osterbridge Hawsey spoke, so that it appeared that the +brightly feathered bird was in constant agreement with his captor. Or +he would cock his head to one side as if weighing one of Osterbridge's +remarks, in a truly comical manner. + +Looking about meanwhile with his black beady eyes, Chris saw that +Claggett Chew was lying in a bunk against one wall, nursing his left +leg which had been given a sword thrust in the fight. He was obviously +in pain and perhaps feverish, and Osterbridge Hawsey's childish talk +irritated and bored him so that he turned his face to the wall. Light +from the swinging lamp that Chris remembered from many weeks before +threw black hollows into Claggett Chew's eye sockets and deeply lined +face. Now and again he could be heard grinding his teeth at the pain +of his wound, but Osterbridge Hawsey, throwing his fine coat and +plumed hat to one side, lightheartedly amused himself by trying to +tempt his new pet with some fruit. + +"Claggett!" he cried, as if Claggett Chew could possibly be interested +in a parakeet at that point, "do look at what I captured! This is my +very own spoils of war!" he crowed. + +Claggett Chew made an impolite noise and said nothing. "Well," +Osterbridge Hawsey gave a shrug as answer to the noise, "you know how +I _detest_ fighting. It is vulgar, messy, and noisy. I can imagine no +possible good word to say for it. And I see no reason why you could +not have made them give up their cargo without a skirmish. Ugh!" he +said, at the remembrance. + +"Now, a good gentlemanly fight with a rapier is _quite_ another +thing," he went on. He smirked and made a face at the parakeet who did +its best to smirk back. "_That_ is a graceful and fine art. Refined, +and not at all degrading to one's character." + +No sound from Claggett Chew. Osterbridge Hawsey rattled on and Chris, +pecking at the fruit proffered him, thought that sometimes Osterbridge +Hawsey might quite possibly talk just as gaily to himself as he did to +the unresponsive Claggett Chew. + +"Claggett--your men!" his voice rose. "_Really._ They are making an +_exhibition_ of themselves on the beach. Just as well there is no one +to see but some aborigines. _Quite_ revolting. _How_ can you bear to +associate with such _types_, when you are so much above them +yourself--but there, I must not pique you, must I, poor Claggett? I +expect your wound smarts a trifle?" + +Claggett Chew turned his face toward Osterbridge Hawsey, his eyes +blazing with rage and his mouth working with the fretful annoyance of +an ill man, but he only muttered and turned away again. + +"Do you know," his more delicate friend pursued, stretching out a long +finger for the parakeet to perch on, which to his evident pleasure it +instantly did, "Do you know, Claggett, this dear little creature seems +fearless and almost human? _Quite_ touching." + +He paused, admiring the vivid colors of the feathers which perhaps +awoke a kindred feeling in Osterbridge Hawsey, loving a fine display +as he did. + +[Illustration] + +"I shall give you a name, my little feathered captive," he said, and +pondered. "I wonder what would be suitable? Something French, +undoubtedly." He waved a hand and the lace at his wrist fell forward +in a not overly clean frill. "Louis, after the dear king? No--that +would be too great an honor for so small a bird, gaudy though you are. +I think, 'Monsieur,' after the king's brother. That's it. Little +Monsieur." He broke off, dreamily. "To think that I once knew such a +royal, such a distinguished man!" He sighed reminiscently. + +For the first time words came from Claggett Chew. He bit them off as +if the saying of them cost him very great effort. + +"More _ex_tinguished than _dis_tinguished, I would say." + +Osterbridge Hawsey permitted a sad condescending smile to cross his +face and he shook his finger at Claggett Chew. "Ah, Claggett--you +never knew him, you see. I am _sure_ you would have liked him--such +charm! So _distingue_. Oh dear me yes. A most _unusual_ royal +personage," Osterbridge Hawsey said, smiling happily at his parakeet. +"Most of them are so _much_ alike--" + +He singled out several fresh fruits, peeling some for Claggett Chew. +Silence fell over the cabin except for Osterbridge Hawsey's delicately +smacking lips as he finished the fruit and licked his fingers one by +one, the increasingly heavy breathing of Claggett Chew, who fell +asleep, and the distant sound of shouts and clamor from the shore. +Osterbridge Hawsey made a pouting face at the sleeping figure of Chew; +evidently Osterbridge was bored. He went to the door and clapped his +hands, but no one responded. Except for the two men and the parakeet, +the _Vulture_ was deserted. + +Osterbridge Hawsey came back into the cabin holding a bottle of wine +which he uncorked and poured into a glass. Chris, foreseeing what +would follow, hopped up to the back of his new master's chair where he +hoped he would be forgotten, and tucked his head under his wing in +case Osterbridge should look at him. + +Waiting for the right moment was the hardest thing Chris had to do, +but he knew, as Osterbridge Hawsey drank glass after glass and his +book fell from his fingers, that the right moment would not be long in +coming. + + + + +CHAPTER 26 + + +The tropic coolness of the night intensified as the hours advanced. An +added freshness swept out from the shore carrying its scent of flowers +and earth. The feasting pirates had evidently fallen asleep over their +food and empty wine mugs, for they did not return. + +With a growing sense of uneasiness, Chris cautiously brought his head +out from under his jade-green wing. He had had for the past hour the +eerie feeling of being stared at, and he pecked at his scarlet and +yellow breast feathers while sending a glance about the cabin. + +He knew without having to look, where the source of his uneasiness +lay. Claggett Chew had turned on his right side and fixed him with a +pale, piercing, and unblinking eye. So fixed, it was, that for a +heart-thudding moment Chris imagined his enemy to be dead. But after a +longer pause than usual, the pale heavy lids finally blinked, though +the unwavering eyes did not move from where Chris was perched, as +nonchalantly as he knew how to, on the back of Osterbridge Hawsey's +chair. + +The intelligence behind the stare was infinitely keen and resourceful. +Chris, preening himself in a difficult effort to appear what he was +not, knew that if Claggett Chew had not already guessed his disguise, +he was certainly more than suspicious. + +Hastily, and with increasing starts of fear that sent the blood +spurting through his veins, Chris cast about in his mind as to how he +could distract Claggett Chew. As a parakeet, he was chained by the +tough silk cord that bound his bird's foot. He glanced down. +Osterbridge Hawsey's now sleeping head lolled like a child's to one +side. Chris eyed the length of the coral silk cord, and then hopped +lightly from the back of the chair to Osterbridge Hawsey's shoulder. A +blink of his parakeet's eyes, from under their gray lids, showed him +that Claggett Chew had him fixed in a penetrating and unwavering +stare. In his role as parakeet, he moved sideways up Osterbridge +Hawsey's shoulder, making for the shelter that the lolling head would +afford to hide him from his enemy's eyes. + +As he moved step by step, the parakeet made small low, raucous +noises--not loud enough to awaken Osterbridge Hawsey, but enough, he +hoped, to make him seem a natural creature to the man who watched him +so intently. As he neared Osterbridge Hawsey's neck, seeing the ridge +of collar on which he intended to perch, Chris took heart and with a +last quick effort, climbed the collar to hide behind Osterbridge +Hawsey's head, under the thick cluster of curls tied with what was now +a ratty black bow. He was, in this precarious shelter, about to change +himself into a fly, when a scraping noise froze him with fear. Looking +around Osterbridge's neck he saw that Captain Chew was making +desperate efforts to get out of his berth, and had not taken his eyes +from the place where he had last seen the parakeet. Chris knew in that +moment with what an astute and formidable enemy he was faced. +Paralyzed, he remained in his green and red parakeet feathers watching +the motions of the injured pirate. + +Claggett Chew might be suspicious but he was also a fevered and badly +wounded man. From his insecure hiding place, terrified at every +sleeping movement from Osterbridge Hawsey, and even more fearful of +what Claggett Chew intended, Chris stared out as purposefully as +Claggett Chew had only a few moments before. + +[Illustration] + +The ashen-faced man across the room in the glare of the hanging lamp +heaved and pushed at the sides of the bunk, his eyes brilliant with +high fever; the sweat of illness and strain glistening over his bare +head and colorless face. He ground his teeth at the sudden, almost +intolerable flashes of pain that gripped him when he moved his leg. +Still he persevered, grasped at a corner of the bunk and pushed +himself upright. + +If it was possible for his white face to become paler, some last +vestige of color seemed to leave it. Claggett Chew threw up an arm to +catch on something to steady himself, swayed and closed his sunken +eyes. His arm caught the lamp, which, rocking, threw jet shadows as +jagged as its light was harsh. Claggett Chew's prominent broken nose, +and the deeply grooved lines running down from it to the thin lips +under his mustache, changed the cruelty of his face into a brutal +mask. To Chris, he scarcely looked human. He was a picture of all that +was heartless and evil. But holding to the edge of his bunk, weakened +and ill though he was, the power of his will still ruled his body. + +He doesn't know when he's licked, Chris thought, and not knowing--he +isn't! + +Then, trying to hoist himself upright, Claggett Chew began beckoning +and appealing to Osterbridge Hawsey, and Chris shook at the momentary +possibility that some noise or word would awaken his sleeping hiding +place. + +"Osterbridge! Osterbridge!" Claggett Chew cried hoarsely. "Wake up! +Hear me!--Fire take your eyes!" he muttered in his rage, "can you not +rouse? Osterbridge! Osterbridge!" + +But after a slight shift in position, Osterbridge Hawsey slept on. +Claggett Chew, his face livid with pain, blood weaving down his chin +where he had bitten his lip in an attempt to stifle his groans, +managed to push himself up and totter to a chair against which he +leaned weakly, calling out again: "Plague your bones! Osterbridge! You +sot! Help me--you sleazy fashionable!" + +He started across the few feet of floor separating him from his +friend, and, stooped though he was to adjust his height to the +low-ceilinged cabin, nevertheless his bulk was a terrifying sight as +he stumbled and staggered forward. His hairless head nearly scraped +the ceiling, and his shoulders were as broad across as those of two +men. His hands, white but strong and bony, twitched at the finger ends +as if they were unused to idleness without hurting, or without the +handle of his whip to grasp. + +Two steps forward, Chris saw, was all Claggett Chew needed to show him +where the parakeet had gone, snatch him up, and snuff out his life as +a candleflame is pinched between finger and thumb. Chris was tearing +with his beak at the silk cord on his foot, raking at it between every +look he sent towards Claggett Chew. Chris knew that if the pirate +touched Osterbridge Hawsey, or worse, fell, the touch or the noise +would succeed in awakening the heavily sleeping fop and the parakeet, +exposed, would be an easy prey for Claggett Chew. + +The Captain of the _Vulture_, sweat rolling down his tortured face, +his eyes starting from their deep-sunk sockets with the strain of +keeping himself on his feet, began roaring at Osterbridge once more. + +"Osterbridge! Scummy no-good! _Wake!_ That parrot has a scar on his +jaw such as I once gave a boy! _Osterbridge!