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Published in Spaceway Science Fiction, Vol. 4, No. 3 (September-October 1969).
As if it were yesterday, I remember that terrible night in the Silver Slipper, in the late fall of 1845. Outside, the wind roared in an icy gale and the sleet drove with it, till it rattled against the windows like the knucklebones of a skeleton. As we sat about the tavern fire, we could hear, booming above the wind and the sleet, the thunder of the white surges that beat frenziedly against the stark New England coast. The ships in the harbor of the little seaport town lay double anchored, and the captains sought the warmth and companionship to be found in the wharf-side taverns.
There in the Silver Slipper that night were four men and I, the tap boy. There was Ezra Harper, the host; John Gower, captain of the Sea-Woman; Jonas Hopkins, a lawyer out of Salem; and Captain Starkey of The Vulture. These four men sat about the heavy oaken table in front of the great fire which roared in the fireplace, and I scurried about the tavern attending to their wants, filling mugs, and heating spiced drinks.
Captain Starkey sat with his back to the fire facing a window whereon the sleet beat and rattled. Ezra Harper sat at his right, at the end of the table, Captain Gower sat at the other end, and the lawyer, Jonas Hopkins, sat directly opposite Starkey, with his back to the window and facing the fire.
“More brandy!” Starkey roared, hammering the table with his great knotty fist. He was a rough giant of a man in middle life, with a short thick black beard and eyes that gleamed from beneath heavy black brows.
“A cold night for them that sail the sea,” said Ezra Harper.
“A colder night for the men that sleep below the sea,” said John Gower moodily. He was a tall rangy man, dark and saturnine of countenance, a strange wayward man of whom dark tales were told.
Starkey laughed savagely. “If you’re thinking of Tom Siler, you’d best save your sympathy. Earth is the gainer for his going, and the sea is no better for it. A vile, murdering mutineer!” he roared the last in a sudden fury and smote the table resoundingly, glaring about as if to challenge any to dispute him.
A mocking smile flitted across the sinister countenance of John Gower, and Jonas Hopkins leaned forward, his keen eyes boring into Starkey’s. Like all of us, he knew the story of Tom Siler, as told by Captain Starkey: how Siler, first mate aboard The Vulture, had sought to incite the crew to mutiny and piracy, had been tricked by Starkey and hanged at sea. Those were hard days and the captain’s word was law at sea.
“Strange,” said Jonas Hopkins, with his thin colorless face thrust at Captain Starkey. “Strange that Tom Siler should turn out bad, and him such a law abiding lad before this.”
Starkey merely grunted disdainfully and emptied his cup. He was already drunk.
“When does your niece, Betty, marry Joseph Harmer, captain?” asked Ezra Harper, seeking to change the subject into safer channels. Jonas Hopkins sank back in his seat and turned his attention to his rum.
“Tomorrow,” snarled Starkey.
Gower laughed shortly. “Is it a wife or a daughter Joe Harmer wants that he’s marrying a girl so much younger than he?”
“John Gower, you’ll oblige me by attending to your own cursed business!” roared Starkey. “The hussy should be overjoyed to be marrying a man like Harmer, who is one of the wealthiest ship owners in New England.”
“But Betty doesn’t think so, does she?” persisted John Gower, as if intent on stirring up trouble. “She’s still sorrowing for Dick Hansen, isn’t she?”
Captain Starkey’s hairy hands clenched into fists and he glared at Gower as if this questioning of his private affairs was too much. Then he gulped down his rum and slammed the mug down on the board.
“There’s no accounting for the whims of a girl,” he said moodily. “If she wants to waste her life lamenting a wastrel who ran away and got himself drowned, that’s her business. But it’s my affair to see she marries properly.”
“And how much is Joe Harmer paying you, Starkey?” asked John Gower bluntly.
This passed the point of civility and discretion. Starkey’s huge body heaved up out of his seat and, with a bellow, he leaned across the table, eyes red with drink and fury, and his iron fist lifted. Gower did not move, but sat smiling up at him slit-eyed and dangerous.
“Sit down, Starkey!” Ezra Harper interposed. “John, the devil’s in you tonight. Why can’t we all take our liquor together friendly-like—”
This philosophical discourse was cut short abruptly. The heavy door was suddenly thrown open, a rush of wind made the candle dance and flicker wildly, and in the swirl of sleet that burst in, we saw a girl standing. I sprang forward and shut the door behind her.
“Betty!”
The girl was slim, almost frail. Her large dark eyes stared wildly, and her pretty pale face was streaked with tears. Her hair fell loose about her slender shoulders and her garments were soaked and battered by the gale through which she had battled her way.
“Betty!” roared Captain Starkey. “I thought you were at home in bed! What are you doing here—and on a night like this?”
“Oh, uncle!” she cried, holding her arms out to him blindly, oblivious to the rest of us. “I came to tell you again! I can’t marry Joseph Harmer tomorrow! I can’t! It’s Dick Hansen! He’s calling to me through the wind and the night and the black waters! Alive or dead, I’m his till I die, and I can’t—I can’t—”
“Get out!” roared Starkey, stamping and brandishing his arms like a maniac. “Out with you and back to your room! I’ll attend to you later! Be silent! You’ll marry Joe Harmer tomorrow or I’ll beat you to death!”
With a whimper she sank to her knees before him, and with a bellow he raised his huge fist as if to strike her. But with one cat-like movement John Gower was out of his seat and had hurled the enraged captain back upon the table.
“Keep your hands off me, you damned pirate!” shouted Starkey furiously.
Gower grinned bleakly. “That’s yet to be proven,” said he. “But lay a finger on this child and we’ll see how quick a ‘damned pirate’ can cut the heart out of an honest merchantman who’s selling his own blood and kin to a miser.”
