Westward Ho!, or, the voyages and adventures of Sir Amyas Leigh, Knight, of Burrough, in the county of Devon, in the reign of her most glorious majesty Queen Elizabeth by Charles Kingsley
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| Table of Contents | |
| Section | Page |
| Start of eBook | 1 |
| HOW MR. OXENHAM SAW THE WHITE BIRD | 1 |
| CHAPTER II | 14 |
| CHAPTER III | 38 |
| CHAPTER IV | 52 |
| CHAPTER V | 70 |
| CHAPTER VI | 89 |
| CHAPTER VII | 95 |
| CHAPTER VIII | 127 |
| CHAPTER IX | 140 |
| CHAPTER X | 166 |
| CHAPTER XI | 174 |
| CHAPTER XII | 187 |
| I. | 190 |
| II. | 190 |
| III. | 190 |
| IV. | 190 |
| CHAPTER XIII | 206 |
| CHAPTER XIV | 213 |
| CHAPTER XV | 231 |
| CHAPTER XVI | 239 |
| CHAPTER XVII | 251 |
| CHAPTER XVIII | 255 |
| CHAPTER XIX | 264 |
| CHAPTER XX | 281 |
| CHAPTER XXI | 300 |
| CHAPTER XXII | 312 |
| CHAPTER XXIII | 315 |
| CHAPTER XXIV | 328 |
| CHAPTER XXV | 344 |
| CHAPTER XXVI | 364 |
| CHAPTER XXVII | 387 |
| CHAPTER XXVIII | 397 |
| CHAPTER XXIX | 407 |
| CHAPTER XXX | 425 |
| CHAPTER XXXI | 437 |
| CHAPTER XXXII | 450 |
| CHAPTER XXXIII | 465 |
HOW MR. OXENHAM SAW THE WHITE BIRD
“The hollow oakour palace is,
Ourheritage the sea.”
All who have travelled through the delicious sceneryof North Devon must needs know the little white townof Bideford, which slopes upwards from its broad tide-riverpaved with yellow sands, and many-arched old bridgewhere salmon wait for autumn floods, toward the pleasantupland on the west. Above the town the hillsclose in, cushioned with deep oak woods, through whichjuts here and there a crag of fern-fringed slate; belowthey lower, and open more and more in softly roundedknolls, and fertile squares of red and green, tillthey sink into the wide expanse of hazy flats, richsalt-marshes, and rolling sand-hills, where Torridgejoins her sister Taw, and both together flow quietlytoward the broad surges of the bar, and the everlastingthunder of the long Atlantic swell. Pleasantlythe old town stands there, beneath its soft Italiansky, fanned day and night by the fresh ocean breeze,which forbids alike the keen winter frosts, and thefierce thunder heats of the midland; and pleasantlyit has stood there for now, perhaps, eight hundredyears since the first Grenville, cousin of the Conqueror,returning from the conquest of South Wales, drew roundhim trusty Saxon serfs, and free Norse rovers withtheir golden curls, and dark Silurian Britons fromthe Swansea shore, and all the mingled blood whichstill gives to the seaward folk of the next countytheir strength and intellect, and, even in these levellingdays, their peculiar beauty of face and form.
But at the time whereof I write, Bideford was notmerely a pleasant country town, whose quay was hauntedby a few coasting craft. It was one of the chiefports of England; it furnished seven ships to fightthe Armada: even more than a century afterwards,say the chroniclers, “it sent more vessels tothe northern trade than any port in England, saving(strange juxtaposition!) London and Topsham,”and was the centre of a local civilization and enterprise,small perhaps compared with the vast efforts of thepresent day: but who dare despise the day of smallthings, if it has proved to be the dawn of mighty ones?And it is to the sea-life and labor of Bideford, andDartmouth, and Topsham, and Plymouth (then a pettyplace), and many another little western town, thatEngland owes the foundation of her naval and commercialglory. It was the men of Devon, the Drakes andHawkins’, Gilberts and Raleighs, Grenvilles andOxenhams, and a host more of “forgotten worthies,”whom we shall learn one day to honor as they deserve,to whom she owes her commerce, her colonies, her veryexistence. For had they not first crippled, bytheir West Indian raids, the ill-gotten resourcesof the Spaniard, and then crushed his last huge effortin Britain’s Salamis, the glorious fight of1588, what had we been by now but a popish appanageof a world-tyranny as cruel as heathen Rome itself,and far more devilish?
It is in memory of these men, their voyages and theirbattles, their faith and their valor, their heroiclives and no less heroic deaths, that I write thisbook; and if now and then I shall seem to warm intoa style somewhat too stilted and pompous, let me beexcused for my subject’s sake, fit rather tohave been sung than said, and to have proclaimed toall true English hearts, not as a novel but as an epic(which some man may yet gird himself to write), thesame great message which the songs of Troy, and thePersian wars, and the trophies of Marathon and Salamis,spoke to the hearts of all true Greeks of old.
One bright summer’s afternoon, in the year ofgrace 1575, a tall and fair boy came lingering alongBideford quay, in his scholar’s gown, with satcheland slate in hand, watching wistfully the shippingand the sailors, till, just after he had passed thebottom of the High Street, he came opposite to oneof the many taverns which looked out upon the river.In the open bay window sat merchants and gentlemen,discoursing over their afternoon’s draught ofsack; and outside the door was gathered a group ofsailors, listening earnestly to some one who stoodin the midst. The boy, all alive for any sea-news,must needs go up to them, and take his place amongthe sailor-lads who were peeping and whispering underthe elbows of the men; and so came in for the followingspeech, delivered in a loud bold voice, with a strongDevonshire accent, and a fair sprinkling of oaths.
“If you don’t believe me, go and see,or stay here and grow all over blue mould. Itell you, as I am a gentleman, I saw it with theseeyes, and so did Salvation Yeo there, through a windowin the lower room; and we measured the heap, as Iam a christened man, seventy foot long, ten foot broad,and twelve foot high, of silver bars, and each barbetween a thirty and forty pound weight. Andsays Captain Drake: ’There, my lads ofDevon, I’ve brought you to the mouth of the world’streasure-house, and it’s your own fault nowif you don’t sweep it out as empty as a stock-fish.’”
“Why didn’t you bring some of they home,then, Mr. Oxenham?”
“Why weren’t you there to help to carrythem? We would have brought ’em away, safeenough, and young Drake and I had broke the door abroadalready, but Captain Drake goes off in a dead faint;and when we came to look, he had a wound in his legyou might have laid three fingers in, and his bootswere full of blood, and had been for an hour or more;but the heart of him was that, that he never knewit till he dropped, and then his brother and I gothim away to the boats, he kicking and struggling,and bidding us let him go on with the fight, thoughevery step he took in the sand was in a pool of blood;and so we got off. And tell me, ye sons of shottenherrings, wasn’t it worth more to save him thanthe dirty silver? for silver we can get again, braveboys: there’s more fish in the sea thanever came out of it, and more silver in Nombre deDios than would pave all the streets in the west country:but of such captains as Franky Drake, Heaven nevermakes but one at a time; and if we lose him, good-byeto England’s luck, say I, and who don’tagree, let him choose his weapons, and I’m hisman.”
He who delivered this harangue was a tall and sturdypersonage, with a florid black-bearded face, and boldrestless dark eyes, who leaned, with crossed legsand arms akimbo, against the wall of the house; andseemed in the eyes of the schoolboy a very magnifico,some prince or duke at least. He was dressed(contrary to all sumptuary laws of the time) in asuit of crimson velvet, a little the worse, perhaps,for wear; by his side were a long Spanish rapier anda brace of daggers, gaudy enough about the hilts;his fingers sparkled with rings; he had two or threegold chains about his neck, and large earrings in hisears, behind one of which a red rose was stuck jauntilyenough among the glossy black curls; on his head wasa broad velvet Spanish hat, in which instead of afeather was fastened with a great gold clasp a wholeQuezal bird, whose gorgeous plumage of fretted goldengreen shone like one entire precious stone. Ashe finished his speech, he took off the said hat, andlooking at the bird in it—
“Look ye, my lads, did you ever see such a fowlas that before? That’s the bird which theold Indian kings of Mexico let no one wear but theirown selves; and therefore I wear it,—I,John Oxenham of South Tawton, for a sign to all bravelads of Devon, that as the Spaniards are the mastersof the Indians, we’re the masters of the Spaniards:”and he replaced his hat.
A murmur of applause followed: but one hintedthat he “doubted the Spaniards were too manyfor them.”
“Too many? How many men did we take Nombrede Dios with? Seventy-three were we, and no morewhen we sailed out of Plymouth Sound; and before wesaw the Spanish Main, half were gastados, used up,as the Dons say, with the scurvy; and in Port PheasantCaptain Rawse of Cowes fell in with us, and that gaveus some thirty hands more; and with that handful, mylads, only fifty-three in all, we picked the lockof the new world! And whom did we lose but ourtrumpeter, who stood braying like an ass in the middleof the square, instead of taking care of his neck likea Christian? I tell you, those Spaniards arerank cowards, as all bullies are. They pray toa woman, the idolatrous rascals! and no wonder theyfight like women.”
“You’m right, captain,” sang outa tall gaunt fellow who stood close to him; “onewestcountry-man can fight two easterlings, and an easterlingcan beat three Dons any day. Eh! my lads of Devon?
“For O! it’sthe herrings and the good brown beef,
And thecider and the cream so white;
O! they are the makingof the jolly Devon lads,
For to play,and eke to fight.”
“Come,” said Oxenham, “come along!Who lists? who lists? who’ll make his fortune?
“Oh, who willjoin, jolly mariners all?
Andwho will join, says he, O!
To fill his pocketswith the good red goold,
Bysailing on the sea, O!”
“Who’ll list?” cried the gaunt managain; “now’s your time! We’vegot forty men to Plymouth now, ready to sail the minutewe get back, and we want a dozen out of you Bidefordmen, and just a boy or two, and then we’m offand away, and make our fortunes, or go to heaven.
“Our bodies inthe sea so deep,
Oursouls in heaven to rest!
Where valiant seamen,one and all,
Hereaftershall be blest!”
“Now,” said Oxenham, “you won’tlet the Plymouth men say that the Bideford men daren’tfollow them? North Devon against South, it is.Who’ll join? who’ll join? It is buta step of a way, after all, and sailing as smoothas a duck-pond as soon as you’re past Cape Finisterre.I’ll run a Clovelly herring-boat there and backfor a wager of twenty pound, and never ship a bucketfulall the way. Who’ll join? Don’tthink you’re buying a pig in a poke. Iknow the road, and Salvation Yeo, here, too, who wasthe gunner’s mate, as well as I do the narrowseas, and better. You ask him to show you thechart of it, now, and see if he don’t tell youover the ruttier as well as Drake himself.”
On which the gaunt man pulled from under his arm agreat white buffalo horn covered with rough etchingsof land and sea, and held it up to the admiring ring.
“See here, boys all, and behold the pictur ofthe place, dra’ed out so natural as ever waslife. I got mun from a Portingal, down to theAzores; and he’d pricked mun out, and prickedmun out, wheresoever he’d sailed, and whatsoeverhe’d seen. Take mun in your hands now, SimonEvans, take mun in your hands; look mun over, and I’llwarrant you’ll know the way in five minutesso well as ever a shark in the seas.”
And the horn was passed from hand to hand; while Oxenham,who saw that his hearers were becoming moved, calledthrough the open window for a great tankard of sack,and passed that from hand to hand, after the horn.
The school-boy, who had been devouring with eyes andears all which passed, and had contrived by this timeto edge himself into the inner ring, now stood faceto face with the hero of the emerald crest, and gotas many peeps as he could at the wonder. But whenhe saw the sailors, one after another, having turnedit over a while, come forward and offer to join Mr.Oxenham, his soul burned within him for a nearer viewof that wondrous horn, as magical in its effects asthat of Tristrem, or the enchanter’s in Ariosto;and when the group had somewhat broken up, and Oxenhamwas going into the tavern with his recruits, he askedboldly for a nearer sight of the marvel, which wasgranted at once.
And now to his astonished gaze displayed themselvescities and harbors, dragons and elephants, whaleswhich fought with sharks, plate ships of Spain, islandswith apes and palm-trees, each with its name over-written,and here and there, “Here is gold;” andagain, “Much gold and silver;” insertedmost probably, as the words were in English, by thehands of Mr. Oxenham himself. Lingeringly andlongingly the boy turned it round and round, and thoughtthe owner of it more fortunate than Khan or Kaiser.Oh, if he could but possess that horn, what neededhe on earth beside to make him blest!
“I say, will you sell this?”
“Yea, marry, or my own soul, if I can get theworth of it.”
“I want the horn,—I don’t wantyour soul; it’s somewhat of a stale sole, foraught I know; and there are plenty of fresh ones inthe bay.”
And therewith, after much fumbling, he pulled outa tester (the only one he had), and asked if thatwould buy it?
“That! no, nor twenty of them.”
The boy thought over what a good knight-errant woulddo in such case, and then answered, “Tell youwhat: I’ll fight you for it.”
“Thank ’ee, sir!
“Break the jackanapes’s head for him,Yeo,” said Oxenham.
“Call me jackanapes again, and I break yours,sir.” And the boy lifted his fist fiercely.
Oxenham looked at him a minute smilingly. “Tut!tut! my man, hit one of your own size, if you will,and spare little folk like me!”
“If I have a boy’s age, sir, I have aman’s fist. I shall be fifteen years oldthis month, and know how to answer any one who insultsme.”
“Fifteen, my young co*ckerel? you look likertwenty,” said Oxenham, with an admiring glanceat the lad’s broad limbs, keen blue eyes, curlinggolden locks, and round honest face. “Fifteen?If I had half-a-dozen such lads as you, I would makeknights of them before I died. Eh, Yeo?”
“He’ll do,” said Yeo; “hewill make a brave gameco*ck in a year or two, if hedares ruffle up so early at a tough old hen-masterlike the captain.”
At which there was a general laugh, in which Oxenhamjoined as loudly as any, and then bade the lad tellhim why he was so keen after the horn.
“Because,” said he, looking up boldly,“I want to go to sea. I want to see theIndies. I want to fight the Spaniards. ThoughI am a gentleman’s son, I’d a deal lieverbe a cabin-boy on board your ship.” Andthe lad, having hurried out his say fiercely enough,dropped his head again.
“And you shall,” cried Oxenham, with agreat oath; “and take a galloon, and dine offcarbonadoed Dons. Whose son are you, my gallantfellow?”
“Mr. Leigh’s, of Burrough Court.”
“Bless his soul! I know him as well asI do the Eddystone, and his kitchen too. Whosups with him to-night?”
“Sir Richard Grenville.”
“Dick Grenville? I did not know he wasin town. Go home and tell your father John Oxenhamwill come and keep him company. There, off withyou! I’ll make all straight with the goodgentleman, and you shall have your venture with me;and as for the horn, let him have the horn, Yeo, andI’ll give you a noble for it.”
“Not a penny, noble captain. If young masterwill take a poor mariner’s gift, there it is,for the sake of his love to the calling, and Heavensend him luck therein.” And the good fellow,with the impulsive generosity of a true sailor, thrustthe horn into the boy’s hands, and walked awayto escape thanks.
“And now,” quoth Oxenham, “my merrymen all, make up your minds what mannered men yoube minded to be before you take your bounties.I want none of your rascally lurching longshore vermin,who get five pounds out of this captain, and ten outof that, and let him sail without them after all,while they are stowed away under women’s mufflers,and in tavern cellars. If any man is of thathumor, he had better to cut himself up, and salt himselfdown in a barrel for pork, before he meets me again;for by this light, let me catch him, be it seven yearshence, and if I do not cut his throat upon the streets,it’s a pity! But if any man will be truebrother to me, true brother to him I’ll be, comewreck or prize, storm or calm, salt water or fresh,victuals or none, share and fare alike; and here’smy hand upon it, for every man and all! and so—
“Westward ho!with a rumbelow,
Andhurra for the Spanish Main, O!”
After which oration Mr. Oxenham swaggered into thetavern, followed by his new men; and the boy tookhis way homewards, nursing his precious horn, tremblingbetween hope and fear, and blushing with maidenlyshame, and a half-sense of wrong-doing at having revealedsuddenly to a stranger the darling wish which he hadhidden from his father and mother ever since he wasten years old.
Now this young gentleman, Amyas Leigh, though comeof as good blood as any in Devon, and having livedall his life in what we should even now call the verybest society, and being (on account of the valor,courtesy, and truly noble qualities which he showedforth in his most eventful life) chosen by me as thehero and centre of this story, was not, saving forhis good looks, by any means what would be callednow-a-days an “interesting” youth, stillless a “highly educated” one; for, withthe exception of a little Latin, which had been driveninto him by repeated blows, as if it had been a nail,he knew no books whatsoever, save his Bible, his Prayer-book,the old “Mort d’Arthur” of Caxton’sedition, which lay in the great bay window in the hall,and the translation of “Las Casas’ Historyof the West Indies,” which lay beside it, latelydone into English under the title of “The Crueltiesof the Spaniards.” He devoutly believedin fairies, whom he called pixies; and held that theychanged babies, and made the mushroom rings on thedowns to dance in. When he had warts or burns,he went to the white witch at Northam to charm themaway; he thought that the sun moved round the earth,and that the moon had some kindred with a Cheshirecheese. He held that the swallows slept all thewinter at the bottom of the horse-pond; talked, likeRaleigh, Grenville, and other low persons, with abroad Devonshire accent; and was in many other respectsso very ignorant a youth, that any pert monitor ina national school might have had a hearty laugh athim. Nevertheless, this ignorant young savage,vacant of the glorious gains of the nineteenth century,
children’s literature and science made easy,and, worst of all, of those improved views of Englishhistory now current among our railway essayists, whichconsist in believing all persons, male and female,before the year 1688, and nearly all after it, tohave been either hypocrites or fools, had learnt certainthings which he would hardly have been taught justnow in any school in England; for his training hadbeen that of the old Persians, “to speak thetruth and to draw the bow,” both of which savagevirtues he had acquired to perfection, as well as theequally savage ones of enduring pain cheerfully, andof believing it to be the finest thing in the worldto be a gentleman; by which word he had been taughtto understand the careful habit of causing needlesspain to no human being, poor or rich, and of takingpride in giving up his own pleasure for the sake ofthose who were weaker than himself. Moreover,having been entrusted for the last year with the breakingof a colt, and the care of a cast of young hawks whichhis father had received from Lundy Isle, he had beenprofiting much, by the means of those coarse and frivolousamusem*nts, in perseverance, thoughtfulness, and thehabit of keeping his temper; and though he had neverhad a single “object lesson,” or beentaught to “use his intellectual powers,”he knew the names and ways of every bird, and fish,and fly, and could read, as cunningly as the oldestsailor, the meaning of every drift of cloud whichcrossed the heavens. Lastly, he had been for sometime past, on account of his extraordinary size andstrength, undisputed co*ck of the school, and the mostterrible fighter among all Bideford boys; in whichbrutal habit he took much delight, and contrived, strangeas it may seem, to extract from it good, not onlyfor himself but for others, doing justice among hisschool-fellows with a heavy hand, and succoring theoppressed and afflicted; so that he was the terrorof all the sailor-lads, and the pride and stay ofall the town’s boys and girls, and hardly consideredthat he had done his duty in his calling if he wenthome without beating a big lad for bullying a littleone. For the rest, he never thought about thinking,or felt about feeling; and had no ambition whatsoeverbeyond pleasing his father and mother, getting byhonest means the maximum of “red quarrenders”and mazard cherries, and going to sea when he wasbig enough. Neither was he what would be now-a-dayscalled by many a pious child; for though he said hisCreed and Lord’s Prayer night and morning, andwent to the service at the church every forenoon,and read the day’s Psalms with his mother everyevening, and had learnt from her and from his father(as he proved well in after life) that it was infinitelynoble to do right and infinitely base to do wrong,yet (the age of children’s religious books nothaving yet dawned on the world) he knew nothing moreof theology, or of his own soul, than is containedin the Church Catechism. It is a question, however,on the whole, whether, though grossly ignorant (accordingto our modern notions) in science and religion, hewas altogether untrained in manhood, virtue, and godliness;and whether the barbaric narrowness of his informationwas not somewhat counterbalanced both in him and inthe rest of his generation by the depth, and breadth,and healthiness of his education.So let us watch him up the hill as he goes hugginghis horn, to tell all that has passed to his mother,from whom he had never hidden anything in his life,save only that sea-fever; and that only because heforeknew that it would give her pain; and because,moreover, being a prudent and sensible lad, he knewthat he was not yet old enough to go, and that, ashe expressed it to her that afternoon, “therewas no use hollaing till he was out of the wood.”
So he goes up between the rich lane-banks, heavy withdrooping ferns and honeysuckle; out upon the windydown toward the old Court, nestled amid its ring ofwind-clipt oaks; through the gray gateway into thehomeclose; and then he pauses a moment to look around;first at the wide bay to the westward, with its southernwall of purple cliffs; then at the dim Isle of Lundyfar away at sea; then at the cliffs and downs of Morteand Braunton, right in front of him; then at the vastyellow sheet of rolling sand-hill, and green alluvialplain dotted with red cattle, at his feet, throughwhich the silver estuary winds onward toward the sea.Beneath him, on his right, the Torridge, like a land-lockedlake, sleeps broad and bright between the old parkof Tapeley and the charmed rock of the Hubbastone,where, seven hundred years ago, the Norse rovers landedto lay siege to Kenwith Castle, a mile away on hisleft hand; and not three fields away, are the oldstones of “The Bloody Corner,” where theretreating Danes, cut off from their ships, made theirlast fruitless stand against the Saxon sheriff andthe valiant men of Devon. Within that charmedrock, so Torridge boatmen tell, sleeps now the oldNorse Viking in his leaden coffin, with all his fairytreasure and his crown of gold; and as the boy looksat the spot, he fancies, and almost hopes, that theday may come when he shall have to do his duty againstthe invader as boldly as the men of Devon did then.And past him, far below, upon the soft southeasternbreeze, the stately ships go sliding out to sea.When shall he sail in them, and see the wonders ofthe deep? And as he stands there with beatingheart and kindling eye, the cool breeze whistlingthrough his long fair curls, he is a symbol, thoughhe knows it not, of brave young England longing towing its way out of its island prison, to discoverand to traffic, to colonize and to civilize, untilno wind can sweep the earth which does not bear theechoes of an English voice. Patience, young Amyas!Thou too shalt forth, and westward ho, beyond thywildest dreams; and see brave sights, and do bravedeeds, which no man has since the foundation of theworld. Thou too shalt face invaders strongerand more cruel far than Dane or Norman, and bear thypart in that great Titan strife before the renown ofwhich the name of Salamis shall fade away!
Mr. Oxenham came that evening to supper as he hadpromised: but as people supped in those daysin much the same manner as they do now, we may dropthe thread of the story for a few hours, and take itup again after supper is over.
“Come now, Dick Grenville, do thou talk thegood man round, and I’ll warrant myself to talkround the good wife.”
The personage whom Oxenham addressed thus familiarlyanswered by a somewhat sarcastic smile, and, “Mr.Oxenham gives Dick Grenville” (with just enoughemphasis on the “Mr.” and the “Dick,”to hint that a liberty had been taken with him) “overmuchcredit with the men. Mr. Oxenham’s creditwith fair ladies, none can doubt. Friend Leigh,is Heard’s great ship home yet from the Straits?”
The speaker, known well in those days as Sir RichardGrenville, Granville, Greenvil, Greenfield, with twoor three other variations, was one of those trulyheroical personages whom Providence, fitting alwaysthe men to their age and their work, had sent uponthe earth whereof it takes right good care, not inEngland only, but in Spain and Italy, in Germany andthe Netherlands, and wherever, in short, great menand great deeds were needed to lift the mediaevalworld into the modern.
And, among all the heroic faces which the paintersof that age have preserved, none, perhaps, hardlyexcepting Shakespeare’s or Spenser’s,Alva’s or Farina’s, is more heroic thanthat of Richard Grenville, as it stands in Prince’s“Worthies of Devon;” of a Spanish type,perhaps (or more truly speaking, a Cornish), ratherthan an English, with just enough of the British elementin it to give delicacy to its massiveness. Theforehead and whole brain are of extraordinary loftiness,and perfectly upright; the nose long, aquiline, anddelicately pointed; the mouth fringed with a shortsilky beard, small and ripe, yet firm as granite,with just pout enough of the lower lip to give hintof that capacity of noble indignation which lay hidunder its usual courtly calm and sweetness; if therebe a defect in the face, it is that the eyes are somewhatsmall, and close together, and the eyebrows, thoughdelicately arched, and, without a trace of peevishness,too closely pressed down upon them, the complexionis dark, the figure tall and graceful; altogetherthe likeness of a wise and gallant gentleman, lovelyto all good men, awful to all bad men; in whose presencenone dare say or do a mean or a ribald thing; whombrave men left, feeling themselves nerved to do theirduty better, while cowards slipped away, as bats andowls before the sun. So he lived and moved, whetherin the Court of Elizabeth, giving his counsel amongthe wisest; or in the streets of Bideford, cappedalike by squire and merchant, shopkeeper and sailor;or riding along the moorland roads between his housesof Stow and Bideford, while every woman ran out toher door to look at the great Sir Richard, the prideof North Devon; or, sitting there in the low mullionedwindow at Burrough, with his cup of malmsey beforehim, and the lute to which he had just been singinglaid across his knees, while the red western sun streamedin upon his high, bland forehead, and soft curlinglocks; ever the same steadfast, God-fearing, chivalrous
man, conscious (as far as a soul so healthy couldbe conscious) of the pride of beauty, and strength,and valor, and wisdom, and a race and name which claimeddirect descent from the grandfather of the Conqueror,and was tracked down the centuries by valiant deedsand noble benefits to his native shire, himself thenoblest of his race. Men said that he was proud;but he could not look round him without having somethingto be proud of; that he was stern and harsh to hissailors: but it was only when he saw in themany taint of cowardice or falsehood; that he was subject,at moments, to such fearful fits of rage, that hehad been seen to snatch the glasses from the table,grind them to pieces in his teeth, and swallow them:but that was only when his indignation had been arousedby some tale of cruelty or oppression, and, aboveall, by those West Indian devilries of the Spaniards,whom he regarded (and in those days rightly enough)as the enemies of God and man. Of this last factOxenham was well aware, and therefore felt somewhatpuzzled and nettled, when, after having asked Mr.Leigh’s leave to take young Amyas with him andset forth in glowing colors the purpose of his voyage,he found Sir Richard utterly unwilling to help himwith his suit.“Heyday, Sir Richard! You are not surelygone over to the side of those canting fellows (SpanishJesuits in disguise, every one of them, they are),who pretended to turn up their noses at Franky Drake,as a pirate, and be hanged to them?”
“My friend Oxenham,” answered he, in thesententious and measured style of the day, “Ihave always held, as you should know by this, thatMr. Drake’s booty, as well as my good friendCaptain Hawkins’s, is lawful prize, as beingtaken from the Spaniard, who is not only hostis humanigeneris, but has no right to the same, having robbedit violently, by torture and extreme iniquity, fromthe poor Indian, whom God avenge, as He surely will.”
“Amen,” said Mrs. Leigh.
“I say Amen, too,” quoth Oxenham, “especiallyif it please Him to avenge them by English hands.”
“And I also,” went on Sir Richard; “forthe rightful owners of the said goods being eithermiserably dead, or incapable, by reason of their servitude,of ever recovering any share thereof, the treasure,falsely called Spanish, cannot be better bestowedthan in building up the state of England against them,our natural enemies; and thereby, in building up theweal of the Reformed Churches throughout the world,and the liberties of all nations, against a tyrannymore foul and rapacious than that of Nero or Caligula;which, if it be not the cause of God, I, for one,know not what God’s cause is!” And, ashe warmed in his speech, his eyes flashed very fire.
“Hark now!” said Oxenham, “who canspeak more boldly than he? and yet he will not helpthis lad to so noble an adventure.”
“You have asked his father and mother; whatis their answer?”
“Mine is this,” said Mr. Leigh; “ifit be God’s will that my boy should become,hereafter, such a mariner as Sir Richard Grenville,let him go, and God be with him; but let him firstbide here at home and be trained, if God give me grace,to become such a gentleman as Sir Richard Grenville.”
Sir Richard bowed low, and Mrs. Leigh catching upthe last word—
“There, Mr. Oxenham, you cannot gainsay that,unless you will be discourteous to his worship.And for me—though it be a weak woman’sreason, yet it is a mother’s: he is my onlychild. His elder brother is far away. Godonly knows whether I shall see him again; and whatare all reports of his virtues and his learning tome, compared to that sweet presence which I dailymiss? Ah! Mr. Oxenham, my beautiful Josephis gone; and though he be lord of Pharaoh’shousehold, yet he is far away in Egypt; and you willtake Benjamm also! Ah! Mr. Oxenham, you haveno child, or you would not ask for mine!”
“And how do you know that, my sweet madam!”said the adventurer, turning first deadly pale, andthen glowing red. Her last words had touched himto the quick in some unexpected place; and rising,he courteously laid her hand to his lips, and said—“Isay no more. Farewell, sweet madam, and God sendall men such wives as you.”
“And all wives,” said she, smiling, “suchhusbands as mine.”
“Nay, I will not say that,” answered he,with a half sneer—and then, “Farewell,friend Leigh—farewell, gallant Dick Grenville.God send I see thee Lord High Admiral when I comehome. And yet, why should I come home? Willyou pray for poor Jack, gentles?”
“Tut, tut, man! good words,” said Leigh;“let us drink to our merry meeting before yougo.” And rising, and putting the tankardof malmsey to his lips, he passed it to Sir Richard,who rose, and saying, “To the fortune of a boldmariner and a gallant gentleman,” drank, andput the cup into Oxenham’s hand.
