I suppose it's natural enough that the events of that night should stand out in my memory with vivid distinctness, while the six or seven years that followed have only left a general impression of their progress. I can't possibly say where our wanderings led us, for my father still seemed ill at ease if he lingered too long at one place. But now they became less harassing. We didn't steal away at the dead of night, and hide for days in the woods. We journeyed in comfort with horses or by coach, and sheltered by the welcome of great inn fires.
I remember that this was a time of intensive education for me; not so much in book-learning--though my father taught me my letters, and was even anxious that I should master Latin--but rather in the arts of hiding, tracking, and every kind of physical prowess. It seems to me now that I had the training of a Redskin rather than of an English boy; but I know I entered into it with relish, and pleased my father by my precocious skill in climbing, in fighting with the knife, and especially in swimming and diving.
We still kept up our tremendous games of hide-and-seek, stalking each other across great stretches of country, and even taking refuge on the sea. My father had a power of disguise which was baffling in its completeness, and in hunting him I would frequently ask news of him from some wayside beggar or passing carter to find afterwards that I had been speaking to my father himself. But I soon found a way of penetrating his disguises, because the scar of the burn and the knife across his left hand betrayed him to me, and I learnt to suspect anyone who hid his left hand or wore gloves. And this betraying mark was disconcerting to him; not so much, I think, because it discovered him to me, as because he was afraid that it might be a witness against him when he needed concealment. He tried every means to cover the traces of the tell-tale burn. The gash of the knife wasn't so serious as it lay across the palm, and could be hidden by holding the hand half-shut. But the scar of the burn spread over the back of his hand and up three fingers. He devised stains and dyes and paints, and at last did manage to cover the blemish from all but very curious eyes, but naturally the treatment wasn't permanent, nor could it be applied in a hurry. Generally he wore gloves.
I don't know to this day the route of our wanderings. My sense of direction was usually good enough to tell me whether we were travelling north or south, but actually where we were at any particular time I seldom knew. Except when we returned to the Dolphin Inn. I knew that through much acquaintance; for however far afield we strayed we were sure to return to it sooner or later.
It was a tumble-down, neglected hostelry that seemed to have known better days. I think its prosperity waned with the suppression of the smugglers. For it lay so remote and in so wild a country that I can't conceive how the patronage of the road alone could have ever maintained it. Indeed, you had to be lost before you could find it. A straggling path led up to it from a rocky shore through a dense patch of woodland, and the only dwellings for miles were a few miserable fishermen's huts and a forest shack or two.
But I was always glad to be back there, for the country was an ideal playground for a boy trained as I had been. There was the wonderful flitting life of the woods, secret and passionate, which stirred something deep within me to a yearning sympathy. And then there was the sea with its rocky wall where the great waves raced and burst, sucking back down the green and clinging weeds to gather strength for a fresh spring. I haunted the wild coast till I thought I knew every bay and reach and pool, and where one could venture at low water, and where the cliffs could be scaled. And my father was pleased beyond measure and encouraged me in my explorations, greeting me as I scrambled back for a late supper with, "Well, Tommy, what have you found to-day?"
But I never seemed to find what he was sending me in search of; for that there was something hidden on that coast for which he was hunting I soon began to realize.
The night was almost as wonderful as the day. For first came my lesson in fighting with the knife, a time of glorious excitement. In our combats we used folded lengths of paper so that we could fight with vigour but without danger of accidents. What added zest to the game was that my father had promised me a shiny new knife of my own when I had succeeded in hitting him three times over the heart. I remember my dancing exultancy when I scored my first success, but after that he became more cautious, and the second blow was more difficult of attainment. And then when we had finished our combat came the hour of the evening story.
The days at the Dolphin Inn were never long enough for me, and the only time, I think, when I really felt resentment against my father was when he announced that we must be away again. I could see no reason for it. I had begun to understand that once--and long enough ago it seemed to me now--my father had been pursued by some strange and relentless enemy; but, I reasoned, wasn't that enemy safely dead? The only answer that I received from my father when I put the question to him was the somewhat enigmatic, "Ghosts, Tommy."
"Ghosts?" I said inquiringly.
"Sometimes the dead will rise," he announced in his hushed, mysterious voice, "and sometimes," he added, "the dead will leave the living behind them."
All I could gather was that he was vaguely uneasy that the pursuer was still on his track, though there had been no whisper of it for several years. For once after a long reverie he suddenly roused himself, and looking keenly at me said, "Tommy, was he lying still?"
I didn't understand; and repeated, "Still, daddy?"
