By the following morning Robbie’s vexation had shifted onto himself for letting himself get frustrated with the Vicar. His naturally sanguine nature had returned; once again he was able to look optimistically at life. And almost without noticing it, he found himself seeking an opportunity to reconcile with the Vicar the tension with which the evening had ended.
It disturbed Robbie to see how most of the crew treated the Vicar, sending him to fetch a bit of gear or another cup of coffee or a bucket of water for them. Yet Drew obeyed like a whipped pup. Not with a willing exuberance as did Sammy the cabin boy, but rather with a heavy sigh, as if this were no more than he deserved, though he retained the right within the privacy of his own mind to despise them all for it. But Robbie believed that if Drew were treated with something akin to respect, he might rise out of the hole of self-abuse in which he continually seemed to be wallowing.
Robbie found the Vicar sitting in the midst of a pile of canvas, mending an old sail, just as Jenkins, one of the able seamen, was calling to him from the forecastle. Robbie approached unnoticed.
“Hey, Vicar!” called Jenkins. “Me blade on this trowel broke. Why don’t you be a good chap an’ run below an’ get me a new one?”
Drew glanced up, opened his mouth momentarily as if to protest, then thought better of it, rose, and sauntered away toward the hatch, passing Robbie on the way.
Robbie fell into step beside him.
“Elliot,” he said, “if you want that treatment to stop, you have to stand up to them.”
“What in heaven’s name do you mean?” asked the Vicar, as if the thought had never occurred to him.
“I mean,” replied Robbie with forced patience, “that if you showed a little backbone, they might stop pushing you around. I’d step in myself if I didn’t think that would only make things worse for you in the long run.”
“The vertebral portion of the anatomy was never my strongest asset.”
“Drew!” exclaimed Robbie, frustrated with the ex-cleric’s sarcasm. “Why can’t you just once look a problem straight in the eye without turning it into a joke?”
“If you only knew what you asked, Robbie Taggart.”
By now they had reached the forehatch, and Drew yanked it open with a jerk. He turned back toward Robbie with a smile that looked almost sincere. “I appreciate your concern, my friend. But don’t waste your time trying to reform me. It’s not worth your trouble. After all, even God couldn’t succeed in that area. So it’s doubtful you will be able to either.”
“He must have once.”
“That was a very long time ago.” With the words, Drew ducked into the hatchway and disappeared.
A few minutes later the Vicar returned, humbly delivering the required tool to Jenkins. As Robbie observed the remainder of the proceedings, he could hardly fathom what could be at root in the heart of such a weak soul. He had always been the sort of person himself who would fight for his rights, who would stand up for what he believed in. Drew, on the other hand, seemed to shout out his weakness like an oracle proclaiming doom. Yet Robbie could not escape the conclusion that there was more to the man than the apparent cowardice he seemed bent on portraying. What he was hiding, what he was afraid of, Robbie could only guess. If it was true cowardice, that would be unfortunate. For Robbie was good-natured enough to accept almost any other kind of man but that.
Still wondering what other motives might be able to account for Drew’s peculiarities, Robbie walked slowly to the chart house. He had been there about a quarter of an hour when suddenly he heard a great clamor forward. He hurried out to see Turk at the forehatch screaming in an unintelligible mixture of Cockney and Arabic.
“What’s the trouble?” Robbie shouted, trying to make himself heard.
“Robbed!” screamed the Arab. “I am robbed!”
“Thievery’s a serious crime aboard a ship. What makes you think so?”
“I tell you,” replied Turk, calming enough to make his English coherent, “someone’s been rifling through my locker!”
“Is that all?”
“That’s enough, ain’t it?”
“But was anything taken?” As he spoke Robbie could see the rest of the crew gradually gathering about the scene. He glanced up at them as if to find his answer there.
“Nothing, as I can see—yet!” returned Turk. “But a man’s locker is sacred, and someone was in mine! If ye got no trust on a ship, ye got nothing!”