The adventurer’s face was flushed, and his eyewild. Whether from the liquor he had drunk duringthe day, or whether from Mrs. Leigh’s last speech,he had not been himself for a few minutes. Helifted the cup, and was in act to pledge them, whenhe suddenly dropped it on the table, and pointed,staring and trembling, up and down, and round the room,as if following some fluttering object.
“There! Do you see it? The bird!—thebird with the white breast!”
Each looked at the other; but Leigh, who was a quick-wittedman and an old courtier, forced a laugh instantly,and cried—“Nonsense, brave Jack Oxenham!Leave white birds for men who will show the white feather.Mrs. Leigh waits to pledge you.”
Oxenham recovered himself in a moment, pledged themall round, drinking deep and fiercely; and after heartyfarewells, departed, never hinting again at his strangeexclamation.
After he was gone, and while Leigh was attending himto the door, Mrs. Leigh and Grenville kept a few minutes’dead silence. At last—“God helphim!” said she.
“Amen!” said Grenville, “for henever needed it more. But, indeed, madam, I putno faith in such omens.”
“But, Sir Richard, that bird has been seen forgenerations before the death of any of his family.I know those who were at South Tawton when his motherdied, and his brother also; and they both saw it.God help him! for, after all, he is a proper man.”
“So many a lady has thought before now, Mrs.Leigh, and well for him if they had not. But,indeed, I make no account of omens. When God isready for each man, then he must go; and when canhe go better?”
“But,” said Mr. Leigh, who entered, “Ihave seen, and especially when I was in Italy, omensand prophecies before now beget their own fulfilment,by driving men into recklessness, and making them runheadlong upon that very ruin which, as they fancied,was running upon them.”
“And which,” said Sir Richard, “theymight have avoided, if, instead of trusting in I knownot what dumb and dark destiny, they had trusted inthe living God, by faith in whom men may remove mountains,and quench the fire, and put to flight the armiesof the alien. I too know, and know not how Iknow, that I shall never die in my bed.”
“God forfend!” cried Mrs. Leigh.
“And why, fair madam, if I die doing my dutyto my God and my queen? The thought never movesme: nay, to tell the truth, I pray often enoughthat I may be spared the miseries of imbecile oldage, and that end which the old Northmen rightly called‘a cow’s death’ rather than a man’s.But enough of this. Mr. Leigh, you have donewisely to-night. Poor Oxenham does not go onhis voyage with a single eye. I have talked abouthim with Drake and Hawkins; and I guess why Mrs. Leightouched him so home when she told him that he hadno child.”
“Has he one, then, in the West Indies?”cried the good lady.
“God knows; and God grant we may not hear ofshame and sorrow fallen upon an ancient and honorablehouse of Devon. My brother Stukely is woe enoughto North Devon for this generation.”
“Poor braggadocio!” said Mr. Leigh; “andyet not altogether that too, for he can fight at least.”
“So can every mastiff and boar, much more anEnglishman. And now come hither to me, my adventurousgodson, and don’t look in such doleful dumps.I hear you have broken all the sailor-boys’ headsalready.”
“Nearly all,” said young Amyas, with duemodesty.. “But am I not to go to sea?”
“All things in their time, my boy, and God forbidthat either I or your worthy parents should keep youfrom that noble calling which is the safeguard ofthis England and her queen. But you do not wishto live and die the master of a trawler?”
“I should like to be a brave adventurer, likeMr. Oxenham.”
“God grant you become a braver man than he!for, as I think, to be bold against the enemy is commonto the brutes; but the prerogative of a man is tobe bold against himself.”
“How, sir?”
“To conquer our own fancies, Amyas, and ourown lusts, and our ambition, in the sacred name ofduty; this it is to be truly brave, and truly strong;for he who cannot rule himself, how can he rule hiscrew or his fortunes? Come, now, I will makeyou a promise. If you will bide quietly at home,and learn from your father and mother all which befitsa gentleman and a Christian, as well as a seaman,the day shall come when you shall sail with RichardGrenville himself, or with better men than he, ona nobler errand than gold-hunting on the Spanish Main.”
“O my boy, my boy!” said Mrs. Leigh, “hearwhat the good Sir Richard promises you. Manyan earl’s son would be glad to be in your place.”
“And many an earl’s son will be glad tobe in his place a score years hence, if he will butlearn what I know you two can teach him. And now,Amyas, my lad, I will tell you for a warning the historyof that Sir Thomas Stukely of whom I spoke just now,and who was, as all men know, a gallant and courtlyknight, of an ancient and worshipful family in Ilfracombe,well practised in the wars, and well beloved at firstby our incomparable queen, the friend of all truevirtue, as I trust she will be of yours some day;who wanted but one step to greatness, and that wasthis, that in his hurry to rule all the world, he forgotto rule himself. At first, he wasted his estatein show and luxury, always intending to be famous,and destroying his own fame all the while by his vaingloryand haste. Then, to retrieve his losses, he hitupon the peopling of Florida, which thou and I willsee done some day, by God’s blessing; for Iand some good friends of mine have an errand thereas well as he. But he did not go about it asa loyal man, to advance the honor of his queen, buthis own honor only, dreaming that he too should bea king; and was not ashamed to tell her majesty thathe had rather be sovereign of a molehill than thehighest subject of an emperor.”
“They say,” said Mr. Leigh, “thathe told her plainly he should be a prince before hedied, and that she gave him one of her pretty quipsin return.”
“I don’t know that her majesty had thebest of it. A fool is many times too strong fora wise man, by virtue of his thick hide. For whenshe said that she hoped she should hear from him inhis new principality, ‘Yes, sooth,’ sayshe, graciously enough. ‘And in what style?’asks she. ‘To our dear sister,’ saysStukely: to which her clemency had nothing toreply, but turned away, as Mr. Burleigh told me, laughing.”
“Alas for him!” said gentle Mrs. Leigh.“Such self-conceit—and Heaven knowswe have the root of it in ourselves also—isthe very daughter of self-will, and of that loud cryingout about I, and me, and mine, which is the very bird-callfor all devils, and the broad road which leads todeath.”
“It will lead him to his,” said Sir Richard;“God grant it be not upon Tower-hill! for sincethat Florida plot, and after that his hopes of Irishpreferment came to naught, he who could not help himselfby fair means has taken to foul ones, and gone overto Italy to the Pope, whose infallibility has notbeen proof against Stukely’s wit; for he wassoon his Holiness’s closet counsellor, and,they say, his bosom friend; and made him give creditto his boasts that, with three thousand soldiers hewould beat the English out of Ireland, and make thePope’s son king of it.”
“Ay, but,” said Mr. Leigh, “I supposethe Italians have the same fetch now as they had whenI was there, to explain such ugly cases; namely, thatthe Pope is infallible only in doctrine, and quoadPope; while quoad hominem, he is even as others, orindeed, in general, a deal worse, so that the office,and not the man, may be glorified thereby. Butwhere is Stukely now?”
“At Rome when last I heard of him, rufflingit up and down the Vatican as Baron Ross, ViscountMurrough, Earl Wexford, Marquis Leinster, and a titleor two more, which have cost the Pope little, seeingthat they never were his to give; and plotting, theysay, some hare-brained expedition against Irelandby the help of the Spanish king, which must end innothing but his shame and ruin. And now, my sweethosts, I must call for serving-boy and lantern, andhome to my bed in Bideford.”
And so Amyas Leigh went back to school, and Mr. Oxenhamwent his way to Plymouth again, and sailed for theSpanish Main.
CHAPTER II
HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE FIRST TIME
“Si taceant homines, facientte sidera notum,
Sol nescit comitis immemor esse sui.”
Old Epigramon Drake.
Five years are past and gone. It is nine of theclock on a still, bright November morning; but thebells of Bideford church are still ringing for thedaily service two hours after the usual time; and insteadof going soberly according to wont, cannot help breakingforth every five minutes into a jocund peal, and tumblinghead over heels in ecstasies of joy. Bidefordstreets are a very flower-garden of all the colors,swarming with seamen and burghers, and burghers’wives and daughters, all in their holiday attire.Garlands are hung across the streets, and tapestriesfrom every window. The ships in the pool are dressedin all their flags, and give tumultuous vent to theirfeelings by peals of ordnance of every size.Every stable is crammed with horses; and Sir RichardGrenville’s house is like a very tavern, witheating and drinking, and unsaddling, and running toand fro of grooms and serving-men. Along thelittle churchyard, packed full with women, streamsall the gentle blood of North Devon,—talland stately men, and fair ladies, worthy of the dayswhen the gentry of England were by due right the leadersof the people, by personal prowess and beauty, as well
as by intellect and education. And first, thereis my lady Countess of Bath, whom Sir Richard Grenvilleis escorting, cap in hand (for her good Earl Bourchieris in London with the queen); and there are Bassetsfrom beautiful Umberleigh, and Carys from more beautifulClovelly, and Fortescues of Wear, and Fortescues ofBuckland, and Fortescues from all quarters, and Colesfrom Slade, and Stukelys from Affton, and St. Legersfrom Annery, and Coffins from Portledge, and even Coplestonesfrom Eggesford, thirty miles away: and last,but not least (for almost all stop to give them place),Sir John Chichester of Ralegh, followed in singlefile, after the good old patriarchal fashion, by hiseight daughters, and three of his five famous sons(one, to avenge his murdered brother, is fightingvaliantly in Ireland, hereafter to rule there wiselyalso, as Lord Deputy and Baron of Belfast); and hemeets at the gate his cousin of Arlington, and behindhim a train of four daughters and nineteen sons, thelast of whom has not yet passed the town-hall, whilethe first is at the Lychgate, who, laughing, make wayfor the elder though shorter branch of that most fruitfultree; and so on into the church, where all are placedaccording to their degrees, or at least as near asmay be, not without a few sour looks, and shovings,and whisperings, from one high-born matron and another;till the churchwardens and sidesmen, who never hadbefore so goodly a company to arrange, have bustledthemselves hot, and red, and frantic, and end by imploringabjectly the help of the great Sir Richard himselfto tell them who everybody is, and which is the elderbranch, and which is the younger, and who carrieseight quarterings in their arms, and who only four,and so prevent their setting at deadly feud half thefine ladies of North Devon; for the old men are allsafe packed away in the corporation pews, and theyoung ones care only to get a place whence they mayeye the ladies. And at last there is a silence,and a looking toward the door, and then distant music,flutes and hautboys, drums and trumpets, which comebraying, and screaming, and thundering merrily upto the very church doors, and then cease; and the churchwardensand sidesmen bustle down to the entrance, rods in hand,and there is a general whisper and rustle, not withoutglad tears and blessings from many a woman, and fromsome men also, as the wonder of the day enters, andthe rector begins, not the morning service, but thegood old thanksgiving after a victory at sea.And what is it which has thus sent old Bideford wildwith that “goodly joy and pious mirth,”of which we now only retain traditions in our translationof the Psalms? Why are all eyes fixed, with greedyadmiration, on those four weather-beaten mariners,decked out with knots and ribbons by loving hands;and yet more on that gigantic figure who walks beforethem, a beardless boy, and yet with the frame and statureof a Hercules, towering, like Saul of old, a head and
shoulders above all the congregation, with his goldenlocks flowing down over his shoulders? And why,as the five go instinctively up to the altar, andthere fall on their knees before the rails, are alleyes turned to the pew where Mrs. Leigh of Burroughhas hid her face between her hands, and her hood rustlesand shakes to her joyful sobs? Because there wasfellow-feeling of old in merry England, in county andin town; and these are Devon men, and men of Bideford,whose names are Amyas Leigh of Burrough, John Staveley,Michael Heard, and Jonas Marshall of Bideford, andThomas Braund of Clovelly: and they, the firstof all English mariners, have sailed round the worldwith Francis Drake, and are come hither to give Godthanks.It is a long story. To explain how it happenedwe must go back for a page or two, almost to the pointfrom whence we started in the last chapter.
For somewhat more than a twelvemonth after Mr. Oxenham’sdeparture, young Amyas had gone on quietly enough,according to promise, with the exception of certainoccasional outbursts of fierceness common to all youngmale animals, and especially to boys of any strengthof character. His scholarship, indeed, progressedno better than before; but his home education wenton healthily enough; and he was fast becoming, youngas he was, a right good archer, and rider, and swordsman(after the old school of buckler practice), when hisfather, having gone down on business to the ExeterAssizes, caught (as was too common in those days)the gaol-fever from the prisoners; sickened in thevery court; and died within a week.
And now Mrs. Leigh was left to God and her own soul,with this young lion-cub in leash, to tame and trainfor this life and the life to come. She had lovedher husband fervently and holily. He had beenoften peevish, often melancholy; for he was a disappointedman, with an estate impoverished by his father’sfolly, and his own youthful ambition, which had ledhim up to Court, and made him waste his heart and hispurse in following a vain shadow. He was oneof those men, moreover, who possess almost every giftexcept the gift of the power to use them; and thougha scholar, a courtier, and a soldier, he had foundhimself, when he was past forty, without settled employmentor aim in life, by reason of a certain shyness, pride,or delicate honor (call it which you will), whichhad always kept him from playing a winning game inthat very world after whose prizes he hankered tothe last, and on which he revenged himself by continualgrumbling. At last, by his good luck, he met witha fair young Miss Foljambe, of Derbyshire, then aboutQueen Elizabeth’s Court, who was as tired ashe of the sins of the world, though she had seen lessof them; and the two contrived to please each otherso well, that though the queen grumbled a little,as usual, at the lady for marrying, and at the gentlemanfor adoring any one but her royal self, they got leaveto vanish from the little Babylon at Whitehall, andsettle in peace at Burrough. In her he found atreasure, and he knew what he had found.
Mrs. Leigh was, and had been from her youth, one ofthose noble old English churchwomen, without superstition,and without severity, who are among the fairest featuresof that heroic time. There was a certain melancholyabout her, nevertheless; for the recollections of herchildhood carried her back to times when it was anawful thing to be a Protestant. She could rememberamong them, five-and-twenty years ago, the burningof poor blind Joan Waste at Derby, and of MistressJoyce Lewis, too, like herself, a lady born; and sometimeseven now, in her nightly dreams, rang in her earsher mother’s bitter cries to God, either tospare her that fiery torment, or to give her strengthto bear it, as she whom she loved had borne it beforeher. For her mother, who was of a good familyin Yorkshire, had been one of Queen Catherine’sbedchamber women, and the bosom friend and discipleof Anne Askew. And she had sat in Smithfield,with blood curdled by horror, to see the hapless Courtbeauty, a month before the paragon of Henry’sCourt, carried in a chair (so crippled was she bythe rack) to her fiery doom at the stake, beside herfellow-courtier, Mr. Lascelles, while the very heavensseemed to the shuddering mob around to speak theirwrath and grief in solemn thunder peals, and heavydrops which hissed upon the crackling pile.
Therefore a sadness hung upon her all her life, anddeepened in the days of Queen Mary, when, as a notoriousProtestant and heretic, she had had to hide for herlife among the hills and caverns of the Peak, and wasonly saved, by the love which her husband’s tenantsbore her, and by his bold declaration that, good Catholicas he was, he would run through the body any constable,justice, or priest, yea, bishop or cardinal, who daredto serve the queen’s warrant upon his wife.
So she escaped: but, as I said, a sadness hungupon her all her life; and the skirt of that darkmantle fell upon the young girl who had been the partnerof her wanderings and hidings among the lonely hills;and who, after she was married, gave herself utterlyup to God.
And yet in giving herself to God, Mrs. Leigh gaveherself to her husband, her children, and the poorof Northam Town, and was none the less welcome tothe Grenvilles, and Fortescues, and Chichesters, andall the gentle families round, who honored her husband’stalents, and enjoyed his wit. She accustomedherself to austerities, which often called forth thekindly rebukes of her husband; and yet she did sowithout one superstitious thought of appeasing thefancied wrath of God, or of giving Him pleasure (basethought) by any pain of hers; for her spirit had beentrained in the freest and loftiest doctrines of Luther’sschool; and that little mystic “Alt-Deutsch Theologie”(to which the great Reformer said that he owed morethan to any book, save the Bible, and St. Augustine)was her counsellor and comforter by day and night.
And now, at little past forty, she was left a widow:lovely still in face and figure; and still more lovelyfrom the divine calm which brooded, like the doveof peace and the Holy Spirit of God (which indeedit was), over every look, and word, and gesture; asweetness which had been ripened by storm, as wellas by sunshine; which this world had not given, andcould not take away. No wonder that Sir Richardand Lady Grenville loved her; no wonder that her childrenworshipped her; no wonder that the young Amyas, whenthe first burst of grief was over, and he knew againwhere he stood, felt that a new life had begun forhim; that his mother was no more to think and actfor him only, but that he must think and act for hismother. And so it was, that on the very day afterhis father’s funeral, when school-hours wereover, instead of coming straight home, he walked boldlyinto Sir Richard Grenville’s house, and askedto see his godfather.
“You must be my father now, sir,” saidhe, firmly.
And Sir Richard looked at the boy’s broad strongface, and swore a great and holy oath, like Glasgerion’s,“by oak, and ash, and thorn,” that hewould be a father to him, and a brother to his mother,for Christ’s sake. And Lady Grenville tookthe boy by the hand, and walked home with him to Burrough;and there the two fair women fell on each other’snecks, and wept together; the one for the loss whichhad been, the other, as by a prophetic instinct, forthe like loss which was to come to her also.For the sweet St. Leger knew well that her husband’sfiery spirit would never leave his body on a peacefulbed; but that death (as he prayed almost nightly thatit might) would find him sword in hand, upon the fieldof duty and of fame. And there those two vowedeverlasting sisterhood, and kept their vow; and afterthat all things went on at Burrough as before; andAmyas rode, and shot, and boxed, and wandered on thequay at Sir Richard’s side; for Mrs. Leigh wastoo wise a woman to alter one tittle of the trainingwhich her husband had thought best for his youngerboy. It was enough that her elder son had ofhis own accord taken to that form of life in whichshe in her secret heart would fain have moulded bothher children. For Frank, God’s weddinggift to that pure love of hers, had won himself honorat home and abroad; first at the school at Bideford;then at Exeter College, where he had become a friendof Sir Philip Sidney’s, and many another youngman of rank and promise; and next, in the summer of1572, on his way to the University of Heidelberg,he had gone to Paris, with (luckily for him) lettersof recommendation to Walsingham, at the English Embassy:by which letters he not only fell in a second timewith Philip Sidney, but saved his own life (as Sidneydid his) in the Massacre of St. Bartholomew’sDay. At Heidelberg he had stayed two years, winningfresh honor from all who knew him, and resisting allSidney’s entreaties to follow him into Italy.
For, scorning to be a burden to his parents, he hadbecome at Heidelberg tutor to two young German princes,whom, after living with them at their father’shouse for a year or more, he at last, to his own greatdelight, took with him down to Padua, “to perfectthem,” as he wrote home, “according tohis insufficiency, in all princely studies.”Sidney was now returned to England; but Frank foundfriends enough without him, such letters of recommendationand diplomas did he carry from I know not how manyprinces, magnificos, and learned doctors, who hadfallen in love with the learning, modesty, and virtueof the fair young Englishman. And ere Frank returnedto Germany he had satiated his soul with all the wondersof that wondrous land. He had talked over theart of sonneteering with Tasso, the art of historywith Sarpi; he had listened, between awe and incredulity,to the daring theories of Galileo; he had taken hispupils to Venice, that their portraits might be paintedby Paul Veronese; he had seen the palaces of Palladio,and the merchant princes on the Rialto, and the argosiesof Ragusa, and all the wonders of that meeting-pointof east and west; he had watched Tintoretto’smighty hand “hurling tempestuous glories o’erthe scene;” and even, by dint of private intercessionin high places, had been admitted to that sacred roomwhere, with long silver beard and undimmed eye, amida pantheon of his own creations, the ancient Titian,patriarch of art, still lingered upon earth, and toldold tales of the Bellinis, and Raffaelle, and MichaelAngelo, and the building of St. Peter’s, andthe fire at Venice, and the sack of Rome, and of kingsand warriors, statesmen and poets, long since goneto their account, and showed the sacred brush whichFrancis the First had stooped to pick up for him.And (license forbidden to Sidney by his friend Languet)he had been to Rome, and seen (much to the scandalof good Protestants at home) that “right goodfellow,” as Sidney calls him, who had not yeteaten himself to death, the Pope for the time being.And he had seen the frescos of the Vatican, and heardPalestrina preside as chapel-master over the performanceof his own music beneath the dome of St. Peter’s,and fallen half in love with those luscious strains,till he was awakened from his dream by the recollectionthat beneath that same dome had gone up thanksgivingsto the God of heaven for those blood-stained streets,and shrieking women, and heaps of insulted corpses,which he had beheld in Paris on the night of St. Bartholomew.At last, a few months before his father died, he hadtaken back his pupils to their home in Germany, fromwhence he was dismissed, as he wrote, with rich gifts;and then Mrs. Leigh’s heart beat high, at thethought that the wanderer would return: but,alas! within a month after his father’s death,came a long letter from Frank, describing the Alps,and the valleys of the Waldenses (with whose Barbeshe had had much talk about the late horrible persecutions),and setting forth how at Padua he had made the acquaintanceof that illustrious scholar and light of the age,Stephanus Parmenius (commonly called from his nativeplace, Budaeus), who had visited Geneva with him,and heard the disputations of their most learned doctors,which both he and Budaeus disliked for their hardjudgments both of God and man, as much as they admiredthem for their subtlety, being themselves, as becameItalian students, Platonists of the school of Ficinusand Picus Mirandolensis. So wrote Master Frank,in a long sententious letter, full of Latin quotations:but the letter never reached the eyes of him for whosedelight it had been penned: and the widow hadto weep over it alone, and to weep more bitterly thanever at the conclusion, in which, with many excuses,Frank said that he had, at the special entreaty ofthe said Budaeus, set out with him down the Danubestream to Buda, that he might, before finishing histravels, make experience of that learning for whichthe Hungarians were famous throughout Europe.And after that, though he wrote again and again tothe father whom he fancied living, no letter in returnreached him from home for nearly two years; till,fearing some mishap, he hurried back to England, tofind his mother a widow, and his brother Amyas goneto the South Seas with Captain Drake of Plymouth.And yet, even then, after years of absence, he wasnot allowed to remain at home. For Sir Richard,to whom idleness was a thing horrible and unrighteous,would have him up and doing again before six monthswere over, and sent him off to Court to Lord Hunsdon.There, being as delicately beautiful as his brotherwas huge and strong, he had speedily, by Carew’sinterest and that of Sidney and his Uncle Leicester,found entrance into some office in the queen’shousehold; and he was now basking in the full sunshineof Court favor, and fair ladies’ eyes, and allthe chivalries and euphuisms of Gloriana’s fairyland,and the fast friendship of that bright meteor Sidney,who had returned with honor in 1577, from the delicatemission on behalf of the German and Belgian Protestants,on which he had been sent to the Court of Vienna,under color of condoling with the new Emperor Rodolphon his father’s death. Frank found himwhen he himself came to Court in 1579 as lovely andloving as ever; and, at the early age of twenty-five,acknowledged as one of the most remarkable men ofEurope, the patron of all men of letters, the counsellorof warriors and statesmen, and the confidant and advocateof William of Orange, Languet, Plessis du Mornay, andall the Protestant leaders on the Continent; and found,moreover, that the son of the poor Devon squire wasas welcome as ever to the friendship of nature’sand fortune’s most favored, yet most unspoilt,minion.
Poor Mrs. Leigh, as one who had long since learnedto have no self, and to live not only for her childrenbut in them, submitted without a murmur, and onlysaid, smiling, to her stern friend—“Youtook away my mastiff-pup, and now you must needs havemy fair greyhound also.”
“Would you have your fair greyhound, dear lady,grow up a tall and true Cotswold dog, that can pulldown a stag of ten, or one of those smooth-skinnedpoppets which the Florence ladies lead about with aring of bells round its neck, and a flannel farthingaleover its loins?”
Mrs. Leigh submitted; and was rewarded after a fewmonths by a letter, sent through Sir Richard, fromnone other than Gloriana herself, in which she thankedher for “the loan of that most delicate and flawlesscrystal, the soul of her excellent son,” withmore praises of him than I have room to insert, andfinished by exalting the poor mother above the famedCornelia; “for those sons, whom she called herjewels, she only showed, yet kept them to herself:but you, madam, having two as precious, I doubt not,as were ever that Roman dame’s, have, beyondher courage, lent them both to your country and toyour queen, who therein holds herself indebted toyou for that which, if God give her grace, she willrepay as becomes both her and you.” Whichepistle the sweet mother bedewed with holy tears,and laid by in the cedar-box which held her householdgods, by the side of Frank’s innumerable diplomasand letters of recommendation, the Latin whereof shewas always spelling over (although she understoodnot a word of it), in hopes of finding, here and there,that precious excellentissimus Noster Franciscus LeighiusAnglus, which was all in all to the mother’sheart.
But why did Amyas go to the South Seas? Amyaswent to the South Seas for two causes, each of whichhas, before now, sent many a lad to far worse places:first, because of an old schoolmaster; secondly, becauseof a young beauty. I will take them in orderand explain.
Vindex Brimblecombe, whilom servitor of Exeter College,Oxford (commonly called Sir Vindex, after the fashionof the times), was, in those days, master of the grammar-schoolof Bideford. He was, at root, a godly and kind-heartedpedant enough; but, like most schoolmasters in theold flogging days, had his heart pretty well hardenedby long, baneful license to inflict pain at will onthose weaker than himself; a power healthful enoughfor the victim (for, doubtless, flogging is the bestof all punishments, being not only the shortest, butalso a mere bodily and animal, and not, like mostof our new-fangled “humane” punishments,a spiritual and fiendish torture), but for the executionerpretty certain to eradicate, from all but the noblestspirits, every trace of chivalry and tenderness forthe weak, as well, often, as all self-control andcommand of temper. Be that as it may, old SirVindex had heart enough to feel that it was now hisduty to take especial care of the fatherless boy towhom he tried to teach his qui, quae, quod: butthe only outcome of that new sense of responsibilitywas a rapid increase in the number of floggings, whichrose from about two a week to one per diem, not withoutconsequences to the pedagogue himself.
For all this while, Amyas had never for a moment lostsight of his darling desire for a sea-life; and whenhe could not wander on the quay and stare at the shipping,or go down to the pebble-ridge at Northam, and theresit, devouring, with hungry eyes, the great expanseof ocean, which seemed to woo him outward into boundlessspace, he used to console himself, in school-hours,by drawing ships and imaginary charts upon his slate,instead of minding his “humanities.”
Now it befell, upon an afternoon, that he was verybusy at a map, or bird’s-eye view of an island,whereon was a great castle, and at the gate thereofa dragon, terrible to see; while in the foregroundcame that which was meant for a gallant ship, witha great flag aloft, but which, by reason of the forestof lances with which it was crowded, looked much morelike a porcupine carrying a sign-post; and, at theroots of those lances, many little round o’s,whereby was signified the heads of Amyas and his schoolfellows,who were about to slay that dragon, and rescue thebeautiful princess who dwelt in that enchanted tower.To behold which marvel of art, all the other boys atthe same desk must needs club their heads together,and with the more security, because Sir Vindex, aswas his custom after dinner, was lying back in hischair, and slept the sleep of the just.
But when Amyas, by special instigation of the evilspirit who haunts successful artists, proceeded furtherto introduce, heedless of perspective, a rock, onwhich stood the lively portraiture of Sir Vindex—nose,spectacles, gown, and all; and in his hand a brandishedrod, while out of his mouth a label shrieked afterthe runaways, “You come back!” while asimilar label replied from the gallant bark, “Good-bye,master!” the shoving and tittering rose to sucha pitch that Cerberus awoke, and demanded sternlywhat the noise was about. To which, of course,there was no answer.
“You, of course, Leigh! Come up, sir, andshow me your exercitation.”
Now of Amyas’s exercitation not a word was written;and, moreover, he was in the very article of puttingthe last touches to Mr. Brimblecombe’s portrait.Whereon, to the astonishment of all hearers, he madeanswer—
“All in good time, sir!” and went on drawing.
“In good time, sir! Insolent, veni et vapula!”
But Amyas went on drawing.
“Come hither, sirrah, or I’ll flay youalive!”
“Wait a bit!” answered Amyas.
The old gentleman jumped up, ferula in hand, and dartedacross the school, and saw himself upon the fatalslate.
“Proh flagitium! what have we here, villain?”and clutching at his victim, he raised the cane.Whereupon, with a serene and cheerful countenance,up rose the mighty form of Amyas Leigh, a head andshoulders above his tormentor, and that slate descendedon the bald coxcomb of Sir Vindex Brimblecombe, withso shrewd a blow that slate and pate cracked at thesame instant, and the poor pedagogue dropped to thefloor, and lay for dead.
After which Amyas arose, and walked out of the school,and so quietly home; and having taken counsel withhimself, went to his mother, and said, “Please,mother, I’ve broken schoolmaster’s head.”
“Broken his head, thou wicked boy!” shriekedthe poor widow; “what didst do that for?”
“I can’t tell,” said Amyas, penitently;“I couldn’t help it. It looked sosmooth, and bald, and round, and—you know?”
“I know? Oh, wicked boy! thou hast givenplace to the devil; and now, perhaps, thou hast killedhim.”
“Killed the devil?” asked Amyas, hopefullybut doubtfully.
“No, killed the schoolmaster, sirrah! Ishe dead?”
“I don’t think he’s dead; his coxcombsounded too hard for that. But had not I bettergo and tell Sir Richard?”
The poor mother could hardly help laughing, in spiteof her terror, at Amyas’s perfect coolness (whichwas not in the least meant for insolence), and beingat her wits’ end, sent him, as usual, to hisgodfather.
