4

Encouraging Pen. The Galapagos.
Gamming with the Martha. Mr. Slighcarp's strange
behavior. Round the Horn and back to New Bedford.

"Psst! Hey! Cap'n—Cap'n Casket! Will you step this away?"

Captain Casket started, as Dido's voice roused him from his usual sad reverie; he turned and saw her standing behind him.

Making sure that no one could overhear, she came close to him and hissed conspiratorially, "I've done it! She's out!"

Captain Casket appeared thunderstruck.

"On deck?"

"No, no, no, gaffer. Not yet. Give us time. But she's out in the cabin eatin' of plum duff and a-playin' hopscotch. I'll have her on deck one o' these days, though, s'long as you don't come creating and badgering."

"Thee is a remarkable child," Captain Casket said solemnly.

"I say, though," Dido went on, "what 'bout this Auntie Trib, then? She fair gives young Pen the horrors. It'll be all my work for Habakkuk if Pen finds Auntie Trib's going to have charge of her in Nantucket; she'll snib herself up in the pantry again before you can say whale-o!"

Captain Casket looked harassed. "Sister Tribulation is really a most estimable character," he murmured. "She is endowed with every Christian virtue."

"You allus says that," Dido objected.

"My poor Sarah—my poor wife never understood her. But I am sure that thee could persuade Dutiful Penitence to like her aunt, my child."

"That's as may be," Dido said doubtfully. "Anyhows, you better consider if there ain't somebody else as could do the job. I'm a-warning you, see. Goodness sakes, on an island the size of Nantucket" (Dido had found it on the map by now) "there must be somebody else as could have charge of her. Between what Pen thinks she remembers and what her ma said about Auntie Trib, she's fair frit o' the name 'Tribulation.' Now I'm a-going to teach Dutiful P. to play shuttlecock; lor, I don't wonder the poor little thing's so mopish. She ain't had no upbringing at all!"

It took several weeks of Dido's company and encouragement before Penitence could be persuaded on deck. Dido was too shrewd to hurry her. They played endless games in the cabin, sang songs, asked riddles, and talked, each telling the other the whole story of her life. Penitence was quite amazed by Dido's homesick tales of the London streets and could never hear enough about the fairs and the fights, the street markets, Punch and Judy shows, glimpses of grand people in their carriages, and the little Scottish King James III, against whom the Hanoverians were always plotting.

"Fancy living in such a great city!" Penitence said dreamily. "Why, where we lived in Nantucket it's almost three miles to the next house."

"Wouldn't suit me," Dido said. "I likes a bit o' life and company. There was allus summat doing in Rose Alley, London, where I come from." She sighed, thinking of it.

"My mamma didn't like the loneliness either. She came from Boston. When Papa went to sea," Pen confessed, "she used to take me for long visits to Cousin Ann in New Bedford and Aunt Edith in Boston. We never stayed in Nantucket very long, and I haven't been there for years. Mamma was scared of being on her own."

"I wouldn't be scared; not such a clodpole as that," Dido said. "Just prefer more people about. Don't you want to write your journal now, Pen? And learn a hymn or two? Tol-lol. I'll go up on deck for a breath of air."

Dido had become quite fond of Pen by now—there was more in the funny little thing than met the eye—but, nonetheless, it was a relief to run up on deck now and then, to talk to Nate and joke with the sailors; after a few hours of Pen's company she felt she wanted to shout and jump and climb into the rigging. Pen had grown absolutely devoted to her and, Dido considered, was coming out of her mopey ways very well. By innumerable tales about her own life Dido was managing to suggest that all dogs do not bite, that occupations such as skating and swimming can be enjoyable, that people tend to be friendlier when you talk to them boldly and cheerfully than when you cower away as if you expect them to murder you. Progress was being made.

Pen still kept her quiet tastes, though; she liked to spend several hours a day doing lessons and sewing; she offered to read the Bible or hymns to Dido, but this, for the most part, Dido politely refused.

"Tell you what, though," she suggested. "How 'bout asking your pa if we can invite Nate to come down and sing you some o' his songs? He knows a rare lot, and on top o' that he's allus rattling off new ones. Wouldn't you like it, eh?"

