Говард Пайл - The Story of Jack Ballister's Fortunes

Several of the redemptioners had come up on deck; one or two of them, doubtless remembering the tumult and disorder of the night before, wore a hang-dog doubtful look. Suddenly Jack saw the mate coming toward them from aft. “What are ye doing up here on deck!” he called out. “Weren’t you ordered below last night? Very well then, you go down below now, and don’t ye come up till you’re sent for; d’ye hear?” The men, though sullen and lowering, had no thought of disobeying the mate’s orders, and Jack, with the others, climbed down the ladder into the forecastle again.

It was well toward the middle of the day, and Jack was lounging in his berth, when Dred suddenly appeared in the steerage. He stood looking silently around for a moment or two, and then, seeing Jack, beckoned to him. Dred did not speak until they were out in the forecastle. “The agent’s come from shore to take you all off, lad,” said he; “he’s with Captain Butts in the cabin now, and in a minute or two you’ll be sent for.”

“To take us ashore?” said Jack. A sudden, keen pang gripped his heart, followed instantly by an utter falling away of the spirits, that left him almost physically weak. “To take us ashore?” Had the time then come at last?

“Aye,” said Dred, “ye’ve got to go ashore now, lad. But sit you down there a bit,” and he pointed to a sea-chest. “I’ve a notion to try and tidy ye up a bit. I don’t choose to have ye looking like they riff-raff,” and he jerked his head toward the steerage. “D’ye see, we two ha’ been mates, ha’n’t we?” He had taken out his gunny-bag, and he now brought out of it his needle and thread. He looked up at Jack from under his brows and then looked away again. Jack did not return the look but sat with dry and choking throat, his breath coming hot and heavy from him. “Well, then,” said Dred, “seeing as we’re messmates, I won’t have ye going ashore looking like nothing but trash. Give me your coat and waistcoat.” He had threaded his needle and waxed the thread deftly. Jack stripped off his coat and waistcoat, and without a word Dred began mending the frayed and tattered edges of the waistcoat. Jack sat silently in his shirt-sleeves watching him. He knew that Dred was talking for the sake of talking. He felt almost stifled with his hot and labored breathing as he sat watching the other’s busy fingers.

“There, that looks betterish,” said Dred, holding the waistcoat off and looking at it, still carefully avoiding Jack’s eyes as he did so. “Here, take it,” and he tossed it to Jack. “And now for the coat. I be a wonderful man at mending clothes, ben’t I? Lord! what a hole is here, to be sure.” There was a long time of silence, Dred busily sewing away at the coat. “There,” said he at last, “what d’ ye think of that for a bit of mending? Well, well, lad, the time comes to all on us to part some time, so what matters it soon or late? Harkee, Jack; don’t you go making trouble for yourself. You be a good boy, and you’ll be treated well enough, I dare say. You’re mightily young yet, and five or six year won’t matter so much to you, and then think o’ what a deal you’ll see in that time.” He was talking very briskly, meantime putting away the needle and thread neatly.

Five years! Jack stood watching Dred fumbling in his gunny-bag. Presently he fetched out a pair of yarn stockings. “Here, put these on,” said he, “the ones you got be all full of holes. Give ‘em to me.”

Jack did not dare to trust himself to speak. He began dumbly changing his stockings, Dred standing over him.

Suddenly the boatswain appeared at the companion-way of the forecastle, and piped all hands up on deck. Jack and Dred went up together. Captain Butts and the agent were standing waiting for the men, the agent holding a little packet of papers in his hand. Jack, in a glance, saw that the agent was a tall, lean man dressed in rusty black, wearing a long, black coat, and with the flaps of his hat tied up with leather thongs. His lips moved as he counted the redemptioners, one by one, as they came up out of the companion-way and were formed in a line before him by the boatswain. A great, flat boat, rowed by four negroes and with a white man in the stern, had been made fast to the side of the brig. “Nineteen, twenty – that’s all of ‘em, Captain,” – the agent had counted Jack in with the others, – “and very lucky you’ve been with ‘em. Now, Bo’s’n, get ‘em down as soon as you can.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the boatswain; and then to the men, “Now then, look alive, my hearties, and don’t take all day about it!”

Then, suddenly, Jack went straight up to where the agent stood. “Sir,” said he, hoarsely, “I have been ill-used. I was knocked down and kidnapped, and brought away from home against my will. Will you not listen to me and hear what I have to say?”

“Hold your noise!” roared the captain.

“No, I won’t, neither,” said Jack. He did not expect much, indeed he felt that he had no hope of escape, but still the effort was worth making. He stood chokingly looking at the agent, and he felt that his heart was beating very heavily within him.

“I don’t know anything about what you say,” said the agent. “The bill calls for twenty men shipped from Southampton, and your name must be among them. What’s your name?”

“Jack Ballister.”

“Yes, here ’tis – John Ballister – shipped for five years. If there is something wrong, you’ll have to hold Captain Butts and Mr. Hezekiah Tipton to answer. I’m only an agent, and ’tis none of my business.”

“I wish I had ye for a couple of days longer,” said Captain Butts, “I’d answer ye, I would. I’d put my answer upon your back, I would, afore I let ye go.”

“But Master Hezekiah Tipton is my own uncle,” said Jack.

“I don’t know anything about that,” said the agent, “’Tis none of my business.”

Jack did not say another word. He crossed the deck, hardly knowing what he was doing, and climbed down into the boat, where the other transports were already seating themselves. A moment or two, and the agent followed, and then immediately the boat was cast loose. As it pulled away toward the shore, Jack gave one look back across the widening stretch of water. It was almost like a dream; it seemed to him as though that which was passing was not really happening to him. Dred’s red handkerchief gleamed like a flame against the blue sky as he stood on the rail looking after the departing boat. Then Jack turned his face quickly away. He could not trust himself to look again, lest he should break down before all the boat-full of men.

A little scattered cluster of men stood upon the wharf waiting for the flat boat as it drew nearer and nearer, and when it struck the piling with a bump half a dozen willing hands caught the line that was thrown them and made it fast. Jack scrambled with the others to the wharf under the curious gaze of those who stood looking on. They were formed into a line, two by two, and then marched down the wharf toward the shore. The loungers followed them scatteringly. Beyond the wharf they crossed a narrow strip of beach, and climbed a sloping, sandy road cut through the high bluff. At the crest they came out upon a broad, grassy street, upon which fronted the straggling houses, one or two built of brick, but most of them unpainted frame-structures, with tall, sharp-pointed roofs and outside chimneys of brick. A curious smoky smell pervaded the air. People stood at their doors looking at Jack and his companions as they marched two by two down the center of the dusty street.

So at last they reached and were halted in front of a large brick warehouse. Then the agent opened the door, and they entered. Within it was perfectly empty, and smelt damp and earthy from disuse. The board floor was sunken unevenly, and the plaster was broken from the walls here and there in great patches. The two windows, which looked upon the rear of the adjoining houses, were barred across with iron. Jack heard his companions talking together. “Well, Jack,” said Sim Tucker, “here we be at last.”