The Vagrant Duke Page 2

  CHAPTER I

  INTRODUCING PETER NICHOLS

  The British refugee ship _Phrygia_ was about to sail for Constantinoplewhere her unfortunate passengers were to be transferred to other vesselssailing for Liverpool and New York. After some difficulties the refugeemade his way aboard her and announced his identity to the captain. If hehad expected to be received with the honor due to one of his rank andstation he was quickly undeceived, for Captain Blashford, a man of roughmanners, concealing a gentle heart, looked him over critically, examinedhis credentials (letters he had happened to have about him), and thensmiled grimly.

  "We've got room for one more--and that's about all."

  "I have no money----" began the refugee.

  "Oh, that's all right," shrugged the Captain, "you're not the only one.We've a cargo of twenty princes, thirty-two princesses, eighteengenerals and enough counts and countesses to set up a new nationsomewhere. Your 'Ighness is the only Duke that has reached us up to thepresent speakin' and if there are any others, they'll 'ave to be briskfor we're sailin' in twenty minutes."

  The matter-of-fact tones with which the unemotional Britisher made thisannouncement restored the lost sense of humor of the Russian refugee,and he broke into a grim laugh.

  "An embarrassment of riches," remarked the Grand Duke.

  "Riches," grunted the Captain, "in a manner of speakin', yes. Money isnot so plentiful. But jools! Good God! There must be half a ton ofdiamonds, rubies and emeralds aboard. All they're got left most of 'em,but complaints and narvousness. Give me a cargo of wheat and I'm yourman," growled the Captain. "It stays put and doesn't complain," and thenturning to Peter--"Ye're not expectin' any r'yal suite aboard the_Phrygia_, are ye?"

  "No. A hammock for'rad will be good enough for me."

  "That's the way I like to 'ear a man talk. Good God! As man to man, Iarsk you,--with Counts throwin' cigarette butts around an' princessescryin' all over my clean white decks an' all, what's a self-respectin'skipper to do? But I 'ave my orders to fetch the odd lot toConstantinople an' fetch 'em I will. Oh! They're odd--all right. Gobelow, sir, an' 'ave a look at 'em."

  But Peter Nicholaevitch shook his head. He had been doing a deal ofquiet thinking in those starry nights upon the Dnieper, and he hadworked out his problem alone.

  "No, thanks," he said quietly, "if you don't mind, I think I'd ratherpreserve my incognito."

  "Incognito, is it? Oh, very well, suit yourself. And what will I becallin' your Highness?"

  "Peter Nichols," said the Grand Duke with a smile, "it's as good as anyother."

  "Right you are, Peter Nichols. Lay for'rad and tell the bos'n to showyou up to my cabin."

  So Peter Nichols went forward, avoiding the cargo aft, until within aday's run of the Bosphorus when he found himself accosted by no less aperson than Prince Galitzin who had strolled out to get the morning air.He tried to avoid the man but Galitzin planted himself firmly in hispath, scrutinizing him eagerly.

  "You too, Highness!" he said with an accent of grieved surprise.

  The Grand Duke regarded him in a moment of silence.

  "It must be evident to you, Prince Galitzin, that I have some object inremaining unknown."

  "But, Your Highness, such a thing is unnecessary. Are we not alldedicated to the same misfortunes? Misery loves company."

  "You mean that it makes you less miserable to discover that I share yourfate?"

  "Not precisely that. It is merely that if one holding your liberal viewscannot escape the holocaust that has suddenly fallen there is littlehope for the rest of us."

  "No," said the Grand Duke shortly. "There is no hope, none at all, forus or for Russia."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To America."

  "But, your Highness, that is impossible. We shall all have asylum inEngland until conditions change. You should go there with us. It willlend influence to our mission."

  "No."

  "Why?"

  "I am leaving Russia for the present. She is outcast. For, not contentwith betraying others, she has betrayed herself."

  "But what are you going to do?"

  Peter Nicholaevitch smiled up at the sky and the fussy, fat, bejeweledsycophant before him listened to him in amazement.

  "Prince Galitzin," said the Grand Duke amusedly, "I am going to do thatwhich may bring the blush of shame to your brow or the sneer of pity toyour lips. I am going to fulfill the destiny provided for every man witha pair of strong hands, and a willing spirit--I am going to work."