Penitence looked doubtful. "I haven't seen Nate since he was twelve. Is he very big now? He isn't rough? He wouldn't tease me or hurt me?"

"Now, Pen! Don't you know me better'n that by now? Would I ask him if he was liable to do such blame-fool things? I'm surprised at you!"

Pen apologized and recalled that Nate's mother had been very kind and used to bring her presents of bantam eggs when she was little. Captain Casket's permission was obtained, and Nate, rather bashfully, came down to the stateroom with his zither. At first Penitence trembled a good deal at the close presence of such a tall, lanky, red headed creature, and was quite speechless with shyness. But when Nate sang:

"Oh, fierce is the Ocean and wild is the Sound,
But the isle of Nantucket is where I am bound—
Sweet isle of Nantucket! where the grapes are so red,
And the light flashes nightly on Sankaty Head!"

she was quite delighted, clapped her hands, and exclaimed, "Oh that is pretty! Sing it again!"

Nate sang it again, and many others. Dido, curled up under the chart table, hugged her knees and congratulated herself. From that day, Nate was a welcome visitor in the cabin; in fact, he was with them, singing a song about the high-rolling breakers on the south shore of Nantucket, and the brave fishermen who launched their dories through the foam, when a sudden shout from the deck startled them.

"Land! Land-ho!"

"Must have sighted the Galapagos!" said Nate, scrambling to his feet. "Blame it, why wasn't I up aloft? Cap'n Casket allus gives half a dollar to the first one that sights land. See you later, gals!" And he bolted out.

"How about it, Pen," Dido said carelessly. "Coming ashore for a look-see? Nate says there are giant tortoises on the Galapagos, as big as tea tables."

Penitence quailed. "Do they bite?"

"Pen, you really are a jobberknoll! How could a poor old tortoise bite you? He can't go much faster than a snail."

Pen hesitated in an agony of indecision. She longed to set foot on firm ground, but she was terrified of the frail, tippy boat in which they would have to be rowed to shore.

"I'd better change into my deck dress, hadn't I?" she said doubtfully.

"Deck dress? What in thunder's that?"

"Mamma always made me do so." Pen fetched it from a drawer. It was made of black taffeta, with many frills.

"Dear knows how you'd climb the rigging in that," Dido said with disfavor.

"Climb the rigging?" Pen turned pale at the very thought. "I'm not going to climb the rigging!"

"Oh, poison!" exclaimed Dido. "Change, then, if you want to. Only be quick about it. I must say, those togs you're wearing is a bit on the jammy side, now I comes to look at 'em. Maybe it is time you changed. Come on, I'll do you up the back."

There were about thirty tiny buttons on each of Pen's dresses; by the time Dido had undone one lot and done up the others, fiddling with the exquisitely stitched little satin loops, more than half an hour had gone by. The chance was lost: the boat had already set off for shore, under the command of Mr. Slighcarp, to secure fresh stocks of water and vegetables. Dido was bitterly disappointed but tried to conceal it because she had soon discovered that if she seemed put out, Pen flinched and showed a tendency to retreat into the cupboard again. So she swallowed her regret and said, "Never mind. Let's go up and see what we can see."

In fact, Dido was quite glad of the chance to bring Pen on deck while Mr. Slighcarp was out of the way; the rest of the men were kind and friendly to her, but the first mate always greeted her with a scowl and a harsh word; she had been rather anxious about the effect of this on Penitence. Luckily, the deck was quite empty when, clutching Dido's hand in a tight grip, Penitence timidly followed her up the companionway and came blinking into the sunshine.

"Oh," she breathed in astonishment. "Isn't it bright! And warm! I thought we were in the Arctic."

"We left that behind weeks ago," Dido said kindly. "Sit down on a coil o' rope; you're all of a tremble."

Penitence sank down obediently. In the bright sunshine her face seemed as pale as a primrose, and contrasted strangely with Dido's healthy tan. At first she was pitiably nervous; her great blue eyes widened and she clasped Dido's hand violently whenever a wave crest broke near the ship. The land was too far away for much to be visible except a low-lying mass with some scrubby trees on it. But they were excited to see another ship, the Martha, anchored not far away.

