Sword Blades and Poppy Seed Part 10

She's oft coquetted with a tropic breeze, And sheered off hurricanes with jaunty smiles."

"Tush, Kurler," here broke in the other man, "Enough of poetry, draw the deed and sign."

The old man seemed to wizen at the voice, "My good friend, Grootver,--" he at once began.

"No introductions, let us have some wine, And business, now that you at last have made your choice."

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A harsh and disagreeable man he proved to be, This Grootver, with no single kindly thought.

Kurler explained, his old hands nervously Twisting his beard. His vessel he had bought From Grootver. He had thought to soon repay The ducats borrowed, but an adverse wind Had so delayed him that his cargo brought But half its proper price, the very day He came to port he stepped ash.o.r.e to find The market glutted and his counted profits naught.

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Little by little Max made out the way That Grootver pressed that poor hara.s.sed old man.

His money he must have, too long delay Had turned the usurer to a ruffian.

"But let me take my s.h.i.+p, with many bales Of cotton stuffs dyed crimson, green, and blue, Cunningly patterned, made to suit the taste Of mandarin's ladies; when my battered sails Open for home, such stores will I bring you That all your former ventures will be counted waste.

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Such light and foamy silks, like crinkled cream, And indigo more blue than sun-whipped seas, Spices and fragrant trees, a ma.s.sive beam Of sandalwood, and pungent China teas, Tobacco, coffee!" Grootver only laughed.

Max heard it all, and worse than all he heard The deed to which the sailor gave his word.

He s.h.i.+vered, 'twas as if the villain gaffed The old man with a boat-hook; bleeding, spent, He begged for life nor knew at all the road he went.

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For Kurler had a daughter, young and gay, Carefully reared and s.h.i.+elded, rarely seen.

But on one black and most unfriendly day Grootver had caught her as she pa.s.sed between The kitchen and the garden. She had run In fear of him, his evil leering eye, And when he came she, bolted in her room, Refused to show, though gave no reason why.

The spinning of her future had begun, On quiet nights she heard the whirring of her doom.

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Max mended an old goosequill by the fire, Loathing his work, but seeing no thing to do.

He felt his hands were building up the pyre To burn two souls, and seized with vertigo He staggered to his chair. Before him lay White paper still unspotted by a crime.

"Now, young man, write," said Grootver in his ear.

"'If in two years my vessel should yet stay From Amsterdam, I give Grootver, sometime A friend, my daughter for his lawful wife.' Now swear."

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And Kurler swore, a palsied, tottering sound, And traced his name, a shaking, wandering line.

Then dazed he sat there, speechless from his wound.

Grootver got up: "Fair voyage, the brigantine!"

He shuffled from the room, and left the house.

His footsteps wore to silence down the street.

At last the aged man began to rouse.

With help he once more gained his trembling feet.

"My daughter, Mynheer Breuck, is friendless now.

Will you watch over her? I ask a solemn vow."

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Max laid his hand upon the old man's arm, "Before G.o.d, sir, I vow, when you are gone, So to protect your daughter from all harm As one man may." Thus sorrowful, forlorn, The situation to Max Breuck appeared, He gave his promise almost without thought, Nor looked to see a difficulty. "Bred Gently to watch a mother left alone; Bound by a dying father's wish, who feared The world's accustomed harshness when he should be dead;

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Such was my case from youth, Mynheer Kurler.

Last Winter she died also, and my days Are pa.s.sed in work, lest I should grieve for her, And undo habits used to earn her praise.

My leisure I will gladly give to see Your household and your daughter prosperous."

The sailor said his thanks, but turned away.

He could not brook that his humility, So little wonted, and so tremulous, Should first before a stranger make such great display.

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"Come here to-morrow as the bells ring noon, I sail at the full sea, my daughter then I will make known to you. 'Twill be a boon If after I have bid good-by, and when Her eyeb.a.l.l.s scorch with watching me depart, You bring her home again. She lives with one Old serving-woman, who has brought her up.

But that is no friend for so free a heart.

No head to match her questions. It is done.

And I must sail away to come and brim her cup.

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My s.h.i.+p's the fastest that owns Amsterdam As home, so not a letter can you send.

I shall be back, before to where I am Another s.h.i.+p could reach. Now your stipend--"

Quickly Breuck interposed. "When you once more Tread on the stones which pave our streets.--Good night!

To-morrow I will be, at stroke of noon, At the great wharf." Then hurrying, in spite Of cake and wine the old man pressed upon Him ere he went, he took his leave and shut the door.

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'Twas noon in Amsterdam, the day was clear, And suns.h.i.+ne tipped the pointed roofs with gold.

The brown ca.n.a.ls ran liquid bronze, for here The sun sank deep into the waters cold.

And every clock and belfry in the town Hammered, and struck, and rang. Such peals of bells, To shake the sunny morning into life, And to proclaim the middle, and the crown, Of this most sparkling daytime! The crowd swells, Laughing and pus.h.i.+ng toward the quays in friendly strife.

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The "Horn of Fortune" sails away to-day.

At highest tide she lets her anchor go, And starts for China. Saucy popinjay!

Giddy in freshest paint she curtseys low, And beckons to her boats to let her start.

Blue is the ocean, with a flas.h.i.+ng breeze.

The s.h.i.+ning waves are quick to take her part.

They push and spatter her. Her sails are loose, Her tackles hanging, waiting men to seize And haul them taut, with chanty-singing, as they choose.