_" he roared with a final +terrible effort. + +Then everything happened at once. Osterbridge Hawsey was aroused at +last and sat up abruptly, heavy-headed and bleary, thickly asking: +"Claggett! What a _noise_! Cannot a man be allowed to doze in peace? +Where _are_ your manners?" + +In the same instant, Claggett Chew reached out to pluck the parakeet +from behind the sheltering head and neck of "the fashionable." Chris, +with a superhuman effort, changed himself to a mouse, tearing his +foot from the frayed cord that held it, and leaped into the air. +Simultaneously, Claggett Chew, overcome by the approaching blackness +he had been fighting, crashed to the floor unconscious. + + + + +CHAPTER 27 + + +A mouse streaked out the door of the Captain's cabin and did not stop +until it reached the farther end of the _Vulture_, where it hid +quaking behind someone's old shoe. The little creature, quieting down +at last and feeling its heart regain a more familiar rhythm, sniffed +distastefully at the shoe. It was plain to see, it thought, that the +_Vulture_ was an untidy, ill-cared-for ship. Old shoes were never left +lying about on the _Mirabelle_. + +The thought of the _Mirabelle_ brought Chris's mission on the pirate +ship into sharper focus. He glanced up at the sky; there was little +time left in which to work safely, for Claggett Chew's sharp eyes had +noticed the infinitesimal scar on his cheek and his astute brain had +put two and two together. Chris wondered, with a new start of horror, +if Claggett Chew could read his thoughts, and if this was why he had +stared at him with such intensity. + +Well, he shrugged, he knew what had to be done and if he worked +quickly, and Claggett Chew's swoon lasted long enough, not even he +could stop him. Looking about to make sure he was unobserved, he took +his own shape again with a sigh of relief. It was almost like holding +one's breath for long periods of time, to be in the shape of a bird or +a mouse, but to be himself, he knew, held even greater dangers. + +For the first time he opened the leather bag at his neck and felt +inside. The first thing his fingers closed on he pulled out. He turned +the object in his palm toward the starlight to see what it might be. + +It was a folding knife in a case of tortoise shell inlaid with strange +signs in silver and mother-of-pearl. Chris opened it--the blade was +razor-sharp--and put it experimentally point down on the wood of the +deck. As if by itself the blade revolved with immense speed, sinking +in so fast that only just in time did Chris snatch it out and hold it +more tightly. Trying it out he found that the blade would go through +anything, sometimes so easily as to scarcely seem to cut, leaving no +trace of a mark, it was so keen. At other times when he pressed on it, +the blade whirled around, boring a hole as deep as might be necessary. + +What a useful gadget! Chris thought. + +This is just what I need and now is the time! he said to himself, and +sprang up the nearest of the _Vulture's_ three masts. + +What he had to do would take long, and there was little time left that +night in which to do it. For he intended slitting the lines of the +rigging here and there, not so deeply that they would give way at once +and be soon repaired, but so that with the first hard blow the lines +would break. + +Growing daylight should have warned him long before he was done, for +Chris wished also to slit the sails, very slightly, when they had +been unfurled and the _Vulture_ was under way. The sound of voices +broke his absorption in his task. Looking down from the top of the +mainmast where he clung, Chris saw a boatload of returning sailors and +realized with a start that it was nearly sunup. In a moment a rat ran +down the mast to disappear into the foul-smelling hold of the pirate +vessel. + +How long must he wait in the hold? Chris wondered. Although he might +be in the shape of a rat, it was only his outward form that had +changed. He could not eat grain or refuse that was not suitable for a +human, and he did not relish having to hold his own in a fight with a +true rat, there in the darkness. He contemplated boring a hole in the +hull of the _Vulture_ but decided to wait until the ship was under +sail. He bitterly regretted not having brought food with him, feeling +hungry after his exertions about the ship. There was nothing else for +it but to hide as safely as he could in his own shape. + +This he did, after a thorough search in his rat form to find what +seemed a safe, hidden place high at the top of a pile of the loot +stolen from the merchantman. There the exhausted boy, curled closely +against any sudden movement of the ship, fell into a sound sleep. + +The dip and sway of a sailing ship cutting the seas, and a ravenous +appetite, combined to wake Chris. For the first few moments he was +confused at where he was. Little or no light seeped into the hold, and +he was further troubled by having no idea how long he might have +slept. + +His first thought was to find food. Climbing down from his sleeping +place he felt his way back to the ladder leading up to the deck. The +hatch at the top of the ladder was open and through it came a long +faded shaft of light and a freshening draught of air. By the quality +of the light, Chris judged the time to be well along in the afternoon. +He was debating with himself whether or not to change his shape and +venture up to find something to eat, when on one of the lower treads +of the plank ladder he caught sight of a plate of food. + +Chris stood staring at it for a moment. His mouth watered, for he had +not eaten in many hours and the sight of meat, bread, and fruit was +almost more than he could resist. But resist it he did, for he argued +in himself: If this has been put here, it must be for me. If it is for +me, it may well be poisoned. I shall not be tempted, much as Claggett +Chew would like me to be! He therefore left the plate of food where it +was, hoping the rats would find it before long and he would have +proof, through their actions, whether or not his theory was right. +Then, as a shadow fell over the hatch far above his head, Chris +hastily became a fly, soaring up to hit Simon Gosler on the nose. + +Crawling in a leisurely fashion on the beggar's hump, he lingered long +enough to see what the cripple was about. Simon was looking down the +steep ladder, shading his rheumy eyes against the brilliance of the +setting sun with one filthy, crooked hand. Chris, crawling nearer, +could make out what the old man was muttering under his breath. + +"The Cap'n, he say go down an' see, is the food et up, sez he. But +'tis a weary hard way for a pore ol' cripple to hop down thet steep +ladder. I'll not do it. He's a sick and fevered man. I shall say it +was et up--the rats will have got it before I get to his cabin, in any +case, an' then who's to be the wiser? Besides, there's no boy on this +ship. What a fancy!" he muttered. "He is an ill man, is Claggett +Chew. May his bones rot! I need do no more for him than what I have a +mind to, knowing as many of his misdeeds as I do. Hah!" He rubbed his +hands with anticipation. "Any day, Simon Gosler could be Cap'n of the +good _Vulture_, an he say the word to the right quarter!" His eyes, no +longer hidden behind black patches, narrowed with cunning. "And in the +meantime, who gets the best share of the spoils?" + +[Illustration] + +The beggar broke off in a cackle of glee, rubbing his dirty gnarled +hands with satisfaction, and turned away to go back to the Captain's +cabin with his message. + +Chris flew away in the direction of the cook's galley, where as a fly +he found it easy enough to eat his fill of meat and what few good +things the _Vulture_ afforded. + +Refreshed, he flew hard against the wind in order not to be blown off +the ship entirely, up to the safety of a part of the rigging from +where he could ponder on what he had heard, and see whatever there was +to be seen. + +Tahiti seemed to have been left far behind, for the _Vulture_ was well +out to sea, and no smallest cloud on the horizon gave any hint of +distant land. The sailors had set the sails and a good breeze filled +the black canvas of the pirate ship. The pirates themselves, still +surly from having eaten and drunk too well after the fight of the day +before, were quarrelsome and tired and lay about in sprawling groups +on the deck far below. Looking aft, Chris saw Simon Gosler hobbling +from the Captain's cabin, and Osterbridge Hawsey's graceful, +overdressed figure outlined in the doorway. On an impulse, Chris flew +down to hear what they were saving. + +"I thank you, Gosler, for your message," Osterbridge was saying, "for +Captain Chew seems much relieved to have heard it, and I think will +now rest quietly and sleep. Who is it, you say, who has some knowledge +of medicine--the ship's carpenter?" + +Here Osterbridge Hawsey rolled his eyes upward and shrugged his +expressive shoulders. + +"Dear me! At least to be a sawbones, he has the saw!" he said +disdainfully. + +"And knows how to drive a nail into a coffin too, master," whined the +beggar. + +"Enough!" cried Osterbridge in sudden anger. "Fetch him at once, and +tell the cook, as you pass the galley, to bring the Captain some plain +hot broth! He is much fevered." + +The atmosphere seemed right to Chris for all he had to do. Without +Claggett Chew's commanding and forbidding presence, the pirates would +be in a turmoil. Chris returned to the higher rigging to wait until +darkness should be more profound. + +It was not long before the tropic night fell, deeply blue in the first +hours until the stars should give off their high clear light. As the +_Vulture_ rolled and pitched over the sea far down beneath him, Chris +clung to the rigging and took the chance of changing himself into his +own shape. Then, with all the haste he could, he moved a hundred feet +above the hard decks, up the masts and along the sails, setting the +new knife gently here and there to part the fibers of the cloth. As he +went the lines were touched occasionally in vital spots. + +It took long, for it had to be done with care. Chris scarcely made a +move without looking down to see whether the sailors might not have +glanced up at the dusky full-bellied sails, but they were weary after +two such hard-filled days and soon fell asleep on the planks of the +open deck. Only Simon Gosler hobbled in and out, watching a sailor +here, stealing from another there, lifting his head slowly above the +window of the Captain's cabin to spy on what went on inside. Like a +dark malevolent spirit, Simon Gosler, crippled in thought and body, +moved restlessly about the pirate ship. + +Chris completed his task on the sails and rigging and slipped down to +hide behind the third mast as he looked out to see where Simon Gosler +might be. He could see him nowhere, and holding his breath, stepped +over two sleeping pirates sprawled on their backs on the deck to reach +the hatch of the hold. He had one last task to perform before leaving +the _Vulture_. + +The hatch top was open, laid back as before, and Chris, feeling some +danger, changed to a mouse as he crouched on the top rung. + +Hesitating, sniffing the fetid air of the hold, he finally ran down +the ladder edge. There he sensed imminent death at its foot in time to +leap as far as he could as he reached the last few rungs of the +ladder. For Simon Gosler stood waiting at the bottom armed with a +club, which he brought down with a splintering crash on the wooden +crossbars as the mouse ran past and leapt out of sight. Curses +instantly filled the hot air like so many wasps. Simon Gosler thrashed +around with the club laying it about him on the floor, narrowly +missing several times, and yelling at the top of his raucous lungs for +companions to help him. In no time figures carrying flaming torches +clattered down into the hold and Chris, his own shape regained, knew +he would have to be quick as he had never been quick before. + +[Illustration] + +With a flick the new knife was open in his hand and the blade pressed +with all his strength against the hull of the _Vulture_. He was +crowded into a corner as far as possible from the advancing row of +torches and shouting men. Frantic rats, terrified by the flames of the +torches and the reverberating noise, scampered over Chris's feet or +ran up over his bending back and shoulders, but he did not move. The +blade whirled in the stout wooden side of the _Vulture_, but it seemed +no time before the flicker and wavering red of the nearest torches +sent their flares over him from a distance. Chris could make out the +silhouette of hunting figures as the first black trickle of sea water +pierced through the side of the ship and stained the dry planks. Still +the boy pushed the knife on a moment more until the water was a steady +spurt, wetting his hand with its coolness. Then, as the torches sent +their flames moving into the obscure corner where he had been, a fly +soared up and out, over an empty metal plate and four dead rats, over +the stooped screaming figure of a humpback, and a scattered line of +searching men, out to the freshness of the night and the open sea. + +Only Osterbridge Hawsey, curious at the torches and the shouting, +looked out the cabin door in time to see a tiny boat scud past, back +toward Tahiti. And only in his befuddled dreams did he puzzle over how +the small craft could sail against the wind, or wonder how it could +sail so well, when it seemed to be made of rope. + + + + +CHAPTER 28 + + +Chris and Amos lay belly down in a low clump of pine scrub at the top of a +precipitous rocky pinnacle. Below them in the blistering noon lay the +palace walls of the Lord of the Seven Seas, Descendant of the Sun and the +Moon, Overlord of the Mountains and the Plains, Prince of all the Isles, +Father of Plenty, and Brilliance-Before-Which-All-Cast-Down-Their-Eyes, the +Emperor of China. + +The two boys were uninterested in titles. Somewhere within that +city-within-a-city, inside the enormous spread of the palace walls +that were surrounded in their turn by the city of Peking, lay the goal +they had come so far to seek, the Jewel Tree of the Princess of China. +Now, like a general planning his