Robbie was struck with the incongruity of words about trust coming from the man on board he would trust less than any of them.
“So, Turk,” said Robbie, “what proof do you have to make such accusations?”
“Proof! You want proof!” shouted Turk, his rage starting to boil over again. “Well, I gots it! The lock has been broke on my locker, so I tied a len’th of hemp roun’ it. And I used a special knot! The dirty thief re-tied it so’s it looked like my knot. But it wasn’t the same! That’s how I know!”
“I know what he’s talking about,” put in Jenkins. “We used to call that one there a thieves’ knot. It’s just like how if you tie a square wrong, it won’t hold. I know the knot Turk ties. But not many know it, even many sailors. Most blokes try to imitate it. That’s what they’re tryin’ to tie, and it looks the same, but won’t hold. I seen other blokes make the same mistakes. One fellow I knowed tied a knot like that in the rigging once when his wife’s lover was climbin’ aloft. Killed the bloke . . . couldn’t hold his weight.”
Robbie could not refrain from an involuntary shudder at Jenkins’ story. His own accident aboard the Macao had been similar. He had been climbing up a ratline to secure a top gallant during a heavy squall when one of the lines gave loose. A fall from aloft was nearly always fatal, whether the man fell into the sea or on deck. In Robbie’s case the fall was broken by some webbed rigging that slowed him down, and thus his final free-fall to the deck had only been some twenty feet. A few bones had been broken; even that could have proved fatal had they been far out at sea. However, fortune had it that they were near port and had reached a doctor within two days. His recovery had been complete, even though at the time it had put him out of commission for several months.
His was an accident though, and Robbie recoiled at the thought of such a mishap being contrived, though it was no secret that seamen were a hard and rowdy lot. The kind of life they lived required it. Yet there remained a certain unshakeable honor—an undefinable camaraderie—even among the worst of them. Every once in a while one showed up who was rotten through and through, but Robbie had rarely encountered such. Even two men who might come to blows in the rigors of sea life would probably lay down their lives for one another if crisis demanded it. He was certain even men such as Digger and Turk would demonstrate their loyalty to the rest of the crew, even him, if put to it.
Thus the slightest hint of robbery among mates caused Robbie a sense of revulsion. But he would give any suspect fair play until proof was conclusive. Turk, however, was not so benevolent.
“The skipper taught me that knot,” he was saying, “an’ I’ll wager there ain’t a handful of you that knows it. But it’s the one who don’t know it as was in my stuff. An’ I’ll say right here—I seen the Vicar go below not twenty minutes ago.”
“What a minute, Turk!” said Robbie.
“Don’t you go tryin’ to coddle him now, Taggart. I didn’t see no one else go up or down in the time since I last checked my gear.”
Several voices at once agreed with Turk, and Drew was gradually isolated from the rest of the crowd as they eased away from him.
“What have you got to say for yourself, Drew?” asked Robbie.
The Vicar stood in silence for some moments, as if he were mulling over the consequences of various replies in his mind. But before he had a chance to speak, the coxswain pushed his sturdy frame through the group.
“I yust heard what is happen here,” he said breathlessly, for he had jogged there from his post at the helm. “An’ Mr. Turk be mistaken about Mr. Drew’s being da only one to go below. I vent dere mysel’ only about half an hour ago.”
“That’s right,” said another, suddenly recovering his memory. “An’ ain’t the skipper himself down there right now?”
A trickle of laughter spread through the group, for whether the men respected Pike or not, they knew the notion of his involving himself in petty theft, or even attempted petty theft, was inconceivable.
Robbie laughed with the rest, glad for the release of tension.
“Well, Turk,” he said, “it appears we have three suspects now. Whom will you accuse?”
“You’re protecting him, Taggart,” objected Turk, his menacing eyes seeking Robbie’s with unspoken threat. “I ain’t heard no denials yet.”