Presently Captain Casket wandered along the deck towards them. He started uncontrollably when he saw Penitence, but Dido gave him such a fierce scowl of warning that he tried to conceal his astonishment and only said, "I am glad to see thee out in the fresh air at last, Daughter. Thee must get some roses into thy cheeks like those of thy little friend."

Penitence made an awkward bob and answered, "Yes, Papa," in such a subdued tone that it was hardly audible; she seemed greatly relieved when he walked away along the deck.

"You don't seem very pleased to see your pa, Pen," Dido remarked. "What's wrong? Ain't you fond of him? He's not a bad old codger. I wish my pa had ever said he was glad to see me!"

"Oh, yes—I am f-fond of Papa," Penitence faltered. "Only—only he always looks so gloomy and s-stern that he s-scares me dreadfully!"

Dido heaved a great sigh. "Dutiful Penitence Casket! Is there a single solitary thing that you ain't scared of?"

Soon there came a hail from the Martha, and a boat was lowered and rowed towards them; a cheerful, red-faced man called, "Jabez! Cap'n Jabez Casket! Are you there? Can I come aboard for a gam? I've some mail for you, only eight months out o' New Bedford."

"Come aboard and welcome, Cap'n Bilger," Captain Casket called, and the skipper of the Martha was swung aboard in the captain's chair. He handed over a batch of letters for the Sarah Casket's captain and crew, and asked if they could spare any ship's biscuit, as most of his had been spoiled by a leak; he offered coffee and lemon syrup in exchange (which the cook was glad to accept, since Pen had eaten all the jelly).

"Consarn it!" exclaimed Captain Bilger, slapping his leg suddenly in annoyance. "If I haven't forgotten to bring over that blame bird!"

"Bird? What bird?" Captain Casket inquired.

"Why, a bird belonging to that boy of yours, Nate Pardon. One of my men caught it flapping about the streets of New Bedford before we sailed, and recognized it as his; we've had it aboard ever since. I'll be thankful to see the last of it, I can tell you. That bird would talk the ears off a brass monkey. Now I come to think, I've another letter for you, as well. It got a mite damp, came unstuck, and I put it aside from the others. My memory's fuller of holes'n a dip net."

"No matter," said Captain Casket. "My men can call round by the Martha when they come back from provisioning and pick up the bird and the letter. Young Nate will be glad to see his pet."

The two captains went below to gossip and, an early tropical dusk falling soon after, Dido and Penitence also retired to their cabin to play Hunt the Thimble and speculate as to what sort of things Nate's bird would be able to say.

Pen was quite tired out by the fresh air and the excitement of being on deck; she soon went to bed and to sleep. Dido, however, was not sleepy; she returned to lean on the rail and gaze wistfully at the lights on shore. Presently she heard Captain Bilger taking his leave.

"By the way, has thee heard anything of the pink whale?" Captain Casket inquired. "I was on her track at the beginning of this voyage, but we lost her while rounding the Horn."

"Pink whale? Old Rosie Lee? I should just about think we have," Captain Bilger said laughing. Evidently, all his friends knew of Captain Casket's fancy. "A batch of Indios told my first mate she'd been sighted off the coast of Peru—only they called her the Great Pink Sea Serpent. Maybe she's on the watch for your ship, old friend—heard that you were looking for her. But it's my belief those Indios had taken a drop too much prickly-pear juice."

"Thee did not go after her?" Captain Casket's tone betrayed anxiety.

"No, no," Captain Bilger said. "Not I. To tell truth, I reckon your pink whale is more of a wild goose. I don't believe in her above half."

"But I myself am nearly certain that I saw her—off Madeira. Only I never drew close enough to be sure—"

"Indigestion," Captain Bilger said. "Too much pepper in the lobscouse!"

He waved cheerfully and went over the side in the captain's chair, still laughing.

Later on, the men returned. Having been instructed by lantern signals, they rowed round by the Martha and picked up Nate's bird, but no extra letter. Dido heard Mr. Slighcarp reporting that there had been a mistake over this: Captain Bilger had found that the letter was addressed to the captain of some other ship.