campaign, Chris lay looking down at +the high angular walls, thinking of how he would gain entry. + +On regaining the _Mirabelle_ in a boat made from the magic rope, Chris +had reappeared among his friends, "recovered" from his fever. He had +given much thought to what he considered would be the last dangerous +section of the journey, and after listening to what his master said +through the shell, was permitted to take Amos on this stage of the +voyage. It was reasoned if something happened to Chris, Amos might be +able to carry out their mission by himself. + +The boys had come to Peking on camel-back, a camel made from the magic +rope. As Amos had never seen a real camel, he thought the rope animal +quite natural, and as remarkable a creature as a real one. Chris took +care to make it or disentangle it out of Amos's sight, and so many +were the strange and wonderful things to be seen, that Amos had no +time to concern himself over the reality of a camel. + +The arid countryside was blanched by the excessive heat. Flies droned +over the dates and figs that the boys pulled from their pockets to +eat. Amos wriggled with excitement as he pointed out details to Chris. + +"Chris! Look at that procession going in the big gate! All those +pigtailed gentlemen dressed in embroidered coats. I like that blue one +with butterflies on it. No, I'd sooner have the black satin one with +the dragon in red and yellow!" He looked again more closely. "Or the +one with the peacock in green and purple. Which would you sooner +have?" + +Chris paid little attention to Amos's exclamations. Leaning on his +elbows and looking at the scene below, his mind worked busily on these +last vital problems. But Amos was not waiting for an answer. His mind +was on the present moment and the present scene, forgetful of what lay +ahead of them, a few hours away. He chattered on. + +"I like their funny black hats and droopy mustaches. Why don't they +look like us, Chris?" he asked. And then, "Who-all's in the curtained +stretcher they're carrying?" + +[Illustration] + +"It's a palanquin, Amos. They carry dignitaries in them." + +"Hate to be a dignitary in all this heat," Amos said, unenviously. +"What are they doing now?" he enquired, and both boys parted the +prickly pine needles to look out and down. + +The leader of the procession rapped three times on the great gate with +a gold staff. Sentinels and guards came forward, walking on the broad +gate top, and after talking with the members of the procession, turned +to give an order. + +[Illustration] + +Gaily dressed trumpeters with dragon masks on the visors of their +helmets raised long brass trumpets. A prolonged throbbing "Wai! Wo!" +shuddered out, and the great outer gates of the palace, studded with +pronged spikes of carved metal, swung slowly outward. Sixteen men came +into sight, eight on either side, pushing wide the gates. + +"Gee! Imagine the weight of those doors!" Chris murmured, and taking +out his spyglass looked through it. "Golly Moses!" he exclaimed. "Take +a look, Amos. Those gates are made of bronze, nearly three feet +thick! And now they have the gates open, look at the depth of the +walls. They're as deep through as a room!" + +The waiting procession, the richly dressed courtiers and curtained +palanquin, moved inside and the gates were slowly pulled close by +lines of men dragging at ropes and chains to shut them. From within +the main gate drifted out the sound, becoming fainter and fainter, of +other trumpets sounding the order for the opening of other gates. Ten +times, the boys counted, the trumpets blew, and the same "Wai! Wo!" +throbbed against the sultry air. + +"Lawsy me!" Amos sighed, when no more trumpets were to be heard. "Ten +walls and ten gates--at the very least! 'Course we don't know--" He +rolled his worried eyes toward Chris, "We don't know whether those +folks got to the Emperor or not. Likely he's in behind a couple more +walls, just to be on the safe side." He searched his friend's face. +"How are we going past all that many guards and trumpets, Chris? Even +if we could tie up a guard or two, how in the world we going to push +open gates that heavy?" + +Amos need not have been so concerned, for Chris had a good plan. But +just at that moment the heat overcame Chris. Putting his head down on +his arms, he slept. + +Amos slept too, and it must have been several hours later that the +rising sound of a crowd talking and laughing with excitement +penetrated their sleep and brought them to consciousness. For a moment +they both lay rubbing their eyes and peering out. Then they realized, +by the growing crowd on either side of the palace gate and along the +narrow street leading away from it, that someone of importance was +about to come from the palace and parade through the streets of +Peking. + +"Wonder what goes on?" Chris muttered, as the crowds below swelled and +grew. Boys climbed upon one another's shoulders, teakwood stools were +brought for the richer people to stand on, and along the street that +led away to the right around the palace walls, Chris and Amos could +see embroidered silks hung from all the windows, and Chinese people in +their best holiday clothes laughing excitedly. All were looking toward +the gates, and at last, from far within, even more distantly than +before, came the first sound of trumpets. These had a sweeter, clearer +sound than those the boys had heard at noon. + +"Never heard a sweeter note," Amos said. "Might be made of silver, +'way they sound." + +The boys counted, and twelve times the low, lovely notes swung out on +the air. + +"Twelve gates!" Chris said to Amos, "And look, you were right, they +_are_ silver trumpets!" + +The trumpeters atop the great outer gates were now differently +dressed, and there were not two but a dozen lined along the deep +palace walls. The trumpets, ten feet long, were curved, and of silver +that in the sunlight dazzled the eye. As they were blown, the final +gates were pushed aside. + +A long procession emerged of such fantasy and variety of color that +the two boys were spellbound. Elephants and camels, llamas and horses, +all richly caparisoned in Eastern silks, passed along with their +riders. Guards with curved swords and many-thonged whips formed a +double hedge between those in the procession and the bystanders. Still +others led leopards and black panthers on chains as an added +protection to those they guarded. Palanquin after palanquin passed by, +but still the crowd seemed to be waiting for something. + +[Illustration] + +Then, as the silver trumpets continued their sweet lingering notes, a +murmur arose from the crowd. Four lines of youths preceded a palanquin +more finely decked than the rest, and the murmur rose. After it came +four lines of Chinese girls, fanning the air with peacock fans on long +staves, fans of white egret feathers, and ostrich plumes dyed a yellow +gold. + +[Illustration] + +"Amos!" Chris breathed, "That color! Yellow is the royal color of +China!" + +He did not have to elaborate his thought, for the palanquin that +finally came in sight showed by its richness that it could belong only +to royalty, and by its beauty and grace, only to a woman. Made of +silver and rock crystal, studded with diamonds and pearls, and hung +about with sheer curtains of embroidered yellow silk, the palanquin +belonged without doubt to a young girl of the royal house. As it +appeared under the high arch of the outer gate, a roar of joy and +greeting arose from the waiting crowd and with one accord every man +bowed low, covering his eyes with the wide sleeve of his left arm. The +women and girls in the crowd, and those leaning from the upper stories +of the houses, threw down before the palanquin objects that flashed +and twinkled in the sun. + +Remembering in time, for he had been so much absorbed he had +momentarily forgotten it, Chris whipped out his spyglass and looked at +the curtains of the palanquin. The thin silk was transparent enough +under the strong focus of the glass, and behind it Chris could +perceive, leaning delicately against silk cushions, a Chinese girl as +beautiful as a dream. Her slightly uptilted eyes were large and dark, +her skin put a magnolia flower to shame, her mouth was lifted in a +charming smile, and her long exquisite fingers held a spray of jeweled +flowers. All about the palanquin rained a shower of jeweled buds and +petals, for no doubt a real flower was thought too inferior for the +only child of the Descendant of the Sun and the Moon, Prince of all +the Isles, and Lord of the Seven Seas, the Princess of China. + + + + +CHAPTER 29 + + +Chris put down his spyglass and the two boys, hidden on the piny +knoll, watched the procession out of sight. + +"I'm supposed to take something from her," Chris said with his eyes +sparkling, "but I know now what I'm going to give her back in return. +I feel sort of sorry for that girl," he added thoughtfully. + +"What're we going to do, Chris?" Amos wanted to know. "What-all comes +next, and have we some more of those dates?" + +Chris passed him some. "We have to wait until dusk anyway," he said, +his voice abstracted, "and by the look of the light that won't be +long." + +The piny knoll was steep and rocky and only two adventurous boys would +ever have reached the top. Too precipitous on which to build houses, +it rose far above the surrounding roofs of Peking. The green and +scarlet of curved tiles spread under the boys' sight like a curling +sea. Before them, stretched out in long angular wings to right and +left, swept the palace walls. + +Listening and watching, the boys gathered by the silver trumpet notes +that the Princess and her retinue had re-entered the palace walls by +another gate. + +Thinking about it Chris mused: I wonder if that first palanquin held +someone she's to marry? It could be. And if so, this may be her last +appearance to the people of the city before leaving for a new domain. +She would probably take the Jewel Tree with her. I can't imagine a +woman leaving a thing like that behind. He paused, remembering. She +held a spray of jeweled flowers in her hand, maybe off the Tree, and I +never saw anything like it. Well, can't do a thing until dusk comes +down. + +The evening was not long in coming, and Chris, who had been sitting +cross-legged under the little crooked pines, looked across with great +concern to where Amos lay on his back, dozing. + +I can't take him along, Chris thought, and I can't leave him alone, if +I should get caught. What in the world do I do? + +Then, remembering the bag of magic "odds and ends," Chris put his hand +inside it and drew out a small folded piece of silk and netting. On it +a piece of paper, like a label, showed Mr. Wicker's fine script. Chris +looked closer and read: "Strike 3." + +"Strike 3." + +Chris held the folded object in his hand, and then glanced at Amos. +Amos slept. Going softly out of the pine grove to a narrow ledge of +rock where he was out of sight, Chris put the object down and said: +"Strike three." + +Nothing happened. The object remained an object. Then, suddenly +understanding, Chris struck the stone ledge three times. + +At once the folded object began to unfold itself and to puff itself +up like a little mushroom. In a matter of seconds, Chris could see +what it was becoming, and before he could wink ten times, a balloon +with a basket hanging from it, quite big enough for two boys, hung +swaying in the air. Chris examined it with pleasure and then struck +the ground three times again. The balloon gently collapsed and +refolded itself, basket and all, into its original neat shape. + +[Illustration] + +"Now, if that isn't handy!" Chris exclaimed. Then, looking at the +light fading from the sky, he picked up the folded balloon and went to +waken Amos. + +"Amos!" he said, shaking his friend's shoulder, "it's time for me to +go. Are you awake?" + +Amos blinked a few times and said he thought so. + +"Then listen to me," Chris told him earnestly, "and listen hard!" Amos +sat up more alertly. + +"I have a handy thing here which is for you to use only--do you hear? +_only_ if I don't come back." + +Amos's eyes began to get brighter and he swallowed. + +"Don't come _back_? Law! Chris, don't you leave me in this heathen +country where nobody understands good English!" he cried. "Why, unless +I'd steal, and Miss Becky told me _never_ to do that--but unless I +did, how could I eat in these foreign parts?" + +Chris sat back on his haunches. "Well, I don't know how you could, +myself. But don't you cross any bridges until you come to them. Look." +He held out the folded balloon. "If I'm not back by two sunups from +now--I may have to hide all during tomorrow--if I'm not back by then, +put this package out beyond the trees in the clearing. That's very +important. You've got that?" + +"I haven't got anything but a few old dried-up fruits," Amos pouted. +"That's all." + +"_No_, Amos!" Chris gave him another rousing shake. "I mean, do you +understand that much?" + +Amos brightened at once and broke into a broad grin. + +"Oh yes, of course. Why didn't you say so in the first place? You +said, put the package out in the clear. Where's that, on this +tippy-top of a hill?" Amos asked, looking about. + +"The ledge near where we climbed up. That's big enough," Chris +reminded him. + +"Oh yes," Amos said, looking wise. + +"Well," Chris took up again, "you put the package on the ledge and +strike the ground three times--" + +"Like this?" And before Chris could stop him, Amos had struck the +earth beside him twice before Chris seized his hand in mid-air. + +"_Amos!