 Chapter 12 of Mr. Wicker's window. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sudeshna. Mr. Wicker's window by Carly Dawson Jay. Chapter 12. The time had come when Chris could go out beyond the confines of Mr. Wicker's gardens. It was a bright fall day when Amos and he stepped out the kitchen door. Becky Boozer's huge frame blocked it behind them as she stood in the sun to see them off. Each boy had been given meat and bread, some cakes and apples for their midday meal and Chris stood looking up and down the street for a moment before starting, savouring the promise of new sights and new adventure. The only drawback was that Amos would not and must not know why Chris might be surprised at certain places. Georgetown in the year 1790 might be new for Amos but not nearly as new as it would be for Chris. Where all are we going in the first place? Amos asked. Chris had long ago decided. We will take a look at the mirror bell, he said. While looking about him, Chris glanced more than once at Amos. The coloured boy's brilliant foreign costume was very noticeable, his friend thought. But when no one paid any attention, Chris decided Amos clothes were not unfamiliar to the seafaring men among whom they were walking. A ship had just come in, the sailors browned and cheerful at being once more in their home port. Merchants in coats of fine but sober cloth were talking with the captain and mate while they kept an eye on the cargo being laboriously unloaded by stevedores. For some time Chris and Amos stood watching the men carrying out bales or kegs on their shoulders. When one part of the cargo had been assembled on the dock, an auction was held forthwith to sell it off at once to the highest bidder. Listening and looking, Chris saw bolts of silk, hardware, china, vines and liquors, needles and pins, all manner of things auctioned and sold. The ship, American-owned, had come from England and Chris overheard one man say to another, See there, the thin man, that be Mr. Mason's agent. I heard he's here to buy the ballast bricks for his master's plantation on the island. Chris, not understanding, asked, Ballast bricks? Please sir, what's that? The men astounded to be interrupted by a boy and looking down to sea too, each with an apple in his hands turned around and after a moment's scrutiny answered, Ballast bricks? Why anyone knows that these are the bricks brought over in the hold, my lad? Should there not be sufficient cargo? Both to make ballast for the vessel and to sell once here. English bricks are cheaper than those we can make ourselves. Did you not know young man, he said, frowning with disapproval, that our bricks for building houses have all come from British kilns? No sir, thank you sir, Chris said, and moved away, not in the least abashed. How I should have loved to have told him I didn't belong in this age anyway and that in my time we do make our own bricks, he chuckled to himself. Further on, a ship being painted a dazzling white caught their eyes. The Mirabelle, Chris cried, running forward and sure enough, black and gold letters along her bow, announced that indeed it was the Mirabelle. I had no those lines anywhere, Chris said to Amos, and the two boys stood gazing at Mr. Wicker's ship. The Mirabelle was a three-mastered schooner of more than usually trimmed lines. Even at the dock side, the curve of a bow gave an instant vision of how the waves would curl back as she drove forward over the sea. At the waterline, a clear light green contrasted well with the white of her sides. Above decks, the size of the masts and neatly furled sails showed at a glance that the Mirabelle was hardy enough to weather many a storm and also that her crew were able and well-trained. Looking about, Chris soon spied Ned Sealy on deck, lounging against the side of the ship and smoking his pipe. Master Sealy's eyes lit up as he saw his friends and hurrying down the gangplank shook them by the hand as warmly as if he had not seen them for a month instead of just the night before when he had shared with them what Becky termed a taste, a mere spoonful of supper. I well look here, he exclaimed, delighted. Chris and Amos by me sold. Ned Sealy beamed on them and leaned back on his heels for a better view. Looking about, Lance? That's the way. Is she not the finest ship that ever yet addressed your eyes on? The boys were agreeing enthusiastically when a remarkable couple came into sight, pacing the decks of the Mirabelle. Soon the watchers were given a better look for the two men came down the gangplank to examine cases that had been brought to the dock for loading and Chris and Amos were hard put to it not to laugh out loud at the comical pair. The first man was so round and so short he appeared to have no legs at all. Below a tight round ponch, two small feet looking rather like mice went in and out as he walked. The roundness of his face was underlined by three folds of chin but his small piercing blue eyes had a way of suddenly opening wide that made Chris feel the man was no fool. He constantly bubbled with laughter and was in a high good humor. Occasional remarks from his companion causing him now and again to chuckle with amusement. What the other man could be saying that was so entertaining Chris could not imagine for he was the opposite of the fat good-humored one. This second person was twice again as tall as the plump little fellow beside him and was as dour and thin as the other was cheery and fat. He seemed in a state of perpetual depression and no amount of chuckles on the part of the plum gentleman could cause even a passing smile over the long sad face of the dour man. Who in the world are they? Chris asked of Silly as they drew near. Silly looked scandalized at Chris's impertinence in finding them in any way drawl. Them? Why bless me, Captain Buttons. That there is the captain of the Mirabelle no less and his first mate, Captain Ezekiel, Blizzard. He is and Mr. Alicia Finney. Ned Silly told them watching the earnest conversation of the pair with evident affection. Blizzard and Finney, that's them, he said. And a better captain and first mate is not to come by in the whole land, I shall warrant you. He may look too plump for his own good, Master Silly went on, lowering his voice and bending down to be on a level with Chris and Amos. But believe me, there is no sounder captain afloat. They all know it hereabouts for Ezekiel Blizzard knows the Chinese sea is better than the sight of his own feet, make no mistake about it. As to Alicia Finney, he's glum. I don't deny, but fateful. That's true of the two of them. Whatever they can do for Mr. Wicker is law for Ezekiel Blizzard and Alicia Finney. They swear by Mr. Wicker, so they do. Ned said, wagging his head with a certainty of it. Mr. Finney's kind too, Ned went on. Though he don't look it, bless me, Captain Buttons. He's tender-hearted as bird under that gloom as Finney. Could we go on board the ship, Chris asked the captain and Mr. Finney had moved off to the far end of the wharf. No me lad, silly answered gravely. This better not, wait till the master do present you proper to the captain, for the Mirabelle is Captain Blizzard's castle like. I would sooner you were asked aboard by him. Then, seeing Chris crestfallen face, silly clapped him so heartily on the back that the boys staggered forward a pace or two. Come now, cheer up, Ned cried. Come meet some of the crew. He invited, and taking Chris and Amos arms, drew them towards a group of sea men. Chris looked quickly around at the faces of the men, for these he secretly knew were to be his companions on a long sea journey soon to start. With a deep sense of relief, he found that he liked them all. All perhaps but one. Then he gave his attention to Ned's sea lay, who with a flourish was making the introductions. Me lads, he cried. Here are two likely young lads, living at the house of Mr. Vicka. You ever heard me speak of them? Amos here on me right, and Chris that's on me other side, he beamed at both and on the men confronting him. Now boys, he wrote, this good man here is Bowie. A short muscular, bow-legged man with a friendly grin nodded his head at them, and cut off a piece of black tobacco with his knife, stuffing it into his mouth, knife, blade and all. Chris gave a shiver as the blade went in and came out, and Bowie champed contentedly on his tube. This here's Albert Jones sea-leavent on, and that one's Abner cloud, and that one pointed Ned, that one's Zakara hay. Chris smiled and nodded, or shook hands, and Amos followed suit. But when they had reached Zakari, a tall young man of 18 years or so, Zakari bent his handsome, sorely face, and fumbled at a shoe. Chris stood there with his hand out, putting the red blood surging angrily up his cheeks, and then he wondered who Zakari was looking at from the corner of his eye. Chris turned his head and did not have to hear the name muttered by Silly or by Bowie at his back. Chris found himself staring at the clagged chew. Mr. Wicker's Window by Carly Dawson Chapter 13 Clagged chew possessed a face and bearing not easily forgotten. A giant of a man standing well over six feet three, he stood bare-headed in the morning sun. Contrary to the custom of the time, he wore no pigtail at his neck, nor even hair caught back tied with a bow. Clagged chew's head was shaved so close that the pale skin of his skull showed through the peppery stubble, making him seem bald. Below the bare skull, as if in counterbalance, his black eyebrows started out, tangled and thickly black, and under them, as out of a rocky cave, his small pale eyes blinked like cornered foxes in their dens. His nose, over large to start with, had at some time in his life been broken, and its crooked shape leaned to the right as if still bending beneath the blow that had battered it. A long untrimmed mustache shadowed his mouth and stray hairs caught inside his lips when he opened and closed them. His lips, like his eyes, were pale, and his skin sickly as that of a man who sees but little of the light. His cheeks and chin were stubbly, like his head. His beard seemed more reluctant than half grown. His whole appearance, in his sallow yellow vest, gun-grey coat-and-breaches, and canary-colored stockings, was one of mingled power and weakness, strength joined with an unhealthy habit of never being in the sun, and a cruelty best enjoyed when he knew that he could win. His cold eyes pinned Chris with their gaze as if the boy were a butterfly transfixed by a pin. His thin, pallid lips curled with disdain, and yet Chris thought uneasiness perhaps as he eyed the two lads and the little knot of men. One strong, too-white hand held a whip, its long leather tail ending like a scorpion's sting in a length of wire. He held the five feet of the whip loosely caught in his hand against the plaited leather handle, and Chris had an icy sensation as he looked at it, that it was never far from the large white hand of Claggett Chew. A little behind Claggett Chew, examining the scene through a pair of jeweled lourniets, stood an even weirder figure. Osterbidge-Hawsey whispered Ned's silly, as if to himself as he followed the direction of Chris's eyes. Osterbidge-Hawsey, younger than Claggett Chew by twenty years to Claggett's forty, was dressed in the height of the French mode. Anything more out of place on the dirty, swarming docks of Georgetown could scarcely have been imagined. His three-cornered hat was rakishly set at an angle on his fair hair, which was meticulously rolled in curls above his ears, and the curls were caught at his neck with a black velvet ribbon. Beside Claggett Chew's offensive bare skull, the hat, in its delicate blue