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Progressive Web Apps with React

Create lightning fast web apps with native power using React and Firebase
Scott Domes

BIRMINGHAM - MUMBAI
Progressive Web Apps with React
Copyright © 2017 Packt Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written
permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in
critical articles or reviews.

Every effort has been made in the preparation of this book to ensure the accuracy of
the information presented. However, the information contained in this book is sold
without warranty, either express or implied. Neither the author(s), nor Packt
Publishing, and its dealers and distributors will be held liable for any damages
caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by this book.

Packt Publishing has endeavored to provide trademark information about all of the
companies and products mentioned in this book by the appropriate use of capitals.
However, Packt Publishing cannot guarantee the accuracy of this information.

First published: October 2017

Production reference: 1181017

Published by Packt Publishing Ltd.

Livery Place
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B3 2PB, UK.

ISBN 978-1-78829-755-4
www.packtpub.com
Credits

Author Copy Editor

Scott Domes Shaila Kusanale

Reviewer Project Coordinator

Amar Gharat Devanshi Doshi

Commissioning Editor Proofreader

Kunal Chaudhari Safis Editing

Acquisition Editor Indexer

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Content Development Editor Graphics

Onkar Wani Jason Monteiro

Technical Editor Production Coordinator

Akhil Nair Melwyn Dsa

About the Author
Scott Domes is a full stack developer who specializes in React, with a passion for
building powerful and performant web applications, and for playing with shiny new
technologies. Based out of Vancouver, when not coding he's probably out hiking
some mountain, or getting lost in a good book. Scott loves to teach and talk about
web development, and is always looking to learn new things.

A special thank you to Packt Publishing for giving me the chance to write this book,
and for Onkar and Shweta for assisting me on this journey. Check out
https://www.packtpub.com/ for an excellent selection of quality programming books.

Thank you to my technical readers: Warren Vosper, Mario Grasso, Andrew Hayter,
and Miodrag Vujkovic. A special thanks to everyone at MuseFind for their support
and feedback, and to my family and friends for their encouragement.

Lastly, thanks to you, the reader, for picking up this book. I hope you enjoy it. You
can follow me on Twitter and Medium as @scottdomes, or my website,
scottdomes.com
About the Reviewer
Amar Gharat focuses on developing creative and unique web applications using
LAMP, open source, and cutting-edge technology as well as delivering work on time
to meet the deadlines with dedicated team work.

He has a total work experience of 11 years, and has executed projects from design,
development, production, and support. He defines requirements and plans project life
cycle deployment.

He also has knowledge of SDLC and process models, and defines resources and
schedules for project implementation. He plans and schedules project deliverables,
goals, milestones, and tracking them to closure.

Strong leadership and people management are Amar's core skills.

He develops and delivers progress reports, proposals, requirements documentation,

and presentations; submits status reports from the project team, analyzes results, and
troubleshoots problem areas; manages changes in project scope, identifies potential
crises, and devises contingency plans.

He defines project success criteria and disseminates them to involved parties

throughout the project life cycle, and helps build, develop, and grow any business
relationships vital to the success of the project.

Research, innovate, propose, and discuss product area improvements is what he

believes in, and he works on clear requirements with business managers and product
managers. He gets projects developed using agile, and is responsible for code
reviews, documentation, and maintenance of applications. He's also responsible for
core product metrics and end-to-end responsibility for programming of new
pages/microsites.

He develops internal web-based interfaces, and provides technical leadership to team

members. He's known for delivering time-based task assignments, and is an expert in
unit testing.

Amar is also experienced in portal management.

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Table of Contents
Preface
What this book covers
What you need for this book
Who this book is for
Conventions
Reader feedback
Customer support
Downloading the example code
Errata
Piracy
Questions
1. Creating Our App Structure
Setting the scene
The problem
The other problem
Beginning work
Why Progressive Web Apps?
Why React?
A rose by any other name
User stories
Application challenges
Instant loading
Push notifications
Offline access
Mobile-first design
Progressive enhancement
Let's get going
Our app skeleton
CSS and assets
Meta tags and favicons
What is npm?
Node setup
The dark side of npm
Project initiation
Installing React
Using React
Welcome to ReactDOM
Summary
2. Getting Started with Webpack
Our project structure
Welcome to Webpack
Bundling files
Moving our React
Shortcuts
Our Dev server
Webpack loaders
Our first ES6
Splitting up our app
Hot reloading
Building for production
Creating a custom script
Making an asset manifest
Summary
3. Our App's Login Page
What is a React component?
Controversies and Separation of Concerns
Class components versus functional components
Our second component
State in React
Reusing components
Summary
4. Easy Backend Setup With Firebase
What is Firebase?
Firebase gotchas
Setting up
Hiding our API key
Deploying Firebase
Authentication with Firebase
What is a promise?
Back to authentication
Code cleanup
Signing up
Saving our user
Event listeners
Lifecycle methods
Summary
5. Routing with React
The plan
Pages on pages
 The React Router difference
Our ChatContainer
Installing React Router
Our BrowserRouter
Our first two Routes
Redirecting on login
Logging out
Detour - higher order components
Our third Route
Summary
6. Completing Our App
User stories progress
ChatContainer skeleton
Managing data flow
Creating a message
Sending a message to Firebase
Our message data
Loading data from Firebase
Displaying our messages
Message display improvements
Multiple users
Batching user messages
Scrolling down
React refs
Loading indicator
The Profile page
Summary
7. Adding a Service Worker
What is a service worker?
The service worker life cycle
Registering our first service worker
Checking for browser support
Listening for the page load
Registering the service worker
Logging out the result
Experiencing the service worker life cycle
Adding Firebase to our service worker
Naming our service worker
Summary
8. Using a Service Worker to Send Push Notifications
Requesting permission
 Tracking tokens
Attaching a user to the token
Changing the user inside NotificationResource
Creating a new token
Updating an existing token
Sending push notifications
Writing our Cloud function
Sending to the tokens
Testing our push notifications
Debugging push notifications
Checking the Cloud Functions logs
Checking the Service Worker
Checking the tokens
Summary
9. Making Our App Installable with a Manifest
What is an app manifest?
Browser support
Making our app installable - Android
Manifest properties
Other properties
Linking our manifest
Making our app installable - iOS
App install banners and you
Delaying the app install banner
Listening for the event
Summary
10. The App Shell
What is progressive enhancement?
The RAIL model
Load
Idle
Animation
Response
Timeline
Measuring using the timeline
The Summary tab
Network requests
Waterfall
Screenshots
PageSpeed Insights
The app shell pattern
 Moving shell HTML out of React
Moving CSS out of React
Moving the loading indicator
Summary
11. Chunking JavaScript to Optimize Performance with Webpack
The PRPL pattern
Push
Render
Pre-cache
Lazy-load
What is code splitting?
Webpack configuration
Babel stage 1
Conditional imports
Higher-order components
AsyncComponent
Route splitting
Lazy loading
Summary
12. Ready to Cache
What is caching?
The importance of caching
The Cache API
Methods
The asset manifest
Setting up our cache
The install event
Opening up the cache
Fetching the asset manifest
Parsing the JSON
Adding the relevant URLs to the cache
The fetch event
The activate event
Grab the list of cache names
Loop over them
Testing our cache
Summary
13. Auditing Our App
What is Lighthouse?
The criteria
The Audits tab
 Our first audit
Evaluating the readout
Using the Lighthouse CLI
Serving our build folder
Using Lighthouse to assess the served page
Logging the results
Summary
14. Conclusion and Next Steps
Next steps
Learning resources
Case studies
Building the Google I/O 2016 Progressive Web App
AliExpress case study
eXtra Electronics case study
Jumia case study
Konga case study
SUUMO case study
Example applications
PWA.rocks
Flipboard
React Hacker News
Notes
Twitter
2048 Puzzle
Articles to read
Native apps are doomed
A BIG list of Progressive Web App tips & tricks
Testing service workers
Twitter Lite and High Performance React Progressive Web Apps at Scale
Why are App Install Banners Still a thing?
A Progressive Web Application with Vue JS
Transforming an existing Angular application into a Progressive Web App
Progressing the Web
Designed Degradations - UX Patterns for Hostile Environments
Instant Loading Web Apps With An Application Shell Architecture
Trick users into thinking your site's faster than it is
Apple’s refusal to support Progressive Web Apps is a detriment to the future of th
e web
Tools
Workbox
 Sw-precache
Sw-toolbox
Offline-plugin
Manifest-json
Serviceworker-rails
Sw-offline-google-analytics
Dynamic Service Workers (DSW)
UpUp
Generator-pwa
Progressive-webapp-config
Stretch goals
Switch to Preact
Show online status
Show when typing
Include file upload
Create chat rooms
Interactive without React
Building your own backend
Closing words
Summary
Preface
Progressive Web Apps with React aims to give you everything you need to know
about the future of web development. Progressive Web Apps (PWAs) are
becoming more and more common for companies looking to leverage the best the
web can offer, powered by cutting-edge technologies that bridge the gap between
web apps and native apps.

