IV
The boy waited. There was more to come, he felt; and he was right.
In a minute Diamond's old ship-mate resumed his tale.
"Last July, I was on furlough at Alfriston. One evening I went for a bit of a stroll on the hill. Up there, under the sky, top o Snap Hill, was a look-out chap with a telescope. I knaw'd his back, and the high way with his head at first onset. It was Black Diamond.
"'Hullo, Bert,' says I, coming up behind.
"Round he jumps, terrible dark.
"I'd hardly ha know'd him—toff'd out quite the officer, bits of epaulettes, waxed moustachers, pistol and all. I'd never ha beleft it!
"'That Reube?' says he, at last, starin properly.
"'That's me, sir,' says I.
"His face cleared; and he shoved his pistol back.
"'Excuse me, Reube,' says he. 'Every man that wears that uniform is unfriends with me, with one exception—and that's yourself,' and he took my hand.
"'It's nice to look into a pair of eyes can look back at you,' he goes on, very quiet, pumping my hand. 'How are you, old mate?—We're quite strangers.'
"'I'm tidy middlin, thank-you, sir,' says I: must keep on a-sirrin him somehow. 'How's things going with you?'
"'Why,' says he, with that terrible great laugh of his, 'like God
Almighty—slow but sure.'
"'Nice crowd you've got together by all accounts, sir,' says I.
"'All picked men,' says he, mighty grim. 'But drop your voice if you're going to talk about the darlings: I've a dozen of em in the goss handy by. There's not a man sails aboard the Kite but swings in chains, if he's copp'd. Makes em wonderful nippy at a pinch,' says he, with that little smile o his. 'You wouldn't believe.'
"' Yes,' I says. 'Reg'lar man o war style aboard the Kite, they do say. Trice em up, and flog em, if everything ain't just so.'
"'That's so,' says he. 'Duchess could eat her dinner off my deck—has, too.'
"'Only wonder is they stick it,' says I.
"'Ah,' he says, 'they're my men, not my mates, see?—This ain't a free-tradin show. We ain't partners, I pay em.'
"I looked him straight in the face.
"'And who pays you, old pal?' says I—'if you'll excuse the question.'
"'The Emperor,' says he, calm as you please. 'Nice feller, too.'
"I stared a bit.
"'Knaw him then?' says I.
"'Supp'd with him night afore last,' says he, matter-of-fact like; and I knaw'd he warn't lying—'Me and the Emperor and another gentleman.' He began to laugh. 'Rare sport he was too, the gentleman! Hear him sauce the Emperor!' Then he takes a sweeping look through his glass. 'Ye see we've a little bit o business forrard, me and him and the Emperor.'
"Well, sir, I was gettin my monkey up, as you may allow. Here'd I been tow-rowin up and down the high seas at tenpence a day these six years past, doin my little bit to spoil Boney's game; and here was this chap—dismissed with ignominy, mind!—toff'd out like a dandy Admiral, flashin his French rings and sham Emperors in my face.
"Still I aren't no mug. So cardingly,
"'What's it all about, Bert?' says I, confidential-like.
"He didn't answer: kep on all the while a-squintin through the glass towards the Forest.
"'You a blockade-man, [Footnote: The blockade-men were coast-guards.]
Reube?' says he at last.
"'No,' says I, 'I'm a liberty-man from the Tremendous.'
"'Ah,' says he, queer and quiet. 'I'm glad to hear that, Reube. Mighty glad you're not a blockade-man.'
"'Why for?' says I, innocent-like.
"'Why,' says he, ''tain't healthy for blockade-chaps in these parts just now…. You heard o poor Mr. Lucy?'
"'Yes, surely,' I says, pretty spiteful—'dirty business and all.'
"He dropped the glass.
"'What's that?' says he, short-like.
"So cardingly I told him all about it.
"'That's my friend Fat George,' says he between his teeth.
"'I suppose it's news to you,' I sneers.
"He looks me in the eyes properly.
"'This is the first I've heard of it,' says he. 'Struth it is! No,' he says, 'I gave him what he gave me, no more, and no less—five hundred, crossed; while I lay among the blue-bells and counted em out for him, same as he done for me. And when it was over—"And now," I says, "to show you I'm a Christian, I'll leave the boys to put you out of your pain; and that's more than ever you done for me." And I strolled away. They must ha been up to their larks a'ter I left—mucky gaol-birds!' he says. 'Funny thing they can't be'ave like gentlemen.'
"'Well,' I says, 'as to Mr. Lucy, he play'd it down a dog's trick on you; and you got back on him. And man to man,' I says, 'no parsons bein by, I don't say no to that. But if it comes to selling your country for money—'
"He swings round all black and white and lightning.