_ Not now! I said _only_ if you have to get away. If someone +comes after you, or if I don't come back. Promise me not to strike +three _at all_ except for either of those two reasons." + +Amos raised his right hand looking very solemn. "I promise," he said. +"Only," he added, looking bewildered and already somewhat forlorn, +"what happens when I do hit three times?" + +"Why, it's a mag--it's a special kind of balloon," Chris began, after +correcting what had almost been a bad slip. + +"A what?" Amos stuck his head forward, trying hard to understand. + +"A _balloon_. Oh." + +Chris stopped and stared at Amos. Perhaps balloons had not yet been +invented. How very confusing! + +"It's something that will hold you up in the air. There's a basket for +you to sit in--" + +"No _sir_!" Amos cried, wagging his head decisively from side to side. +"Me in the air over the roofs and high up? No _indeedy_, Chris! Not +me." + +Chris was becoming exasperated. He had important things to do. + +"Look, Amos. If you have to use it, you'll be in such a bad fix that +being up in the air will seem like the very best thing that could +happen. Stop running. I'll be back--I hope." + +He turned away toward the ledge and clearing. + +"And now, wish me luck, and stay here and wait for me. Don't follow me +now, or watch, or I might fail." + +Amos jumped up from the pine-covered ground. "Oh, Chris!" he cried, +his voice sharp with distress, "can't I go? You might get hurt. +There's no telling what could happen if you're all alone!" + +Chris was tempted to take his friend with him but someone must get the +news back to the _Mirabelle_ if he should fail. If this happened, he +did not doubt but that the magic balloon would carry Amos safely to +the ship. + +"No," he said after a long moment. "Better not. But I'd sure like to, +Amos. Now don't lose that package. It's your escape. Wish me luck." + +Amos clasped his hand, and then, rushing off, dashed back again. + +"Here, Chris. Our fruits. Better not to eat strange food in this +foreigny place. Good luck," he added. + +Chris stuffed the dried fruit in his pocket. Amos turned back into the +darkening pine knoll, and Chris pushed his way out to the narrow steep +ledge, hanging high above the roofs of Peking. + +Chris uncoiled the magic rope from around his waist, and standing as +far out on the rock ledge as he dared, in order to have the greatest +possible freedom of movement, he attempted for the first time to draw +an eagle in the air with the rope. It was a complicated, fast +maneuver. The rope twisted and whipped in the air, and the result was +a molted-looking, droop-tailed buzzard. Its wings were not wide +enough, its back very insecure to look at. In short, Chris knew, it +was a total failure. + +He tried again, racing against the oncoming darkness, and this time he +succeeded, although, when he pulled it close and straddled the body of +the magic bird, his heart was in his throat that it might unfurl +itself, become just a rope, and hurl him to his death far below. + +But this second eagle seemed secure enough. Chris pressed his hands on +the wings spread out on either side, with a jolt they flapped, and the +boy's strange conveyance moved somewhat unsteadily through the air. + +Chris, frightened but resolute, found that by touching the head of the +bird in the direction he wanted to go, the magic eagle would turn, and +after a few moments to test out his new method of travel, Chris +coasted over the gaily tiled roofs as he hunted for something. + +[Illustration] + +Peking at that time had many palaces. Wealthy Chinese and people of +title and family owned beautiful houses set in terraced gardens +surrounded by parks and ancient trees. Somewhere, Chris had heard of +this and remembered it, and now in the dusk that was nearly night, +the eagle carried him silently over the city as he looked for what he +wanted to find. + +At last the very fragrance, rising up toward him on the night air, +guided him to a large palace set in gardens. Pools of water reflected +the first stars among their lilypads. The shaded walks and lawns were +deserted at that hour. + +Swooping down and flying back and forth to make sure he would not be +seen, Chris grounded the eagle, and holding fast to one wing tip in +case he should have to take off in a hurry, he walked up and down, +examining and searching. + + + + +CHAPTER 30 + + +The night was too clear to suit Chris for the dangerous work that lay +ahead. The eagle bore him up again from the garden, and turning back, +lifted high in the air as it neared the maze of walls of the Emperor's +palace. + +Chris longed to fly lower but he was afraid that one of the many +guards might give the alarm. The eagle flying between the palace and +the moon cast a quick-racing shadow over wall and ground. The one +advantage on such a clear night, Chris thought, when he could be +easily spotted, was in the silence of the magic bird. He bent over to +peer down between the eagle's beaked head and widespread, beating +wings. + +Wall after wall, palace and garden within palace and garden, he saw. +Windows were lit like fireflies far below him and the series of +courtyards opened themselves in seemingly endless duplication. How, he +wondered, could he ever find the inner garden--well hidden, +certainly--where the Princess of China walked under trees and looked +at her goldfish in long clear pools? Then he remembered with a start +the folded paper seized so long ago in a ship anchored on the +Potomac. A cabin under a smoking lamp, the strong scent of flowers, a +monkey's form, came back into his memory and he felt in the leather +pouch for Claggett Chew's plan. + +His fingers touched it and brought out the creased, finger-marked +scrap of paper. In the moonlight he unfolded it, sitting on the +eagle's back high above the walls and palaces of the Emperor of China. +He found that he could follow, from his height, and check with the +map, building by building and one courtyard after another. Moving +cautiously forward in the air, he looked at the heavy cross-mark made +by Claggett Chew the night the _Mirabelle_ had set sail. Then, all at +once beneath him, Chris made out walls ahead that seemed higher than +the others. He flew over temples with gently rocking bells hung at +their curled eaves, and over peaked rooftops of carved stone until, +reaching a place apparently identical with the cross on the map, he +dared to drop a little lower above a certain courtyard. + +As he did so he saw that the guardhouses were set about on the top of +the wall, which measured about ten feet from side to side. All faced +outward away from the gardens they protected, hidden now in shadow. + +Why--it's like a prison! Chris thought, except that the guards aren't +allowed to look down at her. The poor kid! Imagine living here all +your days! No wonder she was pleased at being in a procession +yesterday! + +No fragrance, except that of cool water, came up from the courtyard to +Chris. Going higher into the air he hovered there on his eagle's back, +watching the guardhouses. He timed the guards, counting. After an +hour, he found there were two minutes between the time Guard Number +Six reached his post and Guard Number Seven went back to replace him. +Chris waited again, watching the guards and counting half aloud in +case he missed that two-minute interval. + +"One--there he goes across to Two. Two. There Two goes back again. +Three--there Three marches along to Guardhouse Four. Four--there he +goes to Five--" + +[Illustration] + +Chris's breath came quickly and his heart began to pound in his ears. +"Five--Five starts out toward Six. Six--and now they change swords or +something, and here I go!" + +Pressing on the back of the eagle the bird sank silently into the +black well of the courtyard, past the guardhouse and down, just as +Guard Number Seven emerged to walk back to replace Number Six. + +The walls of the Princess's courtyard were indeed as high and +forbidding as those of a dungeon. A shimmer of water reflected the +night sky, and looking down, Chris saw a dark, glistening mass beneath +him. It seemed to be trees, but when his dangling legs touched them, +sharp edges cut his legs and he quickly veered away. At last, coming +down at the edge of the pool, his eyes became used to the gloom and he +could see about him. + +The garden ground crunched under his feet and glowed in the night, and +bending to touch it, Chris's fingertip came away dusted with gold, +"Golly Moses!" he breathed, and looked about. + +The edge of the long rectangular pool was of silver; the walk around +it of jasper and chalcedony, and as he lifted his eyes to look +farther, he saw that the entire garden was made up of trees with jewel +leaves. + +No wonder the leaves cut my legs! Chris thought to himself. They're +probably emeralds! + +Towing the eagle by its beak, he wandered about. There was neither +grass nor flowers; no true plants or trees. All bushes, borders, and +shaded walks were of jewels. They gave out onto the air no scent of +greenness and no welcoming scent of flowers. + +Gee! Chris almost said aloud, Who'd want to play on ground-up gold? +Why, except that it's yellow it might as well be gravel. And no +trees--not real ones. Gee! She must be a pretty miserable girl! I +wonder if birds like the jewel trees? + +Looking into shrubs of coral, or jade, or amethyst, Chris found no +nests, and shook his head. Guess I brought the right replacement after +all, he decided. Now to work. Which shall I take? + +He made a tour of the jewel gardens, and at the end of the pool, +facing the carved jeweled doorway and windows of a pavilion set into +the surrounding walls, Chris found a tree he thought right. Small and +round, as if freshly trimmed, it answered Mr. Wicker's description of +months ago. + +"Leaves of emeralds, buds of diamonds, flowers of sapphires, and +fruits of rubies studded thick with pearls." + +Taking out his magic knife, in a second Chris had cut away a large +circle of earth in a tub shape to shelter the roots, and carried his +heavy burden to the eagle's back. There, he took off something which +he planted where the Jewel Tree had been, and cupping his hands, +watered it from the pool as best he could. + +Just as he finished and was moving away, a movement in the black +rectangle of the pavilion door at the far end of the garden caught his +eye. He had only time enough to pull the eagle, the Jewel Tree, and +himself into the cloaking shadow of a nearby avenue of emerald trees +to avoid being seen. + +The movement was pale and slight against the blackness of the open +door, and the night was very still. As Chris held his breath, the +dampened leaves and petals of the bush he had planted sent their green +fragrance lifting and turning on the night air. As if that had been +the signal it had long waited for, a dust-colored bird flew down to +perch on a thorny stem. + +It was a nightingale. Its song started slowly and softly at first, and +then, as it forgot that it was alone, the lovely variations grew, +pealing out where no birdsong had ever been heard before. Chris was +not the only one who had never heard a nightingale. To the other +occupant of the jeweled garden, it was newer and more beautiful than +anything she had ever heard. + +The Princess's tiny feet made no sound on the gold gravel as she edged +nearer to the bush and the song. At last the nightingale flew away, +and the scent of the roses, drifting toward a princess who had only +been permitted flowers of stone, was overwhelming. She went up and +broke off a flower as red as a ruby and as red as her mouth. As red, +too, as her blood, for a thorn stabbed her and she nearly dropped the +rose with a soft cry. But the wonder of it was stronger than the pain, +and she buried her face in the freshness of the red rose, the first +flower she had ever seen. + +Behind her, rising gently and quietly out of sight, was a smiling boy +and a tree of jewels she would never miss. + + + + +CHAPTER 31 + + +Chris's thoughts were so taken up with the pleasure of the little +Chinese Princess at her first rose that he had miscalculated. As a +matter of fact he had forgotten about the guards in his excitement at +holding the Jewel Tree and at getting away, and just as the eagle rose +to the top of the wall, one of the guards saw him. + +Had it been earlier, Chris could have risen quickly out of sight. But +the Jewel Tree was heavy in itself; the earth holding its roots was an +additional weight, so that the eagle only rose half as quickly as it +had before. + +The guard gave a shout, and a spear whistled past Chris's ear. +Instantly the flames of bonfires spurted