“Have you friends in London?”
“No.”
He held out to Aderhold a woolen purse, open, showing two gold nobles and some silver pieces. “Yes, take it—and no need for thanks! I have gotten good from you.—You will want work?”
“Yes.”
“I have weight enough with the Company to get you a clerkship.”
Aderhold thanked him again, and with warmth of feeling, but shook his head. He had plans, he said.—But when the agent was gone the two smiled at each other. Gold and plans!... They had had plans—they had planned. What they had planned was to lose themselves, immediately upon leaving the ship, in the crowd which doubtless would gather at the waterside, then to slip into some street or lane and begone. Somewhere in the tangled heart of London, in some poor street, in some garret, they might find a lodging. Then work to live by.... There had risen a vision, not unhomely, comforting, hopeful—physician’s work among the poor and obscure, sempstress or spinster’s work, quiet life in the shadow but with gleams of sun.... But now the plans seemed hardly even gossamer.
The Eagle came slowly into port. Aboard was bustle and confusion. With the rattling down of her anchor appeared the small boats, the wherries, clamouring to take all ashore. A barge brought port officers. These came up the side.... All was well, all might go ashore. The agent of the Company would go, it seemed, in the port barge. Giles and Ellice Herne watched him leave the ship. He had been a friend; they felt gratitude and liking; they watched the dwindling boat and thought it doubtful if, in this round of life, they would ever see the agent again....
Their time came—they were to go with the second mate, a broad-shouldered, surly, watchful man.
The catch into which they stepped was crowded with the lesser sort of the Eagle’s passengers. Here were the dissatisfied, returning folk, and here with their exploiter were the Indians brought for show. Aderhold, looking at them, had a fleeting thought of a booth, paused before on a morning when he had set out northward from London, years ago.... Shipping loomed about them, Thames side before them. The high, narrow houses, the roofs, the windows, the roaring streets, the throng about the water steps, pushing and jostling for a sight of the disembarking—talking and shouting, people greeting and being greeted, a swarm and distraction! Joan sat elbow on knee, hand pressed against lips, her eyes wide, and, as far as Thames side was concerned, unseeing. What else she saw she did not say, but her face had a soft and brooding look.... The catch made its landing. Joan and Aderhold, placed in the stern, were the last to come out upon the water stairs. Before them the second mate shouldered his way. About them was the English crowd, beneath their feet soil of England. Home—home—home where they were born!