velvet, silver braid and airy rim of ostrich feathers was ludicrous. Osterbidge-Hawsey's costume was of a piece with the hat, for his coat was a fine blue velvet of too pale a shade for any use outside a drawing room. It, too, was edged in silver braid, and its owner, holding a lourniet with his right hand, with his left, pushed back the velvet folds to display the delicacy of his flower embroidered waistcoat. Satin knee breeches, a cascade of fine lace at his throat, and lace falling gracefully over his small well-kept hands made up the picture. As Chris looked at him, fascinated and repelled, he noticed that the young man wore a patch in the shape of a crescent moon on his left cheek. Chris, who had been not a little over-odd at seeing Claggett Chew, could not restrain himself at the sight of this fob. The touch of fear he had felt looking into the pale, expressionless eyes of Mr. Wicker's enemy found relief and release in an uncontrollable burst of laughter when, from his pocket, Osterbich Haasie drew a tiny bottle of smelling salts and held it delicately to his nose. Chris's young laughter rose and peal after peel. Amos's warmer, quicker laugh joined in, and in a second, laughter had spread to the group of seamen who doubled up, convulsed, fell on one another's shoulders as they wiped their eyes and slapped their hard thighs with their roughened hands. The pair that so amused the rest, Claggett Chew and his fine friend, had stopped some ten feet away at the first sound of mirth. Then, into Claggett Chew's grey-white face, came astonishment, for he was used to creating many impressions, fear, hatred, or cringing of sequestness, but never before had he or any of his friends been laughed at. Furthermore, he, the dreaded Claggett Chew and his gaudy friend Osterbich Haasie, were held as being of so little account that a boy dared to laugh at them. After a surge of deep, ugly red to his head, Claggett Chew's face became whiter than before and his eyes were murderous. Oh, Claggett, they seem to be laughing at me! Osterbich Haasie whined in a high-pitched voice. Unfortunately, at this moment, Chris, forgetting caution in the grip of his laughter, held on to Amos, shouting feebly, he's got a patch on his cheek. What do you know, a beauty patch? The derision in his voice, in spite of his laughter, was unmistakable, but before he could so much as draw another breath, he heard Claggett Chew's voice for the first time. So, you ill-found, ugly twerp, you idiot whipper snapper, let me give you one to match! And quicker than the eye could follow, the whip flicked out and, with a cutting sting, lashed Chris's cheek. The cut from the metal wire was deep, almost to Chris's jawbone, but he did not feel the hurt as much as he realized, his laughter gone, that Claggett Chew was now his deadly enemy. Next time, came Claggett Chew's sneering voice, I shall take an eye from you, my laughing boy, and see if that amuses us as well. And turning on his heel, by the sauntering giggling fob, the pair picked their way along the wharf and disappeared. It was only then, looking around at the sobered, silent sailors, Chris remembered that Zachary High was the only one who had not laughed. End of Chapter 13 Recording by Ian Gray For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Lorbeth Davis Mr. Wicker's Window by Carly Dawson, Chapter 14 Barely were Claggett Chew and Osterbridge Halsey out of sight when Chris simultaneously became aware of two things. One was the deep throbbing ache of the whip cut so painful it made him feel sick and faint. And the second was the black figure of Mr. Wicker. Mr. Wicker was threading his way in and out of the crowds in litter of the wharves, and although to most he might have seemed leisurely, Chris was able to detect in the step of his master a certain haste. He came up to the little group of men glanced at the back of Zachary High, who was moving away as if to some interrupted duty, and at Chris's white face and the reddening handkerchief which he held to his chin. Mr. Wicker looked slowly at the faces and then raised his eyebrows as if in surprise. Well, lads, he said, what has happened here? You all look angry and somewhat affrighted. What occurred, Ned? He asked, addressing Ned sily, whose kind face was puckered with sympathy for Chris, and who stood pulling at the stocking-cap he held in his hands. But Chris spoke up before Ned could reply. It was my fault, sir. I expect I got what I deserved. But it seemed to happen in spite of myself. I laughed at Osterbridge Halsey's beauty-patch, and at him, all of him, really. We all did. Clark at Chew got mad, and I guess I wouldn't blame him. It was a dreadful thing to do to laugh at someone to their face, and he lashed out with his whip and gave me a beauty-patch. In spite of the pain, Chris managed to grin as he took the handkerchief from his chin to bear the deep, cruel cut. But truly, sir, he ended. I never saw anything like Osterbridge Halsey before. He's a dilly! And before they knew it, they had all, including even the habitually grave Mr. Wicker, burst into another shout of laughter. Mr. Wicker soon stopped, however, and reached back into the pocket in the flap of his coattails. When he drew out his hand, it held a small glass box. With unhurried gestures, Mr. Wicker's fine fingers took off the lid. What a fortunate coincidence that I happened by just at this time, he said casually, and at that I have with me such an excellent ointment. Master and pupil looked at one another for a moment, and there was the hint of a wink in Mr. Wicker's right eye, and the vestige of an answer from Chris's left. This will help to stop the bleeding, my boy, said Mr. Wicker, and take away the pain. It hastens the cure, he went on, lightly applying the ointment to the wound. In an hour you will scarcely know it happened, he concluded. Seeing the color seep back into Chris's cheeks, the men touched their caps to Mr. Wicker and went back to their interrupted tasks. Ned Siley, with his hand on Amos' shoulder, moved off to point out some detail of the Maribel, and Chris and Mr. Wicker were left alone. Mr. Wicker looked down kindly at the boy, but there was a sadness also in his face. Perhaps, he said as if to himself, I've set you too great a task, my poor Christopher, for you were but a boy. He laid his hand on Chris's arm. You are a boy, but what lies before you is a man's task and no mistake. You cannot in the future allow yourself the luxury of such childish enjoyments as a laugh at Claggett Chew or his friend. I know that now, sir, Chris replied solemnly. I asked for trouble that time. Yes, agreed Mr. Wicker in a tired voice. You did. Too bad, he added, and Chris saw fatigue for the first time in his master's face. The laughter you could not resist has meant that you came forcibly to Claggett Chew's notice in such a way that you will never be forgotten. Mr. Wicker looked from some distant horizon back to Chris. I saw it happening while I was in my study, but could not warn you in time, he said. So I came down with an ointment for your poisoned wound. Poisoned wound, sir? Chris whispered suddenly feeling much worse than he had before. Mr. Wicker sighed, yes. Sometimes Mr. Chew has a way of wiping poison onto the metal tip of his whip. It is a slow poison. It does not take effect for days or weeks. In fact, so long after his lash that no one attributes the whip to the death that finally follows. Never fear, he said, smiling, his reassurance. The ointment I put on will take care of that, too, and your cup will be closed and healed before the day is over. What is, unfortunately, more lasting, said Mr. Wicker. Is Mr. Chew's memory? Well, and Mr. Wicker shrugged his shoulders. There's no help for what is done. Use caution in the future, Christopher. That is all I ask. I shall, sir, Chris assured him. They turned to join Amos. Enjoy yourself the rest of the day, my boy, Mr. Wicker urged. But be constantly on the alert and look in all directions. Here, he said, putting his hand in his pocket. Take these few coins in case you should need them. Now find Amos and be off with you. Although Chris would have liked to investigate all the wharves and see as many of the vessels as he could, he understood the warning given him by Mr. Wicker. So with Amos, he moved away from the scene he preferred, taking the first road he saw leading off Water Street. M Street was, for Chris, completely unrecognizable. It was merely a broad, unpaved road in what seemed, at best, a country town. Groves of old trees, pasturelands, and orchards of large size surrounded the few houses. He was hard for Chris to realize that this was the core of the capital of the vast and teeming country into which he had been born. With difficulty for the streets all had different names if they existed at all, Chris looked for his own street. Going back along what he had known as M Street, not even the pet boys or Iron Horse Grill was to be seen. Instead of two wide stone bridges, now there was only a rickety one crossing Rock Creek Park. The boys walked to the bank above the park and looked down. The broad asphalt traffic lanes were gone, and so was the tidiness of the park lawns. Below him Chris saw the tangled thick forest that had always stood there. The creek itself and the quiet of the earlier time could be plainly heard running over its stones. Chris turned and led Amos to where he half expected to see his mother's house. But where his house would stand in some future year, nothing was to be seen but a dense grove of trees growing along the top of a little rise of ground. Someone had once built a fire at the corner where his front door would one day be. Chris kicked idly at the ashes and picked up a metal button blackened by the fire. What you all looking for, patient Amos asked. Just something I hoped I'd find, Chris answered, filled with a sense of desolation. Then he made himself remember that his house had yet to be built, and aware of the hollowness of his stomach he said to Amos, Must be lunchtime, let's go down to the creek to eat. They scrambled down the bank near where in his time there was a children's playground, and weaving in and out of the thick wood found the creek clear and fresh. Here they ate their lunch, and then, running and leaping, followed the turns of the stream until they neared the marshes and the river. CHAPTER XV The two boys came out toward the mouth of Rock Creek, and as the woods thinned they saw ahead of them a sandy sloping bank on which a small boat was drawn up. Around the coals of a fire nearby three men were crouching. Remembering Mr. Wicker's warning to be cautious, Chris put out a hand to touch Amos, and the two stood still. Let's climb a little above them, Chris suggested. We're beyond the bridge. They might be—well, we'd better be careful. I want to see what they're doing before they see us. Amos agreeing, the two boys, with extra care for rattling twigs, moved stealthily up the banks of the Potomac that rose with increasing steepness. The men, who were huddled near the fire now, came directly into their view below, and Chris and Amos could see that they were playing cards. One seemed to be losing to the other two. He had piled a heap of his small possessions in front of him on the sand in lieu of money. They were certainly a villainous-looking trio. The boys could hear some of their exclamations, and it was with a mingled feeling of curiosity and uneasiness that Chris recognized the losing gambler to be Simon Gosler, the humpback cripple. Come now, Gosler! They heard one of the men cry out in annoyance, Pay up! You've lost! I've no money to pay you, complained the sly voice of the cripple. I'm a poor