“Let be, John,” Ezra Harper interposed. “Starkey, don’t you see the girl’s in a fair way to collapse? Here, honey,” he bent and lifted her gently, “come with old Ezra. There’s a warm fire in an upper room, and my wife shall give you some dry clothes. It’s a bitter night for a girl to be out in. You’ll stay with us till morning, dearie.”
He went up the stair, half carrying the girl; and Starkey, after staring after them for a moment, returned to the table. There was silence awhile, and then Jonas Hopkins, who had not moved out of his seat, said:
“Strange tales making the rounds, Captain Starkey.”
“And what might they be?” asked Starkey defiantly.
Jonas Hopkins stuffed his long slim-stemmed pipe with Virginia tobacco before he answered.
“I talked with some of your crew today.”
“Huh!” Starkey spat out an oath. “My ship makes port this morning and before night the gossips are at work.”
Hopkins beckoned me for a coal for his pipe. I obliged, and he took several long puffs.
“Mayhap they have something to work on this time, Captain Starkey.”
“Speak up, man!” said Starkey angrily. “What are you driving at?”
“They say on board The Vulture that Tom Siler was never guilty of mutiny. They say that you trumped up the charges and hanged him out of hand in spite of the protests of the crew.”
Starkey laughed savagely but hollowly. “And what basis for this wild tale?”
“They say that as he stood on the threshold of Eternity, Tom Siler swore that you were murdering him because he had learned what became of Dick Hansen. But before he could say more, the noose shut off his words and his life.”
“Dick Hansen!” Starkey’s face was pale, but his tone still defiant. “Dick Hansen was last seen on the wharfs of Salem one night over a year ago. What have I to do with him?”
“You wanted Betty to marry Joe Harmer, who was ready to buy her like a slave from you,” answered Jonas Hopkins calmly. “This much is known by all.”
John Gower nodded agreement.
“She was to marry Dick Hansen, though, and you had him shanghaied on board a British whaler bound on a four-year cruise. Then you spread the report that he had been drowned and tried to rush Betty into marrying Harmer against her will, before Hansen could return. When you learned that Siler knew and would tell Betty, you became desperate. I know that you are on the verge of bankruptcy. Your only chance was the money Harmer had promised you. You murdered Tom Siler to still his mouth.”
Another silence fell. Outside in the black night, the wind rose to a shriek. Starkey twisted his great fingers together and sat silent and brooding.
“And can you prove all this?” he sneered at last.
“I can prove that you are nearly bankrupt and that Harmer promised you money; I can prove that you had Hansen done away with.”
“But you can’t prove that Siler was not contemplating mutiny,” shouted Starkey. “And how can you prove Hansen was shanghaied?”
“This morning I received a letter from my agent who had just arrived in Boston,” said Hopkins. “He had seen Hansen in an Asiatic seaport. The young man said that he intended deserting ship at the first opportunity, and returning to America. He asked that Betty be acquainted with the fact that he was alive and still loved her.”
Starkey rested his elbows on the table and sank his chin on his fists, like a man who sees his castles falling about him and red ruin facing him. Then he shook his mighty shoulders and laughed savagely. He drained his cup and reeled to his feet, bellowing with sudden laughter.
“I’ve still a card or two in my hand!” he shouted. “Tom Siler’s in Hell with a noose around his neck, and Dick Hansen’s across the world! The girl’s my ward and a minor, and she’ll marry whoever I say. You can’t prove what you say about Siler. My word’s law on the high seas, and you can’t call me to account for anything I do aboard my own ship. As for Dick Hansen—my niece will be safely married to Joe Harmer long before that young fool gets back from his cruise. Go tell her if you like. Go tell her Dick Hansen still lives!”
“That’s what I intend to do,” said Jonas Hopkins, rising. “And should have done so before now, had I not wished to face you with the facts first.”
“Great good it will do!” yelled Starkey like a wild man. He seemed like some savage beast at bay, defying us all. His eyes flamed terribly from under his craggy brows, and his fingers were crooked like talons. He snatched a goblet of liquor from the table and waved it.
“Aye, go tell her! She’ll marry Harmer, or I’ll kill her. Contrive and plot, you yellow-spined swine, no living man can balk me now, and no living man can save her from being the wife of Joe Harmer!
“Here’s a toast, you cringing cowards! I’ll drink to Tom Siler, sleeping in the cold white sea with the noose about his traitor’s neck. Here’s to my mate, Tom Siler, a-spinning and a-twirling from the cross-trees—”
This was insanity; I shrank back from the blast of the man’s hideous triumph, and even from John Gower’s face the smile was missing.
“To Tom Siler!” The winds answered the roar. The sleet drummed with frantic fingers on the window as if the black night itself sought entrance. I shrank near to the fire behind Captain Starkey’s back, yet an unearthly coldness stole over me, as if through a suddenly opened door, a wind from some other sphere had breathed upon me.
“To Tom Siler—” Captain Starkey’s arm went up with the goblet, his eyes, following the motion, rested on the window that separated us from the outer darkness. He froze, eyes starting from his head. The goblet dropped unheeded from his hand, and with one deathly scream he pitched forward across the table—dead!
What killed him? Too much drink and the fire in his evil brain, they said. Yet—Jonas Hopkins had turned toward the stairs and John Gower’s eyes were fixed on Starkey’s face. Only I looked toward the window and saw there what blasted Captain Starkey’s brain and blew out his life as a witch blows out a candle. And the sight has haunted me to this day and will haunt me to the day of my death.
The window was rimed with frost and the candles gleamed illusively against it, for a moment I saw it clearly: a shadowy, nebulous shape that was like the reflection of a man’s form in restless water. And the face was that of Tom Siler, and about the neck was a shadowy noose!