Amyas rehearsed his story again, with pretty nearlythe same exclamations, to which he gave pretty nearlythe same answers; and then—“Whatwas he going to do to you, then, sirrah?”
“Flog me, because I could not write my exercise,and so drew a picture of him instead.”
“What! art afraid of being flogged?”
“Not a bit; besides, I’m too much accustomedto it; but I was busy, and he was in such a desperatehurry; and, oh, sir, if you had but seen his baldhead, you would have broken it yourself!”
Now Sir Richard had, twenty years ago, in like place,and very much in like manner, broken the head of VindexBrimblecombe’s father, schoolmaster in his day,and therefore had a precedent to direct him; and heanswered—“Amyas, sirrah! those whocannot obey will never be fit to rule. If thoucanst not keep discipline now, thou wilt never makea company or a crew keep it when thou art grown.Dost mind that, sirrah?”
“Yes,” said Amyas.
“Then go back to school this moment, sir, andbe flogged.”
“Very well,” said Amyas, considering thathe had got off very cheaply; while Sir Richard, assoon as he was out of the room, lay back in his chair,and laughed till he cried again.
So Amyas went back, and said that he was come to beflogged; whereon the old schoolmaster, whose patehad been plastered meanwhile, wept tears of joy overthe returning prodigal, and then gave him such a switchingas he did not forget for eight-and-forty hours.
But that evening Sir Richard sent for old Vindex,who entered, trembling, cap in hand; and having primedhim with a cup of sack, said—“Well,Mr. Schoolmaster! My godson has been somewhattoo much for you to-day. There are a couple ofnobles to pay the doctor.”
“O Sir Richard, gratias tibi et Domino! butthe boy hits shrewdly hard. Nevertheless I haverepaid him in inverse kind, and set him an imposition,to learn me one of Phaedrus his fables, Sir Richard,if you do not think it too much.”
“Which, then? The one about the man whobrought up a lion’s cub, and was eaten by himin play at last?”
“Ah, Sir Richard! you have always a merry wit.But, indeed, the boy is a brave boy, and a quick boy,Sir Richard, but more forgetful than Lethe; and—sapientiloquor—it were well if he were away, forI shall never see him again without my head aching.Moreover, he put my son Jack upon the fire last Wednesday,as you would put a football, though he is a year older,your worship, because, he said, he looked so like aroasting pig, Sir Richard.”
“Alas, poor Jack!”
“And what’s more, your worship, he ispugnax, bellicosus, gladiator, a fire-eater and swash-buckler,beyond all Christian measure; a very sucking Entellus,Sir Richard, and will do to death some of her majesty’slieges erelong, if he be not wisely curbed. Itwas but a month agone that he bemoaned himself, Ihear, as Alexander did, because there were no moreworlds to conquer, saying that it was a pity he wasso strong; for, now he had thrashed all the Bidefordlads, he had no sport left; and so, as my Jack tellsme, last Tuesday week he fell upon a young man ofBarnstaple, Sir Richard, a hosier’s man, sir,and plebeius (which I consider unfit for one of hisblood), and, moreover, a man full grown, and as bigas either of us (Vindex stood five feet four in hishigh-heeled shoes), and smote him clean over the quayinto the mud, because he said that there was a prettiermaid in Barnstaple (your worship will forgive my speakingof such toys, to which my fidelity compels me) thanever Bideford could show; and then offered to do thesame to any man who dare say that Mistress Rose Salterne,his worship the mayor’s daughter, was not thefairest lass in all Devon.”
“Eh? Say that over again, my good sir,”quoth Sir Richard, who had thus arrived, as we haveseen, at the second count of the indictment. “Isay, good sir, whence dost thou hear all these prettystories?”
“My son Jack, Sir Richard, my son Jack, ingenuivultus puer.”
“But not, it seems, ingenui pudoris. Tellthee what, Mr. Schoolmaster, no wonder if thy songets put on the fire, if thou employ him as a tale-bearer.But that is the way of all pedagogues and their sons,by which they train the lads up eavesdroppers and favor-curriers,and prepare them—sirrah, do you hear?—fora much more lasting and hotter fire than that whichhas scorched thy son Jack’s nether-tackle.Do you mark me, sir?”
The poor pedagogue, thus cunningly caught in his owntrap, stood trembling before his patron, who, as hereditaryhead of the Bridge Trust, which endowed the schooland the rest of the Bideford charities, could, bya turn of his finger, sweep him forth with the besomof destruction; and he gasped with terror as Sir Richardwent on—“Therefore, mind you, SirSchoolmaster, unless you shall promise me never tohint word of what has passed between us two, and thatneither you nor yours shall henceforth carry talesof my godson, or speak his name within a day’smarch of Mistress Salterne’s, look to it, ifI do not—”
What was to be done in default was not spoken; fordown went poor old Vindex on his knees:—
“Oh, Sir Richard! Excellentissime, immopraecelsissime Domine et Senator, I promise!O sir, Miles et Eques of the Garter, Bath, and GoldenFleece, consider your dignities, and my old age—andmy great family—nine children—oh,Sir Richard, and eight of them girls!—Doeagles war with mice? says the ancient!”
“Thy large family, eh? How old is thatfat-witted son of thine?”
“Sixteen, Sir Richard; but that is not his fault,indeed!”
“Nay, I suppose he would be still sucking histhumb if he dared—get up, man—getup and seat yourself.”
“Heaven forbid!” murmured poor Vindex,with deep humility.
“Why is not the rogue at Oxford, with a murrainon him, instead of lurching about here carrying talesand ogling the maidens?”
“I had hoped, Sir Richard—and thereforeI said it was not his fault—but there wasnever a servitorship at Exeter open.”
“Go to, man—go to! I will speakto my brethren of the Trust, and to Oxford he shallgo this autumn, or else to Exeter gaol, for a strongrogue, and a masterless man. Do you hear?”
“Hear?—oh, sir, yes! and return thanks.Jack shall go, Sir Richard, doubt it not—Iwere mad else; and, Sir Richard, may I go too?”
And therewith Vindex vanished, and Sir Richard enjoyeda second mighty laugh, which brought in Lady Grenville,who possibly had overheard the whole; for the firstwords she said were—
“I think, my sweet life, we had better go upto Burrough.”
So to Burrough they went; and after much talk, andmany tears, matters were so concluded that Amyas Leighfound himself riding joyfully towards Plymouth, bythe side of Sir Richard, and being handed over to CaptainDrake, vanished for three years from the good townof Bideford.
And now he is returned in triumph, and the observedof all observers; and looks round and round, and seesall faces whom he expects, except one; and that theone which he had rather see than his mother’s?He is not quite sure. Shame on himself!
And now the prayers being ended, the rector ascendsthe pulpit, and begins his sermon on the text:—
“The heaven and the heaven of heavens are theLord’s; the whole earth hath he given to thechildren of men;” deducing therefrom craftily,to the exceeding pleasure of his hearers, the iniquityof the Spaniards in dispossessing the Indians, andin arrogating to themselves the sovereignty of thetropic seas; the vanity of the Pope of Rome in pretendingto bestow on them the new countries of America; andthe justice, valor, and glory of Mr. Drake and hisexpedition, as testified by God’s miraculousprotection of him and his, both in the Straits ofMagellan, and in his battle with the Galleon; and last,but not least, upon the rock by Celebes, when thePelican lay for hours firmly fixed, and was floatedoff unhurt, as it were by miracle, by a sudden shiftof wind.
Ay, smile, reader, if you will; and, perhaps, therewas matter for a smile in that honest sermon, interlarded,as it was, with scraps of Greek and Hebrew, whichno one understood, but every one expected as theirright (for a preacher was nothing then who could notprove himself “a good Latiner"); and graced,moreover, by a somewhat pedantic and lengthy refutationfrom Scripture of Dan Horace’s co*ckney horrorof the sea—
“Illi robur etaes triplex,” etc.
and his infidel and ungodly slander against the impiasrates, and their crews.
Smile, if you will: but those were days (andthere were never less superstitious ones) in whichEnglishmen believed in the living God, and were notashamed to acknowledge, as a matter of course, Hishelp and providence, and calling, in the matters ofdaily life, which we now in our covert atheism term“secular and carnal;” and when, the sermonended, the communion service had begun, and the breadand the wine were given to those five mariners, everygallant gentleman who stood near them (for the presswould not allow of more) knelt and received the elementswith them as a thing of course, and then rose to joinwith heart and voice not merely in the Gloria in Excelsis,but in the Te Deum, which was the closing act of all.And no sooner had the clerk given out the first verseof that great hymn, than it was taken up by five hundredvoices within the church, in bass and tenor, trebleand alto (for every one could sing in those days,and the west-country folk, as now, were fuller thanany of music), the chant was caught up by the crowdoutside, and rang away over roof and river, up to thewoods of Annery, and down to the marshes of the Taw,in wave on wave of harmony. And as it died away,the shipping in the river made answer with their thunder,and the crowd streamed out again toward the BridgeHead, whither Sir Richard Grenville, and Sir JohnChichester, and Mr. Salterne, the Mayor, led the fiveheroes of the day to await the pageant which had beenprepared in honor of them. And as they went by,there were few in the crowd who did not press forwardto shake them by the hand, and not only them, buttheir parents and kinsfolk who walked behind, tillMrs. Leigh, her stately joy quite broken down at last,could only answer between her sobs, “Go along,good people—God a mercy, go along—andGod send you all such sons!”
“God give me back mine!” cried an oldred-cloaked dame in the crowd; and then, struck bysome hidden impulse, she sprang forward, and catchinghold of young Amyas’s sleeve—
“Kind sir! dear sir! For Christ his sakeanswer a poor old widow woman!”
“What is it, dame?” quoth Amyas, gentlyenough.
“Did you see my son to the Indies?—myson Salvation?”
“Salvation?” replied he, with the airof one who recollected the name.
“Yes, sure, Salvation Yeo, of Clovelly.A tall man and black, and sweareth awfully in histalk, the Lord forgive him!”
Amyas recollected now. It was the name of thesailor who had given him the wondrous horn five yearsago.
“My good dame,” said he, “the Indiesare a very large place, and your son may be safe andsound enough there, without my having seen him.I knew one Salvation Yeo. But he must have comewith—By the by, godfather, has Mr. Oxenhamcome home?”
There was a dead silence for a moment among the gentlemenround; and then Sir Richard said solemnly, and ina low voice, turning away from the old dame,—
“Amyas, Mr. Oxenham has not come home; and fromthe day he sailed, no word has been heard of him andall his crew.”
“Oh, Sir Richard! and you kept me from sailingwith him! Had I known this before I went intochurch, I had had one mercy more to thank God for.”
“Thank Him all the more in thy life, my child!”whispered his mother.
“And no news of him whatsoever?”
“None; but that the year after he sailed, aship belonging to Andrew Barker, of Bristol, tookout of a Spanish caravel, somewhere off the Honduras,his two brass guns; but whence they came the Spaniardknew not, having bought them at Nombre de Dios.”
“Yes!” cried the old woman; “theybrought home the guns, and never brought home my boy!”
“They never saw your boy, mother,” saidSir Richard.
“But I’ve seen him! I saw him ina dream four years last Whitsuntide, as plain as Isee you now, gentles, a-lying upon a rock, callingfor a drop of water to cool his tongue, like Divesto the torment! Oh! dear me!” and the olddame wept bitterly.
“There is a rose noble for you!” saidMrs. Leigh.
“And there another!” said Sir Richard.And in a few minutes four or five gold coins werein her hand. But the old dame did but look wonderinglyat the gold a moment, and then—
“Ah! dear gentles, God’s blessing on you,and Mr. Cary’s mighty good to me already; butgold won’t buy back childer! O! young gentleman!young gentleman! make me a promise; if you want God’sblessing on you this day, bring me back my boy, ifyou find him sailing on the seas! Bring him back,and an old widow’s blessing be on you!”
Amyas promised—what else could he do?—andthe group hurried on; but the lad’s heart washeavy in the midst of joy, with the thought of JohnOxenham, as he walked through the churchyard, and downthe short street which led between the ancient schooland still more ancient town-house, to the head ofthe long bridge, across which the pageant, havingarranged “east-the-water,” was to defile,and then turn to the right along the quay.
However, he was bound in all courtesy to turn hisattention now to the show which had been preparedin his honor, and which was really well enough worthseeing and hearing. The English were, in thosedays, an altogether dramatic people; ready and able,as in Bideford that day, to extemporize a pageant,a masque, or any effort of the Thespian art shortof the regular drama. For they were, in the firstplace, even down to the very poorest, a well-fed people,with fewer luxuries than we, but more abundant necessaries;and while beef, ale, and good woollen clothes couldbe obtained in plenty, without overworking either bodyor soul, men had time to amuse themselves in somethingmore intellectual than mere toping in pot-houses.Moreover, the half century after the Reformation inEngland was one not merely of new intellectual freedom,but of immense animal good spirits. After yearsof dumb confusion and cruel persecution, a breathingtime had come: Mary and the fires of Smithfieldhad vanished together like a hideous dream, and themighty shout of joy which greeted Elizabeth’sentry into London, was the key-note of fifty gloriousyears; the expression of a new-found strength andfreedom, which vented itself at home in drama and insong; abroad in mighty conquests, achieved with thelaughing recklessness of boys at play.
So first, preceded by the waits, came along the bridgetoward the town-hall a device prepared by the goodrector, who, standing by, acted as showman, and explainedanxiously to the bystanders the import of a certain“allegory” wherein on a great banner wasdepicted Queen Elizabeth herself, who, in ample ruffand farthingale, a Bible in one hand and a sword inthe other, stood triumphant upon the necks of twosufficiently abject personages, whose triple tiaraand imperial crown proclaimed them the Pope and theKing of Spain; while a label, issuing from her royalmouth, informed the world that—
“By land and seaa virgin queen I reign,
And spurn to dust bothAntichrist and Spain.”
Which, having been received with due applause, a well-bedizenedlad, having in his cap as a posy “Loyalty,”stepped forward, and delivered himself of the followingverses:—
“Oh, great Eliza!oh, world-famous crew!
Which shall I hail moreblest, your queen or you?
While without othereither falls to wrack,
And light must eyes,or eyes their light must lack.
She without you, a diamondsunk in mine,
Its worth unprized,to self alone must shine;
You without her, likehands bereft of head,
Like Ajax rage, by blindfoldlust misled.
She light, you eyes;she head, and you the hands,
In fair proportion knitby heavenly hands;
Servants in queen, andqueen in servants blest;
Your only glory, howto serve her best;
And hers how best theadventurous might to guide,
Which knows no checkof foemen, wind, or tide,
So fair Eliza’sspotless fame may fly
Triumphant round theglobe, and shake th’ astounded sky!”
With which sufficiently bad verses Loyalty passedon, while my Lady Bath hinted to Sir Richard, notwithout reason, that the poet, in trying to exaltboth parties, had very sufficiently snubbed both, andintimated that it was “hardly safe for countrywits to attempt that euphuistic, antithetical, anddelicately conceited vein, whose proper fountain wasin Whitehall.” However, on went Loyalty,very well pleased with himself, and next, amid muchcheering, two great tinsel fish, a salmon and a trout,symbolical of the wealth of Torridge, waddled along,by means of two human legs and a staff apiece, whichprotruded from the fishes’ stomachs. Theydrew (or seemed to draw, for half the ’prenticesin the town were shoving it behind, and cheering onthe panting monarchs of the flood) a car wherein sate,amid reeds and river-flags, three or four pretty girlsin robes of gray-blue spangled with gold, their headswreathed one with a crown of the sweet bog-myrtle,another with hops and white convolvulus, the thirdwith pale heather and golden fern. They stoppedopposite Amyas; and she of the myrtle wreath, risingand bowing to him and the company, began with a prettyblush to say her say:—
“Hither from mymoorland home,
Nymph of Torridge, proudI come;
Leaving fen and furzybrake,
Haunt of eft and spottedsnake,
Where to fill mine urnsI use,
Daily with Atlanticdews;
While beside the reedyflood
Wild duck leads herpaddling brood.
For this morn, as Phoebusgay
Chased through heaventhe night mist gray,
Close beside me, pranktin pride,
Sister Tamar rose, andcried,
’Sluggard, up!’Tis holiday,
In the lowlands faraway.
Hark! how jocund Plymouthbells,
Wandering up throughmazy dells,
Call me down, with smilesto hail,
My daring Drake’sreturning sail.’
‘Thine alone?’I answer’d. ’Nay;
Mine as well the joyto-day.
Heroes train’don Northern wave,
To that Argo new I gave;
Lent to thee, they roam’dthe main;
Give me, nymph, my sonsagain.’
‘Go, they waitThee,’ Tamar cried,
Southward bounding frommy side.
Glad I rose, and atmy call,
Came my Naiads, oneand all.
Nursling of the mountainsky,
Leaving Dian’schoir on high,
Down her cataracts laughingloud,
Ockment leapt from cragand cloud,
Leading many a nymph,who dwells
Where wild deer drinkin ferny dells;
While the Oreads asthey past
Peep’d from DruidTors aghast.
By alder copses slidingslow,
Knee-deep in flowerscame gentler Yeo
And paused awhile herlocks to twine
With musky hops andwhite woodbine,
Then joined the silver-footedband,
Which circled down mygolden sand,
By dappled park, andharbor shady,
My thrice-renowned sonsto greet,
With rustic song andpageant meet.
For joy! the girdledrobe around
Eliza’s name henceforthshall sound,
Whose venturous fleetsto conquest start,
Where ended once theseaman’s chart,
While circling Sol hissteps shall count
Henceforth from Thule’swestern mount,
And lead new rulersround the seas
From furthest Cassiterides.
For found is now thegolden tree,
Solv’d th’Atlantic mystery,
Pluck’d the dragon-guardedfruit;
While around the charmedroot,
Wailing loud, the Hesperids
Watch their warder’sdrooping lids.
Low he lies with grislywound,
While the sorceresstriple-crown’d
In her scarlet robedoth shield him,
Till her cunning spellshave heal’d him.
Ye, meanwhile, aroundthe earth
Bear the prize of manfulworth.
Yet a nobler meed thangold
Waits for Albion’schildren bold;
Great Eliza’svirgin hand
Welcomes you to Fairy-land,
While your native Naiadsbring
Native wreaths as offering.
Simple though theirshow may be,
Britain’s worshipin them see.
’Tis not price,nor outward fairness,
Gives the victor’spalm its rareness;
Simplest tokens canimpart
Noble throb to nobleheart:
Graecia, prize thy parsleycrown,
Boast thy laurel, Caesar’stown;
Moorland myrtle stillshall be
Badge of Devon’sChivalry!”
And so ending, she took the wreath of fragrant galefrom her own head, and stooping from the car, placedit on the head of Amyas Leigh, who made answer—
“There is no place like home, my fair mistressand no scent to my taste like this old home-scentin all the spice-islands that I ever sailed by!”
“Her song was not so bad,” said Sir Richardto Lady Bath—“but how came she tohear Plymouth bells at Tamar-head, full fifty milesaway? That’s too much of a poet’slicense, is it not?”
“The river-nymphs, as daughters of Oceanus,and thus of immortal parentage, are bound to possessorgans of more than mortal keenness; but, as you say,the song was not so bad—erudite, as wellas prettily conceived—and, saving for acertain rustical simplicity and monosyllabic baldness,smacks rather of the forests of Castaly than thoseof Torridge.”
So spake my Lady Bath; whom Sir Richard wisely answerednot; for she was a terribly learned member of thecollege of critics, and disputed even with Sidney’ssister the chieftaincy of the Euphuists; so Sir Richardanswered not, but answer was made for him.
“Since the whole choir of Muses, madam, havemigrated to the Court of Whitehall, no wonder if somedews of Parnassus should fertilize at times even ourDevon moors.”
The speaker was a tall and slim young man, some five-and-twentyyears old, of so rare and delicate a beauty, thatit seemed that some Greek statue, or rather one ofthose pensive and pious knights whom the old Germanartists took delight to paint, had condescended totread awhile this work-day earth in living flesh andblood. The forehead was very lofty and smooth,the eyebrows thin and greatly arched (the enviousgallants whispered that something at least of theircurve was due to art, as was also the exceeding smoothnessof those delicate cheeks). The face was somewhatlong and thin; the nose aquiline; and the languidmouth showed, perhaps, too much of the ivory upperteeth; but the most striking point of the speaker’sappearance was the extraordinary brilliancy of hiscomplexion, which shamed with its whiteness that ofall fair ladies round, save where open on each cheeka bright red spot gave warning, as did the long thinneck and the taper hands, of sad possibilities, perhapsnot far off; possibilities which all saw with an inwardsigh, except she whose doting glances, as well as herresemblance to the fair youth, proclaimed her at oncehis mother, Mrs. Leigh herself.
Master Frank, for he it was, was dressed in the veryextravagance of the fashion,—not so muchfrom vanity, as from that delicate instinct of self-respectwhich would keep some men spruce and spotless fromone year’s end to another upon a desert island;“for,” as Frank used to say in his sententiousway, “Mr. Frank Leigh at least beholds me, thoughnone else be by; and why should I be more discourteousto him than I permit others to be? Be sure thathe who is a Grobian in his own company, will, sooneror later, become a Grobian in that of his friends.”
So Mr. Frank was arrayed spotlessly; but after thelatest fashion of Milan, not in trunk hose and slashedsleeves, nor in “French standing collar, treblequadruple daedalian ruff, or stiff-necked rabato, thathad more arches for pride, propped up with wire andtimber, than five London Bridges;” but in aclose-fitting and perfectly plain suit of dove-color,which set off cunningly the delicate proportions ofhis figure, and the delicate hue of his complexion,which was shaded from the sun by a broad dove-coloredSpanish hat, with feather to match, looped up overthe right ear with a pearl brooch, and therein a crownedE, supposed by the damsels of Bideford to stand forElizabeth, which was whispered to be the gift of somemost illustrious hand. This same looping up wasnot without good reason and purpose prepense; therebyall the world had full view of a beautiful littleear, which looked as if it had been cut of cameo,and made, as my Lady Rich once told him, “tohearken only to the music of the spheres, or to thechants of cherubim.” Behind the said earwas stuck a fresh rose; and the golden hair was alldrawn smoothly back and round to the left temple, whence,tied with a pink ribbon in a great true lover’s
knot, a mighty love-lock, “curled as it hadbeen laid in press,” rolled down low upon hisbosom. Oh, Frank! Frank! have you come outon purpose to break the hearts of all Bideford burghers’daughters? And if so, did you expect to furtherthat triumph by dyeing that pretty little pointedbeard (with shame I report it) of a bright vermilion?But we know you better, Frank, and so does your mother;and you are but a masquerading angel after all, inspite of your knots and your perfumes, and the goldchain round your neck which a German princess gaveyou; and the emerald ring on your right fore-fingerwhich Hatton gave you; and the pair of perfumed glovesin your left which Sidney’s sister gave you;and the silver-hilted Toledo which an Italian marquisgave you on a certain occasion of which you never chooseto talk, like a prudent and modest gentleman as youare; but of which the gossips talk, of course, allthe more, and whisper that you saved his life frombravoes—a dozen, at the least; and had thatsword for your reward, and might have had his beautifulsister’s hand beside, and I know not what else;but that you had so many lady-loves already that youwere loath to burden yourself with a fresh one.That, at least, we know to be a lie, fair Frank; foryour heart is as pure this day as when you knelt inyour little crib at Burrough, and said—“Four cornersto my bed
Four angels round myhead;
Matthew, Mark, Luke,and John,
Bless the bed that Ilie on.”
And who could doubt it (if being pure themselves,they have instinctive sympathy with what is pure),who ever looked into those great deep blue eyes ofyours, “the black fringed curtains of whose azurelids,” usually down-dropt as if in deepest thought,you raise slowly, almost wonderingly each time youspeak, as if awakening from some fair dream whosehome is rather in your platonical “eternal worldof supra-sensible forms,” than on that work-dayearth wherein you nevertheless acquit yourself sowell? There—I must stop describingyou, or I shall catch the infection of your own euphuism,and talk of you as you would have talked of Sidneyor of Spenser, or of that Swan of Avon, whose songhad just begun when yours—but I will notanticipate; my Lady Bath is waiting to give you herrejoinder.
“Ah, my silver-tongued scholar! and are you,then, the poet? or have you been drawing on the inexhaustiblebank of your friend Raleigh, or my cousin Sidney?or has our new Cygnet Immerito lent you a few unpublishedleaves from some fresh Shepherd’s Calendar?”
“Had either, madam, of that cynosural triadbeen within call of my most humble importunities,your ears had been delectate with far nobler melody.”
“But not our eyes with fairer faces, eh?Well, you have chosen your nymphs, and had good storefrom whence to pick, I doubt not. Few young Dulcineasround but must have been glad to take service underso renowned a captain?”
“The only difficulty, gracious countess, hasbeen to know where to fix the wandering choice ofmy bewildered eyes, where all alike are fair, andall alike facund.”
“We understand,” said she, smiling;—
“Dan Cupid, choosing’midst his mother’s graces,
Himself more fair, madescorn of fairest faces.”
The young scholar capped her distich forthwith, andbowing to her with a meaning look,
“‘Then, Goddess, turn,’ he cried,’and veil thy light; Blinded by thine, whateyes can choose aright?’”
“Go, saucy sir,” said my lady, in highglee: “the pageant stays your supreme pleasure.”
And away went Mr. Frank as master of the revels, tobring up the ‘prentices’ pageant; while,for his sake, the nymph of Torridge was forgottenfor awhile by all young dames, and most young gentlemen:and his mother heaved a deep sigh, which Lady Bathoverhearing—
“What? in the dumps, good madam, while all arerejoicing in your joy? Are you afraid that wecourt-dames shall turn your Adonis’s brain forhim?”
“I do, indeed, fear lest your condescensionshould make him forget that he is only a poor squire’sorphan.”
“I will warrant him never to forget aught thathe should recollect,” said my Lady Bath.
And she spoke truly. But soon Frank’s silvervoice was heard calling out—
“Room there, good people, for the gallant ’prenticelads!”
And on they came, headed by a giant of buckram andpasteboard armor, forth of whose stomach looked, likea clock-face in a steeple, a human visage, to be greeted,as was the fashion then, by a volley of quips andpuns from high and low.
Young Mr. William Cary, of Clovelly, who was the witof those parts, opened the fire by asking him whetherhe were Goliath, Gogmagog, or Grantorto in the romance;for giants’ names always began with a G. Towhich the giant’s stomach answered pretty surlily—
“Mine don’t; I begin with an O.”
“Then thou criest out before thou art hurt,O cowardly giant!”
“Let me out, lads,” quoth the irasciblevisage, struggling in his buckram prison, “andI soon show him whether I be a coward.”
“Nay, if thou gettest out of thyself, thou wouldstbe beside thyself, and so wert but a mad giant.”
“And that were pity,” said Lady Bath;“for by the romances, giants have never overmuchwit to spare.”
“Mercy, dear lady!” said Frank, “andlet the giant begin with an O.”
“A ——”
“A false start, giant! you were to begin withan O.”
“I’ll make you end with an O, Mr. WilliamCary!” roared the testy tower of buckram.
“And so I do, for I end with ‘Fico!’”
“Be mollified, sweet giant,” said Frank,“and spare the rash youth of yon foolish knight.Shall elephants catch flies, or Hurlo-Thrumbo stainhis club with brains of Dagonet the jester? Bemollified; leave thy caverned grumblings, like Etnawhen its windy wrath is past, and discourse eloquencefrom thy central omphalos, like Pythoness ventriloquizing.”
“If you do begin laughing at me too, Mr. Leigh——” said the giant’sclock-face, in a piteous tone.
“I laugh not. Art thou not Ordulf the earl,and I thy humblest squire? Speak up, my lord;your cousin, my Lady Bath, commands you.”
And at last the giant began:—
“A giant I, EarlOrdulf men me call,—
’Gainst Paynimfoes Devonia’s champion tall;
In single fight sixthousand Turks I slew;
Pull’d off a lion’shead, and ate it too:
With one shrewd blow,to let St. Edward in,
I smote the gates ofExeter in twain;
Till aged grown, byangels warn’d in dream,
I built an abbey fairby Tavy stream.
But treacherous timehath tripped my glories up,
The stanch old houndmust yield to stancher pup;
Here’s one sotall as I, and twice so bold,
Where I took only cuffs,takes good red gold.
From pole to pole resoundhis wondrous works,
Who slew more Spaniardsthan I e’er slew Turks;
I strode across theTavy stream: but he
Strode round the worldand back; and here ’a be!”
“Oh, bathos!” said Lady Bath, while the’prentices shouted applause. “Isthis hedge-bantling to be fathered on you, Mr. Frank?”
“It is necessary, by all laws of the drama,madam,” said Frank, with a sly smile, “thatthe speech and the speaker shall fit each other.Pass on, Earl Ordulf; a more learned worthy waits.”
Whereon, up came a fresh member of the procession;namely, no less a person than Vindex Brimblecombe,the ancient schoolmaster, with five-and-forty boysat his heels, who halting, pulled out his spectacles,and thus signified his forgiveness of his whilom brokenhead:—
“That the world should have been circumnavigated,ladies and gentles, were matter enough of jubilationto the student of Herodotus and Plato, Plinius and—— ahem! much more when the circumnavigatorsare Britons; more, again, when Damnonians.”
“Don’t swear, master,” said youngWill Cary.
“Gulielme Cary, Gulielme Cary, hast thou forgottenthy—”
“Whippings? Never, old lad! Go on;but let not the license of the scholar overtop themodesty of the Christian.”
“More again, as I said, when, incolae, inhabitantsof Devon; but, most of all, men of Bideford school.Oh renowned school! Oh schoolboys ennobled byfellowship with him! Oh most happy pedagogue,to whom it has befallen to have chastised a circumnavigator,and, like another Chiron, trained another Hercules:yet more than Hercules, for he placed his pillarson the ocean shore, and then returned; but my scholar’svoyage—”
“Hark how the old fox is praising himself allalong on the sly,” said Cary.