Torger merely laughed at the very idea. Drew remained silent. Fearing he might incriminate himself just for the sake of doing so, or with some obscure quotations whose meaning remained hidden to all but himself, Robbie quickly cut in.
“So . . . we have two denials,” he said. “And I presume you will agree that we will most likely receive one from the captain as well. However, if you would like to question—”
“So that’s how it is, is it, Taggart?” exploded Turk, seething. “Take care of your babies, and to blazes with the rest of us!”
“Now you listen to me, Turk,” said Robbie firmly, but maintaining his calm. “You cannot prove a theft has been committed, and I will not lay such a serious charge against any man on board this ship without hard evidence. All we know at present is that your cords were tampered with. It may well be that someone found them loose and, as a good deed, tried to re-tie them.”
“Then why won’t he admit it?”
“It is doubtful at this point that you’d believe any explanation. If I had done it myself, I think I’d hesitate saying anything after seeing the fire in your eyes. I grant that the situation bears watching. But I’ll not punish a man without proof.”
“I’ll take it to the skipper!”
“Do that,” said Robbie confidently. “But you’ll get no different response.”
As assured as Robbie sounded, however, in reality he was not at all certain just how Pike would react. He was not an easy man to understand, perhaps with more undercurrents of conflicting motives than even the Vicar. His mood had a great deal to do with his response to any given situation. Till now he had been completely supportive of Robbie. But who could tell what the stress of the sea might bring?
Turk spat at the deck and stormed away. He did not, however, go below to Pike’s cabin.
The men slowly dispersed, and by and by the work around the ship resumed. But Robbie continued to mull the incident over in his head. Was it possible there truly was a thief aboard? And worse, could it have been the Vicar? Heaven only knew he didn’t appear to have the guts for such an act—especially against a ruthless character like Turk. On the other hand, sneaking about while no one was watching might just be something he would do. Could he have been looking for whiskey?
When Robbie finished up his business in the chart house, he decided it was time to find Drew and get to the bottom of it. He had taken quite a chance in standing up to Turk on Drew’s behalf. And if it turned out he was in truth a common burglar, he’d keel-haul him.
But before he ran across the Vicar, Robbie encountered Pike.
“I heard there was some trouble,” said the skipper, limping toward him from the forecastle.
“Just some accusations,” Robbie replied, determined to keep talk about the incident as understated as possible.
“That Vicar bears watching.”
“Oh, I think he’s harmless enough. Turk worries me more.”
“How much do you know about him, Robbie?”
“Who?”
“The Vicar.”
Robbie slowly shook his head. “Not much, really.”
“Well, I hear he nearly killed a man once, and that’s why he’s been exiled from his fancy Hyde Park life.”
“I find that too incredible to believe!” replied Robbie. Yet even as he spoke he recalled Drew’s words the night before they departed England: I fit in more than you think, Taggart.
All at once Pike stopped, turned, and faced him, then said, jabbing a long, crooked finger into Robbie’s chest to accentuate his words: “Things ain’t always what they seem, mate!”
It was the first time Robbie had ever taken close note of the hard glint in Pike’s sallow eyes. For the briefest of moments he wondered that he could have considered himself friends with such a man.
Almost as if reading Robbie’s inner hesitancies, Pike broke into a great rolling guffaw. Were one to regard his face closely, he would have seen that glint still present, but the uncharacteristic laughter made Robbie forget—at least for now. There were too many real problems and dangers at present for Robbie to occupy his mind with imagined fancies about their skipper. If he let himself dwell on such fleeting notions, before long he’d start believing himself caught on some ill-fated ship of doom bound for a fate unknown.
The vessel ran smoothly the following morning, as if she were not aware of the potential for strife she carried. Their pilot disembarked at the Isle of Wight where they were held up several hours with blustery weather and contrary winds. When they sailed the next day, none aboard had any idea that their number had suddenly increased by one, nor that this particular addition would likely light the already short fuse of conflict aboard the Sea Tiger.