In this book, we'll leverage the power of the popular JavaScript library React.js to
create a fast and functional UI. Then, we'll add Progressive Web App features such
as push notifications and instant loading, using revolutionary new web technology.
Finally, we'll streamline our app's performance and look at how to best measure its
speed.

By the end of this book, you will feel comfortable with both React and PWAs, and
be ready for the future of the web.
What this book covers
Chapter 1, Creating Our App Structure, gives a brief overview of what exactly you
will be learning to build-- a real-time chat application with push notifications and
offline support. You will get to learn about the challenges that such an app presents,
and get a brief overview of the technologies that will be discussed in this book. By
the end of the chapter, you will set up the application structure of a chat app, with
HTML and CSS.

Chapter 2, Getting Started with Webpack, says that before you write any React code,
you need to set up the webpack build process. In this chapter, you will be introduced
to webpack; you will learn to install the package and set up some basic configuration
as well as get the development server running. This chapter will get you ready to
jump into React.

Chapter 3, Our App's Login Page, introduces you to React time! In this chapter, you
will learn to write the first two components: an App wrapper to contain the
application and a LoginContainer. Learn about rendering with ReactDOM and JSX,
and write a basic form to allow the users to log in. By the end of this chapter, you
will be familiar and comfortable with the React syntax.

Chapter 4, Easy Backend Setup With Firebase, informs that the login form looks great,
but is lacking actual functionality. To move forward, you will need a backend
database and authentication solution to communicate with it. This chapter will
introduce you to Firebase by Google. Set up the application on the Firebase console,
and then program the login and signup functionality for the form.

Chapter 5, Routing with React, lets you know that once the user logs in, you want to
redirect them to the main chat view. Therefore, in this chapter, you will learn to build
that main view and then set up the React Router that allows the users to move
between the pages. Lastly, learn to add a third view the individual user view--and
explore parameter matching in URLs.

Chapter 6, Completing Our App, takes you through the last step in building the basic
application, adding functionality to the chat and user views. You will learn to write
and read data from Firebase, taking advantage of React life cycle methods to do so.
Once that’s done, your web application will be complete, but it’s not quite
progressive yet!
Chapter 7, Adding a Service Worker, covers service workers and how they work.
Here, you'll understand how to register a custom service worker and learn about its
life cycle, and then hook into the default Firebase messaging service worker.

Chapter 8, Using a Service Worker to Send Push Notifications, teaches you to

configure the app now that our service worker is ready, to be able to send the push
notifications. You will use Firebase Cloud Messaging to manage sending these
notifications, and add customization to control how and when they are sent on
desktop and mobile.

Chapter 9, Making Our App Installable with a Manifest, teaches that a manifest is a
JSON file that allows users to save your app to their home screen. You will learn to
create the manifest and understand the best practices as well as iOS-specific
considerations. You will also learn to customize your splash screen and icons.

Chapter 10, The App Shell, puts across the point of the App Shell pattern being a key
concept in PWAs, but what advantages does it bring? You will be introduced to both
the shell and the RAIL system of progressive enhancement, and then move some of
you app's layout out of React for optimal rendering.

Chapter 11, Chunking JavaScript to Optimize Performance with Webpack, explores

the PRPL pattern, its goals and methods, as well as an overview of how to achieve it
in your app. Then, you will dive in, splitting up the JavaScript into chunks based on
routes, and then lazy loading the secondary routes.

Chapter 12, Ready to Cache, walks through how you can leverage the service worker
to achieve offline capability, by understanding the new Cache API, and how to use it
with your service worker to cache the JavaScript chunks.

Chapter 13, Auditing Our App, says it's now time to check our work! In this chapter,
you will be introduced to Lighthouse and understand how to audit PWAs with
Lighthouse.

Chapter 14, Conclusion and Next Steps, Your first PWA is complete! In the
development process, you built most of the PWA infrastructure manually. In this
chapter, you will get to learn about the helper libraries and shortcuts to save time,
and you'll also explore the future of PWA development. Additionally, you will come
across suggestions about the future project ideas and improvements that can be made
to your chat app, as an extra challenge.
What you need for this book
All you require is a computer that can run Node.js (https://nodejs.org/en/download/), a
text editor for writing code, and the latest version of the Chrome browser. If you
want to test your application on mobile, you'll also need an Android or iOS phone.
Who this book is for
This book is for JavaScript developers who want to develop high-performance Web
User interfaces. This book requires basic knowledge of HTML, CSS and JavaScript.
Conventions
In this book, you will find a number of text styles that distinguish between different
kinds of information. Here are some examples of these styles and an explanation of
their meaning. Code words in text, database table names, folder names, filenames,
file extensions, pathnames, dummy URLs, user input, and Twitter handles are shown
as follows: Inside App.js, we first import the LoginContainer.