“Mr. William, Mr. William, peace;—silentium,my graceless pupil. Urge the foaming steed, andstrike terror into the rapid stag, but meddle notwith matters too high for thee.”
“He has given you the dor now, sir,” saidLady Bath; “let the old man say his say.”
“I bring, therefore, as my small contributionto this day’s feast; first a Latin epigram,as thus—”
“Latin? Let us hear it forthwith,”cried my lady.
And the old pedant mouthed out—
“Torriguiam Tamarisne spernat; Leighius addet
Mox terras terris, inclyteDrake, tuis.”
“Neat, i’ faith, la!” Whereon allthe rest, as in duty bound, approved also.
“This for the erudite: for vulgar earsthe vernacular is more consonant, sympathetic, instructive;as thus:—
“Famed Argo ship,that noble chip, by doughty Jason’s steering,
Brought back to Greecethe golden fleece, from Colchis home
careering;
But now her fame isput to shame, while new Devonian Argo,
Round earth doth runin wake of sun, and brings wealthier cargo.”
“Runs with a right fa-lal-la,” observedCary; “and would go nobly to a fiddle and abig drum.”
“Ye Spaniards,quake! our doughty Drake a royal swan is tested,
On wing and oar, fromshore to shore, the raging main who
breasted:—
But never needs to chanthis deeds, like swan that lies a-dying,
So far his name, bytrump of fame, around the sphere is flying.”
“Hillo ho! schoolmaster!” shouted a voicefrom behind; “move on, and make way for FatherNeptune!” Whereon a whole storm of raillery fellupon the hapless pedagogue.
“We waited for the parson’s alligator,but we wain’t for yourn.”
“Allegory! my children, allegory!” shriekedthe man of letters.
“What do ye call he an alligator for? Heis but a poor little starved evat!”
“Out of the road, old Custis! March on,Don Palmado!”
These allusions to the usual instrument of torturein West-country schools made the old gentleman wince;especially when they were followed home by—
“Who stole Admiral Grenville’s brooms,because birch rods were dear?”
But proudly he shook his bald head, as a bull shakesoff the flies, and returned to the charge once more.
“Great Alexander, famed commander, wept andmade a pother, At conquering only half the world,but Drake had conquer’d t’other; And Herculesto brink of seas!—”
“Oh—!”
And clapping both hands to the back of his neck, theschoolmaster began dancing frantically about, whilehis boys broke out tittering, “O! the ochidore!look to the blue ochidore! Who’ve put ochidoreto maister’s poll!”
It was too true: neatly inserted, as he stoopedforward, between his neck and his collar, was a largelive shore-crab, holding on tight with both hands.
“Gentles! good Christians! save me! I ammare-rode! Incubo, vel ab incubo, opprimor!Satanas has me by the poll! Help! he tears myjugular; he wrings my neck, as he does to Dr. Faustusin the play. Confiteor!—I confess!Satan, I defy thee! Good people, I confess! [Greektext]! The truth will out. Mr. Francis Leighwrote the epigram!” And diving through the crowd,the pedagogue vanished howling, while Father Neptune,crowned with sea-weeds, a trident in one hand, anda live dog-fish in the other, swaggered up the streetsurrounded by a tall bodyguard of mariners, and followedby a great banner, on which was depicted a globe, withDrake’s ship sailing thereon upside down, andoverwritten—
“See every manthe Pelican,
Whichround the world did go,
While her stern-postwas uppermost,
Andtopmasts down below.
And by the way she losta day,
Outof her log was stole:
But Neptune kind, withfavoring wind,
Hathbrought her safe and whole.”
“Now, lads!” cried Neptune; “handme my parable that’s writ for me, and here goeth!”
And at the top of his bull-voice, he began roaring—
“I am King Neptunebold,
The rulerof the seas
I don’t understandmuch singing upon land,
But I hopewhat I say will please.
“Here be fiveBideford men,
Which havesail’d the world around,
And I watch’dthem well, as they all can tell,
And broughtthem home safe and sound.
“For it is themen of Devon.
To see themI take delight,
Both to tack and tohull, and to heave and to pull,
And to provethemselves in fight.
“Where be thoseSpaniards proud,
That maketheir valiant boasts;
And think for to keepthe poor Indians for their sheep,
And to farmmy golden coasts?
“’Twas thedevil and the Pope gave them
My kingdomfor their own:
But my nephew FrancisDrake, he caused them to quake,
And he pick’dthem to the bone.
“For the sea myrealm it is,
As goodQueen Bess’s is the land;
So freely come again,all merry Devon men,
And there’sold Neptune’s hand.”
“Holla, boys! holla! Blow up, Triton, andbring forward the freedom of the seas.”
Triton, roaring through a conch, brought forward aco*ckle-shell full of salt-water, and delivered itsolemnly to Amyas, who, of course, put a noble intoit, and returned it after Grenville had done the same.
“Holla, Dick Admiral!” cried neptune,who was pretty far gone in liquor; “we knewthou hadst a right English heart in thee, for all thoustandest there as taut as a Don who has swallowedhis rapier.”
“Grammercy, stop thy bellowing, fellow, andon; for thou smellest vilely of fish.”
“Everything smells sweet in its right place.I’m going home.”
“I thought thou wert there all along, beingalready half-seas over,” said Cary.
“Ay, right Upsee-Dutch; and that’s morethan thou ever wilt be, thou ’long-shore stay-at-home.Why wast making sheep’s eyes at Mistress Salternehere, while my pretty little chuck of Burrough therewas playing at shove-groat with Spanish doubloons?”
“Go to the devil, sirrah!” said Cary.Neptune had touched on a sore subject; and more cheeksthan Amyas Leigh’s reddened at the hint.
“Amen, if Heaven so please!” and on rolledthe monarch of the seas; and so the pageant ended.
The moment Amyas had an opportunity, he asked hisbrother Frank, somewhat peevishly, where Rose Salternewas.
“What! the mayor’s daughter? Withher uncle by Kilkhampton, I believe.”
Now cunning Master Frank, whose daily wish was to“seek peace and ensue it,” told Amyasthis, because he must needs speak the truth: buthe was purposed at the same time to speak as littletruth as he could, for fear of accidents; and, therefore,omitted to tell his brother how that he, two daysbefore, had entreated Rose Salterne herself to appearas the nymph of Torridge; which honor she, who hadno objection either to exhibit her pretty face, torecite pretty poetry, or to be trained thereto bythe cynosure of North Devon, would have assented willingly,but that her father stopped the pretty project by aperemptory countermove, and packed her off, in spiteof her tears, to the said uncle on the Atlantic cliffs;after which he went up to Burrough, and laughed overthe whole matter with Mrs. Leigh.
“I am but a burgher, Mrs. Leigh, and you a ladyof blood; but I am too proud to let any man say thatSimon Salterne threw his daughter at your son’shead;—no; not if you were an empress!”
“And to speak truth, Mr. Salterne, there areyoung gallants enough in the country quarrelling abouther pretty face every day, without making her a tourney-queento tilt about.”
Which was very true; for during the three years ofAmyas’s absence, Rose Salterne had grown intoso beautiful a girl of eighteen, that half North Devonwas mad about the “Rose of Torridge,” asshe was called; and there was not a young gallantfor ten miles round (not to speak of her father’sclerks and ’prentices, who moped about afterher like so many Malvolios, and treasured up the veryparings of her nails) who would not have gone to Jerusalemto win her. So that all along the vales of Torridgeand of Taw, and even away to Clovelly (for young Mr.Cary was one of the sick), not a gay bachelor butwas frowning on his fellows, and vying with them inthe fashion of his clothes, the set of his ruffs,the harness of his horse, the carriage of his hawks,the pattern of his sword-hilt; and those were goldendays for all tailors and armorers, from Exmoor toOkehampton town. But of all those foolish younglads not one would speak to the other, either outhunting, or at the archery butts, or in the tilt-yard;
and my Lady Bath (who confessed that there was nouse in bringing out her daughters where Rose Salternewas in the way) prophesied in her classical fashionthat Rose’s wedding bid fair to be a very bridalof Atalanta, and feast of the Lapithae; and poor Mr.Will Cary (who always blurted out the truth), whenold Salterne once asked him angrily in Bideford Market,“What a plague business had he making sheep’seyes at his daughter?” broke out before all bystanders,“And what a plague business had you, old boy,to throw such an apple of discord into our merry meetingshereabouts? If you choose to have such a daughter,you must take the consequences, and be hanged to you.”To which Mr. Salterne answered with some truth, “Thatshe was none of his choosing, nor of Mr. Cary’sneither.” And so the dor being given, thebelligerents parted laughing, but the war remainedin statu quo; and not a week passed but, by mysterioushands, some nosegay, or languishing sonnet, was conveyedinto The Rose’s chamber, all which she stowedaway, with the simplicity of a country girl, findingit mighty pleasant; and took all compliments quietlyenough, probably because, on the authority of hermirror, she considered them no more than her due.And now, to add to the general confusion, home wascome young Amyas Leigh, more desperately in love withher than ever. For, as is the way with sailors(who after all are the truest lovers, as they are thefinest fellows, God bless them, upon earth), his lonelyship-watches had been spent in imprinting on his imagination,month after month, year after year, every featureand gesture and tone of the fair lass whom he hadleft behind him; and that all the more intensely, because,beside his mother, he had no one else to think of,and was as pure as the day he was born, having beentrained as many a brave young man was then, to lookupon profligacy not as a proof of manhood, but as whatthe old Germans, and those Gortyneans who crownedthe offender with wool, knew it to be, a cowardlyand effeminate sin.
CHAPTER III
Of two gentlemen of Wales,and how they hunted with thehounds, and yet ran withthe deer
“I know that Deformed;he has been a vile thief this seven years;
he goes up and downlike a gentleman: I remember his name.”—Much
Ado About Nothing.
Amyas slept that night a tired and yet a troubledsleep; and his mother and Frank, as they bent overhis pillow, could see that his brain was busy withmany dreams.
And no wonder; for over and above all the excitementof the day, the recollection of John Oxenham had takenstrange possession of his mind; and all that evening,as he sat in the bay-windowed room where he had seenhim last, Amyas was recalling to himself every lookand gesture of the lost adventurer, and wonderingat himself for so doing, till he retired to sleep,only to renew the fancy in his dreams. At lasthe found himself, he knew not how, sailing westwardever, up the wake of the setting sun, in chase ofa tiny sail which was John Oxenham’s. Uponhim was a painful sense that, unless he came up withher in time, something fearful would come to pass;but the ship would not sail. All around floatedthe sargasso beds, clogging her bows with their longsnaky coils of weed; and still he tried to sail, andtried to fancy that he was sailing, till the sun wentdown and all was utter dark. And then the moonarose, and in a moment John Oxenham’s ship wasclose aboard; her sails were torn and fluttering;the pitch was streaming from her sides; her bulwarkswere rotting to decay. And what was that lineof dark objects dangling along the mainyard?—Aline of hanged men! And, horror of horrors, fromthe yard-arm close above him, John Oxenham’scorpse looked down with grave-light eyes, and beckonedand pointed, as if to show him his way, and stroveto speak, and could not, and pointed still, not forward,but back along their course. And when Amyas lookedback, behold, behind him was the snow range of theAndes glittering in the moon, and he knew that hewas in the South Seas once more, and that all Americawas between him and home. And still the corpsekept pointing back, and back, and looking at him withyearning eyes of agony, and lips which longed to tellsome awful secret; till he sprang up, and woke witha shout of terror, and found himself lying in the littlecoved chamber in dear old Burrough, with the grayautumn morning already stealing in.
Feverish and excited, he tried in vain to sleep again;and after an hour’s tossing, rose and dressed,and started for a bathe on his beloved old pebbleridge. As he passed his mother’s door, hecould not help looking in. The dim light of morningshowed him the bed; but its pillow had not been pressedthat night. His mother, in her long white night-dress,was kneeling at the other end of the chamber at herprie-dieu, absorbed in devotion. Gently he slippedin without a word, and knelt down at her side.She turned, smiled, passed her arm around him, andwent on silently with her prayers. Why not?They were for him, and he knew it, and prayed also;and his prayers were for her, and for poor lost JohnOxenham, and all his vanished crew.
At last she rose, and standing above him, parted theyellow locks from off his brow, and looked long andlovingly into his face. There was nothing tobe spoken, for there was nothing to be concealed betweenthese two souls as clear as glass. Each knew allwhich the other meant; each knew that its own thoughtswere known. At last the mutual gaze was over;she stooped and kissed him on the brow, and was inthe act to turn away, as a tear dropped on his forehead.Her little bare feet were peeping out from under herdress. He bent down and kissed them again andagain; and then looking up, as if to excuse himself,—
“You have such pretty feet, mother!”
Instantly, with a woman’s instinct, she hadhidden them. She had been a beauty once, as Isaid; and though her hair was gray, and her roses hadfaded long ago, she was beautiful still, in all eyeswhich saw deeper than the mere outward red and white.
“Your dear father used to say so thirty yearsago.”
“And I say so still: you always were beautiful;you are beautiful now.”
“What is that to you, silly boy? Will youplay the lover with an old mother? Go and takeyour walk, and think of younger ladies, if you canfind any worthy of you.”
And so the son went forth, and the mother returnedto her prayers.
He walked down to the pebble ridge, where the surgesof the bay have defeated their own fury, by rollingup in the course of ages a rampart of gray boulder-stones,some two miles long, as cunningly curved, and smoothed,and fitted, as if the work had been done by human hands,which protects from the high tides of spring and autumna fertile sheet of smooth, alluvial turf. Sniffingthe keen salt air like a young sea-dog, he strippedand plunged into the breakers, and dived, and rolled,and tossed about the foam with stalwart arms, tillhe heard himself hailed from off the shore, and lookingup, saw standing on the top of the rampart the tallfigure of his cousin Eustace.
Amyas was half-disappointed at his coming; for, love-lornrascal, he had been dreaming all the way thither ofRose Salterne, and had no wish for a companion whowould prevent his dreaming of her all the way back.Nevertheless, not having seen Eustace for three years,it was but civil to scramble out and dress, whilehis cousin walked up and down upon the turf inside.
Eustace Leigh was the son of a younger brother ofLeigh of Burrough, who had more or less cut himselfoff from his family, and indeed from his countrymen,by remaining a Papist. True, though born a Papist,he had not always been one; for, like many of thegentry, he had become a Protestant under Edward theSixth, and then a Papist again under Mary. But,to his honor be it said, at that point he had stopped,having too much honesty to turn Protestant a secondtime, as hundreds did, at Elizabeth’s accession.So a Papist he remained, living out of the way ofthe world in a great, rambling, dark house, still called“Chapel,” on the Atlantic cliffs, in Moorwinstowparish, not far from Sir Richard Grenville’shouse of Stow. The penal laws never troubled him;for, in the first place, they never troubled any onewho did not make conspiracy and rebellion an integraldoctrine of his religious creed; and next, they seldomtroubled even them, unless, fired with the glory ofmartyrdom, they bullied the long-suffering of Elizabethand her council into giving them their deserts, and,like poor Father Southwell in after years, insistedon being hanged, whether Burleigh liked or not.Moreover, in such a no-man’s-land and end-of-all-the-earth
was that old house at Moorwinstow, that a dozen conspiraciesmight have been hatched there without any one hearingof it; and Jesuits and seminary priests skulked inand out all the year round, unquestioned though unblest;and found a sort of piquant pleasure, like naughtyboys who have crept into the store-closet, in livingin mysterious little dens in a lonely turret, andgoing up through a trap-door to celebrate mass in asecret chamber in the roof, where they were allowedby the powers that were to play as much as they choseat persecuted saints, and preach about hiding in densand caves of the earth. For once, when the zealousparson of Moorwinstow, having discovered (what everybodyknew already) the existence of “mass priestsand their idolatry” at Chapel House, made formalcomplaint thereof to Sir Richard, and called on him,as the nearest justice of the peace, to put in forcethe act of the fourteenth of Elizabeth, that worthyknight only rated him soundly for a fantastical Puritan,and bade him mind his own business, if he wished notto make the place too hot for him; whereon (for thetemporal authorities, happily for the peace of England,kept in those days a somewhat tight hand upon thespiritual ones) the worthy parson subsided,—for,after all, Mr. Thomas Leigh paid his tithes regularlyenough,—and was content, as he expressedit, to bow his head in the house of Rimmon like Naamanof old, by eating Mr. Leigh’s dinners as oftenas he was invited, and ignoring the vocation of oldFather Francis, who sat opposite to him, dressed asa layman, and calling himself the young gentleman’spedagogue.But the said birds of ill-omen had a very considerablelien on the conscience of poor Mr. Thomas Leigh, thefather of Eustace, in the form of certain lands oncebelonging to the Abbey of Hartland. He more thanhalf believed that he should be lost for holding thoselands; but he did not believe it wholly, and, therefore,he did not give them up; which was the case, as poorMary Tudor found to her sorrow, with most of her “Catholic”subjects, whose consciences, while they compelled themto return to the only safe fold of Mother Church (extraquam nulla salus), by no means compelled them to disgorgethe wealth of which they had plundered that only hopeof their salvation. Most of them, however, likepoor Tom Leigh, felt the abbey rents burn in theirpurses; and, as John Bull generally does in a difficulty,compromised the matter by a second folly (as if twowrong things made one right one), and petted foreignpriests, and listened, or pretended not to listen,to their plottings and their practisings; and gaveup a son here, and a son there, as a sort of a sin-offeringand scapegoat, to be carried off to Douay, or Rheims,or Rome, and trained as a seminary priest; in plainEnglish, to be taught the science of villainy, onthe motive of superstition. One of such haplessscapegoats, and children who had been cast into thefire to Moloch, was Eustace Leigh, whom his fatherhad sent, giving the fruit of his body for the sinof his soul, to be made a liar of at Rheims.
And a very fair liar he had become. Not thatthe lad was a bad fellow at heart; but he had beenchosen by the harpies at home, on account of his “peculiarvocation;” in plain English, because the wilypriests had seen in him certain capacities of vaguehysterical fear of the unseen (the religious sentiment,we call it now-a-days), and with them that tendencyto be a rogue, which superstitious men always have.He was now a tall, handsome, light-complexioned man,with a huge upright forehead, a very small mouth,and a dry and set expression of face, which was alwaystrying to get free, or rather to seem free, and indulgein smiles and dimples which were proper; for one oughtto have Christian love, and if one had love one oughtto be cheerful, and when people were cheerful theysmiled; and therefore he would smile, and tried todo so; but his charity prepense looked no more alluringthan malice prepense would have done; and, had henot been really a handsome fellow, many a woman whoraved about his sweetness would have likened his franknessto that of a skeleton dancing in fetters, and hissmiles to the grins thereof.
He had returned to England about a month before, inobedience to the proclamation which had been set forthfor that purpose (and certainly not before it wasneeded), that, “whosoever had children, wards,etc., in the parts beyond the seas, should sendin their names to the ordinary, and within four monthscall them home again.” So Eustace was nowstaying with his father at Chapel, having, nevertheless,his private matters to transact on behalf of the virtuoussociety by whom he had been brought up; one of whichprivate matters had brought him to Bideford the nightbefore.
So he sat down beside Amyas on the pebbles, and lookedat him all over out of the corners of his eyes verygently, as if he did not wish to hurt him, or eventhe flies on his back; and Amyas faced right round,and looked him full in the face with the heartiestof smiles, and held out a lion’s paw, whichEustace took rapturously, and a great shaking of handsensued; Amyas gripping with a great round fist, anda quiet quiver thereof, as much as to say, “Iam glad to see you;” and Eustace pinchinghard with white, straight fingers, and sawing the airviolently up and down, as much as to say, “Don’tyou see how glad I am to see you?”A very different greeting from the former.
“Hold hard, old lad,” said Amyas, “beforeyou break my elbow. And where do you come from?”
“From going to and fro in the earth, and fromwalking up and down in it,” said he, with alittle smile and nod of mysterious self-importance.
“Like the devil, eh? Well, every man hashis pattern. How is my uncle?”
Now, if there was one man on earth above another,of whom Eustace Leigh stood in dread, it was his cousinAmyas. In the first place, he knew Amyas couldhave killed him with a blow; and there are natures,who, instead of rejoicing in the strength of men ofgreater prowess than themselves, look at such withirritation, dread, at last, spite; expecting, perhaps,that the stronger will do to them what they feel theymight have done in his place. Every one, perhaps,has the same envious, cowardly devil haunting abouthis heart; but the brave men, though they be verysparrows, kick him out; the cowards keep him, andfoster him; and so did poor Eustace Leigh.
Next, he could not help feeling that Amyas despisedhim. They had not met for three years; but beforeAmyas went, Eustace never could argue with him, simplybecause Amyas treated him as beneath argument.No doubt he was often rude and unfair enough; butthe whole mass of questions concerning the unseenworld, which the priests had stimulated in his cousin’smind into an unhealthy fungus crop, were to Amyas simply,as he expressed it, “wind and moonshine;”and he treated his cousin as a sort of harmless lunatic,and, as they say in Devon, “half-baked.”And Eustace knew it; and knew, too, that his cousindid him an injustice. “He used to undervalueme,” said he to himself; “let us see whetherhe does not find me a match for him now.”And then went off into an agony of secret contritionfor his self-seeking and his forgetting that “theglory of God, and not his own exaltation,” wasthe object of his existence.
There, dear readers, Ex pede Herculem; I cannot tiremyself or you (especially in this book) with any wire-drawnsoul-dissections. I have tried to hint to youtwo opposite sorts of men,—the one tryingto be good with all his might and main, accordingto certain approved methods and rules, which he hasgot by heart, and like a weak oarsman, feeling andfingering his spiritual muscles over all day, to seeif they are growing; the other not even knowing whetherhe is good or not, but just doing the right thingwithout thinking about it, as simply as a little child,because the Spirit of God is with him. If youcannot see the great gulf fixed between the two, Itrust that you will discover it some day.
But in justice be it said, all this came upon Eustace,not because he was a Romanist, but because he waseducated by the Jesuits. Had he been saved fromthem, he might have lived and died as simple and honesta gentleman as his brothers, who turned out like trueEnglishmen (as did all the Romish laity) to face thegreat Armada, and one of whom was fighting at thatvery minute under St. Leger in Ireland, and as braveand loyal a soldier as those Roman Catholics whosenoble blood has stained every Crimean battlefield;but his fate was appointed otherwise; and the Upas-shadowwhich has blighted the whole Romish Church, blightedhim also.
“Ah, my dearest cousin!” said Eustace,“how disappointed I was this morning at findingI had arrived just a day too late to witness yourtriumph! But I hastened to your home as soon asI could, and learning from your mother that I shouldfind you here, hurried down to bid you welcome againto Devon.”
“Well, old lad, it does look very natural tosee you. I often used to think of you walkingthe deck o’ nights. Uncle and the girlsare all right, then? But is the old pony deadyet? And how’s Dick the smith, and Nancy?Grown a fine maid by now, I warrant. ’Slid,it seems half a life that I’ve been away.
“And you really thought of your poor cousin?Be sure that he, too, thought of you, and offeredup nightly his weak prayers for your safety (doubtless,not without avail) to those saints, to whom would thatyou—”
“Halt there, coz. If they are half as goodfellows as you and I take them for, they’llhelp me without asking.”
“They have helped you, Amyas.”
“Maybe; I’d have done as much, I’msure, for them, if I ’d been in their place.”
“And do you not feel, then, that you owe a debtof gratitude to them; and, above all, to her, whoseintercessions have, I doubt not, availed for yourpreservation? Her, the star of the sea, the all-compassionateguide of the mariner?”
“Humph!” said Amyas. “Here’sFrank; let him answer.”
And, as he spoke, up came Frank, and after due greetings,sat down beside them on the ridge.
“I say, brother, here’s Eustace tryingalready to convert me; and telling me that I owe allmy luck to the Blessed Virgin’s prayers forme.
“It may be so,” said Frank; “atleast you owe it to the prayers of that most pureand peerless virgin by whose commands you sailed; thesweet incense of whose orisons has gone up for youdaily, and for whose sake you were preserved fromflood and foe, that you might spread the fame andadvance the power of the spotless championess of truth,and right, and freedom,—Elizabeth, yourqueen.”
Amyas answered this rhapsody, which would have beenthen both fashionable and sincere, by a loyal chuckle.Eustace smiled meekly, but answered somewhat venomouslynevertheless—
“I, at least, am certain that I speak the truth,when I call my patroness a virgin undefiled.”
Both the brothers’ brows clouded at once.Amyas, as he lay on his back on the pebbles, saidquietly to the gulls over his head—“Iwonder what the Frenchman whose head I cut off atthe Azores, thinks by now about all that.”
“Cut off a Frenchman’s head?” saidFrank.
“Yes, faith; and so fleshed my maiden sword.I’ll tell you. It was in some tavern; Iand George Drake had gone in, and there sat this Frenchman,with his sword on the table, ready for a quarrel (Ifound afterwards he was a noted bully), and beginswith us loudly enough about this and that; but, afterawhile, by the instigation of the devil, what doeshe vent but a dozen slanders against her majesty’shonor, one atop of the other? I was ashamed tohear them, and I should be more ashamed to repeatthem.”
“I have heard enough of such,” said Frank.“They come mostly through lewd rascals aboutthe French ambassador, who have been bred (God helpthem) among the filthy vices of that Medicean Courtin which the Queen of Scots had her schooling; andcan only perceive in a virtuous freedom a cloak forlicentiousness like their own. Let the curs bark;Honi soit qui mal y pense is our motto, and shallbe forever.”
“But I didn’t let the cur bark; for Itook him by the ears, to show him out into the street.Whereon he got to his sword, and I to mine; and avery near chance I had of never bathing on the pebbleridge more; for the fellow did not fight with edgeand buckler, like a Christian, but had some newfangledFrench devil’s device of scryming and foiningwith his point, ha’ing and stamping, and tracingat me, that I expected to be full of eyelet holesere I could close with him.”
“Thank God that you are safe, then!” saidFrank. “I know that play well enough, anddangerous enough it is.”
“Of course you know it; but I didn’t,more’s the pity.”
“Well, I’ll teach it thee, lad, as wellas Rowland Yorke himself,
’Thy fincture,carricade, and sly passata,
Thy stramazon, and resolutestoccata,
Wiping maudritta, closingembrocata,
And all the cant ofthe honorable fencing mystery.’”
“Rowland Yorke? Who’s he, then?”
“A very roystering rascal, who is making goodprofit in London just now by teaching this very artof fence; and is as likely to have his mortal threadclipt in a tavern brawl, as thy Frenchman. Buthow did you escape his pinking iron?”
“How? Had it through my left arm beforeI could look round; and at that I got mad, and leaptupon him, and caught him by the wrist, and then hada fair side-blow; and, as fortune would have it, offtumbled his head on to the table, and there was anend of his slanders.”
“So perish all her enemies!” said Frank;and Eustace, who had been trying not to listen, roseand said—
“I trust that you do not number me among them?”
“As you speak, I do, coz,” said Frank.“But for your own sake, let me advise you toput faith in the true report of those who have dailyexperience of their mistress’s excellent virtue,as they have of the sun’s shining, and of theearth’s bringing forth fruit, and not in thetattle of a few cowardly back-stair rogues, who wishto curry favor with the Guises. Come, we willsay no more. Walk round with us by Appledore,and then home to breakfast.”
But Eustace declined, having immediate business, hesaid, in Northam town, and then in Bideford; and soleft them to lounge for another half-hour on the beach,and then walk across the smooth sheet of turf to thelittle white fishing village, which stands some twomiles above the bar, at the meeting of the Torridgeand the Taw.
Now it came to pass, that Eustace Leigh, as we haveseen, told his cousins that he was going to Northam:but he did not tell them that his point was reallythe same as their own, namely, Appledore; and, therefore,after having satisfied his conscience by going as faras the very nearest house in Northam village, he struckaway sharp to the left across the fields, repeatingI know not what to the Blessed Virgin all the way;whereby he went several miles out of his road; and
also, as is the wont of crooked spirits, Jesuits especially(as three centuries sufficiently testify), only outwittedhimself. For his cousins going merrily, likehonest men, along the straight road across the turf,arrived in Appledore, opposite the little “Mariner’sRest” Inn, just in time to see what Eustacehad taken so much trouble to hide from them, namely,four of Mr. Thomas Leigh’s horses standing atthe door, held by his groom, saddles and mail-bagson back, and mounting three of them, Eustace Leighand two strange gentlemen.“There’s one lie already this morning,”growled Amyas; “he told us he was going to Northam.”
“And we do not know that he has not been there,”blandly suggested Frank.
“Why, you are as bad a Jesuit as he, to helphim out with such a fetch.”
“He may have changed his mind.”
“Bless your pure imagination, my sweet boy,”said Amyas, laying his great hand on Frank’shead, and mimicking his mother’s manner.“I say, dear Frank, let’s step into thisshop and buy a penny-worth of whipcord.”
“What do you want with whipcord, man?”
“To spin my top, to be sure.”
“Top? how long hast had a top?”
“I’ll buy one, then, and save my conscience;but the upshot of this sport I must see. Whymay not I have an excuse ready made as well as MasterEustace?”
So saying, he pulled Frank into the little shop, unobservedby the party at the inn-door.
“What strange cattle has he been importing now?Look at that three-legged fellow, trying to get alofton the wrong side. How he claws at his horse’sribs, like a cat scratching an elder stem!”
The three-legged man was a tall, meek-looking person,who had bedizened himself with gorgeous garments,a great feather, and a sword so long and broad, thatit differed little in size from the very thin and stiffshanks between which it wandered uncomfortably.
“Young David in Saul’s weapons,”said Frank. “He had better not go in them,for he certainly has not proved them.”
“Look, if his third leg is not turned into atail! Why does not some one in charity haul inhalf-a-yard of his belt for him?”