man. Well, you know it, a cripple—just a poor old cripple. Ah, none of that! Cut in the second winter. We know how well you do, at your begging, more in a day than we get in a month's pay. Pay up now, or it won't go well with you, he rasped out, laying his hand on a dagger stuck into his belt. What about your glass? Your spy-glass, Gosler, urged the first man. Put that up, and it will cover your losses well enough, he snared. But Simon Gosler hugged his coat to him, and looked from side to side, searching for a way of escape. No, no, good fellows, he moaned. Not my glass. I won that from the captain himself, three years ago, and that I never shall part from willingly. You'll part from it for silver quick enough, snarled the first gambler, and of that you must have plenty, for it is rare you ever lose. Come now, we'll give you a few minutes more to make up your mind, but make it up you must. Either the glass or silver, you may choose. The two gamblers rose menacingly, and moved away to put their boat into the stream. Simon Gosler was left mumbling and sniveling and fingering his coat pocket in which he kept his glass. Chris, watching him, had a sudden inspiration, and whispered to Amos, hide here, behind those bushes, and don't follow me, don't move or show yourself. I'm going to have that glass. So, saying, he moved carefully back until he was out of sight of Amos, and then for the first time on his own, he tried a change of shape. Choosing a broad flat stone at the edge of the shrubbery, and safely removed from the sight of the two winners, he changed himself into a silver coin, and allowed himself to drop with a sweet metallic ring on the stone, waiting, winking, in the sun, for Simon Gosler. The old cripple saw the coin before it had bounced twice on the stone, and with a quick slide look over his shoulder at the backs of his companions, as they pushed at the boat, hoisted himself up on his crutch, and began hobbling over toward his find. But instead of a coin, he found only a resolute boy awaiting him, tossing and catching a silver piece. It was one of those Mr. Wicker had given Chris, but an hour before he looked Simon Gosler in the eye. I've heard what went on, Simon Gosler, said Chris, his eyes on a level with the roomy, watering eyes of the cripple, and if you will sell your spy-glass to me, I'll buy it off of you with the silver piece, otherwise you shall not have it. Simon Gosler's eyes dripped tears of greed at the sight of the coin, and then another expression washed over them. Fast as he was, and fast as was his movement, Chris was faster. As the old beggar braced himself and brought the head of his crutch down where Chris's head should have been, someone from behind dealt him a staggering blow with a sizable club, and yet when he turned around no one was there. When he faced about again, rubbing his head and whimpering with rage and frustration, he found himself once more facing the boy who was tossing and catching, tossing and catching the round silver coin. Chris stood with his legs apart, his head back, his eyes full of scorn. His hand did not cease to toss and catch the silver piece. Well, you old villain, he challenged, will you take the coin in fair exchange, or shall I hit you again? With that club you just felt, he asked. It doesn't feel the same when you get it back as when you give it out, does it, you old faker? Hurry up, your friends will soon be coming back, and I don't think they intend to argue, he added. Gosler, still rubbing his head and muttering, finally spoke. Very well, you nasty young man, I'll sell my glass. Give me the coin!" And he stretched out a dirty claw. Oh, no! Chris shook his head decisively. No, indeed, you'll put the glass down between us. Carefully, mind you, and back away. I'll throw you the coin when I've seen if the glass is worth the silver. Mumbling to himself, Simon Gosler did, as he was told, he reached back in his coat-pocket to draw out a small spy-glass which he laid down on the ground. He then backed away. Chris picked up and examined the glass, tested it, and then, just as the two gamblers came back up the river-bag, tossed the silver piece to the beggar. Gosler caught it in mid-air with the dexterity of years of practice. In an instant, Chris had vanished into the thick shade of the wood going as fast but as quietly as he could, regained the place where Amos waited for him. Chee-Chris, Amos exclaimed, for he had caught all Chris's expressionless speech. We got a spy-glass. We sure have, Chris agreed. And it's a fine one, best I ever saw, he said. Here, try it out over the river there where that ship is anchored. Amos pointed the glass through the shrubs toward a distant ship that swung at agar close to the shore, and while he tried out there at prize, Chris watched the departure of the three gamblers. Gosler had evidently paid up while Chris was returning to their hidden perch, for he was now hustled into the boat by the other two. Soon the three were far down the stream and their boat was moving into the main flow of the river. Here, Amos said, passing back the glass, you look, that's a mighty fine ship out there. Black as the Maribel is white, but she looks fast and strong just the same. But Chris, taking the glass, was idly following the progress of the three men. Gosler, lost in gloom, sat in the stern, hugging his rags about him. The other two bent their backs to the oars and headed straight for the anchored ship. Turning the glass to the brig, Chris hunted for the name as the prow swung about. Through the glass, the letters, gold on the black-painted side, leapt at his eyes across the distance. Venture, Chris read, and with a beating heart he saw his adversary's ship for the first time. End of Chapter 15 All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Sudeshna Mr. Vickers Vindo by Carly Dawson J Chapter 16 Come along, Amos. We must get a closer look at that ship. Chris cried, putting his glass away. Scrambling down, the two boys ran along the stream until it was shallow enough to cross. The water was icy, telling, as well as the turning leaves and cooler air, that fall had come and winter was on the way. Haring forward, Chris and Amos reached the mouth of the stream, where it joined the river. There, on the left bank of Rock Creek, high rushes grew in rank profusion on the marshy land. They rose higher than the heads of the two boys and were too closely packed to allow for easy passage. We'll have to skirt the very edge, Chris said, glancing about. Barefoot would be the best. The soft ground would soon go over our shoes and maybe suck them down. Keep right against the rushes. Chris warned Amos, and if a boat shows up coming from the warbs, we can't take any chances. We'll have to dive into the rushes in height, just in case it's clagged too. That's right, Amos nodded his head vigorously. I don't want to meet him again, and you do, lesson me. He chuckled. The two went on making slow progress for the river was deep at that point, with little foothold between the end of the jungle of reeds and deep water. Keep an eye out, Amos. Chris called back over his shoulder as he went ahead. It was no time before Amos' voice came huskily up to his friend. Chris, Chris, hold on. There's a boat with four men in it just left the last wharf, and they are heading this way. Get in those rushes quick. My clothes is mighty bright. Rushing and panting, they shoved their way into the dusty rushes, dropping back until they could barely see the river through the stalks. And it was just in time, for barely where they hidden when they heard, carried over the water, the dip and splash of two pairs of oars and the creek of oar locks. Then, in another moment, came the high-pitched voice of Osterbridge Horsey. Chris gave a shiver as it reached him. Clagget came the voice of the fob, who, with Clagget Chew, was sitting in the stern of the boat. Clagget, I find myself quite, quite fatigued. A little wine I fancy might revive me when we reach the ship. Heated, I think, and spiced to ward of the night chill. And Clagget went on the voice almost upon them. Now it was so clear. What do you think of this muslin for my new shirts? Is it not delicate? Irish sell avace on dear, as the dear French say. I feel sure it will be satisfactory. From Clagget Chew, the two boys heard not a word. And peering out, they saw the boat shoot by. Osterbridge Horsey, wrapped in a great cloak, was admiring a bolt of muslin that he held. But Clagget Chew, his face shadowed by a hat, was holding his whip upon his knees, and glowering at the water. The boat passed. And sometime after, the two boys heard from across the water. The echo of wood against wood, as the dinghy reached the ventures hull. After a while, as the boys were about to move along, a heavy dropping sound, and the shuddering of the marshy ground, made the two in hiding look at one another in concern. What in the world, Chris murmured? The sound, accompanied by steps, oaths, and a rhythmical drop and shudder, continued farther along the shore. Stellyly, trying not to shake the rushes, and so sure where they might be, Chris and Amos pushed through the marsh. The sun was setting as they came near the steps and voices. Pushing through the reeds towards the river, Chris found that they were nearly opposite where the venture floated, below Mr. Mason's island, and at a desolate part of the river. Chris gestured Amos forward, and they went on step by step until, in a pause of the thundering dropping sound, they knew themselves to be near its origin, and parted the reeds enough to see. There, within a few yards of them, and at the edge of a hard-beaten track from the main shore, lay a mass of cannonballs and shot for guns of various sizes, such as are used on men of war. The crew of the venture, able to carry but one at a time, kept a line going from shore to pile, and this, as they dropped the cannonballs from their shoulders, was the sound and shaking of the ground the boys had heard and felt. Seeing the red caps and kerchiefed heads of men above the rushes, the boys let the reeds fall back. I'm going to have a look at the ship through the glass, Chris whispered, and moved forward closer to the shore. Parting the stalks, he trained the glass on Claggett Chew's ship. It was a fine-rich vessel that was evident and swarming with activity. At this hour of dusk, other boats along the river had stopped their commerce for the day, and there was none to observe what Claggett Chew might be about. Chris and Amos were the only watchers. The cannonballs and ammunition were taken out in boats and hoisted up in nets. Chris observed everything closely and saw still other crewmen disappearing with their burdens down the hold. Then something caught his eye, and he examined the name along the side through the spyglass. Curious thought Chris that all the letters of the ship's name seemed exact except the second and third. Among the other letters of carved and gilded wood, the E and N were not quite as straight in line as the rest. Oh well, Chris thought it's doubtless a custom of the time for all I know. Putting the glass in his pocket, he rejoined Amos. But as he did so, the last two sailors put down their cannonballs and wiped the sweat of their foreheads with their arms. In the ensuing silence, the rustle of the rushes, as Chris and Amos moved away, was plainly to be heard. What's that? One man cried out. It's a spy there. Here, take this club and beat about. We'll catch them. The two men charged into the marsh so fast that Chris barely had time to whisper to Amos. Hurry Amos, run. I'll be all right. I'll draw them off. I'll meet you where we fought the strain. Amos safely