A block of code is set as follows:

import React, { Component } from 'react';
import LoginContainer from './LoginContainer';
import './app.css';

class App extends Component {

render() {
return <LoginContainer />
}
}

export default App;

When we wish to draw your attention to a particular part of a code block, the
relevant lines or items are set in bold:
if (module.hot) {
module.hot.accept('./components/App', () => {
const NextApp = require('./components/App').default;
ReactDOM.render(
<App/>,
document.getElementById('root')
);
});
}

Any command-line input or output is written as follows:

yarn add css-loader style-loader

New terms and important words are shown in bold. Words that you see on the
screen, for example, in menus or dialog boxes, appear in the text like this: Flip back
to the app, and you should see the Hello from LoginContainer of our
new component.

Warnings or important notes appear like this.

Tips and tricks appear like this.
Reader feedback
Feedback from our readers is always welcome. Let us know what you think about
this book-what you liked or disliked. Reader feedback is important for us as it helps
us develop titles that you will really get the most out of. To send us general
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Customer support
Now that you are the proud owner of a Packt book, we have a number of things to
help you to get the most from your purchase.
Downloading the example code
You can download the example code files for this book from your account at http://w
ww.packtpub.com. If you purchased this book elsewhere, you can visit http://www.packtp
ub.com/support and register to have the files emailed directly to you. You can
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Errata
Although we have taken every care to ensure the accuracy of our content, mistakes
do happen. If you find a mistake in one of our books-maybe a mistake in the text or
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Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
 “Yes,” she said softly, pressing the back of his hand quickly. “Yes,
Charles. I promise you that.”
“You aren’t hurt, Olivia?”
“No, Charles. Not hurt.”
“God bless you, Olivia.”
“Come in to Tom, now,” she said in a low voice. She was moved
and touched. They went in.
Stukeley sat at the cabin table, drinking brandy without water. He
was white and sick. Their entrance made him start up with an oath.
“What’s the matter, Stukeley?” said Margaret. “We aren’t going into
—into quarantine. Cammock’s signalled that it’s all right. What’s the
matter with you? Let me feel your pulse.”
“Ah,” he said, gasping. “Ah. This heat’s upset me.”
“How are you, Tom?” Olivia tenderly asked. “How’s your head?”
“Oh, my head’s all right. Don’t bother. Don’t bother.” He rose from
his seat, laughing wildly. “What a turn it gave me,” he said. “I’m going
to see old Brandyco. I’m all right again, Olivia.” He took her by the
shoulders and bent back her head so that he might kiss her. “Poor
little Olive,” he said caressingly, pinching her arms. “She’s been
worrying, ever so. Hasn’t she? Hasn’t she? Eh?” He kissed her eyes.
Margaret turned away, wondering whether the kiss smelt worse of
brandy or tobacco.
“Don’t go on deck,” said Olivia. “Don’t go on deck, Tom dear. The
sun’s so strong.”
“But you’ll want to hear about Jamestown from Cammock.”
“No, Tom dear. I don’t. I want you. I want you to rest and get well.”
“I’d like. I must just see Cammock.”
“But what makes you so eager to see Captain Cammock, Tom?”
“Stukeley looks on the captain as a sort of a show,” said Margaret
quickly. “The captain has just been talking with strangers. Wouldn’t
you like to see a man who’d really seen a new face, Olivia; and
heard a new voice?”
Olivia smiled.
“I don’t think Tom’s strong enough for excitements,” she said.
“No,” said Margaret, leaving the cabin. “But I don’t think there’s
much wrong. I think he’ll soon be all right, Olivia. Make him lie down
and rest. I must just see the captain.” He went on deck hurriedly,
holding his breath till he was in the fresh air. “Poison,” he said to
himself. “Poison. What a life. What squalor. That woman going to
have a child. And Stukeley, pah. Drinking and smoking there, waiting
to be dragged to gaol. She doesn’t see it. One would think he must
shock every fibre of her nature. And he doesn’t. He gives her love, I
suppose. That was the only thing she wanted. And now that beast is
her standard.” In the pure air he blamed himself for thinking ill of her.
“After all,” he thought, “Stukeley isn’t a beast to her. She, with her
much finer sense, sees something in him. Something that is all the
world to her. Something beautiful. She may even be happy with him.
She may be.” He thought pitifully of women and angrily of men. It
was all wrong, he thought. Men and women could never understand
each other, except in rare moments, in love, when the light in each
heart burned clearly. Women were hidden; they were driven to
covert, poor trembling fawns. They were like the nymphs hidden in
the reeds by the river. They took care that men should see only the
reeds. He had never really seen Olivia; he was not sure if he knew
her yet; he couldn’t say what it was that he loved. He did not care; he
was not going to ask. She was beautiful; her beauty moved him to
the bone; beauty was in all of her, in the whole woman, the whole
nature, body and spirit, in the ways of body and spirit. She was going
to have a child; Stukeley’s child; red-cheeked, curly; a little boy-
beast, the bully of his school. Ah, but the child would be hers, too.
She would bring it up to be like her. He would have that refinement of
voice, that lovely, merry, almost timid manner, her eyes, her grace,
her shyness. Captain Cammock, who had been watching him for a
full thirty seconds, half amused, half sad, that his passion had so
strong a hold still, even in a moment of anxiety, now tapped him on
the shoulder.
“Ah, captain.”
“It’s all right, sir. Nothing come yet. You can land your goods as
soon as you like. The Governor said he remembered you, and hopes
that you will wait upon him.”
“Good. I will.”
“It is good, sir. Oh, I’ve ordered some fresh meat, sir, and some
fowls.”
 “Yes. We must feast to-night. And send the boat in for a cask of
fresh water. Two-month water is poor tipple.”
“Yes. What would you say to six-month water? We must give a
free pump in port. And a cask of rum or beer, sir, on the quarter-
deck, would help our trade. For visitors you know, sir.”
“See to it then, captain. A letter may come while we’re here,
though.”
“Then make the Governor and the others your friends. Send ’em a
few cases of wine. Square the man-of-war captains. There’ll be no
trouble if you make them all your friends.”
“It doesn’t sound pretty.”
“Nor a wrung neck don’t look it.”
During the next few days there was bustle in the Broken Heart.