on all the walls, and to his +terror Chris found himself in a glare of light as powerful as modern +searchlights. He clutched the Jewel Tree, urging the magic bird up, +but there are limits even to magic and the bird was moving at the peak +of its ability. Black racing figures darted along the walls, the +flames of the watchfires leapt higher in the air, and now arrows were +singing their keening note of death about the boy lifting so slowly +into the night. + +Chris, crouching behind the Jewel Tree, was rocked and nearly unseated +from the eagle when an arrow hit the earth around the Tree roots, +imbedding itself deeply and quivering there at an angle. The shouts +and confusion grew, but after a few terror-stricken moments Chris knew +he was high enough to be out of danger. He gave a deep shuddering sigh +of relief, and turned the head of the laboring eagle toward the city. +His thoughts were on escape, but first he had a duty that as an +honorable person he felt bound to perform. + +He was naturally observant; he had also made a point of noticing +landmarks, so that he found the garden from which he had taken the +rosebush without too much trouble. What he was totally unprepared for +was that the entire city of Peking, aroused by the watchfires on the +palace walls, was awake and in alarm, and the light of flares and +lanterns glowed from every house. + +Nevertheless, to replace the rosebush was an honorable necessity, and +in spite of wide canary-yellow blocks streaming from the windows of +the lesser palace and falling in broad sections over the lawns and far +into the gardens, Chris came down as much in the shadow of trees as he +could, and breaking off a sprig of the Jewel Tree, stuck it in the +ground where the rosebush had been. Then quickly regaining the eagle's +back, he was lifted into the air and up over the roofs. + +What was his consternation, however, on nearing the pine knoll, to see +the whole group of scrubby trees aflame, and no sign of Amos! The pine +needles and tree trunks thick with resin burnt fiercely. Chris did not +dare to come too close. Not only was the heat intense but the crowds +collecting below looked upward to watch in a puzzled way, while others +ran from near the palace gates to gaze and speculate. + +Chris turned sadly away, large tears for Amos running down his cheeks, +his heart constricted and his eyes half blinded, when from a great +distance, he heard a trailing call. + +"Oo-h Chris! You--Chris!" + +Chris's heart leapt up, and wiping his eyes clear he looked in the +direction of the sound. A balloon was moving rapidly away over the +peaked curved roofs of Peking, careening slightly from side to side as +it sailed on the night breeze. By the time Chris had caught up with +Amos in the balloon, Peking lay far behind them. + +Holding on to the edge of the basket, Chris blurted out: "What in the +world goes on, Amos? I thought you were burned alive! I was never more +scared in my life!" + +Amos's eyes, wider than ever from the excitement of events, batted at +Chris. "_You're_ scared! What do you think _I_ am? Get me out of +this--I never did want to be up in the air nohow, and I want out +_now_!" + +"But what about the fire, Amos?" Chris persisted, holding to the Jewel +Tree with one hand and the balloon basket with the other. "How did you +get out?" + +Amos sent a squeamish glance out of the corner of one eye at the +moving ground beneath them, and then, realizing that they were on +their way back to the _Mirabelle_, swallowed and began to talk. + +"I waited, like you said, an' I guess I fell asleep. All at once such +a noise, and flames flashing, woke me up, and right away, seeing fires +and commotion all over the palace walls, I supposed they had spotted +you somehow. I thought--should another fire break out somewhere else, +it might pull the crowds away from the palace, or make them think +something was goin' on up there. So I lit a fire with my flint, and +then ran right quick with the package to the ledge, struck three +times, and shut my eyes"--here Amos covered his eyes with one +hand--"and got in. And this silly thing's been a-tippin' and +a-teeterin' ever since." + +[Illustration] + +Chris brought balloon and eagle down into a rice field, and the two +boys transferred the Jewel Tree to the greater safety of the balloon +basket. Amos, having the wonderful Jewel Tree to guard, forgot his +fears and sat down beside it, where he soon fell asleep. Chris, tying +the tail of the eagle to the side of the basket with his shirt, towed +Amos and the Jewel Tree through the air all that night and all the +next day. They came down at noon in a deserted part of the country so +that Chris could sleep and rest, and Amos find fresh water for the +leathern bottles they had strapped to their waists. Then they went on +until they saw the sea and the wavering line of the coast below and +ahead of them. + +[Illustration] + +The eagle and balloon came gently down at dusk. The balloon was folded +into its small size and put back in the pouch around Chris's neck. Out +of sight of Amos, Chris transformed the eagle to a boat in which, in +the dark of the night, the two boys reached the side of the +_Mirabelle_ with their precious cargo. The sailors of the _Mirabelle_ +were asleep, but Chris roused the Captain, who helped them secretly +carry the Jewel Tree to a corner of his cabin. + +All hands were then called on deck and everything was hurry and +bustle. Before dawn had broken, the _Mirabelle_ had left the coast of +China and was well out to sea. + + + + +CHAPTER 32 + + +It was not until Chris, relieved, proud and happy at the success of +his mission, opened his sea chest and took out the shell that he had +the faintest vibration of trouble or danger. Until then he had lived, +breathed, and thought only of obtaining the Jewel Tree, and once that +had been accomplished, he felt that his anxieties were over. + +However, as he shut and locked the cabin door behind him, feeling with +an increased zest the surge and rock of the _Mirabelle_ under his feet +as she plunged through the sea, something brought him up short and +took the glow from his face. Slowly, and with a grave expression, +Chris went to his sea chest and took the shell from it, but he almost +knew before he heard it what Mr. Wicker would say. + +Nevertheless, when through the whorls of the shell at his ear he heard +the familiar voice, so far away and so long unheard, his eyes lit up +again. + +"You have done better than my fondest hopes, Christopher, my boy," +came Mr. Wicker's voice. "I cannot commend you enough for the success +of your difficult journey, and the manner in which with courage, quick +wit, and fortitude you met every danger. Amos is much to be praised +too. He is a loyal friend and I am proud of him as well as of you." + +Chris, kneeling by the brass-studded chest with the shell held to his +ear, could easily bring before his inner eye the cosy room in +Georgetown, the crackling logs upon the hearth, and the voice of Becky +Boozer raised in lusty song coming from the direction of the kitchen. + +He missed it. Much as he loved the _Mirabelle_, and much as he prized +the friendship of all aboard her, still, Mr. Wicker and Becky held an +especial place in his heart and he longed all at once, with almost +intolerable sharpness, to be at home once more. That his mother was +getting better he had never doubted, but kneeling there alone, he +suddenly wanted to have done with adventure for a while. + +"My boy--are you listening?" came Mr. Wicker's words, and Chris's +thoughts brought him back with a jolt to the cabin of a ship sailing +the China seas. "Christopher, my poor lad," Mr. Wicker said at his +ear, "had you forgotten the _Vulture_? + +"No," he answered for the boy, "not altogether, but perhaps just a +little. Yet make no mistake--the Captain of the _Vulture_ has not +forgotten _you_. Nor is he under any misapprehension as to who it was +who so skillfully crippled his ship so that he did not reach Peking +before you." + +Mr. Wicker's voice took on the edge it always held when he spoke of +Claggett Chew. + +"Claggett Chew waits for you beyond Shanghai in the East China Sea. Be +wary, and be rested, Christopher, for you will have a battle such as +you have never dreamed of, and even I cannot tell how it will end. It +will depend on your quickness and ingenuity. And do not forget the +leather pouch!" + +The voice of his friend hesitated, and then said so faintly and from +so far that it was all Chris could do to hear it: "I repeat, be wary, +Christopher. He will do everything in his power--" + +The voice faded away, and Chris with heavy gestures replaced the +shell, shut the lid of his sea chest, and unlocking the door, went +with dragging feet to tell Captain Blizzard of what awaited them. + +[Illustration] + +The wind was only moderately fair so that the _Mirabelle_ took some +time passing beyond the Yellow Sea. During those days Chris practised +his magic with more concentration than ever before. He rested and +slept, ate hugely, and exercised by climbing up the masts of the +_Mirabelle_, so that by the time a long dark line was sighted on +their starboard side on the Chinese coast and the approach to +Shanghai, Chris was fit and well as he had never been before. + +Warned by Chris in time, Captain Blizzard, on hearing of the dangers +ahead, had determined to put into port at Shanghai, and there, with +much haggling and bargaining, bought four cannons and ammunition. He +also laid in a store of swords, daggers, and assorted weapons for all +on board. + +[Illustration] + +Believing that an ounce of prevention was better than a pound of cure, +the worthy captain drilled all hands on the _Mirabelle_ twice a day +thereafter. This, the weather being fair and the ship needing only the +helmsman and a lookout to care for her, the sailors were quite willing +to do. More especially when their captain, in whom they had unbounded +faith, told them he had good reason to believe they would have a +nasty, and perhaps disastrous, encounter with the pirate ship during +which they bid fair to be bested if they did not bestir themselves and +prepare for it. + +The men entered into the training with gusto. They made dummies which +were hung on ropes and maneuvered by their friends, braced in the +rigging. The dummies were suddenly swung out and down in every +direction, in imitation of pirates boarding the ship, and were fallen +upon by the sailors of the _Mirabelle_ with roars of glee as if they +were at that very moment being tackled by the pirate crew. Then they +practised fast turning and tacking of the ship, and even in between +the regular hours set aside by the Captain for what he termed +"fighting time," several groups of men could always be seen on some +part of the deck practising dueling with sword and dagger. In short, +long before the _Mirabelle_ reached the East China Sea, its crew had +become proficient in all manner of hand-to-hand fighting. + +The _Mirabelle_ was level with the Ryukyu Islands on a gusty, glary +day when the lookout's long-drawn-out cry floated down from the +crow's-nest to those sailors who were engaged in a mock fight on deck. + +"Sail--ho-oo!" + +Instantly every man was at the ship's side, shading his eyes against +the dazzle that made a brassy light over sea and sky. The Ryukyu +Islands, off the port beam, were not visible in the metallic haze that +grew as the sun arched higher. The fitful wind gave promise of +stopping altogether and leaving both ships becalmed. + +Chris, on the bridge beside the Captain, stood looking through his +spyglass at the advancing sail. Captain Blizzard lowered his own glass +to turn enquiringly to Chris. + +"Yes," the boy said at last, "I'm sure now. I ought to know those +sails. They're unmistakable. That is the _Vulture_, sir." + +Captain Blizzard wheeled about before the last word had left Chris's +lips, and bellowed at the top of his lungs. + +"All hands on deck!" he roared. "Man the guns! Bring out the +ammunition, and every man to his place!" + +The training the men had gone through instantly asserted itself. +Although there was a great deal of running about, up and down the +ladder to the hold, and of handing up the heavy ammunition, all was +orderly, and not an extra word was spoken. + +There was little enough time left over, however. The _Vulture_ +approached rapidly and then crossed the bow of the _Mirabelle_ so +narrowly that the _Mirabelle_ had to put hard about and Captain +Blizzard roared orders to take in sail in order not to smash into the +pirate vessel before it had been carried by the breeze beyond its +prey. + +This maneuver by Claggett Chew momentarily threw the _Mirabelle's_ +crew into confusion and turned their attention to the hasty management +of their ship. To Chris, working with the men at whatever was most +urgent, it seemed only an instant before the _Vulture_ was again +alongside the _Mirabelle_, and Claggett Chew stood on the gunwale +hailing them. + +"Heave-to, or you shall sink to the sharks!" he cried. + +"Look to yourself, pirate!" Captain Blizzard thundered in reply, and +giving