out of sight. The men came only on a stray dog, foraging for rats, wagging its tail and letting out a yip or two as it followed ascent along the ground. Give it a kick there. It's only a stray dog, one said. Oh, devil ticked. What do I care? Answered the other, turning back. The dog lay panting at the river's edge, looking past the ship as it rested. It saw what it thought was snow upon the water and the banks, but it was just thousands of ducks migrating south, and when they rose to move farther away, the sky was overcast and thunderous with their wings. Long after dark, cold, dirty, and quiet wet, the two boys reached the house on Water Street. Where did you go, Becky inquired, frowning with solitude at the bidraggled pair. I'm no place much, Chris answered the awning. End of Chapter 16, Recording by Sudeshna For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sudeshna Mr. Wicker's Window by Carl Lee Dawson. Chapter 17 The following morning, while Chris was telling Mr. Wicker of the ammunition being loaded on the venture, Becky Boozer announced a visit from Captain Blizzard and Alicia Finney. Sure, the men Becky, Mr. Wicker told her. To Chris, he said, I wonder what brings them here so early? It must be a matter of some importance. Stay with me, Christopher. I shall present you to the Captain. The extraordinary pair came in and Chris was introduced to Captain Blizzard and Mr. Finney. The Captain was all smiles except for his eyes. Chris noted that his eyes did not smile at all. Mr. Finney, true to form, cast down his eyes, sighed, and led the corners of his wide thin lips almost to his chin. When a chair large enough and solid enough had been found for Captain Blizzard and Becky had brought in a decanter of sherry in glasses to set before the visitors, Chris shut the study door and sat down on the floor where he could observe the three faces before him. Mr. Wicker spoke first. Well, Captain, what brings you here so bit-times? No trouble of any kind, I trust. Captain Blizzard set down his glass of sherry and cleared his throat. Now, sir, needs must I come with unpleasant news and sorry I am to bring it. I have heard that the Venture plans to sail at any time and you well know she's a fast sailing ship. He folded his plump hands over his bonch and twiddled his thumbs with agitation. Sir, it has been noised about that the Venture is headed for the West Indies. He paused and glanced at Mr. Finney, who nodded forlornly, his mouth drooping. But it's not so, the Captain looked with anxious eyes at Mr. Wicker. Early this morning, Ned Seeley brought me the information that the Venture is to sail to the China seas. Mr. Wicker's face was grave but sure no surprise. I knew some trouble was ahead, he said slowly, but did not know what form it was to take. He paused. News of sailings and destinations get about so rapidly it is more than likely that someone overheard the destination of the Mirabelle and sold his knowledge to Captain Chew. Although he added thoughtfully, I think Clagget Chew guessed it. Well, and Mr. Wicker looked alertly at the two men. What advice do you give me? Captain Blizzard wagged his head. Nay, sir, this for orders that I came to you, it is for you to say. How soon can the Mirabelle put to sea, Mr. Wicker asked and Chris's heart skipped a beat. At any time, sir, the Captain at once replied, we have nearly water enough and quite sufficient stores. The men are all assembled. The Captain fell silent and no one spoke for several minutes. Mr. Wicker leaning his chin on his folded hands was lost in thought. How moved the tides, he finally asked, raising his head. The Captain with surprising briskness for so large a man pulled some folded charts from his pocket. Without a word, the three men rose and went over to the table, pushing aside the china bowl filled with flowers to spread the charts flat on the tabletop. Captain Blizzard leaned his knuckles on the boards. The tide will be high at midnight, sir, he informed them. See, he pointed a shot forefinger at a spot on one chart. Here is the sandbar that the tide covers for but a short time. And should there be other ships crowding the river near this point, he must slip through there then or not at all. Mr. Wicker examined the charts and nodded. Very well, he said, so must it be. And Chris felt that his heartbeat would stifle him. It pounded so fast and thickly in his throat. All at once, looking up at the thoughtful face of his master, Chris longed to be able to stay safe at home. The imminent journey, so far and perhaps so perilous, seemed suddenly too much for him. Mr. Wicker had taken the river charts and rolled them up and now turned to the captain and first mate. Captain Blizzard and you, Mr. Fene, he said, should water casks be seen going on board, the whole of Georgetown will know you mean to sail. I therefore ask you to so contrive it that the casks be hidden in bales or boxes so that they seem to be anything but what they are. He tapped the rolled charts thoughtfully on the palm of one hand. Our only chance to steal a march on the venture will be to sail at least a day before her. The two men listening nodded in agreement. There is one other thing. Your orders for where you are to anchor once near China will be secret and carried on the person of this boy. He laid one hand on Chris' shoulder. He has a task of utmost secrecy to carry out and will require your help, encouragement and silence. Captain Blizzard and Mr. Fene looked solemnly at Chris who looked as solemnly back. Not only that, Mr. Wicker went on. But his presence on the ship must not be known until the Mirabelle is well to see. He glanced down meditatively at Chris. I shall arrange to bring him aboard somehow and give you your sailing orders later. He strode over to the window looking out to his gardens and the trees where the apples showed their russet cheeks. Leave me these charts for yet a little while and I shall ponder on our plans, said Mr. Wicker. He turned. See that the water casks are taken on at once captain and hidden and make a place for Christopher here and at the beseeching look from Chris he added with a smile and Amos. No sooner were the captain and Mr. Fene gone than Chris spoke up in great excitement. Mr. Wicker, sir, I have a plan. Maybe look at the river charts again. Master and pupils spread out the charts once more and Chris pointed eagerly. Look, sir, here is the sandbar and here he put his finger down, the venture, or she was yesterday. Now, sir, the sandbar being just below and ahead of the venture, once the Mirabelle has slipped by, wouldn't it be too bad if something happened to make the venture drift with the tide and run aground? He looked eagerly up into Mr. Wicker's face and saw in it the reflection of his own excitement. There are times Christopher said Mr. Wicker with his eyes snapping when you surprise even me. But how is it to be done? Well, sir, began Chris. It's a little tricky, but I think what with the things we know, it can be worked. He began outlining to his master the details of his plan. Perhaps as well, that Chris had more than enough to think of. Otherwise, the venture leaving home might have been even more distressing than it was. His last day passed like a flash, though from his attitude no one, certainly not Becky, would have guessed that the next morning he would not be there to eat his breakfast in the sunny kitchen window. Amers quick to sense all Chris's moods knew something was afoot. And when Chris and Mr. Wicker finally told him of the sailing plan, Amers eyes grew rounder than ever and barkled more brightly, but he never said a word. At ten o'clock that night and Becky had gone heavily to her room wondering perhaps why Chris had given her so hard a hug that silly knocked at the back door. He had brought a light card and wished us to the large wicker hamper. Then Chris lifted it into the kitchen while Mr. Wicker threw the curtains and then held a candle high. The candlelight flickered and flapped like a trapped bird at the corners of the room in sharp, bird wing shadows cut across Mr. Wicker's tall figure. Then it took Chris, who was to hold the scene ever after in his memory, the kitchen by the light of that one candle and the figure of his master standing in the center moved Chris as he had never been touched before. Amers stood near the basket looking first into its square depths filled with shadow and then up inquiringly at Mr. Wicker who did not speak. Be of good heart, Amers. Mr. Wicker said to him kindly and look after young Christopher as best you can. Then at the gesture from Mr. Wicker Amers Egorgo stepped into the hamper where he stood uncertainly his expression half terrified and half delighted. Yes, sir, I will. He piped up. Shrill his excitement. I will keep an eye on him, he promised and then called up in the hamper. Netsily shut down the top and he and Chris lifted it to the cart. Mr. Wicker spoke low into Nets ear. All is well understood. He queered. This is no time for misunderstandings. A. A. Sir. All is clear. The good night replied. Then got speed to your all and bring you safely home. Said Mr. Wicker and be on the lookout for this lead net and you get past the bar. We share, net whisper back and good luck to the two of you. Clucking to his horse on wheels covered with rags and his clothes above the horse hoofs so dead in their sound Netsily and his hamper went quietly away in direction of the wafts. In a moment cart horse and driver were swallowed up in the denseness of the night. A black knight it was indeed although there was a moon thick clouds cut it over it and an autumn wind bent the trees tearing the leaves from them. The mist rose from the river but it was blown away from all but the most sheltered places. Mr. Wicker and Chris stood in the silent kitchen looking about him. Chris remembered with a bang the first morning he had seen it. He specced in her gaudy head standing at the fire. Come Christopher Mr. Wicker baited him taking up his kept black cloak and another one for Chris. First, bring the rope about your waist and once on board bind it to your shirt. Let no one but even Amers know of it. Chris did as he was told. Mr. Wicker then gave him a leather pouch hung on a cord. Here are some odmets of magic that may improve the usefulness. He remarked, We are them around your neck so saying he slipped the leather cord over Chris's head. What happens to the rope and pouch when it changed my shape, sir? Chris asked. They will remain with you. Have no fear of death. The magician replied. What would be the use of magic if it proved unable to adjust itself? A smile played over Mr. Wicker's face. So, all is ready. He said, cleansing around. Now we must be off and use no time for we have much ahead of us. With Mr. Wicker dryly blowing out the candle. Before he knew it, Chris stood and tell what far off time outside Mr. Wicker's house. His master locked the door. The wind swooping down like a great bird tucked at the cloaks and chilled their faces. Chris led the way to the creek and the marsh. This time both he and Mr. Wicker wore high boots which kept the icy water and mud from their feet. What wouldn't I give for a flashlight? Chris muttered as they came to the marsh. He asked. The 20th century has many conveniences. Mr. Wicker replied. Chris could imagine behind him the man's sadonic smile and amused eye. They came out suddenly from the blackness of the woods to the wind-wrapped river. And though the moon was still obscured, the river heard a pelagene of its own that gave a little light. There was not the sound to be heard, but the hurried lap of water against the shore. The second pull of Chris and Mr. Wicker's boots in the