It was too true; the sword, after being kicked outthree or four times from its uncomfortable post betweenhis legs, had returned unconquered; and the hilt gettinga little too far back by reason of the too great lengthof the belt, the weapon took up its post triumphantlybehind, standing out point in air, a tail confest,amid the tittering of the ostlers, and the cheersof the sailors.
At last the poor man, by dint of a chair, was mountedsafely, while his fellow-stranger, a burly, coarse-lookingman, equally gay, and rather more handy, made so fiercea rush at his saddle, that, like “vaulting ambitionwho o’erleaps his selle,” he “fellon t’other side:” or would have fallen,had he not been brought up short by the shoulders ofthe ostler at his off-stirrup. In which shockoff came hat and feather.
“Pardie, the bulldog-faced one is a fightingman. Dost see, Frank? he has had his head broken.”
“That scar came not, my son, but by a pair ofmost Catholic and apostolic scissors. My gentlebuzzard, that is a priest’s tonsure.”
“Hang the dog! O, that the sailors maybut see it, and put him over the quay head. I’vea half mind to go and do it myself.”
“My dear Amyas,” said Frank, laying twofingers on his arm, “these men, whosoever theyare, are the guests of our uncle, and therefore theguests of our family. Ham gained little by publishingNoah’s shame; neither shall we, by publishingour uncle’s.”
“Murrain on you, old Franky, you never let aman speak his mind, and shame the devil.”
“I have lived long enough in courts, old Amyas,without a murrain on you, to have found out, first,that it is not so easy to shame the devil; and secondly,that it is better to outwit him; and the only wayto do that, sweet chuck, is very often not to speakyour mind at all. We will go down and visit themat Chapel in a day or two, and see if we cannot servethese reynards as the badger did the fox, when he foundhim in his hole, and could not get him out by evilsavors.”
“How then?”
“Stuck a sweet nosegay in the door, which turnedreynard’s stomach at once; and so overcame evilwith good.”
“Well, thou art too good for this world, that’scertain; so we will go home to breakfast. Thoserogues are out of sight by now.”
Nevertheless, Amyas was not proof against the temptationof going over to the inn-door, and asking who werethe gentlemen who went with Mr. Leigh.
“Gentlemen of Wales,” said the ostler,“who came last night in a pinnace from Milford-haven,and their names, Mr. Morgan Evans and Mr. Evan Morgans.”
“Mr. Judas Iscariot and Mr. Iscariot Judas,”said Amyas between his teeth, and then observed aloud,that the Welsh gentlemen seemed rather poor horsem*n.
“So I said to Mr. Leigh’s groom, yourworship. But he says that those parts be so uncommonrough and mountainous, that the poor gentlemen, yousee, being enforced to hunt on foot, have no such opportunitiesas young gentlemen hereabout, like your worship; whomGod preserve, and send a virtuous lady, and one worthyof you.”
“Thou hast a villainously glib tongue, fellow!”said Amyas, who was thoroughly out of humor; “anda sneaking down visage too, when I come to look atyou. I doubt but you are a Papist too, I do!”
“Well, sir! and what if I am! I trust Idon’t break the queen’s laws by that.If I don’t attend Northam church, I pay my month’sshilling for the use of the poor, as the act directs;and beyond that, neither you nor any man dare demandof me.”
“Dare! act directs! You rascally lawyer,you! and whence does an ostler like you get your shillingto pay withal? Answer me.” The examinatefound it so difficult to answer the question, thathe suddenly became afflicted with deafness.
“Do you hear?” roared Amyas, catchingat him with his lion’s paw.
“Yes, missus; anon, anon, missus!” quothhe to an imaginary landlady inside, and twisting underAmyas’s hand like an eel, vanished into thehouse, while Frank got the hot-headed youth away.
“What a plague is one to do, then? Thatfellow was a Papist spy!”
“Of course he was!” said Frank.
“Then, what is one to do, if the whole countryis full of them?”
“Not to make fools of ourselves about them,and so leave them to make fools of themselves.”
“That’s all very fine: but—well,I shall remember the villain’s face if I seehim again.”
“There is no harm in that,” said Frank.
“Glad you think so.”
“Don’t quarrel with me, Amyas, the firstday.”
“Quarrel with thee, my darling old fellow!I had sooner kiss the dust off thy feet, if I wereworthy of it. So now away home; my inside criescupboard.”
In the meanwhile Messrs. Evans and Morgans were ridingaway, as fast as the rough by-lanes would let them,along the fresh coast of the bay, steering carefullyclear of Northam town on the one hand, and on theother, of Portledge, where dwelt that most Protestantjustice of the peace, Mr. Coffin. And it waswell for them that neither Amyas Leigh, nor indeedany other loyal Englishman, was by when they entered,as they shortly did, the lonely woods which stretchalong the southern wall of the bay. For thereEustace Leigh pulled up short; and both he and hisgroom, leaping from their horses, knelt down humblyin the wet grass, and implored the blessing of thetwo valiant gentlemen of Wales, who, having graciouslybestowed it with three fingers apiece, became thenceforthno longer Morgan Evans and Evan Morgans, Welshmen andgentlemen; but Father Parsons and Father Gampian, Jesuits,and gentlemen in no sense in which that word is appliedin this book.
After a few minutes, the party were again in motion,ambling steadily and cautiously along the high table-land,towards Moorwinstow in the west; while beneath themon the right, at the mouth of rich-wooded glens, openedvistas of the bright blue bay, and beyond it the sandhillsof Braunton, and the ragged rocks of Morte; while faraway to the north and west the lonely isle of Lundyhung like a soft gray cloud.
But they were not destined to reach their point aspeaceably as they could have wished. For justas they got opposite Clovelly dike, the huge old Romanencampment which stands about midway in their journey,they heard a halloo from the valley below, answeredby a fainter one far ahead. At which, like acouple of rogues (as indeed they were), Father Campianand Father Parsons looked at each other, and then bothstared round at the wild, desolate, open pasture (forthe country was then all unenclosed), and the greatdark furze-grown banks above their heads; and Campianremarked gently to Parsons, that this was a very drearyspot, and likely enough for robbers.
“A likelier spot for us, Father,” saidEustace, punning. “The old Romans knewwhat they were about when they put their legions upaloft here to overlook land and sea for miles away;and we may thank them some day for their leavings.The banks are all sound; there is plenty of good waterinside; and” (added he in Latin), “in caseour Spanish friends—you understand?”
“Pauca verba, my son!” said Campian:but as he spoke, up from the ditch close beside him,as if rising out of the earth, burst through the furze-bushesan armed cavalier.
“Pardon, gentlemen!” shouted he, as theJesuit and his horse recoiled against the groom.“Stand, for your lives!”
“Mater caelorum!” moaned Campian; whileParsons, who, as all the world knows, was a blusteringbully enough (at least with his tongue), asked:What a murrain right had he to stop honest folks onthe queen’s highway? confirming the same witha mighty oath, which he set down as peccatum veniale,on account of the sudden necessity; nay, indeed frauspia, as proper to support the character of that valiantgentleman of Wales, Mr. Evan Morgans. But thehorseman, taking no notice of his hint, dashed acrossthe nose of Eustace Leigh’s horse, with a “Hillo,old lad! where ridest so early?” and peeringdown for a moment into the ruts of the narrow track-way,struck spurs into his horse, shouting, “A freshslot! right away for Hartland! Forward, gentlemenall! follow, follow, follow!”
“Who is this roysterer?” asked Parsons,loftily.
“Will Cary, of Clovelly; an awful heretic:and here come more behind.”
And as he spoke four or five more mounted gallantsplunged in and out of the great dikes, and thunderedon behind the party; whose horses, quite understandingwhat game was up, burst into full gallop, neighingand squealing; and in another minute the hapless Jesuitswere hurling along over moor and moss after a “hartof grease.”
Parsons, who, though a vulgar bully, was no coward,supported the character of Mr. Evan Morgans well enough;and he would have really enjoyed himself, had he notbeen in agonies of fear lest those precious saddle-bagsin front of him should break from their lashings, androlling to the earth, expose to the hoofs of heretichorses, perhaps to the gaze of heretic eyes, sucha cargo of bulls, dispensations, secret correspondences,seditious tracts, and so forth, that at the very thoughtof their being seen, his head felt loose upon his shoulders.But the future martyr behind him, Mr. Morgan Evans,gave himself up at once to abject despair, and ashe bumped and rolled along, sought vainly for comfortin professional ejacul*tions in the Latin tongue.
“Mater intemerata! Eripe me e—Ugh!I am down! Adhaesit pavimento venter!—No!I am not! El dilectum tuum e potestate canis—Ah!Audisti me inter cornua unicornium! Put this,too, down in—ugh!—thy accountin favor of my poor—oh, sharpness of thissaddle! Oh, whither, barbarous islanders!”
Now riding on his quarter, not in the rough track-waylike a co*ckney, but through the soft heather likea sportsman, was a very gallant knight whom we allknow well by this time, Richard Grenville by name;who had made Mr. Cary and the rest his guests thenight before, and then ridden out with them at fiveo’clock that morning, after the wholesome earlyways of the time, to rouse a well-known stag in theglens at Buckish, by help of Mr. Coffin’s houndsfrom Portledge. Who being as good a Latiner asCampian’s self, and overhearing both the scrapsof psalm and the “barbarous islanders,”pushed his horse alongside of Mr. Eustace Leigh, andat the first check said, with two low bows towardsthe two strangers—
“I hope Mr. Leigh will do me the honor of introducingme to his guests. I should be sorry, and Mr.Cary also, that any gentle strangers should becomeneighbors of ours, even for a day, without our knowingwho they are who honor our western Thule with a visit;and showing them ourselves all due requital for thecompliment of their presence.”
After which, the only thing which poor Eustace coulddo (especially as it was spoken loud enough for allbystanders), was to introduce in due form Mr. EvanMorgans and Mr. Morgan Evans, who, hearing the name,and, what was worse, seeing the terrible face withits quiet searching eye, felt like a brace of partridge-poultscowering in the stubble, with a hawk hanging ten feetover their heads.
“Gentlemen,” said Sir Richard blandly,cap in hand, “I fear that your mails must havebeen somewhat in your way in this unexpected gallop.If you will permit my groom, who is behind, to disencumberyou of them and carry them to Chapel, you will bothconfer an honor on me, and be enabled yourselves tosee the mort more pleasantly.”
A twinkle of fun, in spite of all his efforts, playedabout good Sir Richard’s eye as he gave thissearching hint. The two Welsh gentlemen stammeredout clumsy thanks; and pleading great haste and fatiguefrom a long journey, contrived to fall to the rearand vanish with their guides, as soon as the slothad been recovered.
“Will!” said Sir Richard, pushing alongsideof young Cary.
“Your worship?”
“Jesuits, Will!”
“May the father of lies fly away with them overthe nearest cliff!”
“He will not do that while this Irish troubleis about. Those fellows are come to practisehere for Saunders and Desmond.”
“Perhaps they have a consecrated banner in theirbag, the scoundrels! Shall I and young Coffinon and stop them? Hard if the honest men maynot rob the thieves once in a way.”
“No; give the devil rope, and he will hang himself.Keep thy tongue at home, and thine eyes too, Will.”
“How then?”
“Let Clovelly beach be watched night and daylike any mousehole. No one can land round HartyPoint with these south-westers. Stop every fellowwho has the ghost of an Irish brogue, come he in orgo he out, and send him over to me.”
“Some one should guard Bude-haven, sir.”
“Leave that to me. Now then, forward, gentlemenall, or the stag will take the sea at the Abbey.”
And on they crashed down the Hartland glens, throughthe oak-scrub and the great crown-ferns; and the bayingof the slow-hound and the tantaras of the horn diedaway farther and fainter toward the blue Atlantic,while the conspirators, with lightened hearts, prickedfast across Bursdon upon their evil errand. ButEustace Leigh had other thoughts and other cares thanthe safety of his father’s two mysterious guests,important as that was in his eyes; for he was one ofthe many who had drunk in sweet poison (though inhis case it could hardly be called sweet) from themagic glances of the Rose of Torridge. He hadseen her in the town, and for the first time in hislife fallen utterly in love; and now that she hadcome down close to his father’s house, he lookedon her as a lamb fallen unawares into the jaws ofthe greedy wolf, which he felt himself to be.For Eustace’s love had little or nothing ofchivalry, self-sacrifice, or purity in it; those werevirtues which were not taught at Rheims. Carefulas the Jesuits were over the practical morality oftheir pupils, this severe restraint had little effectin producing real habits of self-control. Whatlittle Eustace had learnt of women from them, wasas base and vulgar as the rest of their teaching.What could it be else, if instilled by men educatedin the schools of Italy and France, in the age whichproduced the foul novels of Cinthio and Bandello,and compelled Rabelais in order to escape the rackand stake, to hide the light of his great wisdom,not beneath a bushel, but beneath a dunghill; theage in which the Romish Church had made marriage alegalized tyranny, and the laity, by a natural andpardonable revulsion, had exalted adultery into avirtue and a science? That all love was lust;that all women had their price; that profligacy, thoughan ecclesiastical sin, was so pardonable, if not necessary,as to be hardly a moral sin, were notions which Eustacemust needs have gathered from the hints of his preceptors;for their written works bear to this day fullest andfoulest testimony that such was their opinion; andthat their conception of the relation of the sexeswas really not a whit higher than that of the profligatelaity who confessed to them. He longed to marryRose Salterne, with a wild selfish fury; but only thathe might be able to claim her as his own property,and keep all others from her. Of her as a co-equaland ennobling helpmate; as one in whose honor, glory,growth of heart and soul, his own were inextricablywrapt up, he had never dreamed. Marriage wouldprevent God from being angry with that, with whichotherwise He might be angry; and therefore the sanctionof the Church was the more “probable and safe”course. But as yet his suit was in very embryo.He could not even tell whether Rose knew of his love;and he wasted miserable hours in maddening thoughts,and tost all night upon his sleepless bed, and rosenext morning fierce and pale, to invent fresh excusesfor going over to her uncle’s house, and lingeringabout the fruit which he dared not snatch.
CHAPTER IV
THE TWO WAYS OF BEING CROST IN LOVE
“I could not lovethee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more.”—Lovelace.
And what all this while has become of the fair breakerof so many hearts, to whom I have not yet even introducedmy readers?
She was sitting in the little farm-house beside themill, buried in the green depths of the valley ofCombe, half-way between Stow and Chapel, sulking asmuch as her sweet nature would let her, at being thusshut out from all the grand doings at Bideford, andforced to keep a Martinmas Lent in that far westernglen. So lonely was she, in fact, that thoughshe regarded Eustace Leigh with somewhat of aversion,and (being a good Protestant) with a great deal ofsuspicion, she could not find it in her heart to avoida chat with him whenever he came down to the farmand to its mill, which he contrived to do, on I knownot what would-be errand, almost every day. Heruncle and aunt at first looked stiff enough at thesevisits, and the latter took care always to make athird in every conversation; but still Mr. Leigh wasa gentleman’s son, and it would not do to berude to a neighboring squire and a good customer;and Rose was the rich man’s daughter and theypoor cousins, so it would not do either to quarrelwith her; and besides, the pretty maid, half by wilfulness,and half by her sweet winning tricks, generally contrivedto get her own way wheresoever she went; and she herselfhad been wise enough to beg her aunt never to leavethem alone,—for she “could not a-bearthe sight of Mr. Eustace, only she must have someone to talk with down here.” On which heraunt considered, that she herself was but a simplecountry-woman; and that townsfolks’ ways ofcourse must be very different from hers; and thatpeople knew their own business best; and so forth,and let things go on their own way. Eustace,in the meanwhile, who knew well that the differencein creed between him and Rose was likely to be thevery hardest obstacle in the way of his love, tookcare to keep his private opinions well in the background;and instead of trying to convert the folk at the mill,daily bought milk or flour from them, and gave itaway to the old women in Moorwinstow (who agreed thatafter all, for a Papist, he was a godly young manenough); and at last, having taken counsel with Campianand Parsons on certain political plots then on foot,came with them to the conclusion that they would allthree go to church the next Sunday. Where Messrs.Evan Morgans and Morgan Evans, having crammed up therubrics beforehand, behaved themselves in a most orthodoxand unexceptionable manner; as did also poor Eustace,to the great wonder of all good folks, and then wenthome flattering himself that he had taken in parson,clerk, and people; not knowing in his simple unsimplicity,and cunning foolishness, that each good wife in theparish was saying to the other, “He turned Protestant?The devil turned monk! He’s only afterMistress Salterne, the young hypocrite.”
But if the two Jesuits found it expedient, for theholy cause in which they were embarked, to reconcilethemselves outwardly to the powers that were, theywere none the less busy in private in plotting theiroverthrow.
Ever since April last they had been playing at hide-and-seekthrough the length and breadth of England, and nowthey were only lying quiet till expected news fromIreland should give them their cue, and a great “risingof the West” should sweep from her throne thatstiff-necked, persecuting, excommunicate, reprobate,illegitimate, and profligate usurper, who falselycalled herself the Queen of England.
For they had as stoutly persuaded themselves in thosedays, as they have in these (with a real Baconiancontempt of the results of sensible experience), thatthe heart of England was really with them, and thatthe British nation was on the point of returning tothe bosom of the Catholic Church, and giving up Elizabethto be led in chains to the feet of the rightful Lordof Creation, the Old Man of the Seven Hills.And this fair hope, which has been skipping just infront of them for centuries, always a step fartheroff, like the place where the rainbow touches theground, they used to announce at times, in languagewhich terrified old Mr. Leigh. One day, indeed,as Eustace entered his father’s private room,after his usual visit to the mill, he could hear voiceshigh in dispute; Parsons as usual, blustering; Mr.Leigh peevishly deprecating, and Campian, who wasreally the sweetest-natured of men, trying to pouroil on the troubled waters. Whereat Eustace (forthe good of the cause, of course) stopped outside andlistened.
“My excellent sir,” said Mr. Leigh, “doesnot your very presence here show how I am affectedtoward the holy cause of the Catholic faith? ButI cannot in the meanwhile forget that I am an Englishman.”
“And what is England?” said Parsons:“A heretic and schismatic Babylon, whereof itis written, ’Come out of her, my people, lestyou be partaker of her plagues.’ Yea, whatis a country? An arbitrary division of territoryby the princes of this world, who are naught, and cometo naught. They are created by the people’swill; their existence depends on the sanction of himto whom all power is given in heaven and earth—ourHoly Father the Pope. Take away the latter, andwhat is a king?—the people who have madehim may unmake him.”
“My dear sir, recollect that I have sworn allegianceto Queen Elizabeth!”
“Yes, sir, you have, sir; and, as I have shownat large in my writings, you were absolved from thatallegiance from the moment that the bull of Pius theFifth declared her a heretic and excommunicate, andthereby to have forfeited all dominion whatsoever.I tell you, sir, what I thought you should have knownalready, that since the year 1569, England has hadno queen, no magistrates, no laws, no lawful authoritywhatsoever; and that to own allegiance to any Englishmagistrate, sir, or to plead in an English court oflaw, is to disobey the apostolic precept, ’Howdare you go to law before the unbelievers?’I tell you, sir, rebellion is now not merely permitted,it is a duty.”
“Take care, sir; for God’s sake, takecare!” said Mr. Leigh. “Right orwrong, I cannot have such language used in my house.For the sake of my wife and children, I cannot!”
“My dear brother Parsons, deal more gently withthe flock,” interposed Campian. “Youropinion, though probable, as I well know, in the eyesof most of our order, is hardly safe enough here;the opposite is at least so safe that Mr. Leigh maywell excuse his conscience for accepting it.After all, are we not sent hither to proclaim thisvery thing, and to relieve the souls of good Catholicsfrom a burden which has seemed to them too heavy?”
“Yes,” said Parsons, half-sulkily, “toallow all Balaams who will to sacrifice to Baal, whilethey call themselves by the name of the Lord.”
“My dear brother, have I not often remindedyou that Naaman was allowed to bow himself in thehouse of Rimmon? And can we therefore complainof the office to which the Holy Father has appointedus, to declare to such as Mr. Leigh his especial grace,by which the bull of Pius the Fifth (on whose soulGod have mercy!) shall henceforth bind the queen andthe heretics only; but in no ways the Catholics, atleast as long as the present tyranny prevents thepious purposes of the bull?”
“Be it so, sir; be it so. Only observethis, Mr. Leigh, that our brother Campian confessesthis to be a tyranny. Observe, sir, that the bulldoes still bind the so-called queen, and that sheand her magistrates are still none the less usurpers,nonentities, and shadows of a shade. And observethis, sir, that when that which is lawful is excusedto the weak, it remains no less lawful to the strong.The seven thousand who had not bowed the knee to Baaldid not slay his priests; but Elijah did, and wonto himself a good reward. And if the rest of thechildren of Israel sinned not in not slaying Eglon,yet Ehud’s deed was none the less justifiedby all laws human and divine.”
“For Heaven’s sake, do not talk so, sir!or I must leave the room. What have I to do withEhud and Eglon, and slaughters, and tyrannies?Our queen is a very good queen, if Heaven would butgrant her repentance, and turn her to the true faith.I have never been troubled about religion, nor anyone else that I know of in the West country.”
“You forget Mr. Trudgeon of Launceston, father,and poor Father Mayne,” interposed Eustace,who had by this time slipped in; and Campian addedsoftly—
“Yes, your West of England also has been honoredby its martyrs, as well as my London by the preciousblood of Story.”
“What, young malapert?” cried poor Leigh,facing round upon his son, glad to find any one onwhom he might vent his ill-humor; “are you tooagainst me, with a murrain on you? And pray, whatthe devil brought Cuthbert Mayne to the gallows, andturned Mr. Trudgeon (he was always a foolish hot-head)out of house and home, but just such treasonable talkas Mr. Parsons must needs hold in my house, to makea beggar of me and my children, as he will beforehe has done.”
“The Blessed Virgin forbid!” said Campian.
“The Blessed Virgin forbid? But you musthelp her to forbid it, Mr. Campian. We shouldnever have had the law of 1571, against bulls, andAgnus Deis, and blessed grains, if the Pope’sbull of 1569 had not made them matter of treason,by preventing a poor creature’s saving his soulin the true Church without putting his neck into ahalter by denying the queen’s authority.”
“What, sir?” almost roared Parsons, “doyou dare to speak evil of the edicts of the Vicarof Christ?”
“I? No. I didn’t. Who saysI did? All I meant was, I am sure—Mr.Campian, you are a reasonable man, speak for me.”
“Mr. Leigh only meant, I am sure, that the HolyFather’s prudent intentions have been so fardefeated by the perverseness and invincible misunderstandingof the heretics, that that which was in itself meantfor the good of the oppressed English Catholics hasbeen perverted to their harm.”
“And thus, reverend sir,” said Eustace,glad to get into his father’s good graces again,“my father attaches blame, not to the Pope—Heavenforbid!—but to the pravity of his enemies.”
“And it is for this very reason,” saidCampian, “that we have brought with us the presentmerciful explanation of the bull.”
“I’ll tell you what, gentlemen,”said Mr. Leigh, who, like other weak men, grew invalor as his opponent seemed inclined to make peace,“I don’t think the declaration was needed.After the new law of 1571 was made, it was never putin force till Mayne and Trudgeon made fools of themselves,and that was full six years. There were a fewoffenders, they say, who were brought up and admonished,and let go; but even that did not happen down here,and need not happen now, unless you put my son here(for you shall never put me, I warrant you) upon somedeed which had better be left alone, and so bringus all to shame.”
“Your son, sir, if not openly vowed to God,has, I hope, a due sense of that inward vocation whichwe have seen in him, and reverences his spiritualfathers too well to listen to the temptations of hisearthly father.”
“What, sir, will you teach my son to disobeyme?”
“Your son is ours also, sir. This is strangelanguage in one who owes a debt to the Church, whichit was charitably fancied he meant to pay in the personof his child.”
These last words touched poor Mr. Leigh in a sorepoint, and breaking all bounds, he swore roundly atParsons, who stood foaming with rage.
“A plague upon you, sir, and a black assizesfor you, for you will come to the gallows yet!Do you mean to taunt me in my own house with thatHartland land? You had better go back and askthose who sent you where the dispensation to holdthe land is, which they promised to get me years ago,and have gone on putting me off, till they have gotmy money, and my son, and my conscience, and I vowbefore all the saints, seem now to want my head overand above. God help me!”—andthe poor man’s eyes fairly filled with tears.
Now was Eustace’s turn to be roused; for, afterall, he was an Englishman and a gentleman; and hesaid kindly enough, but firmly—
“Courage, my dearest father. Remember thatI am still your son, and not a Jesuit yet; and whetherI ever become one, I promise you, will depend mainlyon the treatment which you meet with at the hands ofthese reverend gentlemen, for whom I, as having broughtthem hither, must consider myself as surety to you.”
If a powder-barrel had exploded in the Jesuits’faces, they could not have been more amazed.Campian looked blank at Parsons, and Parsons at Campian;till the stouter-hearted of the two, recovering hisbreath at last—
“Sir! do you know, sir, the curse pronouncedon those who, after putting their hand to the plough,look back?”
Eustace was one of those impulsive men, with a lackof moral courage, who dare raise the devil, but neverdare fight him after he has been raised; and he nowtried to pass off his speech by winking and makingsigns in the direction of his father, as much as tosay that he was only trying to quiet the old man’sfears. But Campian was too frightened, Parsonstoo angry, to take his hints: and he had to carryhis part through.
“All I read is, Father Parsons, that such arenot fit for the kingdom of God; of which high honorI have for some time past felt myself unworthy.I have much doubt just now as to my vocation; and inthe meanwhile have not forgotten that I am a citizenof a free country.” And so saying, he tookhis father’s arm, and walked out.
His last words had hit the Jesuits hard. Theyhad put the poor cobweb-spinners in mind of the humiliatingfact, which they have had thrust on them daily fromthat time till now, and yet have never learnt thelesson, that all their scholastic cunning, plotting,intriguing, bulls, pardons, indulgences, and the restof it, are, on this side the Channel, a mere enchanter’scloud-castle and Fata Morgana, which vanishes intoempty air by one touch of that magic wand, the constable’sstaff. “A citizen of a free country!”—therewas the rub; and they looked at each other in moreutter perplexity than ever. At last Parsons spoke.
“There’s a woman in the wind. I’lllay my life on it. I saw him blush up crimsonyesterday when his mother asked him whether some RoseSalterne or other was still in the neighborhood.”
“A woman! Well, the spirit may be willing,though the flesh be weak. We will inquire intothis. The youth may do us good service as a layman;and if anything should happen to his elder brother(whom the saints protect!) he is heir to some wealth.In the meanwhile, our dear brother Parsons will perhapssee the expediency of altering our tactics somewhatwhile we are here.”
And thereupon a long conversation began between thetwo, who had been sent together, after the wise methodof their order, in obedience to the precept, “Twoare better than one,” in order that Campian mightrestrain Parsons’ vehemence, and Parsons spuron Campian’s gentleness, and so each act asthe supplement of the other, and each also, it mustbe confessed, gave advice pretty nearly contradictoryto his fellow’s if occasion should require,“without the danger,” as their writershave it, “of seeming changeable and inconsistent.”
The upshot of this conversation was, that in a dayor two (during which time Mr. Leigh and Eustace alsohad made the amende honorable, and matters went smoothlyenough) Father Campian asked Father Francis, the householdchaplain, to allow him, as an especial favor, to hearEustace’s usual confession on the ensuing Friday.
Poor Father Francis dared not refuse so great a man;and assented with an inward groan, knowing well thatthe intent was to worm out some family secrets, wherebyhis power would be diminished, and the Jesuits’increased. For the regular priesthood and theJesuits throughout England were toward each otherin a state of armed neutrality, which wanted but littleat any moment to become open war, as it did in Jamesthe First’s time, when those meek missionaries,by their gentle moral tortures, literally hunted todeath the poor Popish bishop of Hippopotamus (thatis to say, London) for the time being.
However, Campian heard Eustace’s confession;and by putting to him such questions as may be easilyconceived by those who know anything about the confessional,discovered satisfactorily enough, that he was whatCampian would have called “in love:”though I should question much the propriety of theterm as applied to any facts which poor prurient Campiandiscovered, or indeed knew how to discover, seeingthat a swine has no eye for pearls. But he hadfound out enough: he smiled, and set to worknext vigorously to discover who the lady might be.
If he had frankly said to Eustace, “I feel foryou; and if your desires are reasonable, or lawful,or possible, I will help you with all my heart andsoul,” he might have had the young man’ssecret heart, and saved himself an hour’s trouble;but, of course, he took instinctively the crookedand suspicious method, expected to find the case theworst possible,—as a man was bound to dowho had been trained to take the lowest possible viewof human nature, and to consider the basest motivesas the mainspring of all human action,—andbegan his moral torture accordingly by a series ofdelicate questions, which poor Eustace dodged in everypossible way, though he knew that the good father wastoo cunning for him, and that he must give in at last.Nevertheless, like a rabbit who runs squealing roundand round before the weasel, into whose jaws it knowsthat it must jump at last by force of fascination,he parried and parried, and pretended to be stupid,and surprised, and honorably scrupulous, and evenangry; while every question as to her being marriedor single, Catholic or heretic, English or foreign,brought his tormentor a step nearer the goal.At last, when Campian, finding the business not sucha very bad one, had asked something about her worldlywealth, Eustace saw a door of escape and sprang atit.
“Even if she be a heretic, she is heiress toone of the wealthiest merchants in Devon.”
“Ah!” said Campian, thoughtfully.“And she is but eighteen, you say?”
“Only eighteen.”
“Ah! well, my son, there is time. She maybe reconciled to the Church: or you may change.”
“I shall die first.”
“Ah, poor lad! Well; she may be reconciled,and her wealth may be of use to the cause of Heaven.”
