XXVI
However, it was not until the second day had passed that Anthony felt firm enough on his legs to go to the counting-room. It was about noon when he set out, and he noted that there seemed an unusual hubbub in the streets. Knots of people were gathered before taverns; public places frequented by merchants seemed to bristle with excitement. Anthony saw no one with whom he was acquainted, and so he had reached the London Coffee-House before he learned the cause of it all. Here a placard was pinned to a board; he stopped to read it, and so learned that the American merchantman Eclipse had been taken on the high seas by a French letter-of-marque. His brows knitted with interest at this; and so, instead of turning into High Street as he would have done, he continued along Front to Walnut Street, and into the City Tavern.
There were many there, and they had the appearance of having sat at the tables in the public rooms many hours; pipe smoke eddied under the low ceiling, and glasses were drained and refilled with a steadiness that was eloquent of the public mind; voices were at high pitch, words were hot with resentment, and fists banged upon the tables.
Mr. Stroude sat with his friends about him. He talked solemnly. From the first,—from the very first, so he said he had known he was a marked man. Vainly the friends sought to break down this conviction; but he was resolved, and they could not budge him. A deal of his substance had gone into that ship, much more than even his intimates realized. The heel of adversity was heavy upon his neck; and God keep the day when those who heard him should know the weight of it. A voluble friend strove to cheer him up. There was no knowing what would happen. The worst had already occurred, and anything more would be for the best. And, look you! The pirate, now that he had taken Stroude's ship, must bring her into an American port, as there were no others open to him. And then we should see! Had not the Government denied the right of the French to equip or man vessels of war in American waters; and in the face of this could the Eclipse, or her contents, be condemned or sold? Would the weakest of governments permit an outrage to be carried so far? To a man, the friends agreed that it would not; and one of them directed a waiter to bring more brandy.
After Mr. Stroude had drunk of this, he said he was an Englishman, and that he had always taken pride in the fact. Yes, he sat in the midst of them, confessedly English; he felt his nationality to the marrow, and he would take not one jot of it back. These things, he knew, placed his merchandise in all the greater jeopardy; but that could not alter his feelings. The cargo of the Eclipse was his and so was not under the protection of the United States when on the high seas. The ship, being American owned, he would grant them; but the cargo—no. His personal case was weak; it was pitifully weak! But what could he do?
Anthony saw Mr. Sparhawk some little distance away; and talking with him was a lank man in baggy small-clothes and a ratty-looking wig.
"Sympathy," said the lank man, "is of no use when the loss is one of hard money. And, more than that, it is given to the wrong person when it is given to Stroude. If the cargo is condemned, does he suffer? He does not. Who does?" The lank man thumped his lean chest. "I do," said he.
Mr. Sparhawk held up a quieting hand.
"The rumor is," said he, "that the Eclipse was taken within the capes. If that be so, there is an end of it. Hostile acts have been done within jurisdiction of the United States; American property has been seized by a vessel under a foreign flag."
"I have been ill advised," complained the lank man. "When it was known that Stroude was an Englishman and a thing like this likely to happen, I should have been cautioned."
"If you will look back, Mr. Baily," stated the perky little man, "you will recall that you were not only cautioned, you were warned. But you did not choose to use the information given you except as a means of getting a higher premium on the risk."
"But who would have thought it possible that these wretches would go to such a length?" pleaded Mr. Baily. "In this day, right under the noses of the authorities; and now they are laughing at us all, and making ready to divide the spoil."
Mr. Baily refused any such cheering thing as a drink, and went away, insisting that the worst had happened. Anthony approached Mr. Sparhawk, who sat with a composed countenance in the midst of the excitement, and exchanged greetings with him.
"I am pleased to see you so firm upon your feet," said Mr. Sparhawk. "A little care, now, and you'll do well enough." He fingered the stem of his glass and smiled easily at the room. "Well," said he, "the further venturings of your friends in Le Mousquet have made a deal of stir."
Anthony nodded.
"It was an impudent thing to do," said he. "And I'm inclined to think, it also had in it some elements of stupidity."
Mr. Sparhawk smiled, crossed one leg over the other, and dandled his foot.
"A little good wine at this hour is a comforting tonic for an ailing man," said he. And thereupon he spoke to a waiter, who brought them a liquid that was like pale gold. This Mr. Sparhawk sipped approvingly and nodded over the glass's edge at Anthony. "There is a deal of concentrated life in a thing like this," said he; "and it's often found to hold many a problem ready reasoned." They sat silently for a space, allowing the flavor of the wine to take possession of them; then Mr. Sparhawk nodded through the pipe smoke and huddles of debating men. "Who do you see at yonder table—there, under the portrait of Admiral Jones?"