"'Money!' he snarls. 'Steady, Reube.'
"'What then?' says I.
"'Ah,' says he, drawing his breath like a cat swearin. 'As I just told you, I'm a Christian; and I don't forget.'
"Talk o bitter!
"'Well,' I says, 'if it's revenge you're a'ter, sims to me you've had a belly-ful.'
"'Ah, I ain't begun yet,' says he, breathing slow. 'That's my little private account. There's the system to settle yet.'
"'What!' says I, coming closer. 'So you're going to fix up the British
Navy next?'
"'Goin to try,' says he, rollin out that tarrible great laugh of his—'God helpin me.'
"That was a bit too much.
"'Well, I'm a sailor myself,' says I, 'and an Englishman. So, mind yourself!' And I goes for him blind.
"He never budge: just blew his whistle; and a dozen of em sprang out o nowhere.
"'Unclasp his little arms,' says Diamond. 'He thinks I'm his lady-bird.'
"Just then a whistle sounded rithe away acrost the Weald. Another nearer took it up, and another—like partridges callin on a summer's evening.
"'Here he comes,' says Diamond, glass to his eye. 'Reube,' says he, 'there's things good kids such as you are best not seein. Boys, take him to the top o Deepdene, and give him a tilt down. Gently does it,' says he. 'He's an honester man nor any o you.'
"So cardingly they march me away.
"But I hadn't gone above a dozen steps, when I heard him comin a'ter me.
"'Reube,' says he, kind o shy-like, 'I suppose you won't shake with an old ship-mate?'
"'No,' says I, 'I don't shake with no —— traitors.'
"He drops his hand.
"'Ah, well,' says he, 'think the best you can o me. You're much the man I'd ha been, if God had been gooder to me. Good-bye, Reube,' says he. 'All the luck.'
"And somehow he seemed a bit o choky; and somehow I felt the same myself.
"So cardingly they march me away to the top o the coombe, where it's steep as a ship's side, and gave me a shove.
"Down I sprawls, rolly-bowly, anyhow all among the jumping hares, and brought up in the shadows at the bottom.
"And as I was feeling to see if my head still set on my shoulders, a chap on horse-back comes cantering up the shoulder of the coombe above me, black against the light….
"That was the first o this here Gentleman all the talk's on…."
V
The mist was blowing by in huge white puffs like the breath of a giant.
"That was the beginning," continued Reuben. "It warn't the end though not by no means. Many's the time since then them words of his about the blockade-chaps, and his queer way o sayin em's come back to me."
"Why?" asked the boy.
"Why, sir?—why, indeed?—Two days later a patrol was found at the foot o the Devil's Chimney, heads bashed in. Blow'd over o course!—Week a'terwards petty officer found drowned in dew-pond top o Warren Hill. Accident o course!—Next day common seaman hung in his own braces Jevington Holt. Suicide o course! And so it's been going on ever since—blockade-men murdered; blockade-men missin; blockade-men washed ashore—until last night."
"What then?"
"Ain't you heard, sir?" aghast. "Last night—eleven o'clock—full moon—clear as crystal—Diamond laid the Kite aboard the Revenue cutter off Darby's Hole."
"Well?" breathlessly.
"Ah, well indeed, sir!—No one'll ever knaw the rights o that yarn. Only one chap o the crew o the Curlew left alive to tell the tale—poor Alf Huggett here alongside o me. Stove in a water-butt and hid in it—didn't you, Alf?"
There was a waiting silence.
"It's broke him up surely, sir," whispered Reuben. "And I don't wonder. Saw enough through that bung-hole to keep him thinking for the rest of his life."
"Fat George!" shivered a thin voice. "Fat George!"
"Ah!" came the windy chorus. "Him and old Toadie!"
"Anyways there it be!" continued Reuben. "At noon to-day the Curlew drifted up against Seaford jetty, yards hung with her own crew, like carcasses in a butcher's shop."
"Brutes!" gasped the boy. "But what's the meaning of it all?"
Reuben shrugged till his oil-skins crackled.
"No sayin, sir. Summat's up; summat big. Diamond wanted the coast cleared; and he's cleared it—by thunder he has! Swep it up bald as the back o my hand."
The mist blew away faint and thin. Through it the bowed crest-line of a cliff loomed up to larboard.
"There's the last o the Seven Sisters!" said Reuben. "Birling Gap's just here along." He moved among his men. "Stations, boys. It's here or hereabouts…."
"Hush!" whispered Kit.