“And it shall be of use. Only absolve me,and let me be at peace. Let me have but her,”he cried piteously. “I do not want her wealth,—notI! Let me have but her, and that but for oneyear, one month, one day!—and all the rest—money,fame, talents, yea, my life itself, hers if it beneeded—are at the service of Holy Church.Ay, I shall glory in showing my devotion by some specialsacrifice,—some desperate deed. Proveme now, and see what there is I will not do!”
And so Eustace was absolved; after which Campian added,—
“This is indeed well, my son: for thereis a thing to be done now, but it may be at the riskof life.”
“Prove me!” cried Eustace, impatiently.
“Here is a letter which was brought me lastnight; no matter from whence; you can understand itbetter than I, and I longed to have shown it you,but that I feared my son had become—”
“You feared wrongly, then, my dear Father Campian.”
So Campian translated to him the cipher of the letter.
“This to Evan Morgans, gentleman, at Mr. Leigh’shouse in Moorwinstow, Devonshire. News may behad by one who will go to the shore of Clovelly, anyevening after the 25th of November, at dead low tide,and there watch for a boat, rowed by one with a redbeard, and a Portugal by his speech. If he beasked, ‘How many?’ he will answer, ’Eighthundred and one.’ Take his letters andread them. If the shore be watched, let him whocomes show a light three times in a safe place underthe cliff above the town; below is dangerous landing.Farewell, and expect great things!”
“I will go,” said Eustace; “to-morrowis the 25th, and I know a sure and easy place.Your friend seems to know these shores well.”
“Ah! what is it we do not know?” saidCampian, with a mysterious smile. “Andnow?”
“And now, to prove to you how I trust to you,you shall come with me, and see this—thelady of whom I spoke, and judge for yourself whethermy fault is not a venial one.”
“Ah, my son, have I not absolved you already?What have I to do with fair faces? Nevertheless,I will come, both to show you that I trust you, andit may be to help towards reclaiming a heretic, andsaving a lost soul: who knows?”
So the two set out together; and, as it was appointed,they had just got to the top of the hill between Chapeland Stow mill, when up the lane came none other thanMistress Rose Salterne herself, in all the gloriesof a new scarlet hood, from under which her large darklanguid eyes gleamed soft lightnings through poorEustace’s heart and marrow. Up to themshe tripped on delicate ankles and tiny feet, tall,lithe, and graceful, a true West-country lass; andas she passed them with a pretty blush and courtesy,even Campian looked back at the fair innocent creature,whose long dark curls, after the then country fashion,rolled down from beneath the hood below her waist,entangling the soul of Eustace Leigh within theirglossy nets.
“There!” whispered he, trembling fromhead to foot. “Can you excuse me now?”
“I had excused you long ago;” said thekindhearted father. “Alas, that so muchfair red and white should have been created only asa feast for worms!”
“A feast for gods, you mean!” cried Eustace,on whose common sense the naive absurdity of the lastspeech struck keenly; and then, as if to escape thescolding which he deserved for his heathenry—
“Will you let me return for a moment? Iwill follow you: let me go!”
Campian saw that it was of no use to say no, and nodded.Eustace darted from his side, and running across afield, met Rose full at the next turn of the road.
She started, and gave a pretty little shriek.
“Mr. Leigh! I thought you had gone forward.”
“I came back to speak to you, Rose—MistressSalterne, I mean.”
“To me?”
“To you I must speak, tell you all, or die!”And he pressed up close to her. She shrank back,somewhat frightened.
“Do not stir; do not go, I implore you!Rose, only hear me!” And fiercely and passionatelyseizing her by the hand, he poured out the whole storyof his love, heaping her with every fantastic epithetof admiration which he could devise.
There was little, perhaps, of all his words whichRose had not heard many a time before; but there wasa quiver in his voice, and a fire in his eye, fromwhich she shrank by instinct.
“Let me go!” she said; “you aretoo rough, sir!”
“Ay!” he said, seizing now both her hands,“rougher, perhaps, than the gay gallants ofBideford, who serenade you, and write sonnets to you,and send you posies. Rougher, but more loving,Rose! Do not turn away! I shall die if youtake your eyes off me! Tell me,—tellme, now here—this moment—beforewe part—if I may love you!”
“Go away!” she answered, struggling, andbursting into tears. “This is too rude.If I am but a merchant’s daughter. I amGod’s child. Remember that I am alone.Leave me; go! or I will call for help!”
Eustace had heard or read somewhere that such expressionsin a woman’s mouth were mere facons de parler,and on the whole signs that she had no objection tobe alone, and did not intend to call for help; andhe only grasped her hands the more fiercely, and lookedinto her face with keen and hungry eyes; but she wasin earnest, nevertheless, and a loud shriek made himaware that, if he wished to save his own good name,he must go: but there was one question, for ananswer to which he would risk his very life.
“Yes, proud woman! I thought so! Someone of those gay gallants has been beforehand withme. Tell me who—”
But she broke from him, and passed him, and fled downthe lane.
“Mark it!” cried he, after her. “Youshall rue the day when you despised Eustace Leigh!Mark it, proud beauty!” And he turned back tojoin Campian, who stood in some trepidation.
“You have not hurt the maiden, my son?I thought I heard a scream.”
“Hurt her! No. Would God that shewere dead, nevertheless, and I by her! Say nomore to me, father. We will home.”Even Campian knew enough of the world to guess whathad happened, and they both hurried home in silence.
And so Eustace Leigh played his move, and lost it.
Poor little Rose, having run nearly to Chapel, stoppedfor very shame, and walked quietly by the cottageswhich stood opposite the gate, and then turned upthe lane towards Moorwinstow village, whither she wasbound. But on second thoughts, she felt herselfso “red and flustered,” that she was afraidof going into the village, for fear (as she said toherself) of making people talk, and so, turning intoa by-path, struck away toward the cliffs, to coolher blushes in the sea-breeze. And there findinga quiet grassy nook beneath the crest of the rocks,she sat down on the turf, and fell into a great meditation.
Rose Salterne was a thorough specimen of a West-coastmaiden, full of passionate impulsive affections, andwild dreamy imaginations, a fit subject, as the North-Devonwomen are still, for all romantic and gentle superstitions.Left early without mother’s care, she had fedher fancy upon the legends and ballads of her nativeland, till she believed—what did she notbelieve?—of mermaids and pixies, charmsand witches, dreams and omens, and all that worldof magic in which most of the countrywomen, and countrymentoo, believed firmly enough but twenty years ago.Then her father’s house was seldom without somemerchant, or sea-captain from foreign parts, who,like Othello, had his tales of—
“Antresvast, and deserts idle,
Of rough quarries, rocks,and hills whose heads reach heaven.”
And,—
“And of the cannibalsthat each other eat,
The anthropophagi, andmen whose heads
Do grow beneath theirshoulders.”
All which tales, she, like Desdemona, devoured withgreedy ears, whenever she could “the house affairswith haste despatch.” And when these failed,there was still boundless store of wonders open toher in old romances which were then to be found inevery English house of the better class. TheLegend of King Arthur, Florice and Blancheflour, SirYsumbras, Sir Guy of Warwick, Palamon and Arcite, andthe Romaunt of the Rose, were with her text-booksand canonical authorities. And lucky it was,perhaps, for her that Sidney’s Arcadia was stillin petto, or Mr. Frank (who had already seen the firstbook or two in manuscript, and extolled it above allbooks past, present, or to come) would have surelybrought a copy down for Rose, and thereby have turnedher poor little flighty brains upside down forever.And with her head full of these, it was no wonderif she had likened herself of late more than once tosome of those peerless princesses of old, for whosefair hand paladins and kaisers thundered against eachother in tilted field; and perhaps she would not havebeen sorry (provided, of course, no one was killed)if duels, and passages of arms in honor of her, asher father reasonably dreaded, had actually takenplace.
For Rose was not only well aware that she was wooed,but found the said wooing (and little shame to her)a very pleasant process. Not that she had anywish to break hearts: she did not break her heartfor any of her admirers, and why should they breaktheirs for her? They were all very charming,each in his way (the gentlemen, at least; for she hadlong since learnt to turn up her nose at merchantsand burghers); but one of them was not so very muchbetter than the other.
Of course, Mr. Frank Leigh was the most charming;but then, as a courtier and squire of dames, he hadnever given her a sign of real love, nothing but sonnetsand compliments, and there was no trusting such thingsfrom a gallant, who was said (though, by the by, mostscandalously) to have a lady love at Milan, and anotherat Vienna, and half-a-dozen in the Court, and half-a-dozenmore in the city.
And very charming was Mr. William Cary, with his quipsand his jests, and his galliards and lavoltas; overand above his rich inheritance; but then, charmingalso Mr. Coffin of Portledge, though he were a littleproud and stately; but which of the two should shechoose? It would be very pleasant to be mistressof Clovelly Court; but just as pleasant to find herselflady of Portledge, where the Coffins had lived eversince Noah’s flood (if, indeed, they had notmerely returned thither after that temporary displacement),and to bring her wealth into a family which was asproud of its antiquity as any nobleman in Devon, andmight have made a fourth to that famous trio of DevonshireCs, of which it is written,—
“Crocker, Cruwys,and Copplestone,
When the Conqueror camewere all at home.”
And Mr. Hugh Fortescue, too—people saidthat he was certain to become a great soldier—perhapsas great as his brother Arthur—and thatwould be pleasant enough, too, though he was but theyounger son of an innumerable family: but then,so was Amyas Leigh. Ah, poor Amyas! Hergirl’s fancy for him had vanished, or rather,perhaps, it was very much what it always had been,only that four or five more girl’s fancies besideit had entered in, and kept it in due subjection.But still, she could not help thinking a good dealabout him, and his voyage, and the reports of hisgreat strength, and beauty, and valor, which had alreadyreached her in that out-of-the-way corner; and thoughshe was not in the least in love with him, she couldnot help hoping that he had at least (to put her prettylittle thought in the mildest shape) not altogetherforgotten her; and was hungering, too, with all herfancy, to give him no peace till he had told her allthe wonderful things which he had seen and done inthis ever-memorable voyage. So that, altogether,it was no wonder, if in her last night’s dreamthe figure of Amyas had been even more forward andtroublesome than that of Frank or the rest.
But, moreover, another figure had been forward andtroublesome enough in last night’s sleep-world;and forward and troublesome enough, too, now in to-day’swaking-world, namely, Eustace, the rejected. Howstrange that she should have dreamt of him the nightbefore! and dreamt, too, of his fighting with Mr.Frank and Mr. Amyas! It must be a warning—see,she had met him the very next day in this strange way;so the first half of her dream had come true; andafter what had past, she only had to breathe a whisper,and the second part of the dream would come true also.If she wished for a passage of arms in her own honor,she could easily enough compass one: not thatshe would do it for worlds! And after all, thoughMr. Eustace had been very rude and naughty, yet stillit was not his own fault; he could not help being inlove with her. And—and, in short,the poor little maid felt herself one of the mostimportant personages on earth, with all the cares (orhearts) of the country in her keeping, and as muchperplexed with matters of weight as ever was any Cleophila,or Dianeme, Fiordispina or Flourdeluce, in verse runtame, or prose run mad.
Poor little Rose! Had she but had a mother!But she was to learn her lesson, such as it was, inanother school. She was too shy (too proud perhaps)to tell her aunt her mighty troubles; but a counsellorshe must have; and after sitting with her head inher hands, for half-an-hour or more, she arose suddenly,and started off along the cliffs towards Marsland.She would go and see Lucy Passmore, the white witch;Lucy knew everything; Lucy would tell her what todo; perhaps even whom to marry.
Lucy was a fat, jolly woman of fifty, with littlepig-eyes, which twinkled like sparks of fire, andeyebrows which sloped upwards and outwards, like thoseof a satyr, as if she had been (as indeed she had)all her life looking out of the corners of her eyes.Her qualifications as white witch were boundless cunning,equally boundless good nature, considerable knowledgeof human weaknesses, some mesmeric power, some skillin “yarbs,” as she called her simples,a firm faith in the virtue of her own incantations,and the faculty of holding her tongue. By dintof these she contrived to gain a fair share of money,and also (which she liked even better) of power, amongthe simple folk for many miles round. If a childwas scalded, a tooth ached, a piece of silver wasstolen, a heifer shrew-struck, a pig bewitched, a youngdamsel crost in love, Lucy was called in, and Lucyfound a remedy, especially for the latter complaint.Now and then she found herself on ticklish ground,for the kind-heartedness which compelled her to helpall distressed damsels out of a scrape, sometimescompelled her also to help them into one; whereonenraged fathers called Lucy ugly names, and threatenedto send her into Exeter gaol for a witch, and shesmiled quietly, and hinted that if she were “likesome that were ready to return evil for evil, such
talk as that would bring no blessing on them that spokeit;” which being translated into plain English,meant, “If you trouble me, I will overlook (i.e. fascinate) you, and then your pigs will die, yourhorses stray, your cream turn sour, your barns befired, your son have St. Vitus’s dance, yourdaughter fits, and so on, woe on woe, till you arevery probably starved to death in a ditch, by virtueof this terrible little eye of mine, at which, inspite of all your swearing and bullying, you knowyou are now shaking in your shoes for fear. Soyou had much better hold your tongue, give me a drinkof cider, and leave ill alone, lest you make it worse.”Not that Lucy ever proceeded to any such fearful extremities.On the contrary, her boast, and her belief too, was,that she was sent into the world to make poor soulsas happy as she could, by lawful means, of course,if possible, but if not—why, unlawful oneswere better than none; for she “couldn’ta-bear to see the poor creatures taking on; she wastoo, too tender-hearted.” And so she was,to every one but her husband, a tall, simple-heartedrabbit-faced man, a good deal older than herself.Fully agreeing with Sir Richard Grenville’s greataxiom, that he who cannot obey cannot rule, Lucy hadbeen for the last five-and-twenty years training himpretty smartly to obey her, with the intention, itis to be charitably hoped, of letting him rule herin turn when his lesson was perfected. He borehis honors, however, meekly enough, having a boundlessrespect for his wife’s wisdom, and a firm beliefin her supernatural powers, and let her go her ownway and earn her own money, while he got a littlemore in a truly pastoral method (not extinct yet alongthose lonely cliffs), by feeding a herd of some dozendonkeys and twenty goats. The donkeys fetched,at each low-tide, white shell-sand which was to besold for manure to the neighboring farmers; the goatsfurnished milk and “kiddy-pies;” and whenthere was neither milking nor sand-carrying to bedone, old Will Passmore just sat under a sunny rockand watched the buck-goats rattle their horns together,thinking about nothing at all, and taking very goodcare all the while neither to inquire nor to see whocame in and out of his little cottage in the glen.
The prophetess, when Rose approached her oracularcave, was seated on a tripod in front of the fire,distilling strong waters out of penny-royal.But no sooner did her distinguished visitor appearat the hatch, than the still was left to take careof itself, and a clean apron and mutch having beenslipt on, Lucy welcomed Rose with endless courtesies,and—“Bless my dear soul alive, whoever would have thought to see the Rose of Torridgeto my poor little place!”
Rose sat down: and then? How to begin wasmore than she knew, and she stayed silent a full fiveminutes, looking earnestly at the point of her shoe,till Lucy, who was an adept in such cases, thoughtit best to proceed to business at once, and save Rosethe delicate operation of opening the ball herself;and so, in her own way, half fawning, half familiar—
“Well, my dear young lady, and what is it Ican do for ye? For I guess you want a bit ofold Lucy’s help, eh? Though I’m mostmazed to see ye here, surely. I should have supposedthat pretty face could manage they sort of mattersfor itself. Eh?”
Rose, thus bluntly charged, confessed at once, andwith many blushes and hesitations, made her soon understandthat what she wanted was “To have her fortunetold.”
“Eh? Oh! I see. The pretty facehas managed it a bit too well already, eh? Tumany o’ mun, pure fellows? Well, ’tain’tevery mayden has her pick and choose, like some Iknow of, as be blest in love by stars above.So you hain’t made up your mind, then?”
Rose shook her head.
“Ah—well,” she went on, ina half-bantering tone. “Not so asy, is it,then? One’s gude for one thing, and onefor another, eh? One has the blood, and anotherthe money.”
And so the “cunning woman” (as she trulywas), talking half to herself, ran over all the nameswhich she thought likely, peering at Rose all thewhile out of the corners of her foxy bright eyes, whileRose stirred the peat ashes steadfastly with the pointof her little shoe, half angry, half ashamed, halffrightened, to find that “the cunning woman”had guessed so well both her suitors and her thoughtsabout them, and tried to look unconcerned at eachname as it came out.
“Well, well,” said Lucy, who took nothingby her move, simply because there was nothing to take;“think over it—think over it, my dearlife; and if you did set your mind on any one—why,then—then maybe I might help you to a sightof him.”
“A sight of him?”
“His sperrit, dear life, his sperrit only, Imane. I ’udn’t have no keeping companyin my house, no, not for gowld untowld, I ’udn’t;but the sperrit of mun—to see whether munwould be true or not, you’d like to know that,now, ’udn’t you, my darling?”
Rose sighed, and stirred the ashes about vehemently.
“I must first know who it is to be. Ifyou could show me that—now—”
“Oh, I can show ye that, tu, I can. Benthere’s a way to ’t, a sure way; but ‘tismortal cold for the time o’ year, you zee.”
“But what is it, then?” said Rose, whohad in her heart been longing for something of thatvery kind, and had half made up her mind to ask fora charm.
“Why, you’m not afraid to goo into thesay by night for a minute, are you? And to-morrownight would serve, too; ’t will be just low tideto midnight.”
“If you would come with me perhaps—”
“I’ll come, I’ll come, and standwithin call, to be sure. Only do ye mind this,dear soul alive, not to goo telling a crumb about mun,noo, not for the world, or yu’ll see naughtat all, indeed, now. And beside, there’sa noxious business grow’d up against me up toChapel there; and I hear tell how Mr. Leigh saithI shall to Exeter gaol for a witch—didye ever hear the likes?—because his groom
Jan saith I overlooked mun—the Papist dog!And now never he nor th’ owld Father Francisgoo by me without a spetting, and saying of theirAyes and Malificas—I do know what theirRooman Latin do mane, zo well as ever they, I du!—anda making o’ their charms and incantations totheir saints and idols! They be mortal fearedof witches, they Papists, and mortal hard on ’em,even on a pure body like me, that doth a bit in thewhite way; ’case why you see, dear life,”said she, with one of her humorous twinkles, “tuto a trade do never agree. Do ye try my bit ofa charm, now; do ye!”Rose could not resist the temptation; and betweenthem both the charm was agreed on, and the next nightwas fixed for its trial, on the payment of certaincurrent coins of the realm (for Lucy, of course, mustlive by her trade); and slipping a tester into thedame’s hand as earnest, Rose went away home,and got there in safety.
But in the meanwhile, at the very hour that Eustacehad been prosecuting his suit in the lane at Moorwinstow,a very different scene was being enacted in Mrs. Leigh’sroom at Burrough.
For the night before, Amyas, as he was going to bed,heard his brother Frank in the next room tune hislu*te, and then begin to sing. And both theirwindows being open, and only a thin partition betweenthe chambers, Amyas’s admiring ears came infor every word of the following canzonet, sung inthat delicate and mellow tenor voice for which Frankwas famed among all fair ladies:—
“Ah, tyrantLove, Megaera’s serpents bearing,
Why thus requite mysighs with venom’d smart?
Ah, ruthlessdove, the vulture’s talons wearing,
Why flesh them, traitress,in this faithful heart?
Is thismy meed? Must dragons’ teeth alone
In Venus’lawns by lovers’ hands be sown?
“Nay, gentlestCupid; ’twas my pride undid me.
Nay, guiltless dove;by mine own wound I fell.
To worship,not to wed, Celestials bid me:
I dreamt to mate inheaven, and wake in hell;
Foreverdoom’d, Ixion-like, to reel
On mineown passions’ ever-burning wheel.”
At which the simple sailor sighed, and longed thathe could write such neat verses, and sing them sosweetly. How he would besiege the ear of RoseSalterne with amorous ditties! But still, he couldnot be everything; and if he had the bone and muscleof the family, it was but fair that Frank should havethe brains and voice; and, after all, he was boneof his bone and flesh of his flesh, and it was justthe same as if he himself could do all the fine thingswhich Frank could do; for as long as one of the familywon honor, what matter which of them it was?Whereon he shouted through the wall, “Good night,old song-thrush; I suppose I need not pay the musicians.”
“What, awake?” answered Frank. “Comein here, and lull me to sleep with a sea-song.”
So Amyas went in, and found Frank laid on the outsideof his bed not yet undrest.
“I am a bad sleeper,” said he; “Ispend more time, I fear, in burning the midnight oilthan prudent men should. Come and be my jongleur,my minnesinger, and tell me about Andes, and cannibals,and the ice-regions, and the fire-regions, and theparadises of the West.”
So Amyas sat down, and told: but somehow, everystory which he tried to tell came round, by crookedpaths, yet sure, to none other point than Rose Salterne,and how he thought of her here and thought of her there,and how he wondered what she would say if she had seenhim in this adventure, and how he longed to have hadher with him to show her that glorious sight, tillFrank let him have his own way, and then out camethe whole story of the simple fellow’s dailyand hourly devotion to her, through those three longyears of world-wide wanderings.
“And oh, Frank, I could hardly think of anythingbut her in the church the other day, God forgive me!and it did seem so hard for her to be the only facewhich I did not see—and have not seen heryet, either.”
“So I thought, dear lad,” said Frank,with one of his sweetest smiles; “and triedto get her father to let her impersonate the nymphof Torridge.”
“Did you, you dear kind fellow? That wouldhave been too delicious.”
“Just so, too delicious; wherefore, I suppose,it was ordained not to be, that which was being deliciousenough.”
“And is she as pretty as ever?”
“Ten times as pretty, dear lad, as half theyoung fellows round have discovered. If you meanto win her and wear her (and God grant you may fareno worse!) you will have rivals enough to get rid of.”
“Humph!” said Amyas, “I hope I shallnot have to make short work with some of them.”
“I hope not,” said Frank, laughing.“Now go to bed, and to-morrow morning give yoursword to mother to keep, lest you should be temptedto draw it on any of her majesty’s lieges.”
“No fear of that, Frank; I am no swash-buckler,thank God; but if any one gets in my way, I’llserve him as the mastiff did the terrier, and justdrop him over the quay into the river, to cool himself,or my name’s not Amyas.”
And the giant swung himself laughing out of the room,and slept all night like a seal, not without dreams,of course, of Rose Salterne.
The next morning, according to his wont, he went intohis mother’s room, whom he was sure to findup and at her prayers; for he liked to say his prayers,too, by her side, as he used to do when he was a littleboy. It seemed so homelike, he said, after threeyears’ knocking up and down in no-man’sland. But coming gently to the door, for fearof disturbing her, and entering unperceived, behelda sight which stopped him short.
Mrs. Leigh was sitting in her chair, with her facebowed fondly down upon the head of his brother Frank,who knelt before her, his face buried in her lap.Amyas could see that his whole form was quiveringwith stifled emotion. Their mother was just finishingthe last words of a well-known text,—“formy sake, and the Gospel’s, shall receive a hundred-foldin this present life, fathers, and mothers, and brothers,and sisters.”
“But not a wife!” interrupted Frank, witha voice stifled with sobs; “that was too preciousa gift for even Him to promise to those who gave upa first love for His sake!”
“And yet,” said he, after a moment’ssilence, “has He not heaped me with blessingsenough already, that I must repine and rage at Hisrefusing me one more, even though that one be—No,mother! I am your son, and God’s; and youshall know it, even though Amyas never does!”And he looked up with his clear blue eyes and whiteforehead; and his face was as the face of an angel.
Both of them saw that Amyas was present, and startedand blushed. His mother motioned him away withher eyes, and he went quietly out, as one stunned.Why had his name been mentioned?
Love, cunning love, told him all at once. Thiswas the meaning of last night’s canzonet!This was why its words had seemed to fit his own heartso well! His brother was his rival. And hehad been telling him all his love last night.What a stupid brute he was! How it must have madepoor Frank wince! And then Frank had listenedso kindly; even bid him God speed in his suit.What a gentleman old Frank was, to be sure! Nowonder the queen was so fond of him, and all the Courtladies!—Why, if it came to that, what wonderif Rose Salterne should be fond of him too? Hey-day!“That would be a pretty fish to find in my netwhen I come to haul it!” quoth Amyas to himself,as he paced the garden; and clutching desperatelyhold of his locks with both hands, as if to hold hispoor confused head on its shoulders, he strode andtramped up and down the shell-paved garden walks fora full half hour, till Frank’s voice (as cheerfulas ever, though he more than suspected all) calledhim.
“Come in to breakfast, lad; and stop grindingand creaking upon those miserable limpets, beforethou hast set every tooth in my head on edge!”
Amyas, whether by dint of holding his head straight,or by higher means, had got the thoughts of the saidhead straight enough by this time; and in he came,and fell to upon the broiled fish and strong ale, witha sort of fury, as determined to do his duty to theutmost in all matters that day, and therefore, ofcourse, in that most important matter of bodily sustenance;while his mother and Frank looked at him, not withoutanxiety and even terror, doubting what turn his fancymight have taken in so new a case; at last—
“My dear Amyas, you will really heat your bloodwith all that strong ale! Remember, those whodrink beer, think beer.”
“Then they think right good thoughts, mother.And in the meanwhile, those who drink water, thinkwater. Eh, old Frank? and here’s your health.”
“And clouds are water,” said his mother,somewhat reassured by his genuine good humor; “andso are rainbows; and clouds are angels’ thrones,and rainbows the sign of God’s peace on earth.”
Amyas understood the hint, and laughed. “ThenI’ll pledge Frank out of the next ditch, ifit please you and him. But first—Isay—he must hearken to a parable; a mannermystery, miracle play, I have got in my head, likewhat they have at Easter, to the town-hall. Nowthen, hearken, madam, and I and Frank will act.”And up rose Amyas, and shoved back his chair, andput on a solemn face.
Mrs. Leigh looked up, trembling; and Frank, he scarceknew why, rose.
“No; you pitch again. You are King David,and sit still upon your throne. David was a greatsinger, you know, and a player on the viols; and ruddy,too, and of a fair countenance; so that will fit.Now, then, mother, don’t look so frightened.I am not going to play Goliath, for all my cubits;I am to present Nathan the prophet. Now, David,hearken, for I have a message unto thee, O King!
“There were two men in one city, one rich, andthe other poor: and the rich man had many flocksand herds, and all the fine ladies in Whitehall tocourt if he liked; and the poor man had nothing but—”
And in spite of his broad honest smile, Amyas’sdeep voice began to tremble and choke.
Frank sprang up, and burst into tears: “Oh!Amyas, my brother, my brother! stop! I cannotendure this. Oh, God! was it not enough to haveentangled myself in this fatal fancy, but over andabove, I must meet the shame of my brother’sdiscovering it?”
“What shame, then, I’d like to know?”said Amyas, recovering himself. “Look here,brother Frank! I’ve thought it all overin the garden; and I was an ass and a braggart fortalking to you as I did last night. Of courseyou love her! Everybody must; and I was a foolfor not recollecting that; and if you love her, yourtaste and mine agree, and what can be better?I think you are a sensible fellow for loving her,and you think me one. And as for who has her,why, you’re the eldest; and first come firstserved is the rule, and best to keep to it. Besides,brother Frank, though I’m no scholar, yet I’mnot so blind but that I tell the difference betweenyou and me; and of course your chance against mine,for a hundred to one; and I am not going to be foolenough to row against wind and tide too. I’mgood enough for her, I hope; but if I am, you arebetter, and the good dog may run, but it’s thebest that takes the hare; and so I have nothing moreto do with the matter at all; and if you marry her,why, it will set the old house on its legs again,and that’s the first thing to be thought of,and you may just as well do it as I, and better too.Not but that it’s a plague, a horrible plague!”went on Amyas, with a ludicrously doleful visage; “butso are other things too, by the dozen; it’sall in the day’s work, as the huntsman saidwhen the lion ate him. One would never get throughthe furze-croft if one stopped to pull out the prickles.The pig didn’t scramble out of the ditch bysqueaking; and the less said the sooner mended; nobodywas sent into the world only to suck honey-pots.What must be must, man is but dust; if you can’tget crumb, you must fain eat crust. So I’llgo and join the army in Ireland, and get it out ofmy head, for cannon balls fright away love as wellas poverty does; and that’s all I’ve gotto say.” Wherewith Amyas sat down, and returnedto the beer; while Mrs. Leigh wept tears of joy.
“Amyas! Amyas!” said Frank; “youmust not throw away the hopes of years, and for me,too! Oh, how just was your parable! Ah! mothermine! to what use is all my scholarship and my philosophy,when this dear simple sailor-lad outdoes me at thefirst trial of courtesy!”
“My children, my children, which of you shallI love best? Which of you is the more noble?I thanked God this morning for having given me onesuch son; but to have found that I possess two!”And Mrs. Leigh laid her head on the table, and buriedher face in her hands, while the generous battle wenton.
“But, dearest Amyas!—”
“But, Frank! if you don’t hold your tongue,I must go forth. It was quite trouble enoughto make up one’s mind, without having you afterwardstrying to unmake it again.”
“Amyas! if you give her up to me, God do soto me, and more also, if I do not hereby give herup to you!”
“He had done it already—this morning!”said Mrs. Leigh, looking up through her tears.“He renounced her forever on his knees beforeme! only he is too noble to tell you so.”
“The more reason I should copy him,” saidAmyas, setting his lips, and trying to look desperatelydetermined, and then suddenly jumping up, he leapedupon Frank, and throwing his arms round his neck, sobbedout, “There, there, now! For God’ssake, let us forget all, and think about our mother,and the old house, and how we may win her honor beforewe die! and that will be enough to keep our handsfull, without fretting about this woman and that.—Whatan ass I have been for years! instead of learningmy calling, dreaming about her, and don’t knowat this minute whether she cares more for me thanshe does for her father’s ’prentices!”