Captain Casket nodded vaguely, hardly troubling to listen to this explanation; he seemed excited and preoccupied. But Dido, squatting on the quarterdeck, thought Mr. Slighcarp's manner very odd: he had a sly, pleased look, as if something had turned out very much to his advantage. And just before reporting to Captain Casket he had thrust some white object under his jacket. What could it be? What was he up to?

Nate was overjoyed to recover his bird, which he had never expected to see again, and showed it off proudly to Dido.

"His name's 'Mr. Jenkins.' Ain't he beautiful?"

Dido admired the bird's glossy black plumage and brilliant yellow bill. "He's naffy! Where'd you get him, Nate?"

"Bought him off'n a British sailor in Fayal. I've had him three years."

"What does he say?"

The bird gave her a haughty glance and remarked, "Dinner is served in the small ballroom, Your Grace."

"Ain't he a stunner?" Nate said. "He goes on like that all the time. I reckon as how he musta belonged to some lord or duke once in England, and someone maybe stole him. I'm right pleased to get him back. A cat scared him when I was carrying him in New Bedford and he flew off my shoulder; I couldn't find him before we sailed."

"Order the perch phaeton," croaked Mr. Jenkins. "A young person has called, Your Lordship. Tea is served in Her Grace's boudoir. Ho, there, a chair for Lady Fothergill!"

"You silly old sausage," said Nate, giving his pet a loving hug. "There aren't any lords or dukes here."

Affronted and on his dignity, Mr. Jenkins clambered out of Nate's arms and ascended to the top of his head, where he suddenly shouted in a stentorian voice: "God save the King! Hooray for Jamie Three! God save our sovereign lord King James and DOWN WITH THE GEORGIANS!"

Mr. Slighcarp happened to be passing at that moment. He gave a violent start and dropped the telescope he was carrying. It fell with a crash.

"Who was that?" he cried.

"It was the bird, Mr. Slighcarp, old Jenkins."

"Well, don't let him do it again, or I'll wring his neck!" the mate said with an oath. "Plague take the creature. You'd best keep him under hatches if he's liable to go on like that. I won't have it, see!"

Much abashed, Nate hurried his pet below. Dido, who was still feeling wakeful, retreated to a patch of shadow against the bulwarks and curled up there, listening longingly to cheerful sounds of music and singing from the Martha.

Presently Captain Casket approached her. He was a changed man since hearing tidings of the pink whale; his eyes glittered feverishly and he walked with a rapid, excited step.

"Ah, my child," he said cordially, "is not this stirring news?"

Dido thought he was referring to the mail he had received.

"You fixed up what you're going to about young Pen, then, when you gets back to Nantucket?" she said hopefully. "Someone offered to look arter her?"

"Oh, that. No, no I was referring to the news that the pink whale has been sighted off the Peruvian coast. We shall see her! I feel certain that we shall see her soon!"

"Oh, bother the pink whale," Dido said testily. "What about Pen?"

"Ah yes. I had a letter from dear Tribulation. She writes with true sisterly feeling, having just heard of my poor wife's death. She will move to Nantucket and look after Dutiful Penitence and the house for me."

"But, blame it!" Dido said in exasperation. "Pen don't want to live with her Auntie Tribulation! That won't answer at all! Pen's ma said Aunt Trib was a Tartar, and it's my belief Pen thinks that's summat that eats children for breakfast."

"Tribulation suggests further," Captain Casket went on, dreamily looking out over the water and ignoring Dido, "that a companion, some other girl of her age, would be an advantage for Penitence, since my farm, Soul's Hill, is situated in a somewhat lonely location. So if thee will accept the charge, my child—not for very long, of course—that will solve all our problems, will it not? Thy quick wit will soon smooth over any little difficulties between my daughter and her good aunt. And when Penitence is settled and happy, my sister Tribulation will no doubt see that thee is found a passage to England."