the signal, the unsuspected guns of the _Mirabelle_ belched out +their deadly charges. + +Claggett Chew was knocked back to the deck of his ship, and Chris had +time to see him shake off the hand of a sailor who would have helped +him to safety. Chris also saw, peeking out from the doorway of +Claggett Chew's cabin, the white horrified face of Osterbridge Hawsey, +who "could not _stand_ the sight of blood--so _common_!" The face +withdrew, and Chris could imagine the dandy playing cards or reading +as best he could in the din until the battle should be over. + +[Illustration] + +The pirates, many wounded and all taken aback at the unforeseen +presence of guns on board the _Mirabelle_, were tough fighters +notwithstanding, and moved the _Vulture_ in ever nearer until the two +ships, with fallen masts and entangled rigging, were locked on the +brazen sea in deathly struggle. + +Brave as the seamen of the _Mirabelle_ proved themselves to be, the +pirates were seasoned in pitiless combat. The guns of both ships +roared and coughed and the battle raged through the noon into the +afternoon. Finally, Chris could bear no more. The crew of his ship +were weakening, even as were those of the _Vulture_, and shuddering +though he was at the thought of the sharks in the sea, Chris knew he +had to use every method in his power if any on board were to survive. + +[Illustration] + +Keeping his own form he jumped into the blood-tinged water, his magic +knife open and ready in his hand. + + + + +CHAPTER 33 + + +The smoke of the guns of both ships so hung upon the air that Chris +counted on its heavy curtain to screen him from his enemies. He swam +to the far side of the attacking vessel and there forced his magic +knife for the second time against the side of the _Vulture_. + +He was treading water, holding to a rope that dangled over the side of +the ship when, with no interior tremor of warning, a cut that he +almost thought had penetrated to the bone lashed across his shoulders +narrowly missing his left ear. Without stopping to think Chris took +half a breath and submerged as deeply as he could go, hearing above +him, even through the sounds of the battle and the wavering water, the +"fleck!" of Claggett Chew's metal-tipped whip as it hit the water +where he had been only a second before. Chris would have dived under +the great barnacled hull of the _Vulture_ then and there, to come up +on the other side, but good swimmer though he was, he was unsure that +he could hold even a full breath for so long a dive. Added to this, he +had had no time to do more than gasp a momentary breath of air, and +even as he rose to the surface with bursting lungs, he saw the figure +of a man leap into the water from the side of the _Vulture_. + +Before the bubbles of the man's descent had had time to disappear, the +most dreaded of all sights for a swimmer showed itself above the +water. It was the sinister triangle of a shark's-fin cutting the +surface of the sea as it advanced with terrifying speed to where Chris +gazed, almost paralyzed with horror. + +Thrusting the knife into the pouch at his neck, Chris took the shape +of a dolphin and plunged deeply, even as the infuriated shark was +carried over and beyond him by its own impetus before it could turn. +But turn it did, with lightning speed, and Chris knew he had no +protection against that murderous underslung jaw racked above and +below with deadly teeth. + +The shark, in one long powerful movement, had turned and gone under +the dolphin, which now raced upward from the dim, lightless depths of +the sea to the surface where it hoped to escape. The shark turned on +its back with a motion at once lazy and sickening in its assurance of +its prey. Its soft greenish-white belly glimmered slimily in the sea, +its frightful jaws open as it came almost languidly up through the +water, certain of snapping its adversary in half. + +But in that one moment when it turned belly uppermost, its eyes were +unable to watch its goal, and in that moment the dolphin made a +desperate leap from the water and a sea bird soared into the air. + +The sea bird had no more than wheeled to sight the shark below, when a +scream from the air above it made it instantly drop and shift to one +side as a hawk, talons spread and eyes red with hatred, plunged down +from a great height, its beak open to seize and to rend. + +The sea bird, veering away on the wind, became a fly, but the hawk +instantly vanished to be replaced by a bat, which darted after the fly +with such velocity that it was the current of air from its wings that +drove the fly closer to the pirate ship. + +[Illustration] + +With a despairing effort, the fly flew directly into the smoke of the +battle, and at that moment a mouse hid in a corner near an overturned +cask shaking in all its limbs, its pointed teeth chattering with +fright. Finally regaining its breath, it ventured to look around the +corner. All seemed serene to the mouse, who saw no shadow of danger, +although sounds of battle still ebbed and flowed on the deck below it, +crisscrossed by shouts and orders, screams and groans, as the pirates +and the sailors of the _Mirabelle_ doggedly fought on. The mouse +wished to retake its own shape and continue its work with the magic +knife which had been interrupted, it thought, too soon to have done +any good. At last it decided to run along the deck near Claggett +Chew's cabin. From there it hoped to reach the side of the ship +nearest to the _Mirabelle_. + +As it slipped from its hiding place and began its run, it realized too +late its mistake, and panic almost overcame it. For a cat had been +crouched behind it and now gave a mighty pounce. One outstretched paw +came down on the mouse's tail, but the mouse wrenched it free and +desperate and panting, dashed into the first opening it saw. + +[Illustration] + +This proved to be no less than Claggett Chew's cabin, the door of +which had been left open so that Osterbridge Hawsey could watch the +fight with the least possible discomfort. He sat, somnolent, in a +comfortable chair, his long legs stretched out before him, smoking a +clay pipe. His attention wandering, as it so often did, he failed to +see the mouse who ran under his legs into the shadow beneath them. +The frantic mouse now determined, in the seconds left to it for +decision, to attempt a bold move. In a flash--in fact, as a black cat +with angry yellow-slitted eyes put its head around the door jamb--a +jade-green parakeet with red and yellow breast feathers hopped onto +Osterbridge Hawsey's ankle, and with a speed tempered by its most +engaging ways, sidled up Osterbridge Hawsey's outstretched leg. + +The yellow-eyed cat made a dash with both clawing paws outstretched to +fall upon the bird, but the parakeet fluttered into the air out of +reach and came down higher up on Osterbridge Hawsey's knee. +Osterbridge, startled from his daydream, shooed away the cat and got +up precipitously enough to give it a kick which sent it miaowling from +the cabin. Osterbridge, vastly pleased to see his green parakeet +again, was wreathed in smiles. + +"Ah, now!" he exclaimed, holding out a condescending finger, "Petit +Monsieur back again! How too simply enchanting! Just when poor +Osterbridge was _so_ bored and had no one to talk to! Well, my +pretty--" and both Osterbridge and the parakeet cocked their heads at +one another--"and where have _you_ been, I wonder?" + +Osterbridge examined the little bird perched on his finger and his +eyes were thoughtful. "It is true, you have a tiny mark at the side of +your jaw--if parakeets have jaws, my friend. But there is no such +thing as magic. Not the kind of magic whereby a human can be something +else!" + +He broke into peals of high laughter. "What a joke if it were +possible! Now what could _I_ be, eh?" + +He looked fondly at the bird and the bird looked back at him, daring +to open its beak and emit a small but clear "Haw!" + +"Haw yourself!" returned Osterbridge in high good humor. He leaned +back in his chair. + +"Now, all this is a most _engaging_ train of thought," he pursued. "If +I could change myself, _what_ should I be?" + +He fell to musing, and as he did so the dreaded shadow Chris had +anticipated fell across the doorway. A moment later Claggett Chew, +limping from an old wound and a newly received bruise, stood in the +entrance. + +Osterbridge Hawsey yawned. "Ah--there you are at last, Claggett," he +said, "Battle all over? It still sounds _rather_ ferocious, to me. But +of course I am no expert. Heaven forbid!" Osterbridge ended, rolling +his eyes toward the ceiling with his vague smile. + +As Claggett Chew did not reply, Osterbridge looked back at him. The +pirate's eyes were fixed on the parakeet, and his twitching fingers +played with the steel-tipped whip. Claggett Chew's voice when it came +was as sharp and as cold as a dagger in a dead man. + +"I will have that bird, Osterbridge," he said. + +Osterbridge's expression did not change but his eyes did, and they +became almost as icy as Claggett Chew's. + +"Oh no, you will not, Claggett," he said, and his high-pitched voice +managed to be saturated with sarcasm. "This is the one thing that is +keeping me from _unutterable_ boredom, while you go into your +interminable fight." He paused to give Claggett Chew a cutting look. +"You know how I feel about piracy--too terribly degrading, though I +can see it has its excitement and rewards. But it _is_ unnecessary--" + +Claggett Chew's eyes had a way of not blinking. They held a crocodile +fixity. His tone, when he spoke again, did not vary. "I am not a +trader, Osterbridge. Nor shall I bandy words with you on this subject. +Give me that bird, or I shall take it from you!" + +[Illustration] + +Osterbridge Hawsey rose with a slow grace from his chair, his hand +curled gently but protectingly around his parakeet. + +"Claggett," he said in his thin voice that cut now with the unexpected +thinness of paper, "I am sorry to say such a thing to you, but your +fever during the weeks just past has undoubtedly altered your brain. +You are a madman, Claggett." Osterbridge Hawsey removed himself with +deliberation from the proximity of the doorway, placing himself on the +other side of the cabin table over which hung the swinging lamp. He +did not turn his back to Claggett Chew nor take his eyes from him. + +[Illustration] + +"Kindly leave the room, Claggett," he went on, in too quiet a voice to +be otherwise than poisonous, "until you are more yourself. Your +conduct and tone are unbecoming to a gentleman," Osterbridge said, +with his head held high in disdainful dignity. + +They were an extraordinary sight. The shaven-headed, clay-faced pirate +looming so high and so huge in the doorway that he filled it +altogether, his clothes torn, filthy and stained from the battle and +from careless weeks at sea. His companion was a travesty of his +onetime elegance, dirty lace ruffles spotted by forgotten meals, his +velvet coat marked by chairbacks and soiled from months of constant +wear, his hair unwashed and sleazily caught back, no longer curled +with a fine exactitude. Both men had been housed together for too +long. Long ago they had exhausted all topics of conversation, their +two difficult personalities had for months been festering, each at the +sight of the other. + +Now Claggett Chew ground out between his clenched teeth: "You are a +fool, Osterbridge. Have always been one and will so remain. Do you +defy me and do not give up that bird, as hell is my witness I shall +snatch it from you with this whip, and nothing shall stop me!" + +Osterbridge reached behind him with his right hand, holding the +parakeet in an increasingly uncomfortable and tightening grip in his +left. On the wall behind him hung his rapier in its scabbard, +delicately incised and showing the fine workmanship of its French +origin. With a quick, deft movement, Osterbridge's fingers had found +the hilt and drawn the rapier out, his face snarling, his eyes +expressionless. They were fixed on Claggett Chew who had not moved +from where he leaned against the side of the doorway. + +Osterbridge Hawsey's voice was almost more frightening when he spoke +again than Claggett Chew's, as he slowly brought the rapier to his +side with quiet calculated gestures. + +"I have had enough of your ordering, Claggett. You may order your +scurvy men about as you wish--half-wits, rascals, thieves and +murderers who know no better than to do your bidding, knowing they may +well die by your hands as by some other. But you have met your match. +I, Osterbridge Hawsey, shall not give in to a madman and a murdering +pillager. How I ever came to join you or your pirates God alone knows, +but you shall not govern me! Nor shall you have one object that is my +own! _En garde!