“Oh, Amyas! every word of yours puts me to freshshame! Will you believe that I know as littleof her likings as you do?”
“Don’t tell me that, and play the devil’sgame by putting fresh hopes into me, when I am tryingto kick them out. I won’t believe it.If she is not a fool, she must love you; and if shedon’t, why, be hanged if she is worth loving!”
“My dearest Amyas! I must ask you too tomake no more such speeches to me. All those thoughtsI have forsworn.”
“Only this morning; so there is time to catchthem again before they are gone too far.”
“Only this morning,” said Frank, witha quiet smile: “but centuries have passedsince then.”
“Centuries? I don’t see many grayhairs yet.”
“I should not have been surprised if you had,though,” answered Frank, in so sad and meaninga tone that Amyas could only answer—
“Well, you are an angel!”
“You, at least, are something even more to thepurpose, for you are a man!”
And both spoke truth, and so the battle ended; andFrank went to his books, while Amyas, who must needsbe doing, if he was not to dream, started off to thedockyard to potter about a new ship of Sir Richard’s,and forget his woes, in the capacity of Sir Oracleamong the sailors. And so he had played his movefor Rose, even as Eustace had, and lost her:but not as Eustace had.
CHAPTER V
CLOVELLY COURT IN THE OLDEN TIME
“It was among the waysof good Queen Bess,
Who ruled as well as ever mortal can,sir,
When she was stogg’d, and the countryin a mess,
She was wont to send for a Devon man,sir.”
WestCountry Song.
The next morning Amyas Leigh was not to be found.Not that he had gone out to drown himself in despair,or even to bemoan himself “down by the Torridgeside.” He had simply ridden off, Frank found,to Sir Richard Grenville at Stow: his motherat once divined the truth, that he was gone to tryfor a post in the Irish army, and sent off Frank afterhim to bring him home again, and make him at leastreconsider himself.
So Frank took horse and rode thereon ten miles ormore: and then, as there were no inns on theroad in those days, or indeed in these, and he hadsome ten miles more of hilly road before him, he turneddown the hill towards Clovelly Court, to obtain, afterthe hospitable humane fashion of those days, goodentertainment for man and horse from Mr. Cary thesquire.
And when he walked self-invited, like the loud-shoutingMenelaus, into the long dark wainscoted hall of thecourt, the first object he beheld was the mighty formof Amyas, who, seated at the long table, was alternatelyburying his face in a pasty, and the pasty in his face,his sorrows having, as it seemed, only sharpened hisappetite, while young Will Cary, kneeling on the oppositebench, with his elbows on the table, was in that gracefulattitude laying down the law fiercely to him in alow voice.
“Hillo! lad,” cried Amyas; “comehither and deliver me out of the hands of this fire-eater,who I verily believe will kill me, if I do not lethim kill some one else.”
“Ah! Mr. Frank,” said Will Cary,who, like all other young gentlemen of these parts,held Frank in high honor, and considered him a veryoracle and cynosure of fashion and chivalry, “welcomehere: I was just longing for you, too; I wantedyour advice on half-a-dozen matters. Sit down,and eat. There is the ale.”
“None so early, thank you.”
“Ah no!” said Amyas, burying his headin the tankard, and then mimicking Frank, “avoidstrong ale o’ mornings. It heats the blood,thickens the animal spirits, and obfuscates the cerebrumwith frenetical and lymphatic idols, which cloud thequintessential light of the pure reason. Eh?young Plato, young Daniel, come hither to judgment!And yet, though I cannot see through the bottom ofthe tankard already, I can see plain enough stillto see this, that Will shall not fight.”
“Shall I not, eh? who says that? Mr. Frank,I appeal to you, now; only hear.”
“We are in the judgment-seat,” said Frank,settling to the pasty. “Proceed, appellant.”
“Well, I was telling Amyas, that Tom Coffin,of Portledge; I will stand him no longer.”
“Let him be, then,” said Amyas; “hecould stand very well by himself, when I saw him last.”
“Plague on you, hold your tongue. Has heany right to look at me as he does, whenever I passhim?”
“That depends on how he looks; a cat may lookat a king, provided she don’t take him for amouse.”
“Oh, I know how he looks, and what he meanstoo, and he shall stop, or I will stop him. Andthe other day, when I spoke of Rose Salterne”—“Ah!”groaned Frank, “Ate’s apple again!”—“(nevermind what I said) he burst out laughing in my face;and is not that a fair quarrel? And what is more,I know that he wrote a sonnet, and sent it to her toStow by a market woman. What right has he towrite sonnets when I can’t? It’s notfair play, Mr. Frank, or I am a Jew, and a Spaniard,and a Papist; it’s not!” And Will smotethe table till the plates danced again.
“My dear knight of the burning pestle, I havea plan, a device, a disentanglement, according tomost approved rules of chivalry. Let us fix aday, and summon by tuck of drum all young gentlemenunder the age of thirty, dwelling within fifteen milesof the habitation of that peerless Oriana.”
“And all ’prentice-boys too,” criedAmyas, out of the pasty.
“And all ’prentice-boys. The boldlads shall fight first, with good quarterstaves, inBideford Market, till all heads are broken; and thehead which is not broken, let the back belonging toit pay the penalty of the noble member’s cowardice.After which grand tournament, to which that of Tottenhamshall be but a flea-bite and a batrachomyomachy—”
“Confound you, and your long words, sir,”said poor Will, “I know you are flouting me.”
“Pazienza, Signor Cavaliere; that which is tocome is no flouting, but bloody and warlike earnest.For afterwards all the young gentlemen shall adjourninto a convenient field, sand, or bog—whichlast will be better, as no man will be able to runaway, if he be up to his knees in soft peat:and there stripping to our shirts, with rapiers ofequal length and keenest temper, each shall slay hisman, catch who catch can, and the conquerors fightagain, like a most valiant main of gameco*cks as weare, till all be dead, and out of their woes; afterwhich the survivor, bewailing before heaven and earththe cruelty of our Fair Oriana, and the slaughterwhich her basiliscine eyes have caused, shall fallgracefully upon his sword, and so end the woes of thisour lovelorn generation. Placetne Domini? asthey used to ask in the Senate at Oxford.”
“Really,” said Cary, “this is toobad.”
“So is, pardon me, your fighting Mr. Coffinwith anything longer than a bodkin.”
“Bodkins are too short for such fierce Bobadils,”said Amyas; “they would close in so near, thatwe should have them falling to fisticuffs after thefirst bout.”
“Then let them fight with squirts across themarket-place; for by heaven and the queen’slaws, they shall fight with nothing else.”
“My dear Mr. Cary,” went on Frank, suddenlychanging his bantering tone to one of the most winningsweetness, “do not fancy that I cannot feelfor you, or that I, as well as you, have not knownthe stings of love and the bitterer stings of jealousy.But oh, Mr. Cary, does it not seem to you an awfulthing to waste selfishly upon your own quarrel thatdivine wrath which, as Plato says, is the very rootof all virtues, and which has been given you, likeall else which you have, that you may spend it inthe service of her whom all bad souls fear, and allvirtuous souls adore,—our peerless queen?Who dares, while she rules England, call his swordor his courage his own, or any one’s but hers?Are there no Spaniards to conquer, no wild Irish todeliver from their oppressors, that two gentlemenof Devon can find no better place to flesh their bladesthan in each other’s valiant and honorable hearts?”
“By heaven!” cried Amyas, “Frankspeaks like a book; and for me, I do think that Christiangentlemen may leave love quarrels to bulls and rams.”
“And that the heir of Clovelly,” saidFrank, smiling, “may find more noble examplesto copy than the stags in his own deer-park.”
“Well,” said Will, penitently, “youare a great scholar, Mr. Frank, and you speak likeone; but gentlemen must fight sometimes, or where wouldbe their honor?”
“I speak,” said Frank, a little proudly,“not merely as a scholar, but as a gentleman,and one who has fought ere now, and to whom it hashappened, Mr. Cary, to kill his man (on whose soulmay God have mercy); but it is my pride to rememberthat I have never yet fought in my own quarrel, andmy trust in God that I never shall. For as thereis nothing more noble and blessed than to fight inbehalf of those whom we love, so to fight in our ownprivate behalf is a thing not to be allowed to a Christianman, unless refusal imports utter loss of life or honor;and even then, it may be (though I would not lay aburden on any man’s conscience), it is betternot to resist evil, but to overcome it with good.”
“And I can tell you, Will,” said Amyas,“I am not troubled with fear of ghosts; butwhen I cut off the Frenchman’s head, I said tomyself, ’If that braggart had been slanderingme instead of her gracious majesty, I should expectto see that head lying on my pillow every time I wentto bed at night.’”
“God forbid!” said Will, with a shudder.“But what shall I do? for to the market tomorrowI will go, if it were choke-full of Coffins, and aghost in each coffin of the lot.”
“Leave the matter to me,” said Amyas.“I have my device, as well as scholar Frankhere; and if there be, as I suppose there must be,a quarrel in the market to-morrow, see if I do not—”
“Well, you are two good fellows,” saidWill. “Let us have another tankard in.”
“And drink the health of Mr. Coffin, and allgallant lads of the North,” said Frank; “andnow to my business. I have to take this runawayyouth here home to his mother; and if he will notgo quietly, I have orders to carry him across my saddle.”
“I hope your nag has a strong back, then,”said Amyas; “but I must go on and see Sir Richard,Frank. It is all very well to jest as we havebeen doing, but my mind is made up.”
“Stop,” said Cary. “You muststay here tonight; first, for good fellowship’ssake; and next, because I want the advice of our Phoenixhere, our oracle, our paragon. There, Mr. Frank,can you construe that for me? Speak low, though,gentlemen both; there comes my father; you had bettergive me the letter again. Well, father, whencethis morning?”
“Eh, company here? Young men, you are alwayswelcome, and such as you. Would there were moreof your sort in these dirty times! How is yourgood mother, Frank, eh? Where have I been, Will?Round the house-farm, to look at the beeves.That sheeted heifer of Prowse’s is all wrong;her coat stares like a hedgepig’s. TellJewell to go up and bring her in before night.And then up the forty acres; sprang two coveys, andpicked a leash out of them. The Irish hawk fliesas wild as any haggard still, and will never makea bird. I had to hand her to Tom, and take thelittle peregrine. Give me a Clovelly hawk againstthe world, after all; and—heigh ho, I amvery hungry! Half-past twelve, and dinner notserved? What, Master Amyas, spoiling your appetitewith strong ale? Better have tried sack, lad;have some now with me.”
And the worthy old gentleman, having finished hisoration, settled himself on a great bench inside thechimney, and put his hawk on a perch over his head,while his co*ckers coiled themselves up close to thewarm peat-ashes, and his son set to work to pull offhis father’s boots, amid sundry warnings totake care of his corns.
“Come, Master Amyas, a pint of white wine andsugar, and a bit of a shoeing-horn to it ere we dine.Some pickled prawns, now, or a rasher off the coals,to whet you?”
“Thank you,” quoth Amyas; “but Ihave drunk a mort of outlandish liquors, better andworse, in the last three years, and yet never foundaught to come up to good ale, which needs neither shoeing-hornbefore nor after, but takes care of itself, and ofall honest stomachs too, I think.”
“You speak like a book, boy,” said oldCary; “and after all, what a plague comes ofthese newfangled hot wines, and aqua vitaes, whichhave come in since the wars, but maddening of thebrains, and fever of the blood?”
“I fear we have not seen the end of that yet,”said Frank. “My friends write me from theNetherlands that our men are falling into a swinishtrick of swilling like the Hollanders. Heavengrant that they may not bring home the fashion withthem.”
“A man must drink, they say, or die of the ague,in those vile swamps,” said Amyas. “Whenthey get home here, they will not need it.”
“Heaven grant it,” said Frank; “Ishould be sorry to see Devonshire a drunken county;and there are many of our men out there with Mr. Champernoun.”
“Ah,” said Cary, “there, as in Ireland,we are proving her majesty’s saying true, thatDevonshire is her right hand, and the young childrenthereof like the arrows in the hand of the giant.”
“They may well be,” said his son, “whensome of them are giants themselves, like my tall school-fellowopposite.”
“He will be up and doing again presently, I’llwarrant him,” said old Cary.
“And that I shall,” quoth Amyas.“I have been devising brave deeds; and see inthe distance enchanters to be bound, dragons choked,empires conquered, though not in Holland.”
“You do?” asked Will, a little sharply;for he had had a half suspicion that more was meantthan met the ear.
“Yes,” said Amyas, turning off his jestagain, “I go to what Raleigh calls the Landof the Nymphs. Another month, I hope, will seeme abroad in Ireland.”
“Abroad? Call it rather at home,”said old Cary; “for it is full of Devon menfrom end to end, and you will be among friends allday long. George Bourchier from Tawstock hasthe army now in Munster, and Warham St. Leger is marshal;George Carew is with Lord Grey of Wilton (Poor PeterCarew was killed at Glendalough); and after the defeatlast year, when that villain Desmond cut off Herbertand Price, the companies were made up with six hundredDevon men, and Arthur Fortescue at their head; sothat the old county holds her head as proudly in theLand of Ire as she does in the Low Countries and theSpanish Main.”
“And where,” asked Amyas, “is Davilsof Marsland, who used to teach me how to catch trout,when I was staying down at Stow? He is in Ireland,too, is he not?”
“Ah, my lad,” said Mr. Cary, “thatis a sad story. I thought all England had knownit.”
“You forget, sir, I am a stranger. Surelyhe is not dead?”
“Murdered foully, lad! Murdered like adog, and by the man whom he had treated as his son,and who pretended, the false knave! to call him father.”
“His blood is avenged?” said Amyas, fiercely.
“No, by heaven, not yet! Stay, don’tcry out again. I am getting old—Imust tell my story my own way. It was last July,—wasit not, Will?—Over comes to Ireland Saunders,one of those Jesuit foxes, as the Pope’s legate,with money and bulls, and a banner hallowed by thePope, and the devil knows what beside; and with himJames Fitzmaurice, the same fellow who had sworn onhis knees to Perrott, in the church at Kilmallock,to be a true liegeman to Queen Elizabeth, and confirmedit by all his saints, and such a world of his Irishhowling, that Perrott told me he was fain to stophis own ears. Well, he had been practising withthe King of France, but got nothing but laughter forhis pains, and so went over to the Most Catholic King,and promises him to join Ireland to Spain, and setup Popery again, and what not. And he, I suppose,thinking it better that Ireland should belong to himthan to the Pope’s bastard, fits him out, andsends him off on such another errand as Stukely’s,—thoughI will say, for the honor of Devon, if Stukely livedlike a fool, he died like an honest man.”
“Sir Thomas Stukely dead too?” said Amyas.
“Wait a while, lad, and you shall have thattragedy afterwards. Well, where was I? Oh,Fitzmaurice and the Jesuits land at Smerwick, withthree ships, choose a place for a fort, bless it withtheir holy water, and their moppings and their scourings,and the rest of it, to purify it from the stain ofheretic dominion; but in the meanwhile one of theCourtenays,—a Courtenay of Haccombe, wasit?—or a Courtenay of Boconnock? Silence,Will, I shall have it in a minute—yes, aCourtenay of Haccombe it was, lying at anchor nearby, in a ship of war of his, cuts out the three ships,and cuts off the Dons from the sea. John andJames Desmond, with some small rabble, go over to theSpaniards. Earl Desmond will not join them, butwill not fight them, and stands by to take the winningside; and then in comes poor Davils, sent down by theLord Deputy to charge Desmond and his brothers, inthe queen’s name, to assault the Spaniards.Folks say it was rash of his lordship: but Isay, what could be better done? Every one knowsthat there never was a stouter or shrewder soldierthan Davils; and the young Desmonds, I have heardhim say many a time, used to look on him as their father.But he found out what it was to trust Englishmen turnedIrish. Well, the Desmonds found out on a suddenthat the Dons were such desperate Paladins, that itwas madness to meddle, though they were five to one;and poor Davils, seeing that there was no fight inthem, goes back for help, and sleeps that night atsome place called Tralee. Arthur Carter of Bideford,St. Leger’s lieutenant, as stout an old soldieras Davils himself, sleeps in the same bed with him;the lacquey-boy, who is now with Sir Richard at Stow,on the floor at their feet. But in the dead ofnight, who should come in but James Desmond, swordin hand, with a dozen of his ruffians at his heels,each with his glib over his ugly face, and his skenein his hand. Davils springs up in bed, and asksbut this, ‘What is the matter, my son?’whereon the treacherous villain, without giving himtime to say a prayer, strikes at him, naked as he was,crying, ’Thou shalt be my father no longer, norI thy son! Thou shalt die!’ and at thatall the rest fall on him. The poor little lad(so he says) leaps up to cover his master with hisnaked body, gets three or four stabs of skenes, andso falls for dead; with his master and Captain Carter,who were dead indeed—God reward them!After that the ruffians ransacked the house, tillthey had murdered every Englishman in it, the lacquey-boyonly excepted, who crawled out, wounded as he was,through a window; while Desmond, if you will believeit, went back, up to his elbows in blood, and vauntedhis deeds to the Spaniards, and asked them—’There!Will you take that as a pledge that I am faithful toyou?’ And that, my lad, was the end of HenryDavils, and will be of all who trust to the faithof wild savages.”
“I would go a hundred miles to see that Desmondhanged!” said Amyas, while great tears ran downhis face. “Poor Mr. Davils! And now,what is the story of Sir Thomas?”
“Your brother must tell you that, lad; I amsomewhat out of breath.”
“And I have a right to tell it,” saidFrank, with a smile. “Do you know thatI was very near being Earl of the bog of Allen, andone of the peers of the realm to King Buoncompagna,son and heir to his holiness Pope Gregory the Thirteenth?”
“No, surely!”
“As I am a gentleman. When I was at RomeI saw poor Stukely often; and this and more he offeredme on the part (as he said) of the Pope, if I wouldjust oblige him in the two little matters of beingreconciled to the Catholic Church, and joining theinvasion of Ireland.”
“Poor deluded heretic,” said Will Cary,“to have lost an earldom for your family bysuch silly scruples of loyalty!”
“It is not a matter for jesting, after all,”said Frank; “but I saw Sir Thomas often, andI cannot believe he was in his senses, so frantic washis vanity and his ambition; and all the while, inprivate matters as honorable a gentleman as ever.However, he sailed at last for Ireland, with his eighthundred Spaniards and Italians; and what is more, Iknow that the King of Spain paid their charges.Marquis Vinola—James Buoncompagna, thatis—stayed quietly at Rome, preferring thatStukely should conquer his paternal heritage of Irelandfor him while he took care of the bona robas at home.I went down to Civita Vecchia to see him off; andthough his younger by many years, I could not but takethe liberty of entreating him, as a gentleman and aman of Devon, to consider his faith to his queen andthe honor of his country. There were high wordsbetween us; God forgive me if I spoke too fiercely,for I never saw him again.”
“Too fiercely to an open traitor, Frank?Why not have run him through?”
“Nay, I had no clean life for Sundays, Amyas;so I could not throw away my week-day one; and asfor the weal of England, I knew that it was littlehe would damage it, and told him so. And at thathe waxed utterly mad, for it touched his pride, andswore that if the wind had not been fair for sailing,he would have fought me there and then; to which Icould only answer, that I was ready to meet him whenhe would; and he parted from me, saying, ’Itis a pity, sir, I cannot fight you now; when nextwe meet, it will be beneath my dignity to measure swordswith you.’
“I suppose he expected to come back a princeat least—Heaven knows; I owe him no ill-will,nor I hope does any man. He has paid all debtsnow in full, and got his receipt for them.”
“How did he die, then, after all?”
“On his voyage he touched in Portugal.King Sebastian was just sailing for Africa with hisnew ally, Mohammed the Prince of Fez, to help KingAbdallah, and conquer what he could. He persuadedStukely to go with him. There were those whothought that he, as well as the Spaniards, had nostomach for seeing the Pope’s son King of Ireland.Others used to say that he thought an island too smallfor his ambition, and must needs conquer a continent—Iknow not why it was, but he went. They had heavyweather in the passage; and when they landed, manyof their soldiers were sea-sick. Stukely, reasonablyenough, counselled that they should wait two or threedays and recruit; but Don Sebastian was so mad forthe assault that he must needs have his veni, vidi,vici; and so ended with a veni, vidi, perii; for heAbdallah, and his son Mohammed, all perished in thefirst battle at Alcasar; and Stukely, surrounded andoverpowered, fought till he could fight no more, andthen died like a hero with all his wounds in front;and may God have mercy on his soul!”
“Ah!” said Amyas, “we heard of thatbattle off Lima, but nothing about poor Stukely.”
“That last was a Popish prayer, Master Frank,”said old Mr. Cary.
“Most worshipful sir, you surely would not wishGod not to have mercy on his soul?”
“No—eh? Of course not:but that’s all settled by now, for he is dead,poor fellow.”
“Certainly, my dear sir. And you cannothelp being a little fond of him still.”
“Eh? why, I should be a brute if I were not.He and I were schoolfellows, though he was somewhatthe younger; and many a good thrashing have I givenhim, and one cannot help having a tenderness for aman after that. Beside, we used to hunt togetherin Exmoor, and have royal nights afterward into Ilfracombe,when we were a couple of mad young blades. Fondof him? Why, I would have sooner given my forefingerthan that he should have gone to the dogs thus.”
“Then, my dear sir, if you feel for him still,in spite of all his faults, how do you know that Godmay not feel for him still, in spite of all his faults?For my part,” quoth Frank, in his fanciful way,“without believing in that Popish Purgatory,I cannot help holding with Plato, that such heroicalsouls, who have wanted but little of true greatness,are hereafter by some strait discipline brought toa better mind; perhaps, as many ancients have heldwith the Indian Gymnosophists, by transmigration intothe bodies of those animals whom they have resembledin their passions; and indeed, if Sir Thomas Stukely’ssoul should now animate the body of a lion, all Ican say is that he would be a very valiant and royallion; and also doubtless become in due time heartilyashamed and penitent for having been nothing betterthan a lion.”
“What now, Master Frank? I don’ttrouble my head with such matters—I sayStukely was a right good-hearted fellow at bottom;and if you plague my head with any of your dialectics,and propositions, and college quips and quiddities,you sha’n’t have any more sack, sir.But here come the knaves, and I hear the cook knockto dinner.”
After a madrigal or two, and an Italian song of MasterFrank’s, all which went sweetly enough, theladies rose, and went. Whereon Will Cary, drawinghis chair close to Frank’s, put quietly intohis hand a dirty letter.
“This was the letter left for me,” whisperedhe, “by a country fellow this morning.Look at it and tell me what I am to do.”
Whereon Frank opened, and read—
“Mister Cary,be you wary
Bydeer park end to-night.
Yf Irish ffoxe com outof rocks
Gripand hold hym tight.”
“I would have showed it my father,” saidWill, “but—”
“I verily believe it to be a blind. Seenow, this is the handwriting of a man who has beentrying to write vilely, and yet cannot. Look atthat B, and that G; their formae formativae never werebegotten in a hedge-school. And what is more,this is no Devon man’s handiwork. We say‘to’ and not ‘by,’ Will, eh?in the West country?”
“Of course.”
“And ‘man,’ instead of ’him’?”
“True, O Daniel! But am I to do nothingtherefore?”
“On that matter I am no judge. Let us askmuch-enduring Ulysses here; perhaps he has not sailedround the world without bringing home a device ortwo.”
Whereon Amyas was called to counsel, as soon as Mr.Cary could be stopped in a long cross-examinationof him as to Mr. Doughty’s famous trial andexecution.
Amyas pondered awhile, thrusting his hands into hislong curls; and then—
“Will, my lad, have you been watching at theDeer Park End of late?”
“Never.”
“Where, then?”
“At the town-beach.”
“Where else?
“At the town-head.”
“Where else?”
“Why, the fellow is turned lawyer! AboveFreshwater.”
“Where is Freshwater?”
“Why, where the water-fall comes over the cliff,half-a-mile from the town. There is a path thereup into the forest.”
“I know. I’ll watch there to-night.Do you keep all your old haunts safe, of course, andsend a couple of stout knaves to the mill, to watchthe beach at the Deer Park End, on the chance; foryour poet may be a true man, after all. But myheart’s faith is, that this comes just to drawyou off from some old beat of yours, upon a wild-goosechase. If they shoot the miller by mistake, Isuppose it don’t much matter?”
“Marry, no.”
“’When amiller’s knock’d on the head,
The less of flour makesthe more of bread.’”
“Or, again,” chimed in old Mr. Cary, “asthey say in the North—
“’Find amiller that will not steal,
Or a webster that isleal,
Or a priest that isnot greedy,
And lay them three adead corpse by;
And by the virtue ofthem three,
The said dead corpseshall quicken’d be.’”
“But why are you so ready to watch Freshwaterto-night, Master Amyas?”
“Because, sir, those who come, if they come,will never land at Mouthmill; if they are strangers,they dare not; and if they are bay’s-men, theyare too wise, as long as the westerly swell sets in.As for landing at the town, that would be too greata risk; but Freshwater is as lonely as the Bermudas;and they can beach a boat up under the cliff at alltides, and in all weathers, except north and nor’west.I have done it many a time, when I was a boy.”
“And give us the fruit of your experience nowin your old age, eh? Well, you have a gray headon green shoulders, my lad; and I verily believe youare right. Who will you take with you to watch?”
“Sir,” said Frank, “I will go withmy brother; and that will be enough.”
“Enough? He is big enough, and you braveenough, for ten; but still, the more the merrier.”
“But the fewer, the better fare. If I mightask a first and last favor, worshipful sir,”said Frank, very earnestly, “you would grantme two things: that you would let none go toFreshwater but me and my brother; and that whatsoeverwe shall bring you back shall be kept as secret asthe commonweal and your loyalty shall permit.I trust that we are not so unknown to you, or to others,that you can doubt for a moment but that whatsoeverwe may do will satisfy at once your honor and our own.”
“My dear young gentleman, there is no need ofso many courtier’s words. I am your father’sfriend, and yours. And God forbid that a Cary—forI guess your drift—should ever wish tomake a head or a heart ache; that is, more than—”
“Those of whom it is written, ’Thoughthou bray a fool in a mortar, yet will not his follydepart from him,’” interposed Frank, inso sad a tone that no one at the table replied; andfew more words were exchanged, till the two brotherswere safe outside the house; and then—
“Amyas,” said Frank, “that was aDevon man’s handiwork, nevertheless; it wasEustace’s handwriting.”
“Impossible!”
“No, lad. I have been secretary to a prince,and learnt to interpret cipher, and to watch everypen-stroke; and, young as I am, I think that I amnot easily deceived. Would God I were! Comeon, lad; and strike no man hastily, lest thou cutoff thine own flesh.”
So forth the two went, along the park to the eastward,and past the head of the little wood-embosomed fishing-town,a steep stair of houses clinging to the cliff farbelow them, the bright slate roofs and white wallsglittering in the moonlight; and on some half-milefarther, along the steep hill-side, fenced with oakwood down to the water’s edge, by a narrow forestpath, to a point where two glens meet and pour theirstreamlets over a cascade some hundred feet in heightinto the sea below. By the side of this waterfalla narrow path climbs upward from the beach; and hereit was that the two brothers expected to meet themessenger.
Frank insisted on taking his station below Amyas.He said that he was certain that Eustace himself wouldmake his appearance, and that he was more fit thanAmyas to bring him to reason by parley; that if Amyaswould keep watch some twenty yards above, the escapeof the messenger would be impossible. Moreover,he was the elder brother, and the post of honor washis right. So Amyas obeyed him, after making himpromise that if more than one man came up the path,he would let them pass him before he challenged, sothat both might bring them to bay at the same time.
So Amyas took his station under a high marl bank,and, bedded in luxuriant crown-ferns, kept his eyesteadily on Frank, who sat down on a little knollof rock (where is now a garden on the cliff-edge) whichparts the path and the dark chasm down which the streamrushes to its final leap over the cliff.
There Amyas sat a full half-hour, and glanced at whilesfrom Frank to look upon the scene around. Outsidethe southwest wind blew fresh and strong, and themoonlight danced upon a thousand crests of foam; butwithin the black jagged point which sheltered the town,the sea did but heave, in long oily swells of rollingsilver, onward into the black shadow of the hills,within which the town and pier lay invisible, savewhere a twinkling light gave token of some lonely fisher’swife, watching the weary night through for the boatwhich would return with dawn. Here and thereupon the sea, a black speck marked a herring-boat,drifting with its line of nets; and right off the mouthof the glen, Amyas saw, with a beating heart, a largetwo-masted vessel lying-to—that must bethe “Portugal”! Eagerly he lookedup the glen, and listened; but he heard nothing butthe sweeping of the wind across the downs five hundredfeet above, and the sough of the waterfall upon therocks below; he saw nothing but the vast black sheetsof oak-wood sloping up to the narrow blue sky above,and the broad bright hunter’s moon, and thewoodco*cks, which, chuckling to each other, hawked toand fro, like swallows, between the tree-tops andthe sky.
At last he heard a rustle of the fallen leaves; heshrank closer and closer into the darkness of thebank. Then swift light steps—not downthe path, from above, but upward, from below; his heartbeat quick and loud. And in another half-minutea man came in sight, within three yards of Frank’shiding-place.
Frank sprang out instantly. Amyas saw his brightblade glance in the clear October moonlight.
“Stand in the queen’s name!”
The man drew a pistol from under his cloak, and firedfull in his face. Had it happened in these daysof detonators, Frank’s chance had been small;but to get a ponderous wheel-lock under weigh was alonger business, and before the fizzing of the flinthad ceased, Frank had struck up the pistol with hisrapier, and it exploded harmlessly over his head.The man instantly dashed the weapon in his face andclosed.
