10

Ways and means. Penitence eavesdrops.
Aunt Tribulation is suspicious. The rocket.
The gun's last ride.

"Now," said Doctor Mayhew, absently tipping the last of the ginger-jub down his gullet, "how are we going to stop them firing this gun?"

"Is not firing kungscannon?" exclaimed Professor Breadno woefully. "Is not having bigbang?"

"Your big bang, my dear Professor, would leave this island in a devilish undesirable location."

"Could firing otherwards round world mayhaps?" the professor said hopefully. "I fixing nordwestbang."

"No, no, Professor, that would push us out into the middle of the Atlantic, right over to Spain probably. Can't you see, we don't want the gun fired at all."

The professor's face fell.

"Besides," Dido pointed out kindly, "you really can't shoot poor old King James, you know!"

"Na, na, na, snat Kung Jimsbangen, 'sKung Georgebangen. Kung George the Fourth!"

"King George the Fourth?" said Dido, bewildered. "But we haven't got a King George! It's King James the Third, bless his wig!"

The professor shook his head and burst into a flood of refutal, mostly in his own incomprehensible language, which it took some time to disentangle.

"I see what it is," Dido said at length. "Those peevy culls have been leading him up the garden path, making him believe there was a Hanoverian king on the throne because he's really against the Hanoverians and they wanted him to make the gun for them. Talk about pitching the double! What a lot of swindlers! Can you explain to him, Doc?"

It took some time to get across to the professor that there was already the sort of king he preferred on the English throne and therefore no need to shoot anyone off it; in the end he was convinced but greatly disappointed.

"Firing at sönn, at mönn, at stare?" he suggested as a last, forlorn hope.

"No, Breadno, that just wouldn't do. It would sink us. We'd go right under water. Have a bit of sense, can't you?" remonstrated the doctor.

Poor Professor Breadno sighed heavily and stumped away from the council down to the edge of the waves, where he stood skipping stones and gazing mournfully at Rosie, who, exhausted by her great aquabatic display, was resting comfortably in the swell, her tiny eyes fixed on Captain Casket with a look of great devotion.

"You say the gun is now all ready to fire, and the professor's presence is not needed?" Doctor Mayhew said to Dido.

"That's right. Aunt Trib—Miss Slighcarp said she would fire it. They only need the cannonball, and that's being delivered today. Then they plan to go back on board the ship, tipping us over the cliff on the way, I dessay, and skedaddle till the rumpus has died down, before coming back to pick up the gunner. They wasn't aiming to pick up poor old Breadno at all; I wonder if they'll leave Auntie Trib behind too?"

"So," said Doctor Mayhew thoughtfully, "as we haven't enough able-bodied men on the island to deal with a whole shipload of desperate ruffians, our best plan would be somehow to get rid of the gun itself before they can fire it."

"But, Doc, it's huge!" said Dido. "It's about a mile long, and as thick as a tree! I don't see how you'll ever get it moved if you've got no help but grannies and young 'uns and whaling widders."

"No more do I at present," Doctor Mayhew said frankly. "But somehow it must be done, so we had all better set our wits to work."

For a long time nobody spoke. They sat frowning in the silence of intense thought.

"We couldn't stuff the barrel full o' summat?" Dido suggested doubtfully.

"That might lead to a most disastrous explosion," Doctor Mayhew said.

"Cut the gun into sections—no, that would take too long," Nate muttered.

Several hours slipped by in fruitless discussion. Nate paced about the beach in circles, staring at the ground.

At last Pen said, "Sheep."

"Sheep, Penny?"

"There are such a lot on the island. Could they not be put to some use? Harnessed to the gun and made to drag it away?"

"Dunnamany ropes you'd need," Dido said kindly. "Have another try."

Nate, who had wandered near, strolled down to the edge of the waves and skipped stones with the professor.

"Or we could bury—no, that would not do," Pen sighed in discouragement.

"Hallo, what's bitten Nate and the professor?" Dido suddenly said.

Nate, apparently galvanized by an idea, had grabbed the professor's arm and was talking to him earnestly, using a lot of gestures, sometimes pointing out to sea. They buttonholed Captain Casket and brought him into the discussion. He nodded, at first doubtfully, then with confidence and animation.

"What's the lay?" called Dido. Nate came pounding back over the pebbles, with the others close behind him.

"We've got it! The very thing! We'll use the pink 'un."

"Old Rosie?" said Dido. "Why, o' course! She's just the article. Why, in Pharaoh's name, didn't we think of her sooner?"

"But how? How do you mean?" said Pen.