_" he cried, whisking out the rapier. + +As he did so--such is the force and training of habit--his left hand +automatically came up in the first position of the fencer and the +duelist, and as it came up and the fingers slackened about the +parakeet, the long whip lashed out and curled around Osterbridge +Hawsey's hand. The parakeet ducked into encircling fingers, +Osterbridge Hawsey let out a piercing scream, more of rage than of +pain, and opened his hand. The parakeet, liberated, flew straight into +the face of the man with the whip, pecking at it with its sharp beak, +scratching at it with his pin-like claws, and beating its wings in +such confusing fury that the pirate bobbed his head. At the same time +the big man stepped backward, throwing up his left arm in an attempt +either to catch the bird or drive it off. + +But the bird's attack lasted for only a moment. Then, as Claggett +Chew's fingers grasped at it, the parakeet was off over his shoulder +and lost in the din and obscurity of the battle. Behind it it heard +the cries of hatred and rage as the pirate and Osterbridge Hawsey +faced one another in the cabin to fight with whip and sword amid the +crash of overturned tables and chairs and the splintering crack of the +lamp and the windowpanes. + + + + +CHAPTER 34 + + +Safe on the _Mirabelle_, Chris, exhausted and increasingly conscious +of the pain of the whiplash, took his own shape with sighs of +thankfulness and looked about him. A wind was rising, rocking the +interlocked ships, and he could plainly see that the crew of the +_Mirabelle_ had done enormous damage to the _Vulture_ and its +attacking men. Cannon shots from the opening sally, and at such close +range, had broken two of its three masts, and the decks of the +_Vulture_ were a clutter and tangle of lines, sails and splintered +spars. The fact that the men of the _Mirabelle_ were in better +physical shape than the pirates stood them in good stead, for their +agility and strength had carried them through the battle even against +the wilier and more murderous knowledge of Claggett Chew's men. The +pirates, Chris could see, were turning back, and those who still +fought were one and all wounded or grazed, and losing ground with +every passing moment. + +[Illustration] + +Chris had been so terrified and panicstricken by his own personal +danger and fight for life that it took him a few minutes to catch his +breath and grasp the situation from where he stood on the Captain's +bridge. Wondering if he still had the strength to force a leak in the +_Vulture's_ hull, as he had begun to do, he felt in the leather pouch +at his neck for the knife. At the bottom of the pouch his fingernails +hit a gritty substance, and into his head came an echo of Mr. Wicker's +words: "Remember the leather pouch!" + +Taking out the knife, the folded balloon, and the map of where the +Jewel Tree had been, Chris, leaning against the side of the +_Mirabelle_, shook out the grainy stuff into the palm of one hand. + +It looked like ground-up lava. Gray-black, almost a powder, it had a +faintly sulphurous smell. As he turned it speculatively in his hand, +wondering how he was supposed to use it, a few grains sifted between +Chris's fingers and fell over the side into the sea. + +Instantly, as soon as they touched the water, several infinitesimal +flames started up, burning on the waves as hardily as if they had +fallen onto dry grass, and their heat produced a sturdy mist which +rose in heavy spirals from every grain. + +Then Chris knew what it was for. Shaking every particle carefully back +into the bag, he hurried to find Captain Blizzard. + +"Sir!" he cried as soon as he was within earshot, "the pirates are +bested, and we can make a safe escape if you will give an order to set +loose the grappling irons and lines and bid our men raise sail!" He +looked eagerly at Captain Blizzard. "The pirates look pretty tired +now, but the _Vulture_ might pursue us if I didn't know a way to stop +her!" + +The Captain looked thoughtfully at Chris and hesitated not at all. +Too much had already depended on the boy and had been faithfully +carried out for even Captain Blizzard to doubt of his ability. Orders +were quickly given to cast off from the pirate ship and Chris +disappeared to a hidden corner. There he hid everything the leather +bag had contained excepting the grainy powder. Next, taking the bag +from around his neck and leaving the mouth of it wide open, he changed +his shape to that of a sea gull. + +Taking the pouch in its beak the gull soared high above the two +vessels, now drifting imperceptibly apart. Sounds of violent fighting +could still be heard inside Claggett Chew's cabin, but the pirate crew +seemed grateful enough to fall to the bloody decks to rest and care +for their wounds. As the two ships finally stood clear of one another, +a resounding cheer of victory rose from the courageous members of the +_Mirabelle_. Their shirts ripped into hasty bandages, their bodies +glistening with sweat and rusty with their own or their foes' blood, +they were a bedraggled sight. Nevertheless, as they raised their arms +or flung their caps into the air, flinging after the pirates a few +last resounding epithets. Chris's heart swelled with emotion at the +men he was proud to call his friends. + +As the gull, he swung up into the air away from the _Mirabelle_, and +began shaking the dust from the open pouch on the sea around the +_Vulture_. By the time the bag was empty, a mist impossible for any +helmsman to see through had surrounded the battered ship from stem to +stern, and in despite of a freshening wind, was rising steadily to the +top of its one remaining mast. + +Chris returned to his own ship, and in his own shape at last, surveyed +the dwindling island of mist that clung persistently around the +Vulture, blow though the wind might, and turn and turn again though +the helmsman might try to do. How long, Chris wondered, would the mist +hold? Or would the _Vulture_ be doomed to drift at the mercy of the +sea in its magic white shroud? + +He gave it a long look, a diminishing irregular white shape on the +vast spread of the ocean, then turned quickly and went to the decks +below to help his wounded friends. Yet not before he had seen that the +prow of the _Mirabelle_ was turned triumphantly home! + + + + +CHAPTER 35 + + +Chris had always known, tucked away somewhere out of sight at the back +of his heart and his mind, that he loved his country and his city. But +he had never given it much thought; it had been something as taken for +granted as the air he breathed. So that he found himself overwhelmed +by the gust of emotion sweeping through him when he stood beside +Captain Blizzard as the _Mirabelle_ sailed slowly up the Potomac. + +Chris stood there with Amos on his other side, looking at the shores +that were both familiar and unfamiliar. Familiar when he saw Mount +Vernon on its imposing bluff; unfamiliar because no domes or obelisks +were to be seen; no airfield, and no Pentagon. But the sweet green +land itself was there, holding out its welcoming and individual scent +of fields and rich American soil. + +However, the Georgetown Ned Cilley and Amos remembered, the little +town from which they had all sailed in secrecy and haste so many +months before, was there awaiting them. The noon sun was bright over +the few slate roofs and red brick chimneys, and Chris felt a choke of +happiness binding his throat like a scarf too tightly drawn, and a +constriction at his heart as if it were too firmly held in a welcoming +hand. + +An excited happiness shook him as the _Mirabelle_ was eased to the +wharfside, and at last, after dangers and adventures beyond his +imagining, Chris not only knew that he was home again, but saw a +familiar black-dressed figure and a plump woman in a monstrous hat, +waiting for him to disembark. + +What a day that was! The greetings and handshakings; the enveloping +hug for Chris and Amos from Becky Boozer, her eyes filled with happy +tears and her bonnet trembling with agitation. Her roguish glances and +coy giggles flew out like a flock of doves at the sight of swaggering +Ned Cilley, who came down the gangplank carrying a macaw in a cage for +"Mistress Boozer," and hustled her behind some bales to kiss her +warmly. But most of all and best of the day, that first look from Mr. +Wicker that spoke more than any gesture or carefully chosen words +could have done. He had no need to speak. Chris could see the pride +and pleasure shining in his face, and Mr. Wicker, so solitary all his +life, could see in the boy's eyes an affection his own son might have +shown him. + +In due time a well-crated object was carefully hauled by cart to Mr. +Wicker's back door and taken inside. The ship's carpenter had made a +case to measurements given him without knowing what it was to hold, +and when Chris saw it at last set in a corner of Mr. Wicker's +well-remembered study, he knew a lightness of mind he had not had +since first he had been told of the Jewel Tree and his long journey. + +There were long hours of talk with Mr. Wicker before the fire, +telling him of every detail. Mr. Wicker's fine dark head nodded from +time to time, interspersing Chris's account with an occasional "Quite +so--you did perfectly right," or, "Indeed? I did not see that too +clearly, and so I was not sure." At last all was told; every tale +unfolded. + +Then Mr. Wicker rose, smiling at Chris. "Go have your supper lad, and +come back. I have some other things to say." + +The candlelit kitchen, the blazing hearth, the hissing spit on which +wood pigeons roasted; the steaming pots where savory things were +cooking; Amos laughing and chattering and swinging his legs from the +cane-bottomed chair; Becky Boozer alternating between bursts of happy +song and jokes directed at Amos or Ned Cilley, everything seemed +beautiful to Chris and the room the gayest he had ever known. Yet he +was conscious of a heavy feeling inside himself in spite of the +laughter and the talk, and sat quietly staring at the rosy firelight +that flowed up Becky's white apron and starched fichu to her hot, +flushed face and kind blue eyes. The reflection of the sparks went +even higher to gild the twenty-four roses and twelve waving black +plumes, and when they passed on, found a kindred spark in the large +contented eyes of his friend Amos. Ned Cilley was going through the +usual formula of pretending that he should not stay to supper, and +that even if he did, he had no appetite at all. + +"Ah now, Master Cilley," coaxed Becky, her hands on her hips and the +soup ladle she still held standing out at right angles, "you will fade +away into a wraith, my good man, so you will! Do you not eat a morsel +nor a mouthful, and die in the night, how shall I bear to live with my +conscience thereafter, tell me that?" + +Ned Cilley, seated at the table near the Water Street windows, his +legs sprawled out and his rough hands folded over his round little +paunch, twiddled his thumbs and wagged his head in a doleful manner, +drawing the corners of his mouth down, though it was plain that this +was an effort. + +"Eh, lack-a-day!" he sighed. "The life of a sailor, 'tis that +hard--is't not, me boys?" He wagged his head again. "The vittles is +hard on a stummick as delikit nor what mine be--" + +[Illustration] + +Amos put his hand over his mouth to stifle some sound that broke +through in spite of him. Ned gave him a reproving glance. "Or else, me +innards is ruint by that galley cook of ours." He sighed and nodded in +reminiscent sorrow. "Ah, sweet Boozer, were you to sample but a +spoonful of what us pore sailors must face week after week, and month +after month, and us on the high seas--you bein' such a delikit cook, +so to speak--your heart's blood would curdle on the instant, that it +would, by my cap and buttons!" + +Tears of pity streamed down Becky Boozer's face, and pulling out a +bandanna handkerchief from her apron pocket she blew her nose with a +honk that would have blown a less sturdy man than Ned Cilley off his +chair. + +[Illustration] + +"Deary me, the saints preserve and defend us!" she cried. "I must do +all in my poor weak woman's power to tempt you as best I may. Draw up, +lads, for here it comes!" she announced without ceremony, and the +three watching her needed no second invitation. + +Then such a feast as was heaped upon their plates and crowded on the +table. Steaming vegetable soup, roast pigeons, roasted ducks, several +boiled fowl with wild rice, a cold beef pie, several kinds of cheese, +tarts and pies, jams and preserves. A blissful silence fell over the +cheerful room and Becky Boozer stood back to survey the two busy boys +and engrossed silent man. Silent if one can call Ned Cilley's champing +jaws, smacking lips, great sighs after a draught of ale, or loud +appreciative belches a silent meal. + +When everyone had finished at last and they had pushed back their +chairs and looked about them again with dozy smiles, Chris remembered +Mr. Wicker's request. He rose, not without difficulty. + +"Mr. Wicker asked me to see him for a moment." He moved to the +passageway. "That was a superb supper, Becky. I'm stuffed." + +Becky looked around genuinely surprised. "Why--a mere mouthful, a +taste, a tidbit, was all any of you had. See--there's a pigeon or two +left, and half a duck, and part of the beef pie--why, you do but peck +at your food, all of you, like poor birds!" she insisted. + +Chris