  The Prince stepped back a pace, his watery eyes snapping inincomprehension.

  "But your higher destiny--your great heritage as a Prince of the Royalblood of Holy Russia."

  "There is no Holy Russia, my friend, until she is born again. Russia isworse than traitor, worse than liar, worse than murderer and thief. Sheis a fool."

  "All will come right in time. We go to England to wait."

  "I have other plans."

  "Then you will not join us? Princess Anastasie, my daughter, is here.General Seminoff----"

  "It is useless. I have made up my mind. Leave me, if you please."

  Prince Galitzin disappeared quickly below to spread the information ofhis discovery among the disconsolate refugees and it was not long beforeit was known from one end of the _Phrygia_ to the other that the fellowwho called himself Peter Nichols was none other than the Grand DukePeter Nicholaevitch, a cousin to his late Majesty Nicholas and a Princeof the Royal blood. Peter Nichols sought the Captain in his cabin,putting the whole case before him.

  "H-m," chuckled the Captain, "Found ye out, did they? There's only a fewof you left, that's why. Better stay 'ere in my cabin until we reachConstantinople. I'd be honored, 'Ighness, to say nothin' of savin' you abit of bother."

  "You're very kind."

  "Not at all. Make yourself at 'ome. There's cigarettes on the locker anda nip of the Scotch to keep the chill out. Here's a light. You've beenworryin' me some, 'Ighness. Fact is I didn't know just how big a bug youwere until to-day when I arsked some questions. You'll forgive me,'Ighness?"

  "Peter Nichols," corrected the Grand Duke.

  "No," insisted the Captain, "we'll give you yer title while we can. Youknow we British have a bit of a taste for r'yalty when we know it's thereal thing. I don't take much stock in most of my cargo aft. And beggin'yer 'Ighness's pardon I never took much stock in Russia since she laydown on the job and left the Allies in the lurch----"

  "Captain Blashford," said the Grand Duke quietly. "You can't hurt myfeelings."

  "But I do like you, 'Ighness, and I want to do all that I can to 'elpyou when we get to anchor."

  "Thanks."

  "I take it that you don't want anybody ashore to know who ye are?"

  "Exactly. Most of these refugees are going to England. I have reasonsfor not wishing to go with them."

  "Where then do you propose to go?"

  "To the United States," said the Grand Duke eagerly.

  "Without money?"

  "I'd have no money if I went to England unless I subsisted on thecharity of my friends. My branch of the family is not rich. The war hasmade us poorer. Such securities as I have are in a vault in Kiev. Itwould be suicide for me to attempt to reclaim them now. I'm going to tryto make my own way."

  "Impossible!"

  The Grand Duke laughed at the Englishman's expression.

  "Why?"

  "Yer 'ands, 'Ighness."

  The Grand Duke shrugged and grinned.

  "I'll risk it. I'm not without resources. Will you help me to a shipsailing for America?"

  "Yes--but----"

  "Oh, I'll work my passage over--if nobody bothers me."

  "By George! I like your spirit. Give me your 'and, sir. I'll do what Ican. If the _Bermudian_ hasn't sailed from the Horn yet, I think I canmanage it for ye."

  "And keep me clear of the rest of your passengers?" added His Highness.

  "Righto. They'll go on the _Semaphore_. You stay right 'ere and mum'sthe word." And Captain
Blashford went out on deck leaving Peter Nicholsto his cigarette and his meditations.

  Many times had the Grand Duke Peter given thanks that the blood of hismother flowed strongly in his veins. He was more British than Russianand he could remember things that had happened since he had grown toadolescence which had made the half of him that was English revoltagainst the Russian system. It was perhaps his musical education ratherthan his University training or his travels in England and France thathad turned him to the _Intelligentsia_. In the vast republic of art andletters he had imbibed the philosophy that was to threaten the veryexistence of his own clan. The spread of the revolution had not dismayedhim, for he believed that in time the pendulum would swing back andbring a constitutional government to Russia. But in the weeks ofstruggle, privation, and passion a new Peter Nicholaevitch was born.