Visitors came aboard to look at samples of goods; to talk with the
seamen; and to taste the rum and beer, which was served out, a cup
to each comer, for the first forty-eight hours of her stay in the port. All
sorts came aboard her; traders and planters, oyster and fisher men,
soldiers from the fort, officers of the Governor’s house, Indians, men
from the backwoods, trappers, a sun-burned, good-humoured, silent
company, very sharp at a bargain.
After the first two days, the trade began. The seamen rigged up
trading-booths ashore, with some old sails, stretched upon poles.
Planks were laid upon casks to serve as trade tables. The goods
were arranged at the back of each booth, in the care of trusty hands.
Clothing was more in demand than any other kind of goods; but the
only clothes bought were those of fine quality and beautiful colour. It
puzzled Captain Margaret to see a small planter, owning perhaps
only one white apprenticed servant, or redemptioner, buying clothes
of great price, putting them on in the booth, and riding off, like an
earl, on his little Virginian horse, to his little clearing in the
wilderness. A few planters, especially those who were newly come to
the colony from the islands, where they had been privateering, paid
for their purchases in ounces of silver. It was easy to recognize these
planters. They had not lost their sea-walk, nor that steadfast anxiety
of gaze which marks the sailor. They all carried arms; though the
richer sort of them wore only pistols and a knife, leaving the carriage
of the musket, the bag containing lead, a mould, and some bullets,
and the heavy leather-covered powder-bottle, to a redemptioner, a
Moskito Indian, or, more rarely, to a negro slave. Cammock had
known some of these men in the past. Often, as he sat in the shade,
watching the beauty of the scene, now so glorious with coming
autumn, Captain Margaret would see one of these strangers
approaching, followed by his man. He was always impressed by
them, sometimes by their physical splendour, sometimes by the
sense that they were full of a rather terrible exuberance. As he
watched such a man approaching the booths, puffing at his pipe,
dressed in elaborate clothes, hung about with silver at all points, with
silver buttons, silver brooches, silver discs, buckles of heavy silver,
links and stars of silver, silver chains and necklets, so that the man’s
whole wealth was on his body at one time, Captain Margaret was
conscious of a feeling of envy. His own training, his own beautifully
ordered life in an English college, had shut him off from such a life as
this man’s. This clashing, tinkling pirate—he was nothing more,
although he often looked so fine—was master of his world. Captain
Margaret was the slave of his; the unhappy slave. The pirate could
leave his plantation when he wished, letting the wild bines choke his
tobacco. He could ship himself in any ship in the harbour, and go to
any part of the world which pleased his fancy. If chance flung him
down in a tropical forest, on an island in the sea, in a battle, in a
shipwreck, at a wedding, he would know what to do, what to say,
what to propose. The world had no terrors for such a man. Captain
Margaret forgot, when he thought thus enviously, that he himself was
one of the few who had escaped from the world, escaped from that
necessity for tooth and claw which is nature; and that by being no
longer “natural,” instinctive, common, he had risen to something
higher, to a point from which he could regard the pirate as an
interesting work of art. He never pursued his fancy far enough to ask
himself if he would willingly imitate or possess that work; because
the pirate, passing him by with a hard, shrewd glance, would stride
into the booth, taking off his hat to thrust back his long hair. He would
listen then to the conversation. If the man was known to Cammock,
the talk began promptly.
“Any Don Peraltoes, this trip?”
“What? Peraltoes? You weren’t there?”
 “Ain’t you Ned?”
“And you’re Lion. I’d never have known you. Any of ’em with you?”
“No, I quit the trade. Come and have something.”
Then they would mix some rum and sugar, and sprinkle the
mixture with a squeeze of a scrap of lemon-peel. They would drink
together, calling their curious toasts of “Salue,” “Here’s How,” “Happy
Days,” and “Plenty Dollars.” Then, over the trade as the men
haggled—
“Got any powder, Lion?”
“I can only sell powder if you’ve a license from the Governor.”
“Any small arms?”
“The same there.”
“Them’s a nice lot of macheats. How do they come?”
“An ounce apiece. Or fifty pound of leaf.”
“Steep. Let’s see one. A good trade knife.”
“What are you doing now?”
“I got about fifty acres burned off. That’s the grant here, Lion, fifty
acres. Tobacco, you know. I do a bit of fishing, whiles. A nice handy
sloop, I got. Small, of course.”
“Crops good?”
“A sight too good, if you ask me. This black soil’ll sprout a coffin.
But tobacco’s away down. We burn half our crops, trying to keep up
prices. It’s only worth about ninepence.”
“Are you going to stick at it?”
“It’s a bit quiet. I lie out in the woods whiles.”
“Anything else doing?”
“You were here yourself?”
“I come here with Crawfot’s party. I was here. Yes. Sure.”
“Crawfot’s dead, if you mean Tom. Did you ever try any running?”
“Running rum from Jamaica?”
“Yes. I do a bit that way. Other things, too. I’m in with some of
Ned’s lot.”
“Ned Davis?”
“Yes. We run blacks sometimes, too. Run ’em into Carolina. New
York sometimes.”
“Ah. How did Tom die?”
 “Indians. I done a bit that way, too, Lion. You catch two or three
squaws. They fetch as much as a white woman down to
Campeachy. Two or three of them; it runs into money.”
“I’ve known that done,” said Cammock. “The man done it was
Robert Jolly. He come to a jolly end, what’s more. The braves got
him.”
“There’s always a risk of that,” said Ned. “And it’s 10,000 lbs. of
leaf fine, if the Governor gets you.”
“Well, Ned. If you want fun, why don’t you come in with us. And
bring in some of your mates.”
“Is this trade only a blind, then?”
“Not on your life. But we’re in for a big thing. A very big thing. I
wouldn’t mention it. But you see, I know you, Ned; and so, you see,
it’s like this.”
Between them, Margaret and Cammock persuaded some half a
dozen recruits to join during the first few days in port. The new
recruits promised to come aboard when the ship sailed, but not
before, lest the Governor should grow suspicious. They agreed, also,
seeing that Margaret had a commission, to submit to a sharper
discipline than was usual among privateers. Margaret had no
intention of admitting these men into his fo’c’s’le. They were not
waged men like the seamen shipped in London; but volunteers
agreeing to serve for shares. To admit them into the fo’c’s’le, where
they would enjoy certain privileges not shared by the sailors, would
cause bad blood, and bickering for precedence. To avoid this, he
