CHAPTER 13
Claggett Chew possessed a face and bearing not easily forgotten. Agiant of a man, standing well over six feet three, he stood bareheadedin the morning sun. Contrary to the custom of the time, he wore nopigtail at his neck, nor even hair caught back, tied with a bow.Claggett Chew's head was shaved so close that the pale skin of hisskull showed through the peppery stubble, making him seem bald. Belowthe bare skull, as if in counterbalance, his black eyebrows startedout, tangled and thickly black, and under them, as out of a rockycave, his small pale eyes blinked like cornered foxes in their dens.His nose, overlarge to start with, had at some time in his life beenbroken, and its crooked shape leaned to the right as if still bendingbeneath the blow that had battered it.
A long untrimmed mustache shadowed his mouth, and stray hairs caughtinside his lips when he opened and closed them. His lips, like hiseyes, were pale, and his skin sickly as that of a man who sees butlittle of the light. His cheeks and chin were stubbly, like hishead; his beard seemed more reluctant than half grown. His wholeappearance, in his sallow yellow vest, gun-gray coat and breeches andcanary-colored stockings, was one of mingled power and weakness;strength joined with an unhealthy habit of never being in the sun, anda cruelty best enjoyed when he knew that he could win.
His cold eyes pinned Chris with their gaze as if the boy were abutterfly transfixed by a pin. His thin, pallid lips curled withdisdain and yet, Chris thought, uneasiness perhaps, as he eyed the twolads and the little knot of men. One strong, too white hand held awhip, its long leather tail ending like a scorpion's sting, in alength of wire. He held the five feet of the whip loosely caught inhis hand against the plaited leather handle, and Chris had an icysensation as he looked at it that it was never far from the largewhite hand of Claggett Chew.
A little behind Claggett Chew, examining the scene through a pair ofjeweled lorgnettes, stood an even weirder figure.
"Osterbridge Hawsey," whispered Ned Cilley, as if to himself, as hefollowed the direction of Chris's eyes.
Osterbridge Hawsey, younger than Claggett Chew by twenty years toClaggett's forty, was dressed in the height of the French mode.Anything more out of place on the dirty swarming docks of Georgetowncould scarcely have been imagined. His three-cornered hat was rakishlyset at an angle on his fair hair, which was meticulously rolled incurls above his ears, and the curls were caught at his neck with ablack velvet ribbon. Beside Claggett Chew's offensive bare skull, thehat, in its delicate blue velvet, silver braid, and airy rim ofostrich feathers, was ludicrous. Osterbridge Hawsey's costume was of apiece with the hat, for his coat was of fine blue velvet of too palea shade for any use outside a drawing room. It, too, was edged insilver braid, and its owner, holding a lorgnette with his right hand,with his left pushed back the velvet folds to display the delicacy ofhis flower-embroidered waistcoat. Satin knee breeches, a cascade offine lace at his throat, and lace falling gracefully over his smallwell-kept hands made up the picture. As Chris looked at him,fascinated and repelled, he noticed that the young man wore a patch inthe shape of a crescent moon, on his left cheek.
Chris, who had been not a little overawed at seeing Claggett Chew,could not restrain himself at the sight of this fop. The touch of fearhe had felt, looking into the pale expressionless eyes of Mr. Wicker'senemy, found relief and release in an uncontrollable burst of laughterwhen from his pocket Osterbridge Hawsey drew a tiny bottle of smellingsalts and held it delicately to his nose.
Chris's young laughter rose in peal after peal. Amos's warmer, quickerlaugh joined in, and in a second, laughter had spread to the group ofseamen who doubled up, convulsed, fell on one another's shoulders asthey wiped their eyes, and slapped their hard thighs with theirroughened hands.
The pair that so amused the rest, Claggett Chew and his fine friend, hadstopped some ten feet away at the first sound of mirth. Then intoClaggett Chew's gray-white face came astonishment, for he was used tocreating many impressions--fear, hatred, or cringing obsequiousness--butnever before had he or any of his friends been laughed at. Furthermore,he, the dreaded Claggett Chew, and his gaudy friend Osterbridge Hawsey,were held as being of so little account that a boy dared to laugh atthem!
After a surge of deep ugly red to his head, Claggett Chew's facebecame whiter than before, and his eyes were murderous.
"Oh, Claggett, they seem to be laughing at me!" Osterbridge Hawseywhined in a high-pitched voice.
Unfortunately, at this moment Chris, forgetting caution in the grip ofhis laughter, held on to Amos shouting feebly: "He's got a patch onhis 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 ClaggettChew's voice for the first time.
"So--you ill-found ugly twirp! You idiot whippersnapper! Let me giveyou one to match!"
And quicker than the eye could follow, the whip flicked out, and witha 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 asmuch as he realized--his laughter gone--that Claggett Chew was now hisdeadly 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, followed by the sauntering, giggling fop, thepair picked their way along the wharf and disappeared.
It was only then, looking around at the sobered, silent sailors, Chrisremembered that Zachary Heigh was the only one who had not laughed.