"Can I come aboard, Mr Chubb?" Jim called.
" 'Course you can, matey, 'course you can."
The barge was deep-laden, and Jim could step from the counter of the smack on to the foredeck. Chubb looked at him steadily: "Well then, Jim, you thought any more about coming with me?"
"Yes, I have. I'd like to. When will you be ready to sail?"
"What's today?"
"Monday."
"Ah. Well, it'll take a couple of days to get this foreign corn out of her, then say a day-and-a-half to load with malting barley for London. Say Friday afternoon then. You got it fixed up with Dukey yet?"
"No. He won't let me go, I'm pretty sure."
"Well then, mate, I'd be very glad to have you, but I don't see how you're going to do it. I mean, there's three of'em, you know."
"I know. Just leave it to me."
"I know what, Jim. You slip off some time Friday when they're up the pub, and stow away aboard the Trilby. You could get in my bunk, f'rinstance."
"No, I'm not doing that, Mr Chubb. You've got to keep coming here to earn your living. It'd mean endless worry and trouble for you. No, when I walk off the Maud I'm going to do it in broad daylight under their noses. You just let me know on Friday when you're ready to let go, and leave the rest to me."
"I don't like it, Jim, beggared if I do. I mean, Dookey's a rough old chavvy, you know. I don't see..."
"I'm coming with you, Mr Chubb, and that's all there is to it. I've been thinking, I reckon I know what I'm going to do." Jim's face was pale and moist with sweat; the plump face of the Skipper was troubled.
"Another thing, Jim: suppose you're off on a trip somewheres when I'm ready to sail?"
"We shan't be. I heard them talking about it this morning. There's one other thing, Mr Chubb: they'd better not see you and me talking before Friday, in case they get suspicious. That Bert Anderson is as fly as they make them."
Chubb shook his head, wrinkles of worry furrowing his broad red face. "All right, Jim. Whatever you say, mate. I only hope you know what you're doing."
Friday was the longest day Jim had ever known. He and Shiner were employed on deck, greasing down the lower-mast, painting the elegant white top-mast and renewing the running rigging. All day as he worked he kept his eye on the small dockside gang shooting the sacks of barley into the Trilby's holds. Inch by inch she sank deeper in the water, and at last the whitish heaps of grain showed level with the hatches. Then it seemed to take hours for Chubb and his aged mate to lift back the hatch-beams and lash the tarpaulins securely over them, moving with the calm, slow deliberation of men who knew their trade. All the while, Jim's nerves seemed to be tying a bigger and bigger knot in the pit of his belly; all the while, as the testing time drew nearer, his fear of the ruthless, powerful Dukey grew stronger; all the while his half-formed plan seemed more and more futile and doomed to failure.
Then at last he saw old Charlie Skinner get into the small boat and row across the harbour, unreeling the thin wire of the dolly-winch as he went. That meant Trilby was about to leave; the Skipper was ready now to wind in the wire, hauling the barge to the harbour entrance.
Then he saw that Chubb was standing on the fore-deck, his hand raised in a signal.
Shiner looked up, his mouth open with mild surprise, as Jim threw down the rope he was splicing and went below to the forepeak. His jaw sagged much further when Jim emerged a moment later, a small kitbag of tarred canvas slung over his shoulder. Even he seemed to grasp that it had to do with the departing barge, for he, too, dropped his work and ran clumsily aft to the cabin where Dukey and Bert were gloomily drowsing off the effects of their dinner-hour drinking. Shiner was mouthing incoherent cries, and in an instant, it seemed to Jim, the small after-deck was full of angry blue-clad figures. He halted by the mast. In spite of the agony of nerves and fear within, his face showed nothing but a sullen, dogged obstinacy that puzzled the Skipper and the Mate. This was a new Jim Robbins. And after that good hiding at Rochester!
Yet still Dukey misjudged his man. Jim was standing stock-still, facing them, with no sign of retreat or fear. Dukey glanced round at the waiting barge and her Skipper, and at once sized things up: "Oh!" he said with a derisive cackle, "deserting, is it, now? Where d'you reckon you're off to?"
"I'm leaving," said Jim steadily. "I'm signing on on board the Trilby. And you won't stop me."
Dukey threw his head back in a bellow of laughter: "Oh no? Well, we'll very soon see about that." He dug Shiner in the ribs. "Go on, Shiner, tune him up a bit and chuck him below." And he waited to see the sport while the invincible Shiner lumbered eagerly for'ard down the starboard side, his hands outstretched. Jim backed away; he had stopped thinking now. The instinctive fighting animal in him had taken over. He had expected a rush like this, and was ready. His retreat made Shiner increase his speed. At the last moment, when the huge hands were almost touching Jim's chest, he leapt aside to his right like a cat, poised for an instant in a crouch, then as the great blundering body came abreast of him he drove his left shoulder upwards and outwards with all the force in his strong flexed legs. He felt the hard bone of his shoulder drive deep into Shiner's stomach, just below the ribs, driving out all his wind. With the speed of his own clumsy advance, the young giant was hurtled over the side; there was a brief cry of surprise, pain and terror, a giant splash, then silence.
Dukey stood dumbfounded at the utter rout of his champion. He choked with black rage: "You dirty young swab — you've killed him! He'll drown. You know he can't swim. Now you have arsked for it. Bert, see about Shiner. I'm going to 'alf-kill this feller now." He began to advance menacingly for'ard, his face horrible with fury. And then he faltered to a stop, his jaw dropped in astonishment; Jim, too, was advancing, on his face a steady grim scowl, and in his hand — the cause of Dukey's astonishment — a heavy knife, its newly-ground edge glinting in the afternoon sun. Dukey stood, crouching, weighing up the chances of a rush attack. But his opponent was no fool, and held the knife low, pointing upwards.
Jim sensed the thought racing through the fierce Skipper's mind. Now was the time to move: "The next one that comes for me will get this under his ribs." He felt his arm shaking, and hoped that Dukey would not notice too. "I'm coming aft, Dukey, and if you're still in my way when I get to you this is what you'll get." He motioned with the knife. "Get back round the other side of the tiller! You won't? Right then." He walked steadily towards the great figure barring his way, his face still set and cruel, his inside once again quaking with suspense and fear. Dukey's face was pale now, his eyes staring wildly. Jim was only four feet away when the Skipper's nerve cracked, and he backed suddenly, feeling his way with his hands, his eyes fixed on the thick glittering blade.
Something inside Jim shouted that he had won the hideous game of bluff, but he still forced himself to look murderous. Soon he had reached the counter itself, and Dukey had backed right round to the port side of the cabin-top. Without looking round, Jim swung his kitbag up on to the barge's stern. "Here's my dunnage, Mr Chubb. I won't be long. I just want a word with Mr Smith here. Right Dukey — stop there and listen to me. You and I have got to talk sense. And keep still. You make a move at me and I'll stick you like a pig. What the hell d'you think I am? D'you think I'm going to be your slave all my life? Well, I'm not; I'm finished with you. And if you think you're going to get me back with your half-baked blackmail you can think again. You and Bert thought yourselves so smart, and all the time I didn't care a brass farthing for your talk about policemen and magistrates. It just suited me to stop with you, and now it suits me to go — for good. Now then, get this straight. I know enough to put the three of you behind bars for years. Well, you leave me alone, and I'll do the same. I won't whisper a word so long as we can live and let live. You go your way and I'll go mine. But God help you if you lay a finger on me, or Mr Chubb, or this barge! I'll shop the lot of you for ten years. You know I've got all the facts. And that's my last word to you. Mister Dukey Smith."