and his mind was all of a swirl and eddy like the waters astern.
It was a nasty, drizzly, muggy day, and Tom stood leaning on the window-sill in the bar-room, trying to look out into the street through the dirty, fly-specked window. The room was full of sailors, many of them, no doubt, belonging to the privateers that were fitting out at the docks, of which Mr. Lovejoy had spoken. There was a party of them playing cards at a sloppy table that stood beside the bar. The day was so dark with the rainy drizzle that they had a lighted candle amongst them, so that they might be able to see the game. The room, hazy with tobacco smoke, was full of the noise of loud talking and the air was reeking with the heavy smell of hot liquors. But, Tom stood looking out of the window, with his mind all of a toss and a tumble; for the last words of old Nicholas Lovejoy sounded in his ears through all the loud talking and foul words: – “I shouldn’t wonder if you would clear a thousand or twelve hundred dollars in the first twelve months.”
At times they sounded so clearly that he could almost believe that they were spoken by some one standing beside him. The more that the words rang in his ears, the more he thought what a fool he had been in not taking up with Mr. Lovejoy’s half offer. Why should he be squeamish? If every one were so, things would come to a pretty pass, for the navy was weak – in numbers – and the British were sending out their privateers all over the ocean; and who was to fight them and protect our own shipping if no one helped the navy?
So Tom argued within himself in the most reasonable way in the world, for the temptation was very great.
As he stood thus, looking out of the window and seeing nothing, for his eyes were turned within himself, some one suddenly smote him upon the shoulder, and a voice roared in his ear, “Helloa, Tom Granger! where are you bound?”
It was a voice that Tom Granger knew very well, for there could be no other such in all of the world; it made one’s ears quiver, even when it was softened somewhat to talking. So, even before Tom turned his head, he knew that Jack Baldwin was standing behind him.
Jack Baldwin had been second mate of the Quaker City on the voyage to the East Indies.
Tom Granger never saw in all his life such another man as Jack Baldwin. He stood nearly six feet and two inches in his stockings. His hair and beard were black and curly, and his eyes were as black as two beads. Tom once saw him pick up a mutinous sailor – a large and powerful man – and shake him as you might shake a kitten. To be sure, he was in a rage at the time. He was better dressed than Tom had ever seen him before. There was something of a half naval smack about his toggery, and, altogether, he looked sleek and prosperous, – very different from what Jack ashore does as a rule.
Jack Baldwin saw that Tom Granger was looking him over. “I’m on the crest of the wave now,” said he, in his great, deep voice, grinning as he spoke. “Look’ee, Tom,” and he fetched up a gold eagle from out of his breeches pocket. He spun it up into the air, and caught it in his palm again as it fell. “There’s plenty more of the same kind where this came from, Tom.”
“I wish that I only knew where the tree that they grow on is to be found,” said Tom, ruefully.
“So you shall, my hearty. And do you want me to tell you where it is?”
“Yes.”
“Tom, you’re a loon!”
“Why so? Because I want to know where the tree grows where gold eagles may be had for the picking?”
“You were at the place this very blessed morning, and might have gathered a pocketful of the bright boys if you hadn’t run before a little wind as though it was a hurricane.”
“What do you mean?” said Tom, though he half knew without the asking.
“That I’ll tell you – here, you, bring me a glass of hot brandy and water; will you splice, Tom?”
“Not I.”
“I bring to mind that you were always called the Quaker aboard ship, and the name fits you well. You will neither fight nor drink, without you have to.”
So the grog was brought, and Jack Baldwin and Tom Granger sat down, opposite to one another, at a rickety deal table.
Presently Jack leaned over and laid his hand on Tom’s arm. “Where do you think I hail from, Tom?” said he.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll tell you: from old Nick, or old Lovejoy, or Davy Jones, – whichever you choose to call him. I was with him not ten minutes after you left. He sent me after you, to hunt you up; so I came straight here, like a hot shot, for I knew I’d find you in the old place. Sure enough, I’ve found you, and here we are, – shipmates both.”
“And what did you want of me?”
“That I’ll tell you. Tom,” – here he lowered his voice to a deep rumble – “have you seen the Nancy Hazlewood?”
“No.”
“Well I’ll show her to you after a bit. She is lying in the river, just below Smith’s Island. She’s the new privateer.”
Tom’s heart beat more quickly, but he only said, “Is she?”
“Who do you think’s the owner, Tom?”
“How should I know?”
“Old Lovejoy!” Here Jack raised his glass of grog, and took a long pull at it, looking over the rim at Tom all the while. Tom was looking down, picking hard at the corner of the table.
“I don’t see that this is any concern of mine,” he said, in a low voice.
“Don’t you? Well, I’ll tell you what concern it is of yours; I’m to be first mate, and I want you to be second, – and now the murder’s out!”
Tom shook his head, but he said nothing.
Jack Baldwin slid his palm down, until it rested on the back of Tom’s hand. “Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said he, roughly; “I like you. We’ve been messmates more than once, and I don’t forget how you kept that yellow coolie devil from jabbing his d – d snickershee into my back, over off Ceylon. There’s no man in all the world that I’d as soon have for a shipmate as you. Old Lovejoy, too; – he says that he must have you. He knows very well that there isn’t a better seaman living than the one that stands in Tom Granger’s shoes. Don’t be a fool! Go to the old man, name your own figure, for he’ll close with you at any reasonable terms.”
So Jack talked and talked, and Tom listened and listened, and the upshot of it was that he promised to go and see old Mr. Lovejoy again the next morning.
You may easily guess how it all turned out, for when a man not only finds that he is in temptation, but is willing to be there, he is pretty sure to end by doing that which he knows is not right.
So Tom drank another glass of Mr. Lovejoy’s fine old sherry, the old gentleman offered liberal terms, and the end of the matter was that Tom promised to enter as second mate of the Nancy Hazlewood, privateersman.
Tom Granger has always felt heartily ashamed of himself because of the way that he acted in this matter. It is not that privateering was so bad; I pass no judgment on that, and I know that there were many good men in that branch of the service.
I have always held that a man is not necessarily wicked