planned with Cammock to create a military company, to be called
“the men of war.” The privateers who joined him were to be enlisted
in this company, under the command (as he suggested) of an old
buccaneer (one of the first to join) who kept an alehouse some miles
out of Jamestown. This old man was named Raphael Gamage. He
had served with Cammock many years before in Morgan’s raid on
Porto Bello. As far as Cammock could remember, he was a trusty old
man, well liked. The troop of men of war (when fully recruited) was to
mess in the ’tween-decks; just forward of the officers’ cabins and the
wardroom. At sea, they were to work the mizen-mast, standing three
watches. In battle, half of them were to man the quarter-deck guns,
while the other half walked the poop as sharp-shooters. But all of
them, at all times, were to obey the officers of the ship like the other
members of her crew. It was a pleasure to Perrin to help in the
arrangement of the ’tween-decks for the reception of these men. He
screwed in hammock-hooks and battens, and designed removable
mess-tables which the carpenter, being one of the politest of men,
thought equal to the Navy.
Trade throve beyond their dreams; for the Broken Heart was the
first ship in since the tobacco crop. Her general cargo of hemp and
flax seed, tools, wines, ploughs, linens and woollens, boxes, cart-
wheels, rope, weapons, books, and musical instruments, sold at
good rates, for silver and leaf tobacco.
Captain Margaret had planned to arrive at Jamestown early in the
season, so that he might secure the cream of the tobacco crop
before the summer fleet came in. Now that he was safe for a little
while, he set about his business. At the end of the fifth day he
chartered a couple of swift sloops from a Jamaica merchant, and
loaded them, in one day, under official supervision, with fifty tons of
assorted goods. He kept some twenty seamen at the work, from
turn-to time till sunset, driving them himself. His zeal startled all of
them. But Margaret was working with his whole nature to save the
merchants who had fitted him out. He felt that he had risked their
money, by gratifying a foolish whim; now he was to save them,
having seen his chance. The bales and casks swung up out of the
hold into the sloops. The winches clanked, the ropes creaked, the
bosun swore at the slingmen. The slingmen, dripping in the hot
darkness, damned and spat, and worked their hands full of splinters.
A fine dust rose up out of the hatch to quiver in the sunlight. The
slings fell with a rattling thud on to the boxes below; the block
creaked as the fall was overhauled; a thirsty throat called “Hoist.”
The bosun, too hurried to pipe, bent over the coamings to spit, telling
the men on deck to hoist or sway away. Up came the boxes and
casks, swinging to the yard-arm tackle. The boatswain, bearing them
over, swearing, followed them to the rail, as the yard-arm was
rounded in. Then there came the “High enough. Walk back”; and the
sling strained slowly downwards to the stevedores, whose black
skins gleamed in the sun. By sunset the sloops were cast off from
the Broken Heart. Cammock and Margaret swung themselves into
the stern of one of them as she sheered out. The slingmen, relieved
from their hell below, stared at them silently over the rail with grime-
ringed eyes. The sweat had streaked the dirt on their faces, making
them look haggard. Like a row of corpses, dug up after the first day
of burial, those silent men stood. Margaret, looking at them, thought
with horror that the lives of some men might be expressed, defined,
summed, in a sort of purser’s tally: so many boxes hoisted out, so
many creatures killed, so many pots drunk, so many books read:
with the sum added, the life extinct, nothing remaining, nothing for
God or the Devil; merely a sum in addition for the harping quirers.
Sail was packed upon the sloops. All that night they drove, a red
lamp burning astern. At dawn, when the sea below the woods was
like steel, though tremulous in pale light, they were standing in to a
jetty on the Accomac side. It was dusk in the clearing where the
house stood; but the stumps of felled trees stood up black, a troop of
dwarfs; and the cattle moved dimly among them, cropping grass with
a wrench. Casks stood at the edge of the jetty; there was a gleam
upon their hoops. There was a gleam of dew upon the forest, as a
little dawn-wind, stirring the birds, made a patter of dropping. A fire
with a waving flame burned under a pent-house, making a thick,
sweet smoke, which floated everywhere, smelling of burning gum,
driving away the mosquitoes. When the flame leaped up, brightly
shaking, it showed a tilted cart, with a man under a red robe asleep
against the wheel. Quietly, before the light was come, they made the
sloops fast and stepped ashore. They stamped to kill the numbness
in their feet; then, rousing the sleeper, they helped him to prepare a
breakfast, of apples, fish, and new cider, before trading for his
tobacco.
All that day they plied along the Accomac coast, Cammock in the
Peach, Margaret in the Daisy, buying tobacco at every clearing,
paying the planters in goods. When the Peach sloop was full,
Cammock drove her back, with her boom-end under, to sling the
tobacco into the Broken Heart at dawn, and to fill up again with
trade. Margaret’s keenness puzzled him; the man was on fire. “I
thought he was one of these dreamy fellows,” he said to himself.
“But he drives a tight bargain, and he goes at it like a tiger.”
 He went aboard the ship, putting all hands to the work of clearing
and reloading the sloop. Mr. Cottrill met him at the gangway with
word that two of their best men had deserted from the trading-booth,
taking with them about fifty pounds’ worth of goods; that they had
gone off at sunset, just as the sloops cast off; and that one of the
men aboard had heard that they were going for a run with a gang of
Indian-snatchers. Worse still. The foretopmast was sprung at the
heel, and the new spar couldn’t be ready for a week. Cammock had
been at a driving strain for a couple of days; but, like most hard
cases, he found the second day a day of exaltation, of nervous
excitement. The news pleased him; it occupied his mind. He bade
his men get out trade from all three hatches as fast as the winches
could sway it out, while he with a dozen men went ashore in the
sloop, still half full of tobacco.
As soon as he got ashore he struck the booth, crammed all the
goods into the sloop, lock, stock, and barrel, and carried them back
aboard. As they were thrust into the sloop he made a rough
inventory.
“Now, Mr. Cottrill,” he said, “just take this list and check it as soon
as you’ve got a chance. Then check it with the trade-book, and find
out what’s missing. Then check that with the clerk’s list. Rig up an