There was Tarrant, lolling in a chair, and plainly having drunk too much; beside him was the big young man, showing his fine teeth in ready smiles, and keeping the bottle ready to his hand. Rehoboam Bulfinch sat with them, a meager drink before him, and folded up like a scraggy vulture.
"Tarrant," said Mr. Sparhawk, "served his country for a short space, and has done his utmost to discredit it ever since. And Blake is as infamous a ruffian as ever trod a deck."
"Blake," said Anthony, his attention quickened.
"He of the great body and the engaging laugh," said Mr. Sparhawk.
Anthony valued the rare drops upon his tongue with true appreciation; he looked toward the big young man and smiled.
"There is a man," pronounced Mr. Sparhawk composedly, "who should have been gibbeted five years ago. He has done more mischief among shipping than any other sea-thief since Edward England; and England's day was a century since."
"I heard a deal of Blake in the gulf and in the Carribbees a few years back," said Anthony. "The nearest I ever came to meeting him was while I was in a Spanish brig trading in those waters; two days out of Martinique we sighted him and ran him topsails under by nightfall. But once I had a communication from him."
"Ah!" said Mr. Sparhawk.
"He was a part and parcel of the New Orleans Government, and had a fleet of luggers among the islands and reefs at the mouth of the Mississippi. He had an agent in the city—a fat old spider whom I had to speak plainly to on one occasion; and because of this I could not afterwards get a ship, the owners being afraid to have on board a man who had affronted the pirate. So I began to give my attention to matters ashore, and it was then that Blake sent me the piece of writing. My interference had cost him some choice plunder, and he expressed regret that my change of occupation put him out of the way of meeting with me. But he hoped chance would throw us together at some future time." Under the swathes of bandages, Anthony cocked his eye in the direction of the freebooter. "Now that I see him," said he, "a thought troubles me. It may be that he does not know who I am."
"It is possible," said Mr. Sparhawk.
"On that chance," said the young man, "I think I will speak with him."
He made his way through the gesticulating merchants and stood at the table where the three men sat. Tarrant looked at him with sneering insolence. Bulfinch pushed back his chair; but Blake's manner was of cheery tolerance.
"What?" said Blake. "Is it possible? Here you are, active as a cat, and I thinking you on your back through a bad mishandling."
"Your friends made a shrewd try to bring that state about," said Anthony. "But I managed to overreach them." His gaze went to Tarrant and back again to Blake. "Your one-eyed man seemed willing enough; but he has little talent for desperate work. In a crisis he fumbles like an old woman."
Blake roared at this.
"Like an old woman!" said he. "By God, I must tell him that!"
Anthony stood looking down at the man, and, what with his pale, drawn face and his swathed bandages, he made a grim figure enough.
"It was only a moment ago that I learned your name," said he. "And the sound of it recalled a letter I once had of you at New Orleans."
Blake wrinkled his brows good-humoredly.
"A letter," said he. "Well, now! As I write very seldom, you must be a person of even more consequence than I thought."
But Anthony paid no heed to this mockery.
"I am the same Anthony Stevens who once spoiled your plundering of certain ships owned by Señor Montufars. The letter expressed a pious hope that chance would one day throw me in your way. And, as you see, it has."
Blake leaned back in his chair, shaking with mirth.
"Now," gasped he, "could anything be more like you? It's just what I'd have expected you to do—full of gallantry, open and anxious to come to grips with the immediate occasion." He gestured his appreciation. "Let me assure you, sir, now that I have chanced upon you, I wouldn't have missed the meeting for the world."
"In the seas I've sailed," said Anthony, "and the ports I've frequented, I found your name common talk; they said you were a bully who feared no one and only studied your own desire." He frowned down at the freebooter disbelievingly. "But, to say the truth, I haven't found you so. For all your written wish, I've yet to see you lift a hand."
"Never fear," said Blake cheerily; "my day will come."
"I promised you, that morning at the Brig Tavern, we'd meet again," said Anthony. "And if it wasn't for the work of the rats you urged on me out of the darkness," and he touched his wounded head, "I'd see to it that you had your chance to-day."
"Time will show," said Blake smilingly. "Don't bother your mind. Time will show."
"The forehanded spirit never leaves things to time," said Anthony. "A venturesome man would have been on Le Mousquet, knowing I was to be brought aboard."
"God damn your soul!" said Blake. "I'd give my two thumbs to have been."
But Anthony curled his lip.
"Your captain had little bowels," said he. "And you've given me no proof that you have any more."