"Why, it was your notion of the sheep that put it into my head," Nate told her. "Tie a rope to her flukes, don't you see, and get her to haul the gun into the sea. It'd be as easy as a greased slide."

"But would it be kind?" said Penitence dubiously.

"Cap'n Casket's agreeable to the idea. Says he don't think it'd upset her too much."

"We'd need an uncommonly strong rope, and a long one," Doctor Mayhew observed.

"There's the lifeguard rope," Nate said. "That's best new five-inch Manila, and there's nigh on two mile of it."

"We'll need all of that. Now let's think of how we'd go about this. One party would have to make an end of the rope fast to the gun, while Captain Casket and somebody else must row out to the whale with the other end. We can use the lifeguard's dory. I had best be with the captain, who must obviously remain here on the shore so that the whale does not swim away before we are ready. Nate, you had better go with Professor Breadno and tie the rope to the gun; the professor will know the most suitable place to make fast."

Nate saw a difficulty.

"How're we going to shift the rope? That coil's powerful heavy."

"In Mungo's cart," Dido suggested. "We can all lift it in, and then it will unroll as you go."

"We can't take the cart all the way to the forest; if there's anybody left on guard they'd spot us."

"No. but you'll have unrolled a lot of rope by the time you get there; it won't be so heavy. You can leave the cart about half a mile away and roll the coil along the last bit. There are sheepskins in the cart; put those on your shoulders and meander through the scrub a bit aimlesslike and stooping; anybody watching from the forest'll think you're a sheep. I'll come with you to keep a lookout," Dido volunteered.

"We really ought to try to find out when they aim to fire," Doctor Mayhew said. "If Miss Slighcarp's going to do it, we only have to keep an eye on her movements, and as soon as she starts for the forest we'll know. Who could do that?"

All eyes turned on poor Penitence, who became rather pale, swallowed once or twice, and then said valiantly, "I'll do it. I don't mind. That is, if, Doctor Mayhew, you'll promise to look after Papa."

"Penny, you're a real bang-up hero," Dido said warmly. "I wish I could come with you, but if Auntie Trib was to see I'd got out of the lighthouse she'd twig the whole lay in a minute. But you can pretend you know nothing about anything and just act like a saphead—try to delay her from going to the forest if she seems liable to start too soon, before Nate and the cap'n are ready and we've got the gun away. Can you keep her till a couple of hours after dark?"

"How should I delay her?" asked Pen nervously.

"Why, talk to her, distract her, ask her advice about summat—ask her how to make wedding cake or some blame thing."

"And supposing she wants to know where I've been and where Papa is, what shall I tell her?"

"Why, you can tell the truth. Say Doc Mayhew reckoned as how it would do your pa good to have a look at the pink whale and that he's a-sitting on Sankaty Beach. That sounds innocent and harmless and will put her off the scent. Say he's a-goin' to spend the night with Doc Mayhew."

"Very well," said Pen, wan but resolute.

Everything was now in train. The whole party helped to lift the lifeguard rope, which was kept coiled in a chest at the foot of the lighthouse, onto Mungo's cart. Then Doctor Mayhew and Captain Casket returned to the beach, dragging with them one end of the rope, while Nate, Dido, and Professor Breadno drove slowly away down the Polpis road, unrolling the coil as they went. They took Pen with them for a mile or so, and then she left them and struck off across the moors towards Soul's Hill.

"Poor Penny," said Dido, who waved vigorously as long as Pen was in sight. "I reckoned as how I'd teach her to stand up to Aunt Tribulation, but I never figured things would be quite as rugged as this. But she's coming up smiling, I will say; I'd never 'a thought Pen had so much gumption in her. Reckon her pa ought to be mighty well satisfied with her now, considering what a little puny moping thing she was on board ship. If he could take his mind off that blame whale o' hisn for five minutes, that is!"

The whale was still just visible, rocking like a pink blancmange in the breakers, and Nate began singing softly:

"Sweet whale of Nantucket, so rosy and nice,
As round and as pink as a strawberry ice—"

"That ain't stately enough," Dido said. "That don't give a proper notion of her at all."

"All right." Nate considered a moment or two, while a few more fathoms of rope unrolled.

"How about this, then?

Sweet whale of Nantucket, so pink and so round,
The pride of our island, the pearl of the Sound,
By Providence blest to our shores you were led,
Long, long may you gambol off Sankaty Head!"

"That's better," said Dido. "Though it was really Cap'n Casket she was led by, not Providence. I guess, really, all the time he thought he was following her, she was following him."