mud and sharp hair-raising hustles on time to time in the reefs. Chris had started in his throat at these furtive noises for they could only be made by rats or water snakes. And Chris liked neither of these, especially at night. Pushing along the marsh edge and feeling the way, the two figures at last came inside of their goal. The high dark hull of the venture rose above the water and emberland then hanging at her stern. The wind swung the ship and the tide still flowing up the pond to make show that the bow held by the anchor was pointed somewhere downstream. The anchor may have dragged, Chris whispered to Mr. Wicker. Now for our boat. The rope seemed to uncool from about his waist almost by itself. With the gestures he had been taught Chris formed very adequate craft. The trifle lopsided. It must be admitted as he had had small practice but she was nevertheless. I shall see that the man sleep soundly is the wicker mermoth. You do the rest. I shall, sir, Chris agreed and then the moon showed an edge for a moment in the clouds. Look, sir, the Mirabelle. Toward sleeping Georgetown for it was nearly midnight now the whiteness showed itself close against the distant warps. The Mirabelle was edging out and Chris knew that Ned, Bowie, Edna Cloud and others were pulling her by the ship's boats into the main flow of the river. Once turned she would float noiselessly down the pond to make past the venture and once he was aboard would hoist her sails and set her course to sea. Then quick, made Mr. Wicker he took too long. It seems we are a trifle late. They stepped into the boat each taking an hour and with only a few strong pulls came alongside the silent venture. They moored their boat to the anchor rope. Mr. Wicker touched Chris by way of fishing him luck and disappeared. For half a second more Chris waited. No sound came from the ship but the light showed in the captain's cabin. In the twinkling a monkey with a pouch around his neck hung up the anchor rope and pausing it the gunway slithered at the punch and flower smell that is now a new man sleep for all the sailors. Then it pounded toward the light. The window of the cabin on the lee side had been left open clinging to a piece of rigging before it sprang to the sail. The monkey's eyes caught what seemed to be a shadow darker than that of the mist of the night moving away from the sailors left at night watch. A man now was slumped in sleep and the same heavy scent of spices and flowers that had overcome Chris when he had first entered Mr. Wicker's shop blew away on the gusty fall wind. The ship tucked and strained at her anchor wind and turning tide making toward the line that held her close to shore. The venture the rigging in her mask was carefully visible so somber was the night lay ominously silent expecting a murmur of voices from the cabin abruptly aware of the passing of time and the approaching white cloud on the water that was the mirror bell the monkey sprang on the side of the open window and peered inside. A smoking lamp hung lower at the center table dropping a test round glow on the larger circle beneath it. Gledged shoe was blearily starting a paper spread out before him leaning his ugly bare skull on one hand. His eyes were bloodshot and an empty wine bottle and glass holding only wine tracks showed he had been drinking and was no half asleep. Oster bridge horsey and a heavy silk rope and embroidered slippers launched sideways in a chair with his legs hanging over the arm. His hand trailed an empty glass on the floor and a silly tranquil smile played over his face. Gledged he was saying is the place marked? He hiccuped delicately. Oh dear the hiccups complained with the frown. Let me have more wine. Gledged shoe did not reply nor rise to fetch another bottle. Oster bridge horsey gave a hiccup and spoke again. Mark it. Hic. Gledged. You may forgot all those hupp walls to get over or hic under his side. Oh dear. Hic. Think of those jewels Gledged. Hup. They will take these hiccups exclaimed in a flurry Oster bridge horsey shelled. Are you asleep or angrier? Hic. Put the cross there where the tree is, I say. I want those hupp jewels. Gledged. And so do you, Hic. Befuddled his perception hopelessly blurred by excessive fine Gledged shoe made a mark on the map. There he crawled his upper lip drawn back over his teeth. Will I shut you up? A moving shadow thus clear then the shadows themselves came through the door and hovered he started up. I smell him. He muttered sickly. He's here. Hello? Night Watchman. He shouted drunkenly. As he got up stumbling and stretching about in the uncertain tier of his movements his chair crested on the floor and the monkey made a leap cuffing the lantern from its hook. The light was dashed out and in the dark as he jumped the monkey sees decreased verse on paper as a lap back toward the pale square that was the window. Behind it Gledged shoes became fainter as the spicy scent grew stronger and at last his muttering still off into snorts and finally snorts. The monkey clutching the paper to itself sat on the window ledge stuffing it in the pouch around his neck and the monkey's smile flitted across his face as it heard the final dreaming sound from Ostrich Horsley. Hmm thick jewels came from Ostrich Horsley. Down the anchor ropes scrambled the monkey with the agility he saw famous Mr. Wicker was already in the boat. How shall it be, sir? came the low voice of Chris Shall I become a beaver and go down with not a rope of the anchor? No, said Mr. Wicker. It can be more easily done than that and nothing to trace it. Get in the boat. Here comes the Mirabelle. Taking his own shape once more Chris saw the white ghostlike sides of the Mirabelle soundlessly passing down the stream. Not the creek nor a splash of water came from her as she passed through a tiny light struck by a flint perhaps blinked once and twice and then a third time. Now came Mr. Wicker's low voice. Let me have my hand upon the rope. He only seemed to hold the anchor rope a moment. To give it an easy pull the tucking strain was suddenly gone and the ventured via the whale like a frightened waterfall. Will she go where she should, sir? Chris wanted to know leaning forward. That she will, Christopher came the familiar voice in the dark and we must get out of her way for here she comes down at us. The wind and the tide and other forces will drive her solidly upon the bar. If a mistake not, it will be several days before they get off. And on the night air, Chris heard a faint chuckle. Pull boy, this master told him sharply. Here she comes. Chris grasped his oar and spun the boat only in time for the down floating tide and rising wind combined to drive the venture forward and she was carried well upon the sandbar before it grounded rolling over to one side much like the sleeping sailor. Quick lad, now we must catch them in a barrel and you and I must part. Oh sir, Chris cried holding his oar above the water Mr. Wicker clapped Chris on the shoulder and a glint of moonlight showed him to smile him. I shall miss you too my lad, he said. Now let us send this boat over the river as fast as she can go and be in mind keep your own shape sometimes unless you can change it out of the sight of crying eyes. They pulled at the oars oh yes I nearly forgot among the effects placed in your sea chest you will find a conch shell hold it to your ear Christopher as children do to hear the sea you will be able to hear my voice if you ever shall need to. Oh like a walkie-talkie Chris asked pulling at his oar somewhat and Chris knew his master smiled at him What about getting you to shore sir? He cried pulling in written so that the boat blew down the black and silver river Have you forgotten who I am my boy who was asked in return? No sir said Chris feeling a little small then under the dingy and clam up beside for here we are said Mr. Wicker and the towering hull of the mirabelle rose above them Chris grasped a rope ladder that hung down all that I can Christopher came a distant voice Godspeed and looking about Chris made out coasting on the air a seagull balanced upon its black-tipped wings swallowing a lamp in his throat the proof bothersome Chris jerked at one oar and deathly pulled the magic rope over his arms pulling to the ship's ladder with the other the signal flashed a lantern swung in an arc and dim figures waiting in their places hurled on the lines as Chris stepped aside the great white sails rose spread and bellied out from the three masts Chris looked in wonder as the mirabelle proudest the woman lifted up her head soon on the silent river only the twinkling side of lowly sails was to be seen heading to a Chesapeake Bay and then the sea but anyone whose eyes had good enough might have seen a solitary seagull following end of chapter 18 chapter 19 of Mr. Vickers window this is a LibroVox recording only LibroVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibroVox.org recording by Ellie Mr. Vickers window by Carly Dawson chapter 19 the long days passed on board the mirabelle the hours hold majestically passed as did the wave switch the mirabelle cut to a way Amos and Christopher were kept out of sight until Mr. Vickers was several days out to see for the crew not knowing that the success of the voyage depended on Chris who'd have been surly at the presence of two such young boys on board useless cargo in their opinion who knew nothing of seafaring but when Chris and Amos appeared on the Bender of Storeway the sailors considered them full of spank and welcomed them warmly both Chris and Amos found life on the sailing vessel strange and fascinating because the one to whom the turn whenever his duties gave him free time however to Chris's surprise it was the first mate said looking Mr. Finney who would patiently instruct them in C terms and answer the endless questions as the days passed and the mirabelle pursued her long course through tropical water Chris is many three hours to occupy as last understood how the model of the mirabelle or until they sailed for a time along the wild and beautiful tropic coast then Chris would lean on the side of the ship looking at the mountain as a jungle chore a scent such as comes from the open door of a hot house would drift out to the sea to the sailors who looked yearningly toward the land and the greenness and one press of flowers stamped most and leaves in the sun would mingle with the rough salt smell of the sea Chris and Amos would be like if they could only land and investigate them now in the Gale small flocks of birds migrating perhaps or blown out to sea would land on the mirabelle and a zilly made a large cage for some of the sweet singing glilly feathered creatures for Chris and Amos and on one occasion when the mirabelle was sailing past Brazil a flock of butterflies was carried out on a breeze on shore and hung on the rigging until the boys imagined themselves in a blossoming wood Chris had found his first day the conch shell as the week had mentioned and he alone of all the mirabelle's crew knew how the venture had fared that first evening in the little cabin Captain Blizzard had given Chris and Amos Chris had waited impatiently for Amos to sleep the two boys each had a hammock swung across the cabin the night which they holed up and put the way to give more room by day but that first night poor Chris had begun to despair that he would never hear Mr. Wicker's voice from the shell for Amos was excited and wished to go to sleep he swung back and forth happy as a dark bird in his hammock his round eyes looking toward the port hole where there was a faint gleam of night sea Chris, Amos said we are sure going on a mighty far trip that Mr. Finney