"Oh, for the love of fish!" Dido exclaimed. "Don't you know young Pen's scared to death of her aunt? Settled and happy? That wouldn't be till pigs went on roller skates. I'll never get home at that rate. There must be someone else in Nantucket as'd take her. Don't you know of nobody?"

Captain Casket fixed his large eyes on her and said, mildly but with dignity, "I know that my sister Tribulation is a good, devout woman."

"Endowed with every Christian virtue," muttered Dido.

"And I know, also, that we rescued thee from the sea, my child, and that thee owes us a debt of gratitude."

Baffled and silenced, Dido knit her brow as he walked away. "Never mind how devout Auntie Trib may be," she said to herself. "That won't cut much ice if she frightens the poor little brat. Still, it's true Pen's got some rare, rummy notions and hasn't seen the old girl since she was three. Maybe Aunt Trib's not so bad as she's painted. We'll have to see, I reckon." She sighed rather despondently.

An hour or so went by and Dido was about to retire, when she noticed the figure of Mr. Slighcarp standing not far away. Something furtive and cautious about his manner attracted her interest, and she watched him sharply as he made his way to the rail. Unaware of Dido, squatting motionless in the shadows, Mr. Slighcarp looked quickly all round him and then proceeded to tear in tiny pieces some sheets of paper which he had carried hidden in the breast of his jacket, and drop them over the side.

"What's he doing that for?" wondered Dido. "What's so tarnation private that he don't want no one to see it?"

Then she recalled that Mr. Slighcarp had been asked to collect a letter for the captain, and that he had not done so. He had said Captain Bilger had made a mistake, the letter was for somebody else. But he had stuffed something white under his jacket in a stealthy, suspicious way. Could it have been the letter? Had he lied about it and kept it, instead of giving it to Captain Casket? Suppose this was it? But why do such a thing? And why should he be destroying it now?

There seemed no answer to this puzzle, or none that Dido could supply. She continued to watch Mr. Slighcarp attentively, however, and was somewhat astonished by what he did next. Making sure, as he thought, that he was unobserved, he produced a pair of boots from under his jacket, and brushed them long and carefully.

Dido's heart beat fast and she nodded to herself grimly.

A brilliant tropical moon swam overhead, and by its light every detail of the scene was clearly visible. The boots that Mr. Slighcarp brushed were no sailors' brogans but a pair of English ladies' buttoned traveling boots in dull bottle green.

At last, satisfied, apparently, with the appearance of the boots, Mr. Slighcarp retired once more, in the same prudent and furtive manner.

Dido remained on deck for a considerable time longer. At first she had half a mind to tell Captain Casket about the incident. But then she decided not to. After all, what had she to go on but suspicion? Who could say that the letter was not Mr. Slighcarp's own? He had every right to tear up his own letter. Furthermore, if Mr. Slighcarp realized that Dido had seen him tear it up, he would know that she had also seen him brushing the boots. He would be revealed as the accomplice of the stowaway lady in the blubber room. Dido had not forgotten this lady's fiercely whispered threat: "Keep a still tongue in your head, or your chances of ever seeing London River again are very, very small!"

"I'll keep mum," she finally decided. "After all, if I did tell Captain Casket, like as not he'd only gaze at me in that moon-faced way o' his and start to talk about his everlasting pink whale. I daresay it wasn't his letter. And I don't want an up-and-a-downer with old man Slighcarp. I'll keep a still tongue. But I'll watch."

Nate, whose turn it was on the middle watch, came on deck at this moment and passed the time of night with Dido. Mr. Jenkins, sitting on his shoulder, gave a polite croak and remarked, "Your Lordship's bath is ready in the tapestry room. I have warmed the morning paper, Sir Henry. Pray bring His Grace's bath chair this way. Down with the scurvy Hanoverians!"

"Best watch out for Mr. Slighcarp," Dido said, grinning.

"No danger; it's his watch below," Nate said. "That's why I brought old Jenkins up for a breath of air."

"I wonder why he riles Mr. Slighcarp so," Dido said yawning.

"Don't you know? It's because Mr. Slighcarp's an English Hanoverian himself. D'you know about them?"

