Aлександр Грин - The ships in Liss

"I know what that pirate's looking for," declared Duke. "Did you see the brigantine that cast anchor at the very entrance? The Felicity. They say it's loaded with gold."

"I don't know that vessel," said Renior. "I saw her, of course. Who is her captain?"

Nobody knew. Nobody had seen him. He had not made a single call and had not come to the hotel. Just once three sailors from the Felicity, middle-aged and decorous people pursued by curious glances, came from the ship into Liss, bought some tobacco, and did not appear again.

"A pup," grumbled Estamp. "A lout. Stay in your cabin, lout," he suddenly flushed and turned towards the window, "maybe you'll grow a moustache."

The captains broke into guffaws. When the laughter had died down, Renior said:

"There's nothing to be done, we're locked in. I'd give up my cargo with pleasure-after all, what do I care about someone else's lemons? But to give up the President..."

"Or the Marianne," interrupted Duke. "What if she were blown up?" He grew pale and drank down a double shot. "Don't speak to me about such terrible and fateful things, Renior!"

"I'm so sick of hearing about your Marianne," shouted Renior, "that I would even welcome an explosion!"

"And may your President sink!"

"Wha-a-at?"

"Captains, don't quarrel," said Estamp.

"I know you!" cried out Chinchar to a very surprised visitor. "Come here, treat an old fellow!"

But the visitor turned his back. The captains sank into thought. Each had his own reasons for wishing to leave Liss as quickly as possible. A distant fortress was expecting Duke. Chinchar was in a hurry to play out his little swindle. Renior thirsted for a reunion with his family after a two-year's absence, while Estamp was afraid that his crew, which was a loose assemblage, would leave him. Two of them had already run off and were now at the Prickly Pillow bragging about fantastic adventures in New Guinea.

These vessels – the Marianne, the President, Chinchar's Hermit, and Estamp's Aramea – had taken refuge in Liss from the pursuit of hostile privateers. The high-speed Marianne had been the first to fly in, the next day the Hermit had come crawling, and two days later the Aramea and the President dropped anchor, panting. Including the mysterious Felicity, there were in all five ships in Liss, not counting barges and small coastal vessels.

"Therefore I say that I want Bitt-Boy," the tipsy Duke began to speak again. "I'll tell you a little something about him. Of course, you all know that milksop, Beppo Malastino. Well, there was Malastino staying in Zurbagan, drinking 'Good God', ( Deadly stuff. Pure alcohol infused with cayenne pepper, and containing a small amount of honey.-Author). and holding his Butuzka on his lap. In walks Bitt-Boy. 'Malastino, weigh anchor, I'll pilot your vessel through Kasset. You'll be in Akhuan Skap before everyone else this season.' What do you think, captains? Many a time I'd sail through Kasset with a full cargo, and that idiot Malastino would have done well to heed Bitt-Boy blindly. But Beppo thought it over for two days. 'Oh a storm belt... oh, blah blah, the buoys've been torn off...' But the crux of it, lads, wasn't in buoys. Ali the Turk, Beppo's ex-boatswain, made a hole in his brig directly across from the mizzen and sealed it with pitch. A wave would have quickly washed it away. Finally the swooning Beppo sailed through the infernal strait with Bitt-Boy; he was late, of course, and the money in Akhuan Skap had come to like others more than that wop, but ... isn't Bitt-Boy a lucky-chap! In Kasset they were hurled against the reefs... Now, several barrels of honey that stood near the Turk's hole had begun to ferment, most likely back in Zurbagan. These barrels burst, and about four tons of honey battened down the hole with such a collision mat that the planking never gave way. Beppo turned cold when he discovered it during the unloading in Akhuan Skap.

"Bitt-Boy... I would have begged him to come to me," remarked Estamp. "Some day, Duke, they'll hang you for the powder anyway, but I have children."

"I'll tell you another story about Bitt-Boy," Chinchar began. "This affair..."

A dreadful, jolly racket interrupted the old swindler. Everyone turned towards the door, many began to wave their hats, and some rushed to greet the newcomer. A collective roar raced like the wind through the vast hall, while individual shouts burst through the enthusiastic uproar:

"Bitt-Boy! Bitt-Boy! Bitt-Boy, bearer of good fortune!"

The person greeted by such a meaningful and delightful appellation reddened deeply, stopped at the entrance, laughed, waved a greeting, and went to the captains' table. He was a well-built person of no more than thirty, not tall, and with a pleasant, open face that expressed tenderness and strength. There was a calm liveliness in his eyes, while his facial features, his figure, and all his movements were notable for their dignity, which was more a reflection of an inner calm than an habitual assertion of character. His thoughtful voice was extremely distinct but not loud. Bitt-Boy wore a pilot's cap, a brown jersey, a blue belt, and heavy-looking shoes; a raincoat was thrown over his arm.

Bitt-Boy shook dozens and hundreds of hands... His smiling glance moved freely about the circle of friendly grins; wreaths of pipe smoke, the white glitter of teeth in coffee-coloured faces, and a multi-hued fog of eyes surrounded him for several minutes – the vibrant cloud of a cordial meeting. He finally disentangled himself and fell into Duke's embrace. Even Chinchar's mournful eye cheered up, as did his caustic jaw. The stolid, ox-like Renior softened, and the tough, egotistical Estamp gave a slight but childlike smile. Bitt-Boy was everyone's favourite.

"You, fortune's drummer!" said Duke. "Haven't seen hide nor hair of you! You weren't perhaps some modern Jonah in the belly of a nasty whale? Where did you disappear to? What d'you know? Take your pick: the whole damn fleet's on hand. But we're stuck, like a wedge driven into some blockhead. Save the Marianne."

"You mean the privateer, do you?" asked Bitt-Boy. "I saw him. A short tale, lads, is better than long interrogations. Here's the story; yesterday I took a yawl in Zurbagan and sailed to Liss; it was a dark night. I'd heard about the privateers; therefore I stole along the shore behind the rocks, where the cliffs are overgrown with moss. I was protected by their colour. Twice the search light of an unfriendly cruiser passed by me; the third time something made me lower the sail. In an instant... the yawl and I were illuminated like a fly on a plate. Because of the rocks, the shadows, the moss, and the clefts, I couldn't be distinguished from the emptiness, but had I not lowered the sail... And so Bitt-Boy got here safe and sound. Renior, do you remember the firm Heaven and Co.? It sells tight shoes with nails driven right through; I bought a pair yesterday, and now my heels are all bloody."

"Aye-aye, Bitt-Boy," said Renior, "but you're a courageous person. Bitt-Boy, pilot my President, if you were married..."

"No, the Hermit," declared Chinchar. "I know you, Bitt-Boy. I'm rich now."

"Why not the Aramea?" asked the stern Estamp. "I'm prepared to defend my right to leave with a knife. With Bitt-Boy it's a sure thing."

The young pilot was about to say something else when he suddenly became grimly serious. With his chin propped on his small hand he looked at the captains, quietly smiled with his eyes, and, out of consideration for the mood of others, got control over himself. He took a drink, tossed up the empty glass, caught it, lit a cigarette, and said:

"I thank you; I thank you for your kind words, for your confidence in my luck... I do not seek it. I can't give you my answer now; that is, a definite one. There is a certain circumstance.