The activity and tumult6 were very small and faint under the bright stars in that harbour girdled about with palms. Though the rugged7 slopes of wild mountains, rising like escarpments above the harbour, by day completely dwarfed8 it, yet the stars made the mountains seem by night mere9 pigmy hills, and even the many sounds, which a great echoing redoubled, seemed smaller and fainter in the presence of the vast spaces that such a night suggests.
Although the men in the foremost boat rowed out of time and clumsily, their fierce efforts kept them their lead, and they were still far in advance of their pursuers when they tossed up their oars and crouched10 panting on the thwarts11 in the shadow of the ship.
"Ropes, you fools!" the Old One called. "Cast us ropes! Ropes! Bind12 fast this bird we've caught and trice him up! Now, my hearts, swing him aloft—there he swings and up he goes! Well done! I'll keep him though I risk my neck in doing it. Make fast a rope at bow and at stern! Good! Every man for himself! Up, thou! And thou! Up go we all! Come, tally13 on and hoist14 the boat on board! And the men are aloft? Well done, Jacob! Haul up the anchor and let fall the courses!"
It was plain from their manner that those who came swarming15 up the sides had a story to tell, but there was little time then for story-telling. The pursuing boats lifted their oars and swung at a distance with the tide, since it was plain for all to see that they were too late to overhaul the fugitives16. Although on board the stranger ship there were signs and sounds of warlike activity, she too refrained from aggression17; and the Old One, having no mind to traffic with them further, paced the deck with a rumble18 of oaths and drove the men alow and aloft to make sail and be gone.
It was "Haul, you swine!"
And "Heave, you drunken dogs!"
And "Slacken off the weather braces19! Leap for your lives!"
And "Haul, there, haul! A touch of the rope's end, boatswain, to stir their spirits!"
And "Come, clear the main topsail! Up aloft to the topsail yard, young men! A knife, you dog, a knife! Slash20 the gaskets clear! A touch of the helm, there! Harder! Harder! There she holds! Steady!"
Then Harry21 Malcolm called from the quarter-deck in his quiet, quick voice, "The swivel gun is loaden, Tom. I'll chance a shot upon the advantage."
"Good, say I!" quoth the Old One. "And if the first shot prove ill, amend22 it with a second."
They saw moving on the forecastle the light of a match, and after such brief space of time as a spark takes to go from brace-ring to touchhole the gun, which was charged with small shot for sweeping23 the deck if an enemy should board the ship, showered the distant boats with metal. They saw by the splashing that the charge had carried well and that Malcolm's aim was true, and a yell and a volley of curses told them as well as did the splash, which was dimly seen by starlight, that the shot had scored a hit.
While a sailor sponged the gun, Harry Malcolm gave a shog to the full ladle of powder, and keeping his body clear of the muzzle24, put the ladle home to the chamber25, where he turned it till his thumb on the ladle-staff was down, and gave it a shake to clear out the powder, and haled it forth again. Then with the rammer26 he put the powder home and drove after it a good wad and in anger and haste called for a shot.
Then the Old One laughed through his teeth. "Go thou down, Jacob," cried he, "and give them a ball from the stern chaser. To sink one of those water snakes, now, would be a message worthy27 of our parting. Jacob! Jacob, I say!"
There was no answer from old Jacob.
It was Boatswain Marsham who cried back, "He hath gone."
"Gone?" quoth the Old One. His face, as the starlight revealed it, was not for the reading, but despite him there was something in his voice that caught the attention of the men.
"Gone?" the Old One repeated, and leaned down in the darkness. The shadows quite concealed28 his face when he was bent29 over so far that no light from above could fall on it, but he raised his hand and beckoned30 to the boatswain in a way there was no mistaking.
In response to the summons of the long forefinger31, Phil climbed the ladder to his side.
"You say he hath gone," the Old One quietly repeated. "When did he go?"
"I do not know. He kept the deck when I went below for supper."
"How did he go?"
"Nor do I know that. But three men came into the cabin by way of the gallery while I was there—"
"Three men, say you? Speak on." The Old One leaned back and folded his arms, and though he smiled, he listened very carefully to the story the boatswain told.
"And when you came on deck he was gone." The Old One tapped the rail. "You have booklearning. Can you navigate32 a ship?"
"I can."
"Yea, it may well be that now we shall have need of such learning. It was an odd day when you and I met beside the road. I shall not soon forget that ranting33 fool with the book, who was as good as a bear-baiting to while away an afternoon when time hung heavy. Oft ha' we left him fallen at the crest34, in the old days when he dwelt in Bideford, but Jacob saw no sport in it, nor could he abide35 the fellow." The Old One looked Phil frankly36 in the eye and smiled. "In faith, I had a rare game that day with Martin, whose wits are but a slubbering matter at best. But that's all done and away with. And Jacob hath gone! Let him go. Betide it what may, there is one score I shall settle before my hour comes. Go forward, boatswain, and bear a sharp watch at sea, and mind you come not abaft37 the mainmast until I give you leave."
The Old One spoke38 again when Phil was on the ladder. "Mind you, boatswain: come not abaft the mainmast until I give you leave. I bear you nought39 but love, but I will have you know that in what I have to do I will brook40
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CHAPTER XVI THE HARBOUR OF REFUGE
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CHAPTER XVIII TOM JORDAN'S MERCY
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