“Among the crew,” she began, “is a little old man who was once a scissors grinder. He often sings to himself about the days when he tramped the streets and roads of his native land, bell in hand, in search of knives and scissors to grind. There are several grindstones in the hold. Now, I propose to rig up one of these for him on the main deck, and send word to all members of the crew that they can have their knives ground. Each sailor can be told to put a mark upon his knife so that it can be returned to him. In this way we shall get all these weapons into our possession.”
The idea was so feasible that I adopted it at once.
I confess that I was very anxious about our voyage on the Grand Canal, en route to the open sea. The Caribas would have to pass in plain sight of several hundred Sargasson derelicts. You may say that I knew that the vessels were without armament, that solid shot would not be fired across our bow, and that we ought to have known that we could keep off boarders when well under headway? And yet I was tempted to give up the venture, and to end my days among the Sargassons.
Deep down in my heart I felt shame and mortification at the thought of what my brother Kantoons in Sargasso would think and say of me. Among them the taking away of my own ship would undoubtedly be regarded as theft! My treachery would be looked upon as of the most infamous kind. My name would be posted on the blacklist in the cabin of the Chief Kantoon, and forever held up to universal execration.
With my infamy, poor Fidette’s name would be linked. She was a Sargasson by birth, and to her the forswearing of her people meant much, in sentiment and in fact. She was of the Water Worshipers, and nowhere else on the face of the earth would she find people of her faith! She was deeply religious, and her willingness to follow me into an unknown part of the world, where people dwelt upon solid land (incomprehensible as that appeared to her) was an undeniable proof of her affection.
I was deeply affected by all these thoughts. It was only a few months since the Sargassons had loaded me with honors. The ceremonial by which I had been created Kantoon of the Caribas was one of the most imposing and splendid that had ever been known in Sargasso. These facts only emphasized my ingratitude.
I cannot expect any of my readers to understand the feelings that welled up in my heart, because they have not dwelt among the Sargasson people, and cannot appreciate the high and peculiar sense of honor that there obtains.
In addition to all these pretty sentiments, I was afraid to give up the scheme, having once undertaken it. I feared the treachery of the boatswain! His first overindulgence in rainwater might loosen his tongue and he might divulge my secret. My punishment would be swift. The most merciful end I could expect would be death by drowning; but I have since learned from Fidette that the only treacherous Kantoon she recalls was strapped upon a heavy water butt, which was then rolled about the deck until the body of the condemned was crushed into pulp.
It was too late for me to retreat; I must escape or die in an ignominious manner.
On the morning following our final conference the boatswain found a small grindstone, already mounted, brought it to the deck and set the grinder to work. The old man was delighted. He trod the pedal with all the glee of youth, and as the sparks flew he laughed and sang.