The Gentleman. Alfred Ollivant
slipped from under his arm. The lugger fell away, and lay on the water like a wounded bird.
Then Kit understood.
Black Diamond was dead.
II
The boy's mind relaxed like a burst bladder.
He began to laugh.
Where was he?
Alone on the deep with a dead man.
Well, well. It was not for the first time surely. A ghost, long-laid, walked again. A sudden lightning had flashed upon his past. In it he had seen and remembered. Something of a forgotten self floated to the surface. In turmoil, his Eternal Mind had thrown up on the sea of Time a memory from its imperishable hoard.
Slowly he recollected himself, and looked about him.
He was kneeling on something soft, and his hands were warm and slimy.
He looked down, and jerked back with a scream.
He was kneeling on a dead man, and his hands were crimson.
A gust caught the lugger: she staggered forward with a flap and swing of her boom. Her master, her mate, was dead; and the spirit had gone out of her.
No time for the horrors! he must be doing.
In a moment he was at work with his dirk. The great lug came down with a rattle.
Forward under the boom, he cut the sheet of the jib. It fluttered furiously, streaming lee-ward. Then he stumbled aft.
The murdered helmsman still lolled in drunken stupor, smiling inscrutably.
Astern the sloop lay with tall clothed masts, swaying, a phantom on the troubled waters.
A boat had put off from her, and was bucking towards him.
"Lugger ahoy!" came a windy voice across the water. "Is that you, sir?—all well?"
"I'm all right," cried the boy, and was ashamed to find his voice cracked with emotion.
The boat bumped alongside. Reuben Boniface's face popped up over the side.
"Plucky thing, sir!" he cried, bobbing with the boat; then seeing the man at the tiller—"Ah, Bert! a fair cop."
"He's dead," said the boy with a sob.
"Dead!" cried the other, thrusting forward. "By thunder! so he is. Boys, Black Diamond's dead!" He took the dead man by the hand. "Poor old mate!" he continued in hushed voice. "Fancy that now. Diamond dead!"
Another head bobbed up.
"Did you kill him, sir?" asked an awed voice.
"No, I didn't. I think it was this man. He killed Black Diamond; and
Black Diamond killed him back."
His heart was swollen almost to bursting.
A row of heads now bobbed all along the side, staring at the dead man. It awed them, this lay-figure with the dreadful stillness brooding about it, rocking with the rock of the sea. They spoke of it with lowered voices reverently.
"Funny thing—him so quiet. Don't seem nat'ral like."
"Warn't like that ten minutes since."
"That Black Diamond!—and can't lift his own hand now!"
"Ah, makes a change, Death, don't it?"
"One thing sure," ended a philosopher. "Like it or not—sooner or later—in this world we all gets our desarts."
So these solemn children, big of the sea, brooded over the Great Mystery. Here they were in the dark, the night blind about them, the old sea roaming round; and here was It. Dimly they tried to apprehend It. Somehow It made them feel strangely small, and somehow strangely great.
Reuben was still pumping the dead man's hand up and down, the tears coursing down his face.
"Poor old mate!" he kept saying. "He'd not ha been the same if things had been different—would you, old mate?—I wish I'd ha shook hands with you now, I do."
A shuddering voice spoke from the boat. It was the broken blockade-man.
"Ow much is he dead?" he asked.
"Why, dead as dirt," replied a matter-of-fact fellow, chewing his pig-tail phlegmatically.
"Sure he ain't learying?" came the voice of the man with the shivers.
"You fear'd on him still, Alf?" asked one curiously.
"Fear'd on him?—No, I ain't fear'd on him!" came a ghastly titter.
"Got no cause, ave I?"
"He won't urt you," replied the other, soothingly. "He's dead all right—ain't you, Diamond?—You can tweak his nose, see?—and then go ome, and tell the gals what you done. Tweak Black Diamond by the conk!"
"You let him be!" growled Reuben. "Time was you'd ha crawled to him. Now any snotty little toad can make game on him."
Kit looked up at the rising voices.
A fellow had seized Diamond by the nose, plucking back his head.
The dead man's mouth gaped. Into the cavern of it shone the moon.
"One moment!" cried the boy; and hating himself, he thrust a finger and thumb into the opening, and plucked out the thing which gleamed within.
It was a cut-glass scent-bottle.
CHAPTER VIII
THE SCENT-BOTTLE
I
They came under the counter of the sloop, the boat towing the lugger, and Black Diamond dead, the moon upon him.
A face, tallowy-nosed and black-whiskered, was leaning over the side.
"Say! was there a tall chap on a blood chestnut aboard?" asked a slushy voice. "Andshomish feller—might be own brother to me. If so, pass him up the side, there's a good biy. There's £1,000 on his head."
Kit went up the side, his heart beating high.
"Anything?" asked the old Commander shortly.
"Yes, sir."
He surrendered his treasure-trove.
"What! this all?" sniffed the old man, fingering the scent-bottle contemptuously—"gal's fal-lal."
He stumped below.
The boy's heart was white-hot with indignation.
This then was his thanks!
Somebody tickled him under the arms.
"You're in the old man's good books, Sonny," said a hilarious voice.
"Wha d'you think he said when you plumped overboard?"
"I don't know. What?"
"'Nelson might ha done that,' says the old man—Bible-truth, he did."
And he shook out loose coils of laughter.
The compliment was so staggering that it humbled the boy.
A minute since he could have stabbed that old man with the stiff knee.
Now he could have kissed him.
"No! did he really?" he gasped.
The Gunner clutched the boy with one arm, and tilting his chin, looked down at the uplifted face.
"There is a