He went back to Mr. Sparhawk and sat down. The little man eyed him with attention and observed quietly that when the vitality was low the emotions drew hard upon it; and he forthwith had more of the golden wine set before them. And while Anthony renewed himself with the drink Mr. Sparhawk spoke. It was a sound commercial and legal precept, so he said, to dare nothing unnecessarily; also, a hostile intelligence should never be given a clear view of one's mind. But, although he believed these were safe things, still he knew youthful and sanguine temperaments took much satisfaction in not observing them. He shook his head in discreet reproof and sipped sparingly at his wine. That Blake was a pirate, and that this man was Blake, he was quite sure. There could be no mistake. But the villain was free to come and go as he pleased; no stay could be put upon him; for, while the Spanish, the British, the Portuguese, and French had much to charge him with, the United States had nothing. He had never fired a shot at an American vessel, or stood on an American deck with hostile intent. Not, indeed, that Mr. Sparhawk thought him any too good; for he was rogue enough for any purpose. Perhaps he had kept himself free of blame in the state ports because one day he might need a haven to run into from the gunboats of the nations he'd preyed upon.
"But that he is free to come and go is not his reason for being here now," said Anthony.
Shrewdly said! Mr. Sparhawk agreed with this. There would have been a hue and cry had Blake been hunted out of his wallows in the gulf and the Carribbees. No, there was another reason. Hark to this! It might be that the letters of marque given out by the new French envoy attracted him, he seeing prospects of a deal of loot in their protection. But Mr. Sparhawk, so it seemed, put this idea forward only to demolish it; for, as he said, Blake had arrived in the port some months before Citizen Genêt stepped from the French republican ship at Charleston.
"It may be that the pirate had word of the Frenchman's coming," said Anthony.
Again, pointedly said! Mr. Sparhawk nodded in high good humor. It was really a pleasure to talk with a young man like Anthony; after all, there was nothing in the world like an active mind. Yes, it was quite possible that the freebooter knew of Genêt's coming; also, it was quite possible that others knew of it. Indeed, and Mr. Sparhawk grew quite confidential and very low of voice, that some others knew of it first was quite likely—others who were interested in such possibilities, and gave attention to making the most of them.
"What others?" asked Anthony.
Mr. Sparhawk smiled and shook his head; then he took out his snuff-box, which was of gold and scrolled very handsomely upon the lid. He offered it to Anthony; but, no, the young man would not have a pinch, for there was his hurt head to think of. So Mr. Sparhawk took some alone and sat tapping the box reflectively.
There were some things of which we are quite sure, he told Anthony, but of which we can give no very definite account. Very frequently matters went forward which one's mind could sense but which one's eye could not see. The days in which they found themselves were trying days. Honest men were much called upon to protect their rights; and dishonest ones were quick to take advantage. And these advantages were many. Wars for the complete unsettling of human society were going forward. The public mind was seeking new levels. Much was being done in the name of liberty which was tyranny; much was branded tyranny which, did you take the husk from it, was bright with freedom. This Citizen Genêt, now: despite all that the Tories said about him, he was no brawler from the gutters, who had seized upon liberty as a means of hoisting himself upon the backs of other men. He had been brought up in the court of the French King; he was a man of letters, and a diplomat who'd learned his trade in the capitals of Europe. Was it possible, and the little man asked this question earnestly of Anthony, that such a man would have taken the steps he had taken immediately upon setting foot in the United States unless he had been strongly advised? "Would he have so flouted and disregarded all the desires and requirements of the American Government unless there had been an influence at work upon him, upon which he felt he could thoroughly rely? Some one must have assured him that the Government's protests were empty things, without body or meaning, and that, despite them, he could commission ships to sail against British commerce from our ports. Who, asked Mr. Sparhawk, could have given these assurances? In whom, in this country, could Genêt have placed such complete confidence? Was it an American? It was not likely. Was it a Frenchman? That seemed nearer the fact.
"What Frenchman have you in mind?" asked Anthony keenly.
But this was a question which Mr. Sparhawk seemed in no haste to answer. And he said so; Anthony was a young man, and young men, he held, should work out their own opinions and lay the foundations for their own beliefs. But, for all that, and he tapped the scrolled lid of the snuff-box as he said this, he was not averse to what might be called a general suggestion. The adviser of Citizen Genêt was almost sure to be one who had known the republican minister in Europe—and one who was possibly concerned in shipping. Mr. Sparhawk nodded his head, quite convinced of this. But who the man was he could not say, and the head here was shaken with equal conviction. Of course, every one was entitled to privately hazard an opinion. No one could find fault with that. And he would not deny that he had hazarded his own. But he could say no more than this; if such a person, or persons, were to be found; if he, or they, could be induced to talk, a deal would be learned, much public villainy might be prevented, and the routing out of a burrow of rats that had given grievous private trouble might be begun.
Anthony nodded his bandaged head but said nothing. Mr. Sparhawk talked with care, blunting the point of each remark after it had entered, and leaving no salient thing upon which one might hang a definite meaning. When they had finished their wine, Anthony arose and bade him good day; and when on the street he turned in the direction of Rufus Stevens' Sons.