As Pen disappeared over a hill Dido said, with a sudden pang of anxiety, "Croopus, I do hope nothing don't go wrong when Penny gets to the farm. I wonder did we do right to send her?"

"Oh, I guess she'll be all right," Nate said.

***

Dusk had begun to fall when Penitence reached the farm. Nobody was in sight. The cows had been milked and turned out to pasture, probably by Mrs. Pardon. Penitence slipped quietly into the kitchen and then paused, as she heard voices coming from the parlor. The door was not quite closed.

"...should be loaded by now," Mr. Slighcarp's voice said. "Thanks to that cursed whale and all the brats and old grannies swarming on the beach at Quidnet, we were obliged to slip right round to the south side of the island, which meant the men had to carry the shot a great deal farther from the landing place. We didn't want to risk anyone getting a sight of it."

"No, you were very right," his sister agreed. "Where is the Dark Diamond now?"

"Making north again, back to Quidnet. Just coasting along she's innocent enough—might be going back for another sight of the pink whale. We've another boat beached at Quidnet ready to take us all off to her when the gun's loaded."

"What delayed the ship so long?"

"They were chased all the way from the mouth of the Thames by a perditioned naval sloop, the Thrush, which several times nearly caught them; in order to give it the slip they were forced to beat right down to Trinidad."

"What happened to the sloop, then?" asked Miss Slighcarp uneasily.

"They lost her in the end; probably gave up and went back to report failure."

"It's as well we are now ready to fire."

"They could never have touched us on Nantucket; it's American soil. But we had best get away prudently and as fast as possible in case the sloop is still hanging about."

"What time shall I fire the gun?"

Penitence drew nearer to the door and listened intently.

Mr. Slighcarp did some calculating. "Hmm, there's a fair southwesterly, say fifteen knots, plus the trip to Quidnet.... Give us time to get away. Say, six hours. Better make it eight hours. Don't fire before midnight."

"Very well. I will fire at midnight exactly. Darkness suits me better," she said. "There is no risk of being seen on my way there. I don't want to be suspected before you come back to pick me up. As Tribulation Casket I am safe enough."

"Come to think," he said, "where is old Casket and the child?"

"Lord knows. The wretched, foggy sea air in this place makes me sleep like the dead; when I woke this morning it was late and they'd gone off somewhere. Mrs. Pardon, who came to milk, told me Doctor Mayhew proposed taking Casket to see the whale. I suppose that's where they are."

"Safe enough. Wasn't Mrs. Pardon worried about her boy?"

"I said he and the other child had gone fishing. You'll deal with them?"

"We couldn't just leave them, I suppose?" he said.

"Fool! Use your wits! As soon as they speak to anybody our whole plan comes crashing down. If the lighthouse keeper sees them—no, they must be dealt with."

"I'll see to it, then. On the way to the boat. I must hurry. One last thing—■"

"Yes?"

The voices were approaching the door and Pen looked desperately round for a hiding place. There was just time to scramble into the clock.

"Should any emergency arise, so that it becomes necessary to fire before the time agreed, we will communicate by these rockets. If we let off our rocket, fire the gun as soon as possible afterward. Likewise, if for some reason you need to fire earlier, send off your rocket first to warn us and we'll make for what shelter we can, wherever we are. But fire at all costs; we shall never have a better chance. The usurping Stuart monarch is bound to be in his palace tonight because tomorrow is the state opening of Parliament."

"I shall not fail."

She laid the rocket on the kitchen table, and the two of them went out of the house. The sound of their voices was cut off by the door slamming.

Pen acted on a lightning impulse. She sprang out of the clock, seized the rocket, which was about the size of a French loaf, and dipped it, first one end, then the other, in a large jug of buttermilk. A bundle of lucifer matches lay with the rocket. She served them in the same manner. There was just time to climb back into the clock before Aunt Tribulation re-entered the house.

Pen was now in terror lest Aunt Tribulation observe the damp state of the rocket or should take it into her head to wind the clock. Fortunately, she did neither of these things but went upstairs. Seizing the chance, Pen slipped out into the barnyard, first cautiously reconnoitering to make sure that Mr. Slighcarp had gone. He was visible in the distance, walking down the track to Sankaty at a great pace. Pen walked back into the kitchen, making as much noise as possible, took a deep breath, and called up the stairs, "Aunt? Aunt Tribulation? Are you there?"

"Penitence? Is that you?"

