Part 27 (1/2)

No, I had fought that battle. I had made Ruth happy. I should soon become as nothing to them, and thus Wilfred and my mother would have their own way, and be joyous because I was no more. That was something, and yet I was sure that Wilfred had schemed for such an end.

What definite reason I had for this I could not tell, but I was sure of it, and I hated him. True, I had gone away freely, and yet I had been driven away; things had been so arranged that I could not stay to be a skeleton at the feast, a hindrance to all joy.

I ceased to think about it at length, and tried to bring myself into harmony with my surroundings. What should I call myself? I could not ask for a sailor's position as Roger Trewinion, and yet I did not like to give up my name. Finally I decided to call myself Richard Tretheway. It was a very common name, and by this name I should still retain my initials. Where I came from was a matter of little importance; there were lots of little fis.h.i.+ng villages all the way down the coast; so I settled on one near my old home, and made my way to the riverside where some vessels lay. The captain of one of them struck my attention in a minute. He stood quietly watching some men who were loading the boat with corn. He was not swearing or bullying as some of the others were, and I determined to speak to him.

”And what may you want, my lad?” he said as I went up to him.

”A job, sir,” I said, with a strong Cornish accent.

He looked at me keenly. ”What can you do?” he said.

I named the work I could do on a s.h.i.+p.

”Let's have a look at your hands?” he said.

I showed him my hands. They were not so soft as those of most young men in my position. I had done an amount of harvest work, and thus, with constantly rowing and engaging in other physical exercises, they were almost as hard as an ordinary seaman's.

”What have you been brought up to?” he asked.

”Fis.h.i.+ng.”

”That's a lie. You are neither a fisherman nor a sailor.”

I hung my head.

”Yes, you may hang your head, my lad, for you are not what you seem.”

Again in a clumsy way I repeated the duties of both, but the captain would not listen.

”Yes, yes, my young gentleman, you may know about these things as well as I do, but that don't deceive me. You were never brought up to work, you weren't; but you are a strong likely chap for all that.”

I tried again to a.s.sure him that I could do a sailor's work well.

”Now, look here, young man,” he said, ”I'm an oldish chap, and have seen a bit of the world, and have learnt to read a little of men and things, and although you are not what you want to pa.s.s off to be I like your looks. What you mean by being here I don't know; but that's not my business, and I do want a likely young fellow like you. Answer me square and fair. Are you seeking to get on this vessel because you've done anything wrong, are you in fear of anybody or anything, and is anybody after you now?”

I liked his plain question, and I answered plainly.

”I have done nothing wrong, sir,” I said; ”I am not afraid of anything or anybody, and no one is after me now.”

He looked at me straight in the eyes, but I met his gaze fearlessly.

”What's your name, my lad?”

”Richard Tretheway.”

”That is not your real name?”

”No.”

”You are sure you are doing nothing wrong in concealing your true name?

Be perfectly honest.”