"Oh, yes," Dido said. "My uncle's a Hanoverian, I know all about 'em. They don't like the king we got on the throne, Jamie Three. They want to push him off and have a prince that lives over in Hanover, the one they call 'Bonnie Prince Georgie,' instead. There's a song about it: 'My bonnie lives over in Hanover. Oh, why won't they bring that young man over?' Some calls 'em Hanoverians, some calls 'em Georgians. They keeps plotting away, but they're allus caught afore the plan comes to anything. Then they're sent to jail unless they can get away overseas."

"Yes, that's it," Nate said. "Mr. Slighcarp wanted to blow up your King James III, Uncle 'Lije told me, and he was nearly caught and had to run abroad in a hurry or he'd a'been clapped in prison. The militia was after him. So that's why he don't like it when the old bird says 'Down with the Hanoverians!'"

"Fancy Mr. Slighcarp being a Hanoverian," Dido said. "Has be shipped with you long?"

"Only this trip. But he stayed in Nantucket a piece before that. You'd think he'd a taken more of a shine to you," Nate remarked. "Seeing you both come from the same part."

But Dido was hardly attending. She said goodnight and went below, plunged in thought. What was the connection between Mr. Slighcarp and the stowaway lady, who had spoken with an English accent too? Was she another Hanoverian, escaping overseas?

It was a long time, almost dawn, before Dido fell asleep, and when she did so her slumbers were soon broken short by a sudden and violent disturbance.

The whole ship seemed to give a tremendous bound, like a startled horse; there were loud and prolonged cries overhead; feet thudded on the deck, and Dido heard the crash and rattle as sails were shaken out and the anchor was dragged bodily from the bottom.

"What's the matter? What's happened?" Pen cried fearfully—she had been jerked out of bed by the ship's unexpected movement and was whimpering on the floor. "Is it a hurricane?"

Dido held up a hand for silence. She was listening attentively to the tumult.

"No," she said dryly after a minute, "it ain't a hurricane; a little thing like that wouldn't get your pa so stiffed up."

"Oh! We're sailing!" Pen said in dismay as an unexpected pitch sent her sliding across the floor. "I hoped we were going to stay here at anchor for several days."

"So did I. We was wrong, warn't we?" Dido agreed, picking Pen up and shaking her to rights before putting her back on the bed. "Steady there, Dutiful! I guess you'd better stop where you are till things ease off, while I go and rustle up a bit o' prog. Shan't be long."

When she came back, with some slices of breadfruit and a bowl of lemon syrup, she nodded grimly to Pen's inquiring look.

"Jist what I thought," she remarked. "Oh, well, one thing—it'll help us on our way home at a rattling good pace. That is, allus supposing the old gal plays her part and don't go skedaddling off to Timbuctoo or Tobaygo."

"How do you mean? What old gal?"

"Why," Dido said, "the pink 'un. Rosie Lee. Your pa's fancy. We're a-chasin' after that there sweet-pea-colored whale of hisn."

The days and weeks that followed were fierce and rugged. Careering after her quarry through the South Pacific trades, the Sarah Casket flew along under every sail that she would take. Maintops, top-gallants, and stun-sails were set; the rigging thrummed like a banjo; and often, as they drove through the southern seas, their mainmast was bent over so far that Nate declared they might as well use it for a bow, if they ever got close enough to the pink whale, and fire off a harpoon from the mainstay.

Nothing would persuade Penitence to come on deck now, and even Dido, when they reached the wild easterlies and heavy squalls in the Straits of Magellan, was glad enough to stay in the cabin playing parcheesi.

At first Dido was inclined, like the others, to believe that Captain Casket had merely imagined his glimpse of the pink whale at Galapagos, until one evening, south of Cape Horn, she saw something between two wildly blowing williwaws that she at first took to be a momentary view of the setting sun—except that it lay to the east. It was like a rosy, iridescent bubble balanced amid the black, leaping seas. Then the storm came down again, and they saw it no more. But Captain Casket, with a frantic, exultant light in his eye, kept the ship under a full press of canvas, heedless of danger, clapping on new sails as the old ones ripped away. Without regard to tempest, tidal wave, or terremote, he fought his way round the Horn, making a record passage of it, while his men served four hours on and four off, becoming haggard and thin from wear and tear and lack of sleep. The captain himself never seemed to sleep at all, and his eyes were red from scanning the horizon.