He laughed a little, realizing the incomprehensibility of his question; and taking me by the shoulders he said slowly, "Now think, Tommy. When we left him in the hut, was he lying still?"
"He?" I said. "You mean she, daddy?"
"Ah, she," he laughed, "the old witch, Bite-in-the-Dark."
Now the picture was very clear in my mind that the old crone was not lying still as we broke away from the blaze; and as my father asked me the question I could see her, with infinite pain, slowly dragging herself along the floor. My imagination, alarmed probably by the intensity of my father's eagerness, must have exaggerated the impression, for I could almost picture her crawling from the door. But all I said was, "No, daddy; I saw her move."
"Ha!" he exclaimed, turning away; and then swinging round added impressively, "Tommy, always make sure."
"But, daddy," I cried, "is she still alive? Will she find us?"
"No, no, Tommy," he answered easily, patting my head, "she can't be alive. But," he added, "I haven't seen her ghost."
I took him to mean that he couldn't be certain of her death till he had seen her disembodied spirit; a theory that seemed by no means fantastic to me; for it was part of my conception of ghosts that they would haunt their murderers.
And that closed the subject. Except that I was puzzled and disturbed; firstly because I didn't quite understand my father's reference to ghosts, and secondly because he had spoken of the old witch as he. Was he thinking of Shadow-of-Fear, or was it indeed a man that we had killed?
However, we set off again on our wanderings, and I eagerly looked out for signs of the return to the Dolphin Inn, for I loved the place above all others that I knew, and I wanted to find what the secret was which my father was trying to unravel.
Now the signs of the return to the Dolphin were two. One was the approach of summer, and the other was that my father would begin to grow a beard. For elsewhere he went clean-shaven, but to the Dolphin he always masked his face in a thick black barbous growth which I suppose was his particular disguise for that corner of the world. So when I saw the razor had been laid aside, and my father's face changed from white to blue, and gradually sank concealed beneath a stubbly brush of beard and whisker, I knew we should soon be tramping back to the beloved Dolphin. And I was more excited than usual at the prospect. Perhaps my spirit could scent the coming adventures from afar; or perhaps merely I was beginning to delight in my precocious strength of body; for though barely turned thirteen I had the girth of a boy of fifteen. And with the summer we were there again, and I took up the thread of my life where I had laid it down, initiating what was to be a memorable season by scoring the second stroke of the three that were to win me my knife.
We had one room at the Dolphin, up a flight of stairs and below us was the great kitchen which served as bar for the few odd fishermen who formed almost the only patrons of the inn. Occasionally rougher men from over-sea would break the sleepy quiet of the place. Where they hailed from I didn't know, and didn't seek to enquire. They seemed fierce folk, but kindly enough, tossing huge jests at each other which I didn't understand, but which were always greeted by immense bursts of throaty laughter. We could hear them through the floor of our room if we lay with our ears to the boards; and I remember that whenever they came my father used to vanish during the day, leaving me to my own devices.
Not that I ever saw much of these swarthy strangers, for they came with the morning and vanished with the night; and my father, in that impressive way he knew so well how to employ, warned me to keep well to the windward of them. But once in my ramblings I came face to face with old Dirk Stormaway, whom I had always taken to be the chief of the mysterious band. My first thought was that I had blundered inexcusably, for it was part of my training to scent instinctively the presence of a stranger, and here I had tumbled almost into his arms, not in the least aware of his nearness to me. He thrust out a huge hand and seized me by the shoulder, gazing deep into my eyes with a savage intentness which I returned with interest.
"Wull," he drawled slowly, "an' who be ye?"
Now among the few precepts my father had drilled into me was one never to be disconcerted in an unexpected crisis, and another was to meet danger with a smile. So I answered with a child's impertinence, "Maybe I'm my father's son."
He was chewing something mechanically in his mouth, and at my answer he turned his head and spat, and I thought I saw the least of wrinkles pucker the furrows round his eyes.
At length, "Yus," he said, "an' wull you may be." And after a pause he added, "An' who's your father?"
"Maybe," I began; but the light in his eyes hardened, and his grip tightened, as though to warn me there was danger in carrying a joke too far. Instinct told me that the answer direct was the safest course now; and I said, "He's the gentleman at the inn."
"Heh!" was the reply; but the hand still held me, and the chewing didn't stop.
"An' what's he doing hereabouts, anyway?" was the next question.
Now this was disconcerting, for to tell the truth I didn't know, and my father hadn't enlightened me. Also I began to suspect that under the circumstances the truth might be dangerous knowledge. For that my father was hunting diligently on the trace of some secret I had assumed as a fact by now. And might it not be that the secret was somehow connected with these men? Didn't he always vanish when they appeared?