awning from the break of the poop to the mast there. That’ll be your
trade booth. Call the trade clerk. Call Mrs. Inigo. Mr. Harthop, you’ll
keep your trade booth here in future. Mrs. Inigo, you’ll have to give
up your berth in the sail-locker. See to that, Mr. Cottrill. Mrs. Inigo’ll
sleep in the steward’s room. The steward’ll have to go into the
round-house. Mr. Harthop, you’ll use the sail-room, where Mrs.
Inigo’s been sleeping, as your sample-room. See that no one goes
up the alleyway to the cabin. Keep a clear gangway from the alley to
the companion there. Mr. Cottrill, give Mr. Harthop three hands and
let him arrange his shop. He’d better stone out the sail-room after
breakfast. Shift your things, Mrs. Inigo. You, too, steward. Mr. Cottrill,
pick out three good hands to be under Mr. Harthop. Quiet, steady
men. Pick one or two of the boys. Mr. Harthop, what were you doing
to let those men away?”
Mr. Harthop, a little, bald jocular man with a pale face and long
drooping moustaches, which gave him a sad, Chinese expression,
rolled slowly forward, peering under his spectacles.
“I’d gone up to the Governor’s house, sir, with some velvets.”
“Why didn’t you send one of the men? Or wait till trade was over
for the day?”
“The Governor’s lady asked me to come, Captain Cammock.”
“Women’ll be the death of this cruise,” said Cammock to himself.
“Who was in charge while you were gone?”
“Smale, the boy, Captain Cammock, sir. I was only gone twenty
minutes.”
“There it is,” said Cammock. “Smale, how did this happen?”
“Please, zur,” said Smale, a short young ploughboy from
Gloucestershire, “I were a-’avin’ my zupper, zur. ’N I seed a owd
feller come up and give ’is fist like to Andrews. And her’d a-done it
avore. Zo they talked, and by’n by, Captain Cammock, zur, another
feller come like. Her said as Mr. Harthop said as I wus to go to
Governor’s house, to fetch a few fowls for th’ ’en-coop. Zo I went.
And her’d all gone avore I’d come back. And her’d took the things.”
Cammock kept back what he thought of the Governor’s wife.
“Mr. Cottrill,” he said. “You, Mr. Ramage, and the bosun, will have
to stand trade watches. No visitor is to talk to any of the hands under
any pretext whatsoever.”
“Ay, ay, sir. I thought I could have trusted Andrews.”
“You may go, Mr. Harthop. It ought never to have been allowed.
Directly my back was turned.” He was blaming himself for having
been so easy of access, and so friendly with old acquaintance.
“Naturally,” he said to himself, “the men got notions. Well, they’ll get
no more.” He walked to the waist, where the work was going busily
with songs. The sloop was being loaded forward as she discharged
abaft. His presence made the men zealous. He had never seen
cargo worked so well.
“Bosun,” he called, “who’s night watchman?”
“Pearson, Captain Cammock,” said Harris. He smeared his mouth
with the back of his hand, and left a cask to dangle aloft over the
hatch. He ran towards Cammock in a shambling trot.
“Tell Pearson that I want him. Mr. Cottrill, choose a good man to
stand night watchman with Pearson, to walk round the ship, harbour-
guard, all night long, in opposite directions. No man whatever to
come aboard or to leave the ship after sunset. Pearson, when you
come on duty to-night you’ll apply to Mr. Ramage for a pair of pistols.
You’re to shoot at any man who attempts to desert. You’re to heave
cold shot into any boat which tries to come alongside. Tell the lamp-
man he’s to have lanterns lit abreast the main and fore chains. Call
all hands if any boat comes off to us after two bells. You’re to shoot
at any boat which does not answer to a hail. You understand.”
“Yes, sir. Shoot at any man as tries to desert, and any boat as
don’t reply.”
“H’m,” said Cammock to himself, noting the faces of the crew.
“There’ll be no more deserting from this hooker.”
“Carry on,” he said aloud. “Bosun, call away the gig. Let the gig’s
crew dress. Doctor, there, kill me six fowls. The best we’ve got in the
fattening coop. Steward there. Call the steward you, boy. Tell him to
bring a dozen Burgundy. Now, Mr. Cottrill, a word with you, sir. Mr.
Perrin and the rest, are they all well?”
“As far as I know, they are, sir.”
“Mr. Stukeley?”
“Mr. Stukeley’s like fat Jack of the Boneyard, I guess, sir. He’s
bigger than the admiral.”
“What’s he been doing?”
“He’s been wanting the gig’s crew all day. I told him I needed the
men in the hold. He’d have to use the long-boat, I said, when she
goes in for water.”
“Very right. Yes?”
“So he came and called me down before the men. Said I wasn’t a
gentleman. He said as Captain Margaret had said he and his lady
was to have the gig whenever they wanted her.”
“Was Mrs. Stukeley there?”
“No, sir. So I up and said that I’d had no orders. Then he calls me
down some more; and goes and gets Mr. Perrin to come to me, to
say that Captain Margaret wished to oblige Mr. Stukeley in all
things.”
“Yes?”
“So I told Mr. Perrin, pretty quick, I said, I was in command, I said.
It wasn’t for him to tell me my duty. I told him to tell his society
friends they could do the Barney’s Bull act. They’d get no gig out of
me. That’s what I said.”
“Yes?”
“So that Mr. Stukeley, he went ashore in the long-boat, after calling
me down some more before the men. He got a shore-boat to go
about in. After that he said his boatman should have dinner aboard
of us. I stopped that. But Mr. Stukeley was very rude, and then the
man got rude. All hands working the hatch there, hearing it all. Mrs.
Stukeley beside. So that was two blocks, I thought. I give the
boatman a thick ear there and then. I told him if he didn’t sheer off I’d
drop a cold shot into him. And I would have. Mr. Stukeley told me to
keep my hands off the man. Then the man wanted his money. My
hat, we had it all up and down. I thought that Stukeley would hit me,
one time. I wish ’e ’ad done. I’d a laid him out.”
“And Mr. Perrin? How did it end?”
“I saw some of the hands knocked off to listen, so I give them a
few. And he stood there telling them not to take no blows. Telling ’em
to down me. And then the long-boat come alongside with water. Mr.
Ramage was in her, of course. He hears the row, and he come over
the side just as quick as cut. He just took that Stukeley by the arm,
and walked him into the alleyway. ‘Don’t you incite no sailors, sir,’ he
says. ‘No more of that, sir. I respects your feelings, sir,’ he says, ‘but
for Gord’s and your lady’s sake,’ he says, ‘you quit. You don’t know
what you’re doin’.’ That was the end for that time. I suppose we’ll
’ave another dollop of it to-day.”
“Put him in irons at once, publicly, if he gives you any more
trouble. And he’s not to talk to any man. That’s another thing. Iron
him directly he gives a back answer. Tell Mr. Ramage, too. Now bring
those fowls along doctor. I’m off to the man-of-war sloop, about them
Indian-snatchers.”
He pulled aboard the man-of-war sloop, with his present of wine