There were few chances for Nate to come down to the cabin now; he was kept busy all the time as a lookout, or taking soundings, or mending the tattered sails. Sometimes he could be heard singing as he sewed, with Mr. Jenkins (who had acquired a wholesome respect for Mr. Slighcarp) supplying the chorus in a subdued croak:

"Stow your line tubs, belay tail feathers,
It's rough, it's rugged, it's blowy weather.
Make your passage and follow the moon—
Dinner is served in the blue saloon.

Slush the spars and splice the rigging.
Leave your scrimshaw and grab your piggin.
Bail, boys, bail! for your wage and lay—
Her Ladyship's carriage blocks the way."

Mr. Jenkins spent a good deal of this time in the cabin. The girls were glad of his company, as he made an extremely civil guest. He would play tiddly winks (if ever they struck a long enough patch of calm weather), flipping scrimshaw counters into a cup with great dexterity and enjoyment, while his grave observations about life in high society kept Pen and Dido amused for hours.

Past the Falklands they chased, past the Brazilian coast, through the Sargasso Sea (which slowed down the pink whale a little, for she got weeds caught in her flukes), past Bermuda, past Cape Hatteras, and so home. But the pink whale, unfortunately, seemed disinclined to stop, and mut-terings were to be heard among the men that at this rate they'd likely be skating past Newfoundland before they discharged cargo and had their pay.

A deputation waited on Captain Casket and pointed out to him that they were low on stores and water, that there wasn't a single unmended sail on board, and that what hardtack was left would walk away from you along the deck if you let go of your ration for a moment. With great difficulty, he was persuaded to put in to New Bedford.

And so it was that, almost seven months to the day after she had first opened her eyes on board the Sarah Casket, Dido had a chance to set foot on solid ground.

"New Bedford!" she said ungratefully. "Where's that, I ask you? Land sakes, Cap'n Casket mighta just as well nipped across to London. It wouldn't 'a taken him but a few more weeks."

She glared with disfavor at the trim roofs of the town climbing the hill above the harbor. "Still," she admitted in acknowledgment of the forest of masts, "I will say there's plenty of shipping here; maybe I'll find some bark as'll take me on to England."

"You promised you'd come home with me first, you promised," Pen reminded her anxiously.

"All right, all right, I ain't forgotten," Dido growled. "I've said I'll see you right, and I will—if we can only get your pa to tend to your affairs for two minutes together. You know you had a notion your cousin, Ann Allerton, might put you up."

Captain Casket hardly even attended to the business of getting his ship safely docked. His eyes were constantly turned back towards the open sea, and his thoughts were all with the pink whale, who had unfairly taken the chance to nip off round Cape Cod and into the Gulf of Maine. Would he ever catch up with her again?

It was dark before the Sarah Casket was alongside the wharf and made fast. Penitence begged to go ashore then and there, but Captain Casket wouldn't hear of disturbing Cousin Ann Allerton so late in the evening, and left them to spend one more night on board. Dido stayed awake for hours, sniffing the land smells, listening to the shouts and the splash of oars in the harbor and the cry of gulls, and the music coming from the sailors' taverns. She dragged a chair to the port and squatted there looking out at the lights as they gradually dimmed and died along the wharfside and in the streets above the warehouses.

Strangely enough, although she was now nearer home than she had been for the last year, she felt more lonely and homesick than ever before. The sight of roofs and lights, the noise of wheels on cobbles reminded her almost unbearably of Rose Alley in London town.

"Pen!" she whispered after a while. "Hey, Dutiful! Are you awake?"

The only answer was soft, even breathing. Dido sighed and was about to climb down from her perch and go to bed, when she heard a faint splash, close to, and the creak of oars. Turning back, she was just in time to see Mr. Slighcarp, his foxy features visible in the light of a lantern, help a tall, veiled woman over the Sarah Casket's side into a dory, and row quietly away across the harbor.