I felt myself shaken, and the eyes were fiercely fixed on me from under the man's savage brows. "Come now; what's he doing hereabouts?" he repeated; adding, "An' see here, kiddy, if ye don't tell me the truth on't an' no humbug, I'll crack your back like a stick." His other arm came out, and I felt myself slowly bending in his tremendous hands.
"Why," I cried, again summoning what impudence I could, though I was terribly alarmed by now, "he's a poet, he is."
"A what?" cried Dirk.
He was evidently taken aback, and I felt my body free again.
"He's a poet," I repeated. "He tells stories--writes," I corrected hurriedly.
Somehow my own lie seemed suddenly very like the truth to me. For that my father could tell stories as no one else could, I well knew; and that he carried pen and paper with him, and a slender selection of books, I also knew. I wondered for half a moment whether I had unawares pitched on the truth.
Dirk wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said with bitter scorn, "Ah, I know the likes of him. Gets the yarns out of chaps like us, and dishes them up fer the swell blokes. Kah!" he ejaculated with unction, "they don't mind the reading of 'em, but we what has the doing...." He drew his hand across his throat, and his meaning was unmistakable.
At this I felt a surging indignation on my father's account. The man seemed to me to have insulted him, and I said, "You'd better not say that to my father."
"Oho," he laughed, "I'd better not, hadn't I? An' what for no?"
Then I realized I had said more than I should have done, and as though I had forgotten my remark I cried to cover my mistake, "You can't catch me." I ducked under his grabbing hand, and was away.
Looking back I saw him spring up to watch me, and then he started on my track, whether in fun or earnest I didn't know. I gave him a good run, that much I remember, making for the rocks where I thought my nimbleness would be to my advantage; but he was up with me too soon, and I was forced to scramble up a tree into the high top branches where I knew he couldn't follow. But he didn't attempt to pursue. He stood below and shouted at me good-humouredly to come down and he wouldn't hurt me. I was suspicious at first, but what was I to do? Down I must come at the last. So I put a good face on the matter, and slid down at his feet.
As it happened my confidence was well rewarded. He didn't grab at me as I had half expected, but with hands on hips stood grinning down at me, and after a long survey said, "Wull, an' what else can you do, since you're such a nippy 'un?"
"Oh," I cried, "I can swim, and dive and--and I can fight."
"Pity if you couldn't," he put in, "seeing as what a world you live in."
"I fight with the knife," I said.
"The devil you do!" he replied.
In my belt I carried a wooden knife which I had whittled myself, and this I drew and rushed in on Dirk to show that my boast was no idle one. But he was too quick for me, and seized my wrist in true fashion. At the same moment he drew a cutlass and flourished it glitteringly over my head. I think he was surprised when I sprang and seized his wrist as my father had taught me, though of course he wrenched himself free with a single twist, at the same time releasing my imprisoned arm.
Slowly he pushed his weapon back into his belt, and said, "Wull, you're a smart 'un," nodding his head appraisingly, and gazing at me as though pondering some problem. Then he muttered, "Yus, the kid's worth it," and this time drawing a dagger from his great sea-boot said, "See here, kiddy, I'll show you a trick worth learning."
Now all this while my conceit had been steadily flattered into arrogance, for a child knows well enough when he is being admired, and it was evident to me that for some reason or other Dirk was pleased and surprised at my prowess. And I was all attention as he explained the manœuvre. It was simple enough in theory, but difficult in execution. The idea was to lunge with the right hand, and, as your opponent seized your wrist, to slip your knife into your left hand and drive home. The danger was that it left your enemy's knife hand unguarded, and success was dependent upon swiftness, accuracy, and complete surprise. Dirk demonstrated the trick to me, and for a long while we combated there in the woodland till he thought I had learnt my lesson well enough; and at length thrusting back his weapon he gave a glance at the sun, and with a gruff farewell left me. He turned after a few yards and threw back at me, "An' if you try to follow me, I'll break your back like a stick."
I shouted after him, "I'd knife you first," at which he laughed; but again he turned and said, "An if you tell a soul you've seen me, even that precious father of yours, I'll...." but he didn't finish his threat; for I think he only had one, and he had already used it. He growled and tramped away. But I didn't follow, for the fellow had a way of making you see when he was in earnest and when it was safe to play with him.
For my part I ran back towards the inn eager to put my new skill into practice and win the knife which I knew my father kept ready for me, for he had shown it to me once to urge on my endeavour, and the vision of the clean blue steel was one which I loved to dwell upon.