and poultry. As he sat in his gig calling to the men to pull the stroke
out, he wrote descriptions of the missing seamen.
When he returned to the Broken Heart, the sloop was nearly full of
trade. It was just half-past seven. He went to his cabin to wash,
walking quickly and quietly, like a forest Indian. There was some
slight noise to his left as he entered the alleyway. He turned sharply,
to look into the sail-room, to see if it were ready for the samples. The
door shut in his face with a bang. He could not swear to it—the door
shut in a fraction of a second—yet it seemed to him that he had seen
Stukeley with Mrs. Inigo, for one bright flash of time. He would not
open to make sure; for it was a woman’s cabin; he might have been
mistaken; but he turned in his tracks and blew his whistle. A man ran
to him.
“Get some dry stone, and stone this door clean,” he said, showing
Mrs. Inigo’s door. “Stone the outside, and keep at it till breakfast.”
That would keep Stukeley within (if he were within) until breakfast, at
any rate. He flung his clothes from him and swilled himself with
water; then dressed rapidly and went to Perrin’s cabin. “Mr. Perrin,”
he said, bursting in after knocking once, “how are you, Mr. Perrin? I
want you to keep your eye on Mrs. Inigo’s door. See who comes out
of it. Is Mrs. Stukeley well?”
“Very well. How are you and the captain?”
“The captain’ll be back later in the day. I’m just off again.”
“We’d a lot of trouble yesterday. I’ll be glad when you’re back for
good.”
“Cheer up, sir,” said Cammock. “Remember. Mrs. Inigo’s door till
one bell. If Mrs. Inigo comes out, open it and search the cabin.” He
went on deck again, where the steward met him with a tray. He sat
down on a coaming and made a hurried breakfast, while the sloop’s
crew hoisted sail. When he had finished his meal, he glanced into
the alleyway, where the man was rubbing holystone across the door.
“Anybody in there?” he said.
“I hear some one shifting around, sir,” said the man. “The woman’s
getting her gear, sir.”
“Right,” said Cammock. “I wish I could stay to see the end,” he
said to himself. “But I must be off.” In a few minutes he was bound
again for Accomac, under a huge square cutter’s foresail, which
made the sloop leap like a flying-fish.
Very late one night, having just arrived aboard after a week of
labour, Captain Margaret sat in his cabin comparing tally-books with
Captain Cammock; but quietly, lest they should wake Perrin. He was
very tired; for the hurry from one clearing to another, and the long
rides into the wilderness to planters who lived far away, had been a
strain. He had endured them only in the fire of his excitement. He
had enjoyed his week of bargaining; the zest of the struggle had
been like wine to him. On the lonely clearings, or drinking with
strangers in woodmen’s shacks, he had forgotten his love, forgotten
the torment of the voyage, Olivia’s child, the settlement on Darien.
All had been forgotten. Now that the struggle was over, he felt the
exhaustion; but nodding as he was, over his tally-book, his whirling
brain praised him with that excited inner voice which talks to the
overwrought. “You’ve got the pick of the crop, the pick of the crop,
the cream of the year’s leaf,” the voice kept telling him. He had
bought seven hundred tons of the best tobacco in the colony; the
little that remained to be sold was the poor, crude leaf from the
young plants and the poorly cured, poorly flavoured leaf from the
distant walks in the forest.
“We’ve got the whole trade, sir,” said Cammock. “You needn’t fear
for your owners.”
“No,” said Margaret. “Now to get a bottom to carry it home. Of
course, in a week we ought to have the summer fleet here.”
“They’ll not find much,” said Cammock. “We’ve got it all. But
supposing a letter comes with the fleet. We shall have to sail that
night probably, shan’t we? Supposing we’ve to cut and run, leaving it
all in the warehouse?”
“I’ve thought of that,” said Margaret, “I thought of that, too. Heigho,
captain, I’m tired. This week has been an experience. I shall leave
Mr. Harthop in charge ashore, with powers to deal. He’s shrewd.
He’s got a funny way of getting at the point with that queer humour
as a cloak. And I’ve got Howard, Cammock. Howard’s our agent.”
“You’ve got the Governor, sir?”
“Oh yes. That was my first move. I knew old Howard wanted
specie; so I went to see him and told him my plans. He was
expensive, though. He knew his worth to a penny.”
“What it is to be a gentleman. If I’d gone, he’d have kicked me out.
Well. Birth tells, they say.”
Perrin sat up in his bunk, and looked at them through the curtains.
“A servile, insolent, bribing, tipping race, the English,” he said. “An
Englishman will never do anything for any one without expecting
something.”
 “Oh, you’re awake, are you? At it again, too,” said Cammock.
“How about that door, sir?”
“Well, Edward, how are you? What door is this?”
“Oh. Mrs. Inigo’s door,” said Perrin. “Oh yes. Yes. Mrs. Inigo came
out at eight bells, and then I tried to get in. But it was locked on the
inside. So I called Mr. Harthop’s three men, and the man who was
scrubbing it.”
“Good. Good,” said Cammock.
“And I told them ‘the door was jammed.’ So they’d a jemmy there,
for opening cases with, and we burst the door open. We found
Stukeley inside.”
“Stukeley?” said Margaret. “I half suspected that.”
“He was on his knees on the deck, sponging that blue silk dress
Olivia wears.”
“Ha,” said Captain Cammock. “I should never have thought of
that.”
“Shrewd these Cornish women are.”
“He was rather red in the face, but he asked us what was the
matter. Then he asked me to give him a hand, as he’d got to get the
dress ready for Olivia, he said. She’d spilt some chocolate down it. It
was——”
“Was he flustered? Hectoring?”
“Afterwards. Not then. He kept saying that Olivia wished to wear
the dress at breakfast.”
“Did she?”
“Yes. Oh yes. I don’t know, Charles. There might have been
nothing wrong.”
“I thought I saw something,” said Cammock.
“Well,” said Margaret. “I suppose we’ll have to discharge Mrs.
Inigo, and pay her passage home. Captain Cammock, what do you
think of Stukeley?”
“I’m like the parrot,” said Cammock, “I think a lot more’n I’ll say.
Now turn in, all hands. A long lie, and pie for dinner. Captain
Margaret, if you don’t turn in, you’ll find you won’t sleep. Oh. Has Mr.
Stukeley been in irons?”
“He’s been threatened with them. He’s been very quiet though
lately. That Inigo time gave him a scare, I think.”
 “Well. Good night, gentlemen.”
“Good night.”
As Captain Margaret drew his bunk-curtains and settled himself to
sleep, the voices in his brain took bodies to them, fiery bodies, which
leaned and called to him. “You’ve got the pick of the crop, the pick of
the crop, the pick of the crop,” they called. “Lucky devil. Lucky devil.
Oh, you lucky devil.”
 VIII.
IN PORT