Aunt Tribulation—somehow Pen could not think of her as Miss Slighcarp—came downstairs, looking grim. To Pen's alarm, she had exchanged her usual gingham for a black silk dress and a black, fringed shawl. She carried an awe-inspiring bonnet ornamented with small jet tombstones. She wore bottle-green boots.

"Well!" she said. "What have you to say for yourself, miss? Where have you been all day? And where is your father?"

"With Doctor Mayhew, ma'am, watching the pink whale. You were asleep when we left—we did not like to disturb you. Doctor Mayhew is keeping Papa at his house tonight, but they—they thought I should come home. Is Dido not back yet?"

"You can see she is not," Aunt Tribulation remarked severely. "Well, child, don't stand gaping—there are plenty of tasks to be done. What's the matter?"

"You are so fine, Aunt!"

"I shall be going out by and by," Aunt Tribulation said carelessly. "Hurry now—feed the animals and make some supper."

"Yes, ma'am."

As Pen fed the pigs and hens she was filled with anxious calculations. If Aunt Tribulation did not go off to fire the gun till midnight, that was excellent, for it should give Nate and the professor ample time to secure the rope, and for the pink whale to do her part. But what would happen when Mr. Slighcarp returned to Sankaty Lighthouse and found the captives had escaped? Almost certainly he would let off his rocket and Aunt Tribulation, alerted, would start out to fire the gun much earlier. Could she somehow be prevented from hearing or seeing the rocket? Pen hurried back to the house, leaving half the pigs screaming with rage because they had not been fed.

Aunt Tribulation was seated in the kitchen rocker, grimly swaying back and forth while she stared straight ahead; from the expression on her face she might have been enjoying the spectacle of St. James's Palace blowing sky-high. Pen began clanking pots and pans, putting bacon to hiss and splutter in a skillet, pounding sugar to break up the lumps.

"Don't make such a noise, child," Aunt Tribulation said. "I can't hear myself think. No, don't draw the curtains yet. It is too stuffy, and not quite dark. Leave them."

Reluctantly, Pen obeyed. She served Aunt Tribulation a large bowl of chowder and, taking some herself, began to eat it noisily.

"Don't gulp so, miss! You sound like a pig. And, talking about pigs, why are they squealing? I don't believe you can have fed them properly. Go and give them more to eat."

While Pen was outside there was a short, sharp report from the direction of Quidnet. A twisting snake of green light shot into the twilit sky and fell, scattering sparks. Oh, my goodness! thought Pen. She hurried indoors.

Aunt Tribulation was hastily putting on her bonnet.

"Oh, please, Aunt, where are you going?"

"It's none of your business, miss. Mind you, wash the dishes now."

"Oh, but please—before you go—I want to ask you how to make wedding cake—"

"Have you gone mad, child? Pass my umbrella—there, by the flour crock."

"I mean," said poor Pen, "not wedding cake, I mean, please, would you give me some advice about my sampler? I should so like to do the sails in satin stitch, but I do not know how. Would you be so kind as to show me, and then I can sew it after I have finished the dishes?"

Aunt Tribulation looked at her narrowly. "What's all this about? Wedding cake—samplers—are you concealing something from me. Penitence?"

"N-n-no, Aunt!"

Aunt Tribulation took a menacing step towards Pen, who winced back. But just at that moment the clock struck the half-hour. Aunt Tribulation appeared to recollect that time was too short for questions.

"Make haste, then," she said. "Fetch the sampler."

Relieved, Pen ran up to her room, unaware that Aunt Tribulation followed behind with swift, silent steps. As Pen knelt to take the canvas from its tissue in her bottom drawer, she heard the key turn in her door. She had been locked in.

Darting to the window, she saw Aunt Tribulation walk into the yard, putting the bundle of matches in her reticule, and set off with rapid strides towards the forest.

"Be-e-e-eh!" bleated Dido in Nate's ear. "Hallo! All rug?"

"Nearly done!" he whispered. "We made fast; the prof's just taking a last look. I think he can't hardly bear to say goodbye to his gun. It was lucky we'd covered the rope with leaves and bits o' brish as we went—we'd hardly finished when two of those scoundrels come sloping past going towards Sankaty—on their way to drop our poor bodies over the cliff, I reckon. Wonder what they'll do when they find we're gone?"

"Get lickety-split to blazes out o' there, I should think," guessed Dido.

She added uneasily, "Hope they don't run up agin Cap'n Casket and the doc, though. Here's old man Breadno. All hunky-dory, Professor?"

"Ja. Is fastmakingness," he said sadly.

"Then we'd better be fast making tracks. Give the signal, Nate."