he showed me on a map but they never heard of any of the places where we passed by the Bahamas he said to me then the West Indies Cuba, Barbados he was sticking them off on his fingers as he named them and on to South America a way down and he peened around what's the name of that loud name placed Cape Horn Chris said and was carefully listening Amos tried to prop himself up on his elbow and promptly fell out of the hammock in a flurry of arms and legs and a heavy landing sump that brought a shot of laughter from Chris after an attempt at making his bed again in the hammock and some little difficulty in clambering safely back in again Amos composed himself with the least possible movement in his swinging bed and yarn I just remember he said where else we are going Weisman Islands or Solemn Islands you mean Solomon Islands Chris asked him Amos gave another mighty yarn that's what they said Miss Becky she read to me from the Bible about Solemn how wise he was there was a pause on that way Amos voice was becoming indistinct we go past the West Indian Islands next Chris murmured almost to himself I remember that the cell beads see Amos said in a whisper Celebies Chris corrected softly what they said came Amos voice and then at last there was silence in the cabin he almost got as far as the China Sea Chris thought to himself and holding to the hammock is himself out and on bare feet went quietly to his sea chest its square bark stood in the shadow of the wall but fragments of light from the night sky caught the brass male heads and pens upon it that it appeared to ring cheerfully at Chris in the gloom slowly to avoid any creaks that might awake Amos Chris lifted the lid pressed in one hand and found the shell he held it near the small port for a moment its rosy interior faded of color in the grey light then he turned it in his hand and put it in his ear at first he heard only the rushing sound of surf on the beach then the sea sound became fainter and the voice of Amelia that it meant home to him came to Chris' ear as if from a long way off Christopher? Christopher? Here I am came Mr. Wicker's voice How are you? All going well I hope Please do me the favor to tell the captain not to put the shore at his usual place into it but to go by night to a cove you will find 12 leeks further along the coast I will tell you what to do nearer that time you will find ample fresh water near that cove but the ventures up to Mischief you must escape it and all on board the nearer bell shall be witnesses to what glitched troop lands to do the voice faded out and then returned far behind the ventures she ran around most unfortunately and most surprisingly and there's three full days behind you but she's a fast ship and will soon lessen the distance please to tell the captain so he's the only one who know my gifts and that it is possible for me to communicate with you tell him not to stop for water or food until his stores are running low you must not waste time have you heard me? tap the edge of the shells three times for yes Chris tapped three times feeling much happier and all at once not quite so much alone the voice came back to his ear I am following your progress from this room in the manner you know practice your magic alone or you will lose the neck and now good night oh yes Becky Boussa has been crying into her apron all day partly from a tillier fancy Chris heard a chuckle from a well-remembered room but the fancy largely for two boys good night Christopher sleep well end of chapter 19 recording by Ellie August 2009 Chapter 20 of Mr. Wicker's window this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by S. M. Hammond Mr. Wicker's window by Carly Dawson Chapter 20 as the Mirabelle sailed farther into tropical seas Chris and Amos worked out a pattern for their days before sunup while the air was still cool from the night the two boys were awakened by Ned Silly or Abner Cloud they joined the sailors on deck to do their share of chores mending, rigging patching sails scrubbing decks or polishing brass when the sun rose the boys breakfasted the men of the Mirabelle then went on with their various tasks but Amos went up to the captain's bridge where he listened to Mr. Finney and Captain Blizzard and Chris went down to their cabin for an hour or more supposedly Chris was studying lessons this was only partially true for instead of sums he was practicing magic in which he soon attained a high degree of proficiency what he most enjoyed was turning himself into some small commonplace creature to plague his friends on board a mouse one day a flea the next a fly on the third quite naturally no one suspected his ability to adopt such fantastic disguises so little did they guess he had one or two narrow escapes from being swatted or stamped on it was Zachary Hay whom Chris wanted to watch and as a flea or a fly he often wrote about on Zachary's jacket listening and observing but it was not until the Mirabelle had rounded Cape Horn one morning that Chris in the disguise of a fly wrote unnoticed on Zachary's jacket when that sulky young man after looking around to make sure the others were all at work slipped down to the sailor's quarters below decks there he dragged out his sea chest and from under his belongings pulled out a second chest fitting a key to the lock he lifted up the lid Chris perched on a shoulder peered over to see the contents they were disappointing merely a gray powder carefully packed in a piece of tarpaulin wonder why it has to be kept so dry Chris pondered but Zachary was already refolding the tarpaulin and locking the lid in the next moment Zachary had uncovered a length of white coils then Chris understood by golly he exclaimed to himself dynamite or gunpowder and so much what's it for Zachary made no other disclosures of interest that day but after that Chris spent all the time he could both day and night watching the young sailor he was determined to discover if he could what Zachary intended to do with the gunpowder it was hard for Chris not to be able to ask Mr. Wicker's advice and not to have his master's superior knowledge to lean on yet had he known it it was just this lack which was making him quick-witted and more resourceful one night a short time after Zachary's uncovering of the gunpowder Chris noticed that Zachary remained on deck after the others had gone to bed and continued to sit with his back to a stanch and dreamily gazing at the starry sky Chris was in a fever for Amos to sleep which his good friend soon did and Grey Mouse scuttered along the Wain Scott of the ship's passageways until it reached a good vantage point from which to see the young sailor on deck Chris had chosen well a mouse is used to the dark for several hours Zachary remained still and the mouse dozed woke with a start twitched its ears and waited then long after midnight an alone of the entire ship's company only the young sailor was seen to the hold the mouse screwing forward was able to follow by means of a dangling rope and a leap into pitch blackness at the rope's end the poor mouse hit something and ricocheted off it lay stunned for a moment or two a few inches from Zachary's feet as the sailor stood at the foot of the ladder in the black lazy in a cavern spread petals of light for only a short distance by its sputtering the mouse looked up to the towering figure Zachary now made above it and hearing the sharp squeakings and furtive scratches that signal rats the mouse thought it more prudent to adopt the shape of a fly this Chris did and on Zachary's shoulder the fly as many figures pulled out the coils of the fuse Chris had seen a few days before he took up the candle stub and began a long and patient search measuring with the length of fuse and hunting for a secure hiding place for the gunpowder in the end he found a cramped space just big enough for him to slide into made by the shifting of the cargo which had seemingly re-wedged itself firmly forming dangerous thought Chris should anything rock the mirror ball in such a way that the cargo shifted back to its original tight formation the hold of the mirror bell was large the packing case cave was surrounded by hundreds of pounds of solid cargo he gave Chris a trap feeling that he did not like and he was relieved when Zachary edged and squeezed himself out of his helmet and nearest the ladder for the treacherous young man wanted all the time he could to escape from the doomed mirror bell time to climb the ladder reach the ship side and perhaps row away to a safe distance the fuse proved to be rather shorter than Zachary Hay wished his candle stub set on a cruise coil reached a group of molasses barrels and here the young man decided that the fuse when the time came would be hidden and lit he made a mark in white chalk behind one of the barrels and then hurriedly began coiling up the fuse as he turned toward the ladder at that moment the candle in drowned in a pool of its own melted tallow guttered Zachary was only a young boy scarcely older than Chris himself and the fly could almost feel the quickening of Zachary's heartbeat at the sudden flood of dark the sense of the late hour and the rat-infested hole Zachary moved quickly in the pitch black his hands outstretched to feel the ladder his breath coming and going rapidly through his parted lips the heat of the airless place the heavy smells of the cargo itself oppressed and weighed on both Zachary the Mirabelle was moving slowly forward in calm tropic seas scarcely making headway on an almost breathless night down on the hole the ladder eluded Zachary's reaching fingers and the creaking of the ship was all that was to be heard except for the faint sound of Zachary's breathing then all at once as sometimes happens in a room full of talking people there came a moment of total silence for a second and in that second just as Zachary's fingers touched the ladder to Zachary and to Chris on a shoulder came the distinct sound of another man's breathing End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 of Mr. Wicker's window this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by S. M. Hammond Mr. Wicker's window by Carly Dawson Chapter 21 exhausted as he was by his long vigil and the effort needed to change his shape it was another hour or more before Chris could sleep that night the sound of that heavy but hell-backed breathing so close to Zachary and himself in the black hole frightened Chris almost more once he was safe in his cabin and hammock than it had at the time Zachary had bolted up the ladder like a frightened squirrel with Chris as a fly holding on for dear life even so Zachary moved none too fast to suit Chris who flew off toward his own cabin in a chattering fright the lumpy form of Amos asleep in his hammock was reassuring but Chris lay shivering and puzzling for a long time before he finally fell asleep the next day lying on his stomach in the hot sun he dozed with his cheek on his folded hands his mind going over and over the details of the night before try as he would Chris could not remember having seen any member of the crew even near the hatch leading to the hold let's see he began in his mind a bunch of the men were singing Bowie was one of them they went down to their quarters first they were really closest to the hatch Mr. Finney called Admiral up to the bridge and Admiral came back and went down a little while later guess Mr. Finney went to his quarters I don't remember seeing him across the deck or come over that way at all then let's see Captain Blizzard took a turn around the deck it was getting dark he joked with a cook at the galley door and probably went on for I didn't see him come by again next Ned