“Yet still he stands prefract and insolent.”

Charles, Duke of Byron.

After breakfast the next morning the two Stukeleys sat in their
stateroom talking. They had had a week of comparative isolation, of
comparative privacy, very sweet to Olivia, who had learned, during
the voyage, to regret the days at Salcombe, when one had but to
close a door, to shut the world of love from that other world, full of
thorns and thistles, where ordinary mortals walked, not having the
key of the burning imagination. With Margaret and Cammock away,
and Perrin seldom present at meals, owing to his fear of the
badgering of Stukeley, the cabin of the Broken Heart had come to be
something of a home to her. She could feel again that nothing else
really existed, that no one else really lived, that all the world, all the
meaning and glory and life of the world, centred in the two burning
mouths, in the two hearts which divined each other, apprehending all
things in themselves. During that week of privacy she had even
learned to think tenderly again of the three men who had shared the
cabin with her. She found that she no longer resented Cammock’s
want of breeding; his want of culture; his past as explained by Tom;
his social position as compared with her aunt Pile’s coachman.
During the voyage she had grown to dislike Margaret and Perrin,
much as one dislikes the guests who have overstayed their
welcome. She had been too much in the rapture of love to see things
clearly, to judge character clearly; she had taken her judgments
ready-made from Tom, who disliked the two men. She had liked
them both as old friends; had liked them much, in the old days,
before she knew life. But, under the strain of the voyage, ever
prompted by Stukeley’s bitterness, while looking on them as her
friends, she had come to resent their continual presence, to be cross
at their conversation, which (as she felt instinctively) was restrained
by their dislike of Tom, through their want of imaginative sympathy
with his point of view. Now that they were no longer ever present,
like spices added to each dish till every dish disgusts, she thought of
them both with pity; feeling that they were growing old in their ways,
narrowed in their sympathies, never knowing the meaning of life,
which is love. Thus thought she, in the confidence of exulting health,
in the rapture of being possessed, with the merciless pity of a newly
married woman. This that she had waited for, this love which
crowned and made her, it cleared the eyes, she thought, it exalted, it
ennobled, it glorified. She would that those two pathetic figures,
Margaret so serious and proud, with his clumsy walk, and halting,
almost affected picked precision of phrase, and Perrin, the forlorn
parasite who looked as though he had been frozen, were married;
she would so gladly see them happy, tasting something of the joy
which made earth heaven to her. Margaret would be a beautiful
lover, very thoughtful and tender, but cold; he was cold-hearted, she
thought, and rather frightening. Perrin would be attracted by some
little merry woman who would laugh at him and twist him round her
finger. Perrin, she confessed to Tom, attracted her more than the
other, because he looked so wretched. Being so happy herself, she
wished others to be happy. Her education, like most women’s
education, had been aimed to make her fear the world, to make her
shrink from those characters who judged the world and sought to
direct it. Her own world, beautiful as it was, existed only by the
exclusion of such characters; her nature could not accept Margaret
wholly; she could only respect and vaguely fear him, as one respects
and fears all things which one is not wise enough to understand.
Perrin looked wretched, and having a tenderness for wretched folk,
she thought that she understood him. All the time, unknown to her,
the three men summed her up with pity and reverence and tender
devotion; but mostly with pity, and with a mournful, tender curiosity. It
was perhaps partly that curiosity which had made their absence
pleasant to her. Their absence had been a relief to her, it had also
relieved her husband. And since their arrival at Virginia her husband
had made her anxious; he had behaved very queerly at times, ever
since the first day. She felt that he was keeping something from her,
perhaps some ailment which tortured him and made him irritable.
She had been very thankful to have her dear love so much to herself
during an entire week.
But at breakfast that morning the presence of the three men (and
the prospect of their future presence) had shown her how much she
longed for the quiet retirement of a home, where life could be culled,
chosen, made up as one makes a nosegay, by beautiful friends, art,
music, all the essences of life, all doubly precious to her now that life
had become so precious.
“Tom,” she said, “Tom, dear, I want to talk to you about our life
here. I don’t think it can go on, dear.”
“Why, little Olive, what’s up? What ruffles your serenity?”
“Tom, dear, I cannot bear this ship life. And those three men. At
every meal I feel that one of them is watching me. Oh, and no
woman to talk to. I think of our lovely times at Salcombe, Tom. We
could shut the door; and it would be just our two selves.”
“Jolly times at Salcombe, hadn’t we? But what’s the matter, eh?”
“This ship life, Tom. It’s that. The men are so rude, and so rude to
you, Tom. I can’t go on with it. I want to go back to England.”
“But I’ve promised to go to Darien, Olive.”
“I know, dear. I know. Don’t think me very foolish, Tom. But I don’t
think I’m strong enough. Tom, darling, could not we leave this life?
Think how rude Mr. Cottrill was to you only the other day. I do so
long for our old happy life together. Away from the sea.”
“Look here, Livy. I understand. You’re lonely. Suppose we go and
stay ashore for a while. You would meet ladies ashore. You’ve met
them already.”
“Tom, I can’t meet those ladies. They’re not nice.”
“What’s wrong with them? What’s wrong with Mrs. Montague?”
“I feel that she isn’t a nice woman. That she isn’t—— You know I
went to see her the day before yesterday. She was hung about with
silver just like a savage, and all the young officers were there,
playing cards. And Captain Montague had gone to Charlestown, and
she was alone there, with all those men. So I sat down for a moment
to rest after the walk and then came away. That was no place for
me.”
“Well, we could stop with the Governor. Maggy knows him. What’s
wrong with old Mrs. Prinsep?”
 “I don’t like her, Tom. She’s a bitter woman. Oh, Tom, let’s go
home.”
“But I’ve promised, Livy.”
“Yes, dear. I know. But we can’t always keep our promises. We
can’t go to Darien. We can’t.”
“But what else can we do? We must, my dear. I can’t pay our
passage home. I came away in such a rush. I’ve not got five pounds
with me.”
“Oh, Tom, Tom. But that doesn’t matter, dear. We could borrow.
Charles or Edward would lend to us.”
“No, thanks, Livy. There are some things I draw the line at. I can’t
take a man’s hospitality and then borrow money from him.”
“But—— I know them better than you do, Tom. I could ask them.”
“Do you suppose, Livy, that I could let you borrow money from any
man?”
“Then we could ask for a passage home in the convoy to the
summer fleet. They would take us.”
Stukeley smiled uneasily, knowing only too well how likely he was
to get a passage home with that convoy in any case.
“Olive,” he said, “do you remember a tale Captain Cammock told
us about a little ruined city full of gold?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“D’you know, Olive, I’ve been half planning with Cammock to go to
look for that ruined city. You see, Livy, we shall only be here probably
till the summer fleet arrives. Ten days, or so. Do you think you could
stand it for another month or two? If we found that city, I could buy
my little Olive that summer cottage we set our hearts on.”
“Oh, take me home, Tom. Never mind the cottage. And I couldn’t
have you going into the forest. I couldn’t be alone in the ship.”
“But then, Olive. Since I married my little Olive here, I’ve been
wanting to do something for others. Living as a bachelor, one gets
selfish. I want very much to help those Indians, Olive. To do
something in return for you, dear.”
“I know, dear. It’s so like you. It’s noble of you. But you could do
something for the people at home: for the poor. You could teach
them. We could teach them together. But oh, don’t let’s go to Darien,
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