Nate gave two vigorous tugs on the rope, to indicate to Doctor Mayhew and the captain, at the other end, that the gun was now attached.

"Now, scarper, cullies—follow me!" Dido said. "We want to be well away from the rope after they fix it to old Rosie, or we're liable to have our feet scorched from under us. But keep low."

Crouching under their sheepskins, they hurried over the scrubby ground as fast as they dared to the hollow where Dido had left the mule cart. Just as Nate was untying Mungo they were surprised by the report of a rocket, and its green light climbing up the sky illuminated their startled faces as they stared at one another.

"D'you suppose that's them?"

"Dunno, but whatever it is, we'd best hurry," Dido muttered. "Give Mungo a prod, Nate." They scrambled into the cart, and Mungo, who was not used to rockets, bolted away down the track towards Sankaty. They could see the lighthouse beam clear ahead of them.

"Shouldn't be far now," Dido said. "Wonder when old Rosie will start? They seem to be taking a pesky long time tying the rope to her tail. Oh, Nate—s'pose she acts up and won't have it, and skaddles off out o' reach?"

"Nonsense," he said more stoutly than he felt. "She'll do anything for Cap'n Casket—eat out o' his hand."

Just before they reached the lighthouse they heard a choking, panting voice which called to them from the side of the road.

"Dido! Nate! Is that you? Oh, stop, please stop, it's Pen!"

"Why, Penny!" Dido jumped out of the cart and helped her in. "Are you all right, Pen? What's happened?"

"She—Aunt Trib—she's started for the forest—" gasped Penitence. "I can't—couldn't—stop her—" She had run so far and fast that her chest was heaving painfully; she pressed both hands against it but could not speak for several moments. "Climbed down to tell you—" she got out presently, "rocket—meant—fire—"

"Oh, poison," Dido said. "That rocket was their signal, you mean?"

Pen nodded, gulping in air. The others exchanged glances of dismay at this confirmation of their fears. "So, any minute now—" said Dido. "Croopus, what in tarnation's Cap'n Casket—"

But as she spoke, her words were drowned by a vast, prolonged, ear-shattering bellow that seemed to make even the lighthouse tremble to its foundations. They heard the rope twang like a banjo string as the slack was suddenly drawn up. They heard a shrill, whistling hiss, like the whine of wind in rigging, as the rope flew over the uneven ground, cutting through sand, slicing off shrubs and sea grass. They heard a wild shout of warning from the dory, which came in sight round the lighthouse at this moment, Captain Casket and Doctor Mayhew rowing frantically for land. The tide was full, and the waves struck at the very foot of the cliff.

"Great candles!" cried Dido. "There she goes!"

As they strained their eyes seaward they had an instant's glimpse of the pink whale flashing across the lighthouse beam, half out of the water, arrow-straight and wild-eyed, with her flukes streaming behind her like pennants. Then she was gone, into the dark, heading north.

"Oh, dear!" said Pen. "I didn't think she'd like it! Supposing she don't forgive us and never comes back? Poor Papa will break his heart."

"Don't let's worry about that yet," said Dido. "He can go arter her when things has calmed down and feed her some cream buns or corn dodgers—the main thing is, now, will the rope hold? And where's Auntie Trib?"

Two minutes later her questions were to be dramatically answered.

With a low rumbling, which increased as it approached to a clamorous clattering din, the huge gun rattled into sight, lurching over the rough ground on its innumerable pairs of wheels, tipping and swaying like a log in a torrent but, by a miracle, remaining upright. "Look, look!" gasped Penitence, "there's somebody on it!"

The light from the rising moon showed a wild figure clinging to the gun carriage—Aunt Tribulation, astride the chassis, mad with rage, fiercely striking match after match on the breech in a last, relentless effort to fire the gun as it was dragged along. Not one of the wet matches would light.

"She'll be over the cliff if she don't take care!" Nate exclaimed.

Aunt Tribulation heard him. Observing for the first time how near to the sea the gun had been dragged in its headlong course, she abandoned the matches and flung them from her with a curse. Shaking her fist at the party on the cart, screaming imprecations, she leapt with frantic agility up onto the breech itself and ran, balancing like a tightrope walker, along the barrel of the gun.

"She's got a knife!" cried Nate.

"She's going to cut the rope!"

"She'll never do it!"

"Yes, she will, by thunder!"

But even as she sawed furiously at the tough five-inch Manila rope there came a last crazy lurch of the gun—the muzzle dropped, the breech reared up into the sky and remained poised for an instant on the edge of the cliff—then the gun and its wild rider plunged over and down, disappearing without a sound into the white foam below.