Silly was relieved at the helm by Albert Jones who took over then Ned went on down or did he Chris wrinkle his brow with concentration I guess so he thought but I don't know so it looks to me as if it could have been one of several people and I'll be switched if I know who I'll keep my eyes open maybe whoever it was will give himself away somehow and give me a clue the Mirabelle was nearing Tahiti the air was balmy and already a different fragrance pervaded it together with a softer quality which Chris now knew meant land at noon one day Captain Blizzard announced to Chris and Amos should the wind keep up as it is now by nightfall or by dawn at the latest we should sight Tahiti we've water boys it is a fair place is Tahiti and one you lads will have an interest and a pleasure in seeing Chris lost no time as soon as he could do without being noticed in herring down to his cabin locking the door he took the conch shell from his sea chest and held it to his ear the voice of his friend so far distant now came to his ear and Chris smiled with the pleasure nearly to Tahiti my lad came Mr. Wicker's voice then listen carefully ask for a private interview with the captain and when you are alone with him you tell him that these are my orders he is to sail on past his usual anchorage making all speed you will know the reason for it at sundown today tell Captain Blizzard to go round the point he will know he is farther on this must be done by night for he must not slacken then he will see by moonlight a reef the water is phosphorescent and when it breaks over the reef it will shine in the night then must he heave too and you will go over the side of the ship in its rim the ship is the entrance to the cove this entrance overhung by slanting trees and jungle is just large enough to allow for the passage of the Maribel nevertheless went on Mr. Wicker's voice in the shell the mass in the sides of the ship could be seen from the sea so with all haste once anchored in the cove the men the Maribel must be covered from her topmost mass to the water's edge now let them in rest but by mid-afternoon have them hide along the shore facing the sea for they shall all be witnesses to what is to transpire then you must do your part for you must board Clagachew's ship and see to it that his vessel does join her with the aid of the rope the voice paused and then inquired is all this clear Chris tapped three times his heart thumping with excitement at the prospect of the imminent action going up to the captain's cabin he took advantage of a moment when Mr. Finney and Amos were outside to ask Captain Blizzard if he might speak with him alone certainly my boy boomed out the captain his blue eyes abruptly keen and penetrating cannot be overheard in here he motioned to a stool as he let himself fall heavily into a teakwood armchair made especially for his bulk but Chris was too excited to sit down and delivering his message standing when he described how in the night that very night he realized with a jumping pulse he was to go over the side of the mirror bell and find out the channel the captain looked at him piercingly how now lad channel in the dark this was a question Chris was unprepared for but he took a long breath which gave him a moment of extra time and then he replied I see uncommonly well by night captain sir he said and I'm a very good swimmer his face froze with nervousness that this might not do as an answer and he stood stiff and still before captain Blizzard the captain sat forward in his chair looking at him for a long while I do not care for it I cannot say I do this ship is more to me than wife or mother or family she's all I have young men and you can understand that to trust her to so young a lad clever though you may be to go safely past jagged coral reefs into a cove I've never even guessed I take orders from Mr. Wicker the owner of the Mirabelle and since he says so this is how it must be he paused fingering his lower lip and looking sideways in reflective fashion at Chris standing before him he told me you would have information from him for time from time to time we shall say no more but I trust you understand the responsibility you have this ship it's cargo and it's men will be in your hands Chris felt cold for a moment chill as he had never been before but he spoke up firmly yes sir I think I can do it safely or I should not try sir Captain Blizzard's round pink face creased in his winning smile I no doubt just buried in mine at the time eh lad I shall sir Chris replied what else was to follow the covering of the ship with leaves to make it blend with its surroundings camouflage was not a word the captain or anyone else of his time yet understood and after we see whatever we are to see Chris ended I'll be absent for a while what can be said during that time sir Chris thought to ask Captain Blizzard pondered for some minutes and Chris asked of her he said I am somewhat skilled in medicaments I have to be as captain of a ship and the crew know it I shall say that you are in my own cabin so that I can care for you I shall allow no one to enter it but myself it will be a most contagious fever for a time he added with his eyes twinkling I shall bring you if I cannot throw it out the pothole he winked at Chris have no fear on that score Christopher he looks steadily at the boy in front of him you have your part to carry out I have mine not since he had left Mr. Wicker had Chris felt such confidence as he did in the words and actions of captain Blizzard he knew now that his absence for as long as the conversation had taken some little while as they went over for the last time all the details of what lay ahead of them in the next few hours Chris glancing out the windows of the captain's cabin saw the splendors of a tropical sunset streaking the sky oh sir he cried Mr. Wicker said we'd know the reason so large a man captain Blizzard was out of his chair and halfway to the door of his cabin before Chris had much more than finished speaking over his shoulder continued with rapid quiet steps to the bridge of the Mirabelle he said run down to your cabin and fetch up that good spy glass of yours my boy we shall the brilliance of the colors their extravagant awe-inspiring cloud effects had taken on an intensity of light which meant they were at their peak standing beside captain Blizzard on the bridge Mr. Finney and Amos just beyond Chris and the captain looked through Chris's powerful spy glass at the wide stretch of the horizon all around lay over which the Mirabelle dipped her white sails the color ebbed from the sky as if drained from some celestial bowl and in the place of the scarlets and turquoise the clear yellows and the plums came a deep blue that was the forerunner of a fine clear night Chris turned slowly his glass to his eyes searching the edge of what was now their world and especially the line the rim of the ocean white sails grew upward against the encroaching night and Chris found what he had been looking for there sir he cried pointing to the distance and the captain and Mr. Finney swung their glasses to where his finger led far astern of the Mirabelle captain Blizzard's round cheerful phased hardened as he looked in Mr. Finney's lugubrious countenance seemed positively it was Captain Blizzard who answered him we see the Venture Amos Claggett Choo's Ship coming up fast astern let us all pray that the wind holds this is the end of Chapter 21 Chapter 22 of Mr. Wicker's window this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information please visit LibriVox.org recorded by S.M. Hammond Mr. Wicker's window by Carly Dawson Chapter 22 the captain turning quickly bellowed for all hands to come on deck when they were assembled below him he spoke men you have followed me for many a voyage and I have always brought you safely home is it not so a good sense to you Captain Blizzard began again what lies ahead of us in the next few hours will not make good sense to many of you nevertheless I ask for your instant help and you shall see what lies at the end of my orders when we reach that time are you with me I cried the sailors their faces close together bellow their captain his arms folded on his chest taking no part in the enthusiasm of his companion well and good roared Captain Blizzard I thank you now crowd on all the sail she will take boys for the venture follows hard upon us without a word the men sprang to work darting up the masts and out over the rigging like monkeys feet as the additional canvas caught the wind and the graceful ships surged forward night fell before the men had finished and Chris and the captain could no longer see the sails at Claggett Chew's venture the captain turned to Chris it would be my advice lad to go below and sleep for a bit you too Amos I shall send Ned it seemed only a minute to Chris from the time you lay down in his hammock knowing he was too excited to sleep until Ned silly was at his side with a lantern bringing food for Amos and himself bestied up lads Ned told them and joined the captain says he to me for land that's just ahead and the captain do be waiting you on the bridge did you hear me from darkness of the bridge to his surprise the usual lanterns were not lit only a small shaded light shed its rays on the compass near the wheel at his questioning look captain Blizzard muttered impossible to tell how close behind the venture may be we have come quickly but they have the faster ship I have no wish to give them more clue than necessary as to where we back land is off the starboard quarter and abder cloud is out on the bousford looking for the reef we have passed our anchorage they expected us or some other ship for fires were lit on shore sail has been taken in we're going slowly and will soon be there by my reckoning his eyes grown used to the dark Chris looking to his left could make out the blacker mass against the stars that was Tahiti the mirror bell was close and sure and the scent of hot sand from the beaches of flowers and of plants made Chris take many deep grateful breaths may I go forward and be with abner he asked the captain I applied that good man for by this time the best of them I lad the captain told him and hurry happen your eyes are sharper than adnors sing out when you spy the reef we will heave to and then God be with you my lad to find us out the channel to the cove Chris ran forward to the bow of the mirror bell and out along the bow spirit where at the tip he could see the long then both saw the phosphorus gleam and fade gleam and fade as the waves broke over the coral eerie jade green and white gold the phosphorus shown in the starlight reef ho sang out abner and the sound of his shot was echoed back from the closeness of the shore and faint dangerous mockery reef ho with under captain wizard drop anchor wads abner left his place to go back and lend a hand and in a sudden solitude crisp grasp a rope and swung down to the water a porpoise slipped away from the mirror bell and moved this way and that to get its bearings then the mass of slowly spread of sand and the porpoise nosed its way forward the channel to the cove proved to be some five hundred yards long and it seemed no time before the porpoise passed from the shadow of the trees at the shore into the starlight cup of the cove taking a turn about and the enjoyment of flipping its fins and giving up hand over hand along the anchor rope and stood dripping seawater on the bridge before Captain Blizzard I found the channel sir he said abruptly conscious of his importance from the admiring way in which Amos was staring at him there's a dangerous shelf of coral that jets out on the port side if you let me go first