  The failure of his plans in the sudden flood of anarchy which had sweptover Zukovo, the treachery of those he had thought faithful and theattempt upon his life had changed his viewpoint. It takes a truly noblespirit to wish to kiss the finger that has pulled the trigger of arevolver, the bullet from which has gone through one's hat. Fromdisappointment and dismay Peter Nicholaevitch had turned to anger. Theyhadn't played the game with him. It wasn't cricket. His resolution tosail for the United States was decided. To throw himself, an object ofcharity, upon the mercies of the Earl of Shetland, his mother's cousin,was not to be thought of.

  To his peasants he had preached the gospel of labor, humility and peace,in that state of life to which they had been called. He had tried toexemplify it to them. He could do no less now, to himself. By teachinghimself, he could perhaps fit himself to teach them. In England it wouldperhaps be difficult to remain incognito, and he had a pride in wishingto succeed alone and unaided. Only the United States, whose form ofgovernment more nearly approached the ideal he had for Russia, couldoffer him the opportunities to discover whether or not a prince couldnot also be a man.

  To the Princess Anastasie he gave little thought. That their commonexile and the chance encounter under such circumstances had aroused noreturn of an entente toward what had once been a half-sentimentalattachment convinced him of how little it had meant to him. There wereno royal prohibitions upon him now. To marry the Princess Anastasie andsettle in London, living upon the proceeds of her wealthy father'sAmerican and British securities, was of course the easiest solution ofhis difficulties. A life of ease, music, good sportsmanship, the comfortthat only England knows.... She was comely too--blond, petite, andsmoked her cigarette very prettily. Their marriage had once beendiscussed. She wanted it still, perhaps. Something of all this may havebeen somewhere in the back of Prince Galitzin's ambitious mind. The onecourse would be so easy, the other----

  Peter Nicholaevitch rose and carefully flicked his cigarette through theopen port. No. One does not pass twice through such moments of struggleand self-communion as he had had in those long nights of his escapealong the Dnieper. He had chosen. Peter Nichols! The name amused him. IfCaptain Blashford was a man of his word to-night would be the end of theGrand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch, and the Princess Anastasie might findsome more ardent suitor to her grace and beauty.

  She did not seek him out. Perhaps the hint to Galitzin had beensufficient and the Grand Duke from his hiding place saw her prettyfigure set ashore among the miscellany of martyred "r'yalty." He turnedaway from his port-hole with a catch of his breath as the last vestigeof his old life passed from sight. And then quietly took up a freshcigarette and awaited the Captain.

  The details were easily arranged. Blashford was a man of resource and atnight returned from a visit to the Captain of the _Bermudian_ with wordthat all was well. He had been obliged to relate the facts but CaptainArmitage could keep a secret and promised the refugee a job under hissteward who was short-handed. And so the next morning, after shaving anddressing himself in borrowed clothes, Peter Nichols shook CaptainBlashford warmly by the hand and went aboard his new ship.

  Peter Nichols' new job was that of a waiter at the tables in the diningsaloon. He was a very good waiter, supplying, from the wealth of aContinental experience, the deficiencies of other waiters he had known.He wore a black shell jacket and a white shirt front which remainedinnocent of gravy spots. The food was not very good nor very plentiful,but he served it with an air of such importance that it gained flavorand substance by the reflection of his deference. There were Englishofficers bound for Malta, Frenchmen for Marseilles and Americans of theRed Cross without number bound for New York. Girls, too, clear-eyed,bronzed and hearty, who talked war and politics beneath his very nose,challenging his own theories. They noticed him too and whispered amongthemselves, but true to his ambition to do every task at the best of hisbent, he preserved an immobile countenance and pocketed his fees, whichwould be useful ere long, with the grateful appreciation of one to whomshillings and franc pieces come as the gifts of God. Many were theattempts to draw him into a conversation, but where the queries couldnot be answered by a laconic "Yes, sir," or "No, sir," this paragon ofwaiters maintained a smiling silence.

  "I'm sure he's a prince or something," he heard one young girl of ahospital unit say to a young medico of the outfit. "Did you ever seesuch a nose and brows in your life? And his hands----! You can nevermistake hands. I would swear those hands had never done menial work fora thousand years."

  All of which was quite true, but it made the waiter Peter uncomfortablycareful. There were no women in the kitchen, but there was an amatorystewardess, fat and forty, upon whom the factitious technique of thesaloon fell with singular insipidity. He fled from her. Peter, thewaiter, was already a good democrat but he was not ready to spread hisphilosophy out so thin.