laughed. Ned Cilley, picking his teeth with his habitual ship's +nail, was already falling asleep, and Amos, his head on one hand, +propped himself up amid a jumble of empty plates. Peacefulness and +content lay everywhere in the room, warm as the firelight and as +pervasive. + +Chris turned. "Anyhow, thanks again. I'll be back," and he went along +to knock at Mr. Wicker's door. + +Inside, the ruby damask curtains were drawn close across the windows, +for it was nearly dark, and the fire here too was as red as the rose +that was the joy of a princess of China. Chris closed the door behind +him, looking around with a smile at the familiar walls and objects he +had missed and dreamed of, many a time, the table with its flowers in +a fine China bowl, the desk between the windows with the +long-feathered quill pens and the papers marked by Mr. Wicker's +meticulous hand, the carved cupboard at the end of the room, and the +Indian rug of many colors under his feet. Last of all he brought his +look back to Mr. Wicker, sitting in the winged leather chair. + +Mr. Wicker had a strange expression on his face. He was smiling but at +the same time he looked sad. And for the first time Chris saw some +curious-looking garments folded neatly on a stool before the fire. Mr. +Wicker, watching him as he gazed about, saw the question in his eyes. +"Do you not recognise these things, Christopher?" he asked. + +Chris looked more closely, touching nothing. His voice was bewildered. +"Well--it seems to me I may have seen them before--they sort of look +familiar, but--I couldn't be sure." + +His master's voice was gentle. "They are your twentieth-century +clothes, my lad. The ones you wear in your own time. And deeply as it +hurts me to say it, the moment has come for you to put them on." + +Chris raised startled worried eyes to the dark penetrating ones +watching him so quietly from the high-backed chair. "Not _yet_? I +don't have to go _now_, do I, sir?" And as he saw insistence in Mr. +Wicker's face he began to expostulate as a child does when it wants to +retard its bedtime. + +"But I've scarcely got back--I mean, here. And we've only had one +talk--I'm sure there'll be other things I've forgotten to say that you +should know--" + +He threw out his hands as if to grasp at something that might hold him +there. + +"And--and--I didn't say good-bye to Captain Blizzard or Mr. Finney. +They were wonderful to me, really they were! And"--his voice suddenly +became very small and high, disappearing to a whisper at the end--"and +Becky and Ned and dear Amos--" + +He stood there against the door, swallowing hard with his head down, +his stomach and his throat a mass of hateful knots and the whole of +him swamped with unhappiness. Mr. Wicker had never moved, his elbows +on the arms of his chair, and his folded hands just touching his chin. +At last Chris whispered: "Does it have to be?" + +[Illustration] + +"It has to be," said Mr. Wicker. + +Without a word, Chris took the folded clothes that seemed so +unfamiliar off the stool and dressed behind the other leather chair, +his lower lip trembling. Mechanically, as boys will, he shifted +everything from his pockets to those of the trousers he had just put +on. With careful slow gestures he folded up the knee breeches, the +full-sleeved shirt, the long white hose and silver buckled shoes, the +flare-backed jacket last of all, and put them where his clothes had +been. + +Mr. Wicker then spoke, getting slowly to his feet and standing with +his back to the fire. + +"I am afraid I shall have to have the leather pouch, Christopher," he +said, holding out his hand. Chris took it off and put it in the long, +strong hand of the magician. + +[Illustration] + +"More than that," Mr. Wicker said, putting the pouch in his pocket, "I +shall have to take everything from you that you have gained here, +Christopher." He paused. "All but one thing which you may choose and +keep--one ability." He waited. "Choose well." + +Chris looked up at the man he admired and respected and had grown to +love, and pondered deeply. + +To make a boat or eagle or dolphin out of rope? Very tempting! How the +kids would envy him! + +Or change himself in other shapes? So useful. He hesitated. + +"I'd like to be able to come back, sir," he said, and his growing +grief at those he must leave prevented him from saying anything else. +Mr. Wicker's face broke into a radiant smile and he held out his firm +hand. + +"So you shall, Christopher, so you shall! And you shall remember it +all, I promise you. That too, you can have." + +He stepped forward and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. His eyes +were deeply sad although his lips still smiled. + +"And now," said Mr. Wicker, "good soldier that you are for General +Washington and for your country, all that you learned must leave you +and remain with me." + +Mr. Wicker put his hand briefly on Chris's head, let it slip to cover +his eyes--so lightly it was scarcely felt--and then to cover his +mouth. Chris waited, but he felt no different. + +"Be a fly!" commanded the magician. + +Chris searched his mind. There were words to say, and you thought +hard. He tried once more, and a third time, and then wordlessly shook +his head. + +"Make a rope boat!" said Mr. Wicker. + +Chris took the rope and as it hung from his hands he wondered how one +set about it--he _had_ known how, once upon a time. He let the inert +rope fall to the floor. Mr. Wicker put a hand on his shoulder and +turned him toward the door. + +"Come, my boy," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER 36 + + +The shop was dark but headlights flashed by out on Wisconsin Avenue, +glaring over the meager display of objects in Mr. Wicker's window. +There seemed even fewer objects than before, Chris thought, for the +carved figure of the Nubian boy was gone, and so was the coil of dusty +rope. The ship in the glass bottle was still there, however. + +Mr. Wicker went forward in the darkness and leaning over, took up the +bottle with care from where it had lain for so many years, dusted and +polished only by the loving eyes of a boy who had often pressed his +nose against the Georgian panes. + +"You are to have this," Mr. Wicker said, putting the bottle with its +delicate contents in both Chris's hands. "Both Ned and I would like to +know that it is yours." + +He turned to put his hand on the doorknob. Chris found his voice. + +"What about the job, sir?" he broke out. "Can Jakey Harris apply for +it?" + +Mr. Wicker smiled, and it was strange, in that dim room inconsistently +lit by the lights of passing cars, Mr. Wicker looked exactly like a +venerable, wizened old man, when Chris knew perfectly well he was not. + +It's peculiar, he thought, the tricks your eyes play on you. Guess I'm +tired. + +"Jakey Harris for the job?" Mr. Wicker remarked, "Why no--there is no +job to fill. You filled it, Christopher!" + +[Illustration] + +And all at once, without any good-bye, Chris found himself outside on +the top step. The din of cars and honking horns rushed at him like a +gape-mouthed monster; the drumming whine and roar from the freeway +shook the ground, and up ahead the lights of the People's Drugstore +looked garish but friendly. Across the way as he turned to go home, +Chris glanced at the two tumbledown storehouses opposite, the winch +and tackle broken, and panes of glass missing from the windows. + +As he reached the corner of Wisconsin and M Street, Mike rushed +breathlessly up. + +"Hey! Here I am! Not much later than I said I'd be, either! What you +got?" he asked, falling into step beside Chris and looking down at the +bottle. + +"Mr. Wicker gave it to me," Chris replied in a colorless voice. + +"What for?" + +"I dunno. Guess he didn't need it." + +A silence fell, and then Mike said as they passed the strong light of +a shop window, returning down bustling M Street toward 28th: "Say--you +been running--or sitting by a fire? You look almost sunburnt. And +look--" + +They stopped dead while Mike put a grubby forefinger on a mark on +Chris's jaw. "I never noticed that before. It shows up white an' +plain. Must have been a pretty deep cut ya had there!" + +For the first time in what felt like hours, Chris smiled, and the +smile became a grin. + +"It sure was!" he said reminiscently. + +"Oh--an' by the way," Mike said much farther along as he left Chris to +go on to his own house, "your Aunt Rachel called my ma and told her +your mother was so much better she could come home soon. Seems that +your father's on his way back too." He walked off and then turned to +call from a quarter-block away, "Bet you'll be glad to have your own +folks at home?" + +Chris's grin deepened but he did not reply, nor even wave, for fear of +dropping the bottle. + +N Street, then Dumbarton Avenue, dropped behind him, and he came to +Happy's Grocery with the bookshop on the opposite corner. He stood +looking at his lighted windows, the lighted windows of his house, +remembering a time when he and Amos had seen only a wooded ridge and a +burnt-out campfire. + +Something stirred in his mind, and after finding the front door +unlatched, he eased himself in and up the stairs as quietly as he +could. He did not want to face his Aunt Rachel for a few minutes +longer. + +In his own room he shut the door and carefully lifted the _Mirabelle_ +in its bottle to the place of honor on top of his chest of drawers. +Then he stood looking at his reflection in the small mirror hung askew +near the window. + +He looked the same--well, not quite. The tiny scar was there, to prove +it was not a dream, and he quickly undid his shirt, and pulling it +off, got up on a chair to peer over his shoulder to see how his back +looked in the square of glass. + +A whiplash like a long clean briar tear lay across his shoulders, and +as he looked, he almost felt again the searing cut. + +Chris grinned, buttoning up his shirt. Then it had been no dream, no +childish imagining. + +A voice soared up the stairs. "Chris! Chris darling? Are you home?" + +Aunt Rachel had news for him of his mother's imminent return. + +Chris opened his bedroom door, pulling out from his pocket the first +thing his fingers hit on, and as he went downstairs whistling, +"Farewell and Adieu, to you Spanish Ladies," he tossed and caught, and +tossed and caught again, an old silver button burnt black in a fire. + + * * * * * + + + + +$3.25 + + +_Mr. Wicker's Window_ + +_by_ + +Carley Dawson + +When twelve-year-old Chris entered Mr. Wicker's shop to inquire about +a job for his friend, something about old Mr. Wicker forced him to +take the job himself. Chris found himself the pupil of Mr. Wicker, not +the old man he first saw, but a powerful man in his forties--a +magician. Chris learned how to turn himself into a fish, a bird, a +fly, and with a magic rope he learned to make a boat or even an +elephant. + +Chris had been chosen to sail to China on a mysterious mission. Long +before he sailed, Chris met the enemies who would try and stop +him--evil Claggett Chew, the dandy Osterbridge Hawsey, the treacherous +old beggar Simon Gosler. With a Nubian boy Chris brought to life with +magic, he set out on his hazardous voyage. + +Carley Dawson writes beautifully, combining fact and fantasy with +skill. Her characters are lifelike and vivid, and the plot of this, +her first book, is fantastically exciting and exceptionally +outstanding. With power and imagination Lynd Ward has illustrated the +book with over eighty drawings in two colors. + +_Illustrated by_ + +Lynd Ward + + * * * * * + + + + +Johnny Tremain + +_By Esther Forbes_ + + +Illustrated by + +_Lynd Ward_ + + +"If Jonathan Lyte Tremain never lived in the flesh, he lives vividly +with the men of his time in this book. So we dare to put him among the +people of importance. + +"He is a boy, an apprentice to a silver-smith in Boston, when we meet +him just before the American Revolution. Casting the handle of a sugar +basin for John Hancock, he seriously burns his right hand. He is +crippled, the work that he loves must be given up--forever. Johnny +goes through some hard and bitter times before he finds his work in +the struggle that is to free the Colonies from British rule. The +solution comes through the young printer, who likes Johnny and +befriends him. Rab, too, is a 'person of importance.'... + +"This story of Johnny Tremain is almost uncanny in its 'aliveness.' +Esther Forbes's power to create, and to recreate, a face, a voice, a +scene takes us as living spectators to the Boston Tea Party, to the +Battles of Lexington and of North Creek. It takes us, with Johnny, to +the secret meetings of the Sons of Liberty, to the secret training of +the Minute Men...." + +_Saturday Review of Literature_ + +$3.00 + + * * * * * + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Wicker's Window, by Carley Dawson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. WICKER'S WINDOW *** + +***** This file should be named 28952.txt or 28952.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/9/5/28952/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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