and the men man the boats and row her in I think we shall do it well lad we do what we must and you and I understand one another ahoy there he roared down to the shadowy decks from which the black spikes of mass rose high to break the sky man the boats we shall tow the mirror bell to cover for there's a channel here he turned to Chris as the sound of running feet and of her my boy do you go down and go over the site again and remember what we spoke of a few hours gone the next half hour was an exhausting one for poor Chris it was an impossibility for him to keep for long at a time either his own or the shape of the porpoise he had to enter the water under the eyes of the sailors waiting with her oars poised above the sea in the shape of a treacherous channel in the half light he needed his fish's eyes and senses he therefore would swim a few yards as a fish but had to surface again as himself in order to let the men see him and call the length of two boats keeping to starboard boys then easer over this way to port so it then with the anchor safely dropped to the white sandy depths of this hidden harbor did Chris tired to his very bones climb up the ladder and over the ship's side there remained the camouflaging of the mere bell for the stars were fading and before long dawn would banish secrecy but Captain Blizzard and Mr. Finney swaying with fatigue there was a look on the Captain's face that Chris had never seen there before the usually cheerful joking man was grave while Mr. Finney so sober and forlorn as a rule looked positively jubilant my good lad the Captain said you said you could do it but truth to tell I doubted it from the bottom he looked almost tenderly at the tired boy I'm proud of you Christopher you did a men's task with a boys buddy and it took a men's spare too without further words the captain of the mere bell held out his pudgy hand to hold Chris's in a steady grip and Mr. Finney swung out his hand his long face breaking into one of the rare smiles go to your well deserved rest depend upon it we shall cover the ship with green until she looks like the proverbial Christmas hall decked with bowels of holly as the song goes he added chuckling a little later in the day you shall be called to see what you make of the result and now to bed with you both then he clapped however he didn't know what he was hoping end of chapter 22 chapter 23 of Mr. Wicker's window this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer When Chris awoke, he saw that Amos had already stolen out of the cabin, for his hammock was rolled up and put away. By the strength of the sun, and the heat that seeped even through the boards of the ship, Chris judged that the mourning was well advanced. Dressing was rapid, for Chris, like the rest of the sailors in the tropic heat, wore only his britches. His bare chest and shoulders were tanned and healthy, and the soles of his feet as tough as shoe leather. Running up to the bridge, he was startled at first, at coming on deck, at the sudden green shade everywhere. Then looking up, he saw that, to their very peaks, the masts and rigging of the near bell had been hidden with palm fronds. That side of the ship that could be seen from the sea through the narrow channel entrance had been completely covered with green. The work was not yet finished, but most of the crew were sleeping during the hot hours, while a handful had volunteered to complete the job. The cove by daylight was even lovelier than it had seen by starlight the night before. The deep water, with a white base of coral sand, flashed in emerald turquoise or sapphire blue. Its clarity and sparkling colors put the jewel-tree into Chris's head, and he had a moment's throb of fright when he realized that it was this very night that he must bore the venture to impede her progress toward the Chinese prize. He put these thoughts from his mind until the time came and decided to tackle what was most pressing. The most urgent matter that first claimed his attention was breakfast, and when he reached the bridge he was delighted to see fruits from the island piled in shady corners. These and bread and cheese made up his meal, which he ate while watching the final leaves and fronds put in place on the sides of the Mirabelle. Captain Blizzard came up to him, his hands clasped behind his back, and nodded toward the men, pulling themselves slowly over the ship's side and falling exhausted into the shade to sleep for a few hours. Ah, they would be fresh enough in a while, he said. And then we shall one and all row ashore to see what we shall see. He paused, and Chris, looking up, saw that the captain's gaze was fixed on Zachary. Hey! Zachary was obviously not only far from sleeping, but was restless, jumping up to look out the sea and then sitting down again. It would be only a few minutes more before up he would jump once more to pace the deck or lean at the ship's rail. It would seem, the captain said casually, that Zachary has something on his mind! Mr. Finney joined Chris and the captain at that moment, and, looking down at Zachary, nodded his long, sad face in legubrious agreement. Chris opened his mouth to say something to the captain of what he had seen Zachary doing. Before the words could leave his mouth, he was interrupted by the appearance of red-faced Ned Silly, cheerful as a sand flea at the prospect of going ashore. Ned had come from his rest with a small company of the sailors to ask permission of the captain if they might leave the ship. Well, why not? the captain demanded. And why not take along the rest, too? We were all to go ashore presently in any case. Those who still want to sleep can do so even more comfortably on the shady sand under the palms. So, in an instant the decks of the Mirabelle were crowded with laughing, jostling men, duties over for that day, tumbling down the ladders to the dinghies in which they rode ashore. Chris and Amos were shoved along with their friends, Chris hiking up his britches to cover the coil of the magic rope around his waist, the leatheren bag hanging in plain sight about his neck. The sailors had often teased him about it, saying that he kept his riches there, but they made no attempt to snatch it from him. There had been no time to warn the captain, but as the last boatload of sailors leaped into shallow water and scattered under the shade of the trees, Chris searched and searched again for three faces among the crowd that he did not find. Zachary Haye, the captain, and Mr. Finney were not to be found. Aghast, as he understood now what Zachary's plan was, to blow up the Mirabelle just as the venture in its crew came near enough to shoot down the unarmed men, Chris rushed back to the water's edge and stood there hesitating in the powerful sun. How could he change himself to a fish or other shape unobserved? The sailors from the Mirabelle were everywhere, in the thickets for the shade, as well as along the edge of the cove, where he now stood indecisive. To use the rope was just as impossible, for the beach was broad and Chris was acutely aware that he stood out like a single tree in a field there on that white sand in the broiling sun. Better come out in that sun, Chris, someone called to him. There's too much of heat in it to be good for uncovered heads. Chris knew the voice of the sailor was right, and was on the point of jumping into one of the dinghies where they lay pulled up on the beach. Far out on the cove, the decks of the Mirabelle were deserted and, unlike themselves, so empty of life. Sweat started out on Chris's forehead, as he imagined Zachary in the hole, lighting the fuse, and he wondered where the good captain and Mr. Finney might be. He wondered, too, if he could row over in time or if he would be blown up with the ship. The boy had his hands on the scorching wood of a dinghy. His muscles tense to thrust it into the waters of the cove. One out over the still harbor, dangling in the heat, came a prolonged and piercing scream. Hot as he was, Chris felt himself go cold at the sound. He knew instantly, although he had never heard it before, that this was the death cry of a man. The scream came a second time. Terrified and despairing and out over the water following it came a low, scattered rumble. Silence fell for several frozen seconds, and then all at once Chris became aware, as he stood rigid with horror by the boat, that the sailors of the Mirabelle had rushed out from the coolest of the shore to stand stiff and appalled beside him. A babble of voices broke out, and one by one the boats were hastily launched, heading back to the ship, leaving Chris shaking and unnerved on the sand. Over the water, as brawny backs bent to the oars, the words came floating back. Someone's dead for a second, sure. Who was left on board, you say? Leave the lads, no sight for youngens. Pull, you lazy lovers, the captain and Mr. Finney, beat among us! It was a little later that Chris remembered Amos having taken his arm, and led him into the shade, and of how sick he was. The heat, and the scream, the fear, and the sense of having failed in warning the captain, combining to churn his insides into a queasy place that violently rejected his pleasant breakfast of so short a time before. Then, weak but somehow feeling better, Chris lay in the cool while Amos found a cool pool of water with which he bathed his friend's face, and then sat fanning him without a word. Chris must have dosed, for when he came to himself the light had changed, and men were carrying a shapeless bundle wrapped in canvas to a grave dug in the sand. Chris started up and joined the men gathered solemnly about the grave, and as he searched among them, knew a great sense of relief and joy when he saw a standing at the grave-head, the captain, and Mr. Finney. As Chris came up to them, Captain Blizzard was speaking a bible in his hand. Men of the Maribeth, by rights as captain of the vessel, I should read the burial service for Zachary Hay, that met his death by accident, boxes and crates killing him in the hole the way they did. But, and the captain scanned the tough weather-beaten faces near him slowly, one by one, you that helped to uncover him know what he meant to do. We harbored a viper-min who meant to destroy our ship and cargo and leave us to who knows what fate. Had not the bong of that keg of molasses above the lighted fuse, most providentially fallen out, and the fuse been put out by the syrup, no doubt neither Mr. Finney nor I, nor the Maribel would be here to tell the tale. He paused again, but there was not a stir from his audience, from under their dirty handkerchiefs, or straggly unkept hair, the men who knew no other life but the sea, no happiness or danger unconnected with it, never took their eyes from their captain. So men, Captain Blizzard resumed, the gunpowder that was meant to be the end of our fine ship is now safe and out of harm's way, and the traitor who intended this infamous deed has been dealt with by fate, and killed in a tomb of his own finding. Therefore, feeling as I do for my ship and my men, I cannot bring myself to read the holy words over this man who had no charity in his heart. Captain Blizzard handed the Bible to Ned Silly and stood with his hands behind him, nodding his head as if to stress his words. Yet, he said, he has been buried far from home in Kitherkin. It is not proper that he should be left without even a token of respect. He gestured with his plump hand to the Bible. Do you settle among yourselves who shall do the reading, but pardon me that I am so small a man that I cannot forgive a villain? So, saying, he turned slowly away, followed by Mr. Finney, who was more than usually sober and