  He slept forward, messed abaft the galley, enriched his vocabulary andbroadened his point of view. There is no leveler like a ship's fo'c'sle,no better school of philosophy than that of men upon their "beam ends."There were many such--Poles, Slovaks, Roumanians, an Armenian or two,refugees, adventurers from America, old, young, dissolute, making anecessity of virtue under that successful oligarchy, the ship's bridge.

  In the Americans Peter was interested with an Englishman's point ofview. He had much to learn, and he invented a tale of his fortunes whichlet him into their confidences, especially into that of Jim Coast,waiter like himself, whose bunk adjoined his own. Jim Coast was acitizen of the world, inured to privation under many flags. He had beenborn in New Jersey, U. S. A., of decent people, had worked in thecranberry bogs, farmed in Pennsylvania, "punched" cattle in Wyoming,"prospected" in the Southwest, looted ranches in Mexico, fought againstDiaz and again with the insurgents in Venezuela, worked on cattle-shipsand so, by easy stages, had drifted across the breadth of Europe livingby his wits at the expense of the credulous and the unwary. And now, forthe first time in many years, he was going home--though just what thatmeant he did not know. He had missed great fortune twice--"by the skinof his teeth," as he picturesquely described it, once in a mine inArizona and again in a land-deal in the Argentine. There were reasonswhy he hadn't dared to return to the United States before. He was a manwith a grievance, but, however free in his confidences in otherrespects, gave the interested Peter no inkling as to what that grievancewas.

  No more curious acquaintanceship could possibly be imagined, butprivation, like politics, makes strange bedfellows, and, from toleranceand amusement, Pete, as the other called him, found himself yielding,without stint, to the fantastic spell of Jim Coast's multifariousattractions. He seemed to have no doubts as to the possibility of makinga living in America and referred darkly to possible "coups" that wouldnet a fortune. He was an agreeable villain, not above mischief to gainhis ends, and Peter, who cherished an ideal, made sure that, once safeashore, it would be best if they parted company. But he didn't tell JimCoast so, for the conversational benefits he derived from thatgentleman's acquaintance were a liberal education.

  We are admonished that they are blessed who just stand and wait, andPeter Nichols, three days out of New York harbor, found himself thepo
ssessor of forty dollars in tips from the voyage with sixty dollarscoming to him as wages--not so bad for a first venture upon the highseas of industry. It was the first real money he had ever made in hislife and he was proud of it, jingling it contentedly in his pockets andrubbing the bills luxuriously one against the other. But his plansrequired more than this, for he had read enough to know that in theUnited States one is often taken at one's own estimate, and that if hewasn't to find a job as a ditch-digger, he must make a good appearance.And so it was now time to make use of the one Grand Ducal possessionremaining to him, a gold ring set with a gorgeous ruby that had oncebelonged to his father. This ring he had always worn and had removedfrom his finger at Ushan, in the fear that its magnificence might betrayhim. He had kept it carefully tied about his neck in a bag on a bit ofstring and had of course not even shown it to Jim Coast who might havedeemed it an excuse to sever their strange friendship.

  Through the Head Steward he managed a message to Captain Armitage andwas bidden to the officer's cabin, where he explained the object of hisvisit, exhibited his treasure and estimated its value.

  The Captain opened his eyes a bit wider as he gazed into the sanguinedepths of the stone.

  "If I didn't know something of your history, Nichols," he said with awink, "I might think you'd been looting the strong box of the Sultan ofTurkey. Pigeon's blood and as big as my thumb nail! You want to sellit?"

  "I need capital."

  "What do you want for it?"

  "It's worth a thousand pounds of English money. Perhaps more, I don'tknow. I'll take what I can get."

  "I see. You're afraid to negotiate the sale ashore?"

  "Exactly. I'd be arrested."

  "And you don't want explanations. H-m--leave it with me over night. I'llsee the Purser. He'll know."

  "Thanks."

  The Captain offered the waiter in the shell-jacket the hospitality ofhis cabin, but Peter Nichols thanked him gratefully and withdrew.

  The result of this arrangement was that the ruby ring changed owners.The Purser bought it for two thousand in cash. He knew a good thing whenhe saw it. But Peter Nichols was satisfied.