The blow, luckily, did not take effect on that delicateforehead, but struck him on the shoulder: nevertheless,Frank, who with all his grace and agility was as fragileas a lily, and a very bubble of the earth, staggered,and lost his guard, and before he could recover himself,Amyas saw a dagger gleam, and one, two, three blowsfiercely repeated.
Mad with fury, he was with them in an instant.They were scuffling together so closely in the shadethat he was afraid to use his sword point; but withthe hilt he dealt a single blow full on the ruffian’scheek. It was enough; with a hideous shriek, thefellow rolled over at his feet, and Amyas set hisfoot on him, in act to run him through.
“Stop! stay!” almost screamed Frank; “itis Eustace! our cousin Eustace!” and he leantagainst a tree.
Amyas sprang towards him: but Frank waved himoff.
“It is nothing—a scratch. Hehas papers: I am sure of it. Take them;and for God’s sake let him go!”
“Villain! give me your papers!” criedAmyas, setting his foot once more on the writhingEustace, whose jaw was broken across.
“You struck me foully from behind,” moanedhe, his vanity and envy even then coming out, in thatfaint and foolish attempt to prove Amyas not so verymuch better a man.
“Hound, do you think that I dare not strikeyou in front? Give me your papers, letters, whateverPopish devilry you carry; or as I live, I will cutoff your head, and take them myself, even if it costme the shame of stripping your corpse. Give themup! Traitor, murderer! give them, I say!”And setting his foot on him afresh, he raised his sword.
Eustace was usually no craven: but he was cowed.Between agony and shame, he had no heart to resist.Martyrdom, which looked so splendid when consummatedselon les regles on Tower Hill or Tyburn, before pitying,or (still better) scoffing multitudes, looked a confused,dirty, ugly business there in the dark forest; andas he lay, a stream of moonlight bathed his mightycousin’s broad clear forehead, and his longgolden locks, and his white terrible blade, till heseemed, to Eustace’s superstitious eye, likeone of those fair young St. Michaels trampling onthe fiend, which he had seen abroad in old German pictures.He shuddered; pulled a packet from his bosom, and threwit from him, murmuring, “I have not given it.”
“Swear to me that these are all the papers whichyou have in cipher or out of cipher. Swear onyour soul, or you die!”
Eustace swore.
“Tell me, who are your accomplices?”
“Never!” said Eustace. “Cruel!have you not degraded me enough already?” andthe wretched young man burst into tears, and hid hisbleeding face in his hands.
One hint of honor made Amyas as gentle as a lamb.He lifted Eustace up, and bade him run for his life.
“I am to owe my life, then, to you?”
“Not in the least; only to your being a Leigh.Go, or it will be worse for you!” And Eustacewent; while Amyas, catching up the precious packet,hurried to Frank. He had fainted already, andhis brother had to carry him as far as the park beforehe could find any of the other watchers. Theblind, as far as they were concerned, was complete.They had heard and seen nothing. Whosoever hadbrought the packet had landed they knew not where;and so all returned to the court, carrying Frank,who recovered gradually, having rather bruises thanwounds; for his foe had struck wildly, and with atrembling hand.
Half-an-hour after, Amyas, Mr. Cary, and his son Willwere in deep consultation over the following epistle,the only paper in the packet which was not in cipher:—
“’Dear brother N. S. in Chto.et Ecclesia.
“This is to inform you and the friends of thecause, that S. Josephus has landed in Smerwick, witheight hundred valiant Crusaders, burning with holyzeal to imitate last year’s martyrs of Carrigfolium,and to expiate their offences (which I fear may havebeen many) by the propagation of our most holy faith.I have purified the fort (which they are strenuouslyrebuilding) with prayer and holy water, from the stainof heretical footsteps, and consecrated it afresh tothe service of Heaven, as the first-fruits of theisle of saints; and having displayed the consecratedbanner to the adoration of the faithful, have returnedto Earl Desmond, that I may establish his faith, weakas yet, by reason of the allurements of this world:though since, by the valor of his brother James, hethat hindered was taken out of the way (I mean Davilsthe heretic, sacrifice well-pleasing in the eyes ofHeaven!), the young man has lent a more obedient earto my counsels. If you can do anything, do itquickly, for a great door and effectual is opened,and there are many adversaries. But be swift,for so do the poor lambs of the Church tremble atthe fury of the heretics, that a hundred will fleebefore one Englishman. And, indeed, were it notfor that divine charity toward the Church (which coversthe multitude of sins) with which they are resplendent,neither they nor their country would be, by the carnaljudgment, counted worthy of so great labor in theirbehalf. For they themselves are given much tolying, theft, and drunkenness, vain babbling, andprofane dancing and singing; and are still, as S. Gildasreports of them, ’more careful to shroud theirvillainous faces in bushy hair, than decently to covertheir bodies; while their land (by reason of the tyrannyof their chieftains, and the continual wars and plunderingsamong their tribes, which leave them weak and divided,an easy prey to the myrmidons of the excommunicateand usurping Englishwoman) lies utterly waste withfire, and defaced with corpses of the starved andslain. But what are these things, while the holyvirtue of Catholic obedience still flourishes in theirhearts? The Church cares not for the conservationof body and goods, but of immortal souls.
“If any devout lady shall so will, you may obtainfrom her liberality a shirt for this worthless tabernacle,and also a pair of hose; for I am unsavory to myselfand to others, and of such luxuries none here hassuperfluity; for all live in holy poverty, except thefleas, who have that consolation in this world forwhich this unhappy nation, and those who labor amongthem, must wait till the world to come.*
“Your loving brother,
“N. S.”
* See note at end ofchapter.
“Sir Richard must know of this before daybreak,”cried old Cary. “Eight hundred men landed!We must call out the Posse Comitatus, and sail withthem bodily. I will go myself, old as I am.Spaniards in Ireland? not a dog of them must go homeagain.”
“Not a dog of them,” answered Will; “butwhere is Mr. Winter and his squadron?”
“Safe in Milford Haven; a messenger must besent to him too.”
“I’ll go,” said Amyas: “butMr. Cary is right. Sir Richard must know allfirst.”
“And we must have those Jesuits.”
“What? Mr. Evans and Mr. Morgans?God help us—they are at my uncle’s!Consider the honor of our family!”
“Judge for yourself, my dear boy,” saidold Mr. Cary, gently: “would it not berank treason to let these foxes escape, while we havethis damning proof against them?”
“I will go myself, then.”
“Why not? You may keep all straight, andWill shall go with you. Call a groom, Will, andget your horse saddled, and my Yorkshire gray; he willmake better play with this big fellow on his back,than the little pony astride of which Mr. Leigh camewalking in (as I hear) this morning. As for Frank,the ladies will see to him well enough, and glad enough,too, to have so fine a bird in their cage for a weekor two.”
“And my mother?”
“We’ll send to her to-morrow by daybreak.Come, a stirrup cup to start with, hot and hot.Now, boots, cloaks, swords, a deep pull and a warmone, and away!”
And the jolly old man bustled them out of the houseand into their saddles, under the broad bright winter’smoon.
“You must make your pace, lads, or the moonwill be down before you are over the moors.”And so away they went.
Neither of them spoke for many a mile. Amyas,because his mind was fixed firmly on the one objectof saving the honor of his house; and Will, becausehe was hesitating between Ireland and the wars, andRose Salterne and love-making. At last he spokesuddenly.
“I’ll go, Amyas.”
“Whither?”
“To Ireland with you, old man. I have draggedmy anchor at last.”
“What anchor, my lad of parables?”
“See, here am I, a tall and gallant ship.”
“Modest even if not true.”
“Inclination, like an anchor, holds me tight.”
“To the mud.”
“Nay, to a bed of roses—not withouttheir thorns.”
“Hillo! I have seen oysters grow on fruit-treesbefore now, but never an anchor in a rose-garden.”
“Silence, or my allegory will go to noggin-staves.”
“Against the rocks of my flinty discernment.”
“Pooh—well. Up comes duty likea jolly breeze, blowing dead from the northeast, andas bitter and cross as a northeaster too, and tugsme away toward Ireland. I hold on by the rosebed—anyground in a storm—till every strand isparted, and off I go, westward ho! to get my throatcut in a bog-hole with Amyas Leigh.”
“Earnest, Will?”
“As I am a sinful man.”
“Well done, young hawk of the White Cliff!”
“I had rather have called it Gallantry Bowerstill, though,” said Will, punning on the doublename of the noble precipice which forms the highestpoint of the deer park.
“Well, as long as you are on land, you knowit is Gallantry Bower still: but we always callit White Cliff when you see it from the sea-board,as you and I shall do, I hope, to-morrow evening.”
“What, so soon?”
“Dare we lose a day?”
“I suppose not: heigh-ho!”
And they rode on again in silence, Amyas in the meanwhilebeing not a little content (in spite of his late self-renunciation)to find that one of his rivals at least was goingto raise the siege of the Rose garden for a few months,and withdraw his forces to the coast of Kerry.
As they went over Bursdon, Amyas pulled up suddenly.
“Did you not hear a horse’s step on ourleft?”
“On our left—coming up from Welsfordmoor? Impossible at this time of night.It must have been a stag, or a sownder of wild swine:or may be only an old cow.”
“It was the ring of iron, friend. Let usstand and watch.”
Bursdon and Welsford were then, as now, a rollingrange of dreary moors, unbroken by tor or tree, oranything save few and far between a world-old furze-bankwhich marked the common rights of some distant cattlefarm, and crossed then, not as now, by a decent road,but by a rough confused track-way, the remnant ofan old Roman road from Clovelly dikes to Launceston.To the left it trended down towards a lower rangeof moors, which form the watershed of the heads ofTorridge; and thither the two young men peered downover the expanse of bog and furze, which glitteredfor miles beneath the moon, one sheet of frosted silver,in the heavy autumn dew.
“If any of Eustace’s party are tryingto get home from Freshwater, they might save a coupleof miles by coming across Welsford, instead of goingby the main track, as we have done.” Sosaid Amyas, who though (luckily for him) no “genius,”was cunning as a fox in all matters of tactic andpractic, and would have in these days proved his rightto be considered an intellectual person by being athorough man of business.
“If any of his party are mad, they’lltry it, and be stogged till the day of judgment.There are bogs in the bottom twenty feet deep.Plague on the fellow, whoever he is, he has dodgedus! Look there!”
It was too true. The unknown horseman had evidentlydismounted below, and led his horse up on the otherside of a long furze-dike; till coming to the pointwhere it turned away again from his intended course,he appeared against the sky, in the act of leadinghis nag over a gap.
“Ride like the wind!” and both youthsgalloped across furze and heather at him; but erethey were within a hundred yards of him, he had leaptagain on his horse, and was away far ahead.
“There is the dor to us, with a vengeance,”cried Cary, putting in the spurs.
“It is but a lad; we shall never catch him.”
“I’ll try, though; and do you lumber afteras you can, old heavysides;” and Cary pushedforward.
Amyas lost sight of him for ten minutes, and thencame up with him dismounted, and feeling disconsolatelyat his horse’s knees.
“Look for my head. It lies somewhere aboutamong the furze there; and oh! I am as full ofneedles as ever was a pin-cushion.”
“Are his knees broken?”
“I daren’t look. No, I believe not.Come along, and make the best of a bad matter.The fellow is a mile ahead, and to the right, too.”
“He is going for Moorwinstow, then; but whereis my cousin?”
“Behind us, I dare say. We shall nab himat least.”
“Cary, promise me that if we do, you will keepout of sight, and let me manage him.”
“My boy, I only want Evan Morgans and MorganEvans. He is but the cat’s paw, and weare after the cats themselves.”
And so they went on another dreary six miles, tillthe land trended downwards, showing dark glens andmasses of woodland far below.
“Now, then, straight to Chapel, and stop thefoxes’ earth? Or through the King’sPark to Stow, and get out Sir Richard’s hounds,hue and cry, and queen’s warrant in proper form?”
“Let us see Sir Richard first; and whatsoeverhe decides about my uncle, I will endure as a loyalsubject must.”
So they rode through the King’s Park, whileSir Richard’s colts came whinnying and staringround the intruders, and down through a rich woodlandlane five hundred feet into the valley, till they couldhear the brawling of the little trout-stream, andbeyond, the everlasting thunder of the ocean surf.
Down through warm woods, all fragrant with dying autumnflowers, leaving far above the keen Atlantic breeze,into one of those delicious Western combes, and sopast the mill, and the little knot of flower-cladcottages. In the window of one of them a lightwas still burning. The two young men knew wellwhose window that was; and both hearts beat fast;for Rose Salterne slept, or rather seemed to wake,in that chamber.
“Folks are late in Combe to-night,” saidAmyas, as carelessly as he could.
Cary looked earnestly at the window, and then sharplyenough at Amyas; but Amyas was busy settling his stirrup;and Cary rode on, unconscious that every fibre inhis companion’s huge frame was trembling likehis own.
“Muggy and close down here,” said Amyas,who, in reality, was quite faint with his own inwardstruggles.
“We shall be at Stow gate in five minutes,”said Cary, looking back and down longingly as hishorse climbed the opposite hill; but a turn of thezigzag road hid the cottage, and the next thought was,how to effect an entrance into Stow at three in themorning without being eaten by the ban-dogs, who werealready howling and growling at the sound of the horse-hoofs.
However, they got safely in, after much knocking andcalling, through the postern gate in the high westwall, into a mansion, the description whereof I mustdefer to the next chapter, seeing that the moon hasalready sunk into the Atlantic, and there is darknessover land and sea.
Sir Richard, in his long gown, was soon downstairsin the hall; the letter read, and the story told;but ere it was half finished—
“Anthony, call up a groom, and let him bringme a horse round. Gentlemen, if you will excuseme five minutes, I shall be at your service.”
“You will not go alone, Richard?” askedLady Grenville, putting her beautiful face in itsnightcoif out of an adjoining door.
“Surely, sweet chuck, we three are enough totake two poor polecats of Jesuits. Go in, andhelp me to boot and gird.”
In half an hour they were down and up across the valleyagain, under the few low ashes clipt flat by the sea-breezewhich stood round the lonely gate of Chapel.
“Mr. Cary, there is a back path across the downsto Marsland; go and guard that.” Cary rodeoff; and Sir Richard, as he knocked loudly at thegate—
“Mr. Leigh, you see that I have consulted yourhonor, and that of your poor uncle, by adventuringthus alone. What will you have me do now, whichmay not be unfit for me and you?”
“Oh, sir!” said Amyas, with tears in hishonest eyes, “you have shown yourself once morewhat you always have been—my dear and belovedmaster on earth, not second even to my admiral SirFrancis Drake.”
“Or the queen, I hope,” said Grenville,smiling, “but pocas palabras. What willyou do?”
“My wretched cousin, sir, may not have returned—andif I might watch for him on the main road—unlessyou want me with you.”
“Richard Grenville can walk alone, lad.But what will you do with your cousin?”
“Send him out of the country, never to return;or if he refuses, run him through on the spot.”
“Go, lad.” And as he spoke, a sleepyvoice asked inside the gate, “Who was there?”
“Sir Richard Grenville. Open, in the queen’sname?”
“Sir Richard? He is in bed, and be hangedto you. No honest folk come at this hour of night.”
“Amyas!” shouted Sir Richard. Amyasrode back.
“Burst that gate for me, while I hold your horse.”
Amyas leaped down, took up a rock from the roadside,such as Homer’s heroes used to send at eachother’s heads, and in an instant the door wasflat on the ground, and the serving-man on his backinside, while Sir Richard quietly entering over it,like Una into the hut, told the fellow to get up andhold his horse for him (which the clod, who knew wellenough that terrible voice, did without further murmurs),and then strode straight to the front door. Itwas already opened. The household had been upand about all along, or the noise at the entry hadaroused them.
Sir Richard knocked, however, at the open door; and,to his astonishment, his knock was answered by Mr.Leigh himself, fully dressed, and candle in hand.
“Sir Richard Grenville! What, sir! is thisneighborly, not to say gentle, to break into my housein the dead of night?”
“I broke your outer door, sir, because I wasrefused entrance when I asked in the queen’sname. I knocked at your inner one, as I shouldhave knocked at the poorest cottager’s in theparish, because I found it open. You have twoJesuits here, sir! and here is the queen’s warrantfor apprehending them. I have signed it with myown hand, and, moreover, serve it now, with my ownhand, in order to save you scandal—and itmay be, worse. I must have these men, Mr. Leigh.”
“My dear Sir Richard—!”
“I must have them, or I must search the house;and you would not put either yourself or me to soshameful a necessity?”
“My dear Sir Richard!—”
“Must I, then, ask you to stand back from yourown doorway, my dear sir?” said Grenville.And then changing his voice to that fearful lion’sroar, for which he was famous, and which it seemedimpossible that lips so delicate could utter, he thundered,“Knaves, behind there! Back!”
This was spoken to half-a-dozen grooms and serving-men,who, well armed, were clustered in the passage.
“What? swords out, you sons of cliff rabbits?”And in a moment, Sir Richard’s long blade flashedout also, and putting Mr. Leigh gently aside, as ifhe had been a child, he walked up to the party, whovanished right and left; having expected a cur dog,in the shape of a parish constable, and come upona lion instead. They were stout fellows enough,no doubt, in a fair fight: but they had no stomachto be hanged in a row at Launceston Castle, aftera preliminary running through the body by that redoubtedadmiral and most unpeaceful justice of the peace.
“And now, my dear Mr. Leigh,” said SirRichard, as blandly as ever, “where are my men?The night is cold; and you, as well as I, need to bein our beds.”
“The men, Sir Richard—the Jesuits—theyare not here, indeed.”
“Not here, sir?”
“On the word of a gentleman, they left my housean hour ago. Believe me, sir, they did.I will swear to you if you need.”
“I believe Mr. Leigh of Chapel’s wordwithout oaths. Whither are they gone?”
“Nay, sir—how can I tell? Theyare—they are, as I may say, fled, sir;escaped.”
“With your connivance; at least with your son’s.Where are they gone?”
“As I live, I do not know.”
“Mr. Leigh—is this possible?Can you add untruth to that treason from the punishmentof which I am trying to shield you?”
Poor Mr. Leigh burst into tears.
“Oh! my God! my God! is it come to this?Over and above having the fear and anxiety of keepingthese black rascals in my house, and having to stoptheir villainous mouths every minute, for fear theyshould hang me and themselves, I am to be called atraitor and a liar in my old age, and that, too, byRichard Grenville! Would God I had never beenborn! Would God I had no soul to be saved, andI’d just go and drown care in drink, and letthe queen and the Pope fight it out their own way!”And the poor old man sank into a chair, and coveredhis face with his hands, and then leaped up again.
“Bless my heart! Excuse me, Sir Richard—tosit down and leave you standing. ’S life,sir, sorrow is making a hawbuck of me. Sit down,my dear sir! my worshipful sir! or rather come withme into my room, and hear a poor wretched man’sstory, for I swear before God the men are fled; andmy poor boy Eustace is not home either, and the groomtells me that his devil of a cousin has broken hisjaw for him; and his mother is all but mad this hourpast. Good lack! good lack!”
“He nearly murdered his angel of a cousin, sir!”said Sir Richard, severely.
“What, sir? They never told me.”
“He had stabbed his cousin Frank three times,sir, before Amyas, who is as noble a lad as walksGod’s earth, struck him down. And in defenceof what, forsooth, did he play the ruffian and theswashbuckler, but to bring home to your house thisletter, sir, which you shall hear at your leisure,the moment I have taken order about your priests.”And walking out of the house he went round and calledto Cary to come to him.
“The birds are flown, Will,” whisperedhe. “There is but one chance for us, andthat is Marsland Mouth. If they are trying totake boat there, you may be yet in time. If theyare gone inland we can do nothing till we raise thehue and cry to-morrow.”
And Will galloped off over the downs toward Marsland,while Sir Richard ceremoniously walked in again, andprofessed himself ready and happy to have the honorof an audience in Mr. Leigh’s private chamber.And as we know pretty well already what was to bediscussed therein, we had better go over to MarslandMouth, and, if possible, arrive there before WillCary: seeing that he arrived hot and swearing,half an hour too late.
Note.—I have shrunk somewhat from givingthese and other sketches (true and accurate as I believethem to be) of Ireland during Elizabeth’s reign,when the tyranny and lawlessness of the feudal chiefshad reduced the island to such a state of weaknessand barbarism, that it was absolutely necessary forEngland either to crush the Norman-Irish nobility,and organize some sort of law and order, or to leaveIreland an easy prey to the Spaniards, or any othernation which should go to war with us. The workwas done—clumsily rather than cruelly; butwrongs were inflicted, and avenged by fresh wrongs,and those by fresh again. May the memory of themperish forever! It has been reserved for thisage, and for the liberal policy of this age, to seethe last ebullitions of Celtic excitability die outharmless and ashamed of itself, and to find that theIrishman, when he is brought as a soldier under theregenerative influence of law, discipline, self-respect,and loyalty, can prove himself a worthy rival of themore stern Norse-Saxon warrior. God grant thatthe military brotherhood between Irish and English,which is the special glory of the present war, maybe the germ of a brotherhood industrial, political,and hereafter, perhaps, religious also; and that notmerely the corpses of heroes, but the feuds and wrongswhich have parted them for centuries, may lie buried,once and forever, in the noble graves of Alma andInkerman.
CHAPTER VI
THE COMBES OF THE FAR WEST
“Far,far from henceThe Adriatic breaks in a warm bay
Among the green Illyrian hills, and there
The sunshine in the happy glens is fair,
And by the sea and in the brakes
The grass is cool, the sea-side air
Buoyant and fresh, the mountain flowers
More virginal and sweet than ours.”
MatthewArnold.
And even such are those delightful glens, which cutthe high table-land of the confines of Devon and Cornwall,and opening each through its gorge of down and rock,towards the boundless Western Ocean. Each islike the other, and each is like no other English scenery.Each has its upright walls, inland of rich oak-wood,nearer the sea of dark green furze, then of smoothturf, then of weird black cliffs which range out rightand left far into the deep sea, in castles, spires,and wings of jagged iron-stone. Each has itsnarrow strip of fertile meadow, its crystal troutstream winding across and across from one hill-footto the other; its gray stone mill, with the watersparkling and humming round the dripping wheel; itsdark, rock pools above the tide mark, where the salmon-troutgather in from their Atlantic wanderings, after eachautumn flood: its ridge of blown sand, brightwith golden trefoil and crimson lady’s finger;its gray bank of polished pebbles, down which thestream rattles toward the sea below. Each has
its black field of jagged shark’s-tooth rockwhich paves the cove from side to side, streaked withhere and there a pink line of shell sand, and lacedwith white foam from the eternal surge, stretchingin parallel lines out to the westward, in strata setupright on edge, or tilted towards each other at strangeangles by primeval earthquakes;—such isthe “mouth”—as those coves arecalled; and such the jaw of teeth which they display,one rasp of which would grind abroad the timbers ofthe stoutest ship. To landward, all richness,softness, and peace; to seaward, a waste and howlingwilderness of rock and roller, barren to the fisherman,and hopeless to the shipwrecked mariner.In only one of these “mouths” is a landingfor boats, made possible by a long sea-wall of rock,which protects it from the rollers of the Atlantic;and that mouth is Marsland, the abode of the WhiteWitch, Lucy Passmore; whither, as Sir Richard Grenvillerightly judged, the Jesuits were gone. But beforethe Jesuits came, two other persons were standingon that lonely beach, under the bright October moon,namely, Rose Salterne and the White Witch herself;for Rose, fevered with curiosity and superstition,and allured by the very wildness and possible dangerof the spell, had kept her appointment; and, a fewminutes before midnight, stood on the gray shinglebeach with her counsellor.
“You be safe enough here to-night, miss.My old man is snoring sound abed, and there’sno other soul ever sets foot here o’ nights,except it be the mermaids now and then. Goodness,Father, where’s our boat? It ought to beup here on the pebbles.”
Rose pointed to a strip of sand some forty yards nearerthe sea, where the boat lay.
“Oh, the lazy old villain! he’s been roundthe rocks after pollock this evening, and never takenthe trouble to hale the boat up. I’ll trouncehim for it when I get home. I only hope he’smade her fast where she is, that’s all!He’s more plague to me than ever my money willbe. O deary me!”
And the goodwife bustled down toward the boat, withRose behind her.
“Iss, ’tis fast, sure enough: andthe oars aboard too! Well, I never! Oh,the lazy thief, to leave they here to be stole!I’ll just sit in the boat, dear, and watch mun,while you go down to the say; for you must be allalone to yourself, you know, or you’ll see nothing.There’s the looking-glass; now go, and dip yourhead three times, and mind you don’t look toland or sea before you’ve said the words, andlooked upon the glass. Now, be quick, it’sjust upon midnight.”
And she coiled herself up in the boat, while Rosewent faltering down the strip of sand, some twentyyards farther, and there slipping off her clothes,stood shivering and trembling for a moment before sheentered the sea.
She was between two walls of rock: that on herleft hand, some twenty feet high, hid her in deepestshade; that on her right, though much lower, tookthe whole blaze of the midnight moon. Great festoonsof live and purple sea-weed hung from it, shadingdark cracks and crevices, fit haunts for all the goblinsof the sea. On her left hand, the peaks of therock frowned down ghastly black; on her right hand,far aloft, the downs slept bright and cold.
The breeze had died away; not even a roller brokethe perfect stillness of the cove. The gullswere all asleep upon the ledges. Over all wasa true autumn silence; a silence which may be heard.She stood awed, and listened in hope of a sound whichmight tell her that any living thing beside herselfexisted.
There was a faint bleat, as of a new-born lamb, highabove her head; she started and looked up. Thena wail from the cliffs, as of a child in pain, answeredby another from the opposite rocks. They werebut the passing snipe, and the otter calling to herbrood; but to her they were mysterious, supernaturalgoblins, come to answer to her call. Nevertheless,they only quickened her expectation; and the witchhad told her not to fear them. If she performedthe rite duly, nothing would harm her: but shecould hear the beating of her own heart, as she stepped,mirror in hand, into the cold water, waded hastily,as far as she dare, and then stopped aghast.
A ring of flame was round her waist; every limb wasbathed in lambent light; all the multitudinous lifeof the autumn sea, stirred by her approach, had flashedsuddenly into glory;—
“And around her the lamps of the sea nymphs,Myriad fiery globes, swam heaving and panting, andrainbows, Crimson and azure and emerald, were brokenin star-showers, lighting Far through the wine-darkdepths of the crystal, the gardens of Nereus, Coraland sea-fan and tangle, the blooms and the palms ofthe ocean.”
She could see every shell which crawled on the whitesand at her feet, every rock-fish which played inand out of the crannies, and stared at her with itsbroad bright eyes; while the great palmate oarweedswhich waved along the chasm, half-seen in the glimmeringwater, seemed to beckon her down with long brown handsto a grave amid their chilly bowers. She turnedto flee; but she had gone too far now to retreat;hastily dipping her head three times, she hurried outto the sea-marge, and looking through her drippinglocks at the magic mirror, pronounced the incantation—
“A maiden pure,here I stand,
Neither on sea, noryet on land;
Angels watch me on eitherhand.
If you be landsman,come down the strand;
If you be sailor, comeup the sand;
If you be angel, comefrom the sky,
Look in my glass, andpass me by;
Look in my glass, andgo from the shore;
Leave me, but love mefor evermore.”
The incantation was hardly finished, her eyes werestraining into the mirror, where, as may be supposed,nothing appeared but the sparkle of the drops fromher own tresses, when she heard rattling down the pebblesthe hasty feet of men and horses.
She darted into a cavern of the high rock, and hastilydressed herself: the steps held on right to theboat. Peeping out, half-dead with terror, shesaw there four men, two of whom had just leaped fromtheir horses, and turning them adrift, began to helpthe other two in running the boat down.
Whereon, out of the stern sheets, arose, like an angryghost, the portly figure of Lucy Passmore, and shriekedin shrillest treble—
“Eh! ye villains, ye roogs, what do ye wantstaling poor folks’ boats by night like this?”
The whole party recoiled in terror, and one turnedto run up the beach, shouting at the top of his voice,“’Tis a marmaiden—a marmaidenasleep in Willy Passmore’s boat!”
“I wish it were any sich good luck,” shecould hear Will say; “’tis my wife, ohdear!” and he cowered down, expecting the heartycuff which he received duly, as the White Witch, leapingout of the boat, dared any man to touch it, and thunderedto her husband to go home to bed.
The wily dame, as Rose well guessed, was keeping upthis delay chiefly to gain time for her pupil:but she had also more solid reasons for making thefight as hard as possible; for she, as well as Rose,had already discerned in the ungainly figure of oneof the party the same suspicious Welsh gentleman,on whose calling she had divined long ago; and shewas so loyal a subject as to hold in extreme horrorher husband’s meddling with such “Popishskulkers” (as she called the whole party roundlyto their face)—unless on consideration ofa very handsome sum of money. In vain Parsonsthundered, Campian entreated, Mr. Leigh’s groomswore, and her husband danced round in an agony ofmingled fear and covetousness.
“No,” she cried, “as I am an honestwoman and loyal! This is why you left the boatdown to the shoore, you old traitor, you, is it?To help off sich noxious trade as this out of thehands of her majesty’s quorum and rotulorum?Eh? Stand back, cowards! Will you strikea woman?”
This last speech (as usual) was merely indicativeof her intention to strike the men; for, getting outone of the oars, she swung it round and round fiercely,and at last caught Father Parsons such a crack acrossthe shins, that he retreated with a howl.
“Lucy, Lucy!” shrieked her husband, inshrillest Devon falsetto, “be you mazed?Be you mazed, lass? They promised me two goldnobles before I’d lend them the boot!”
“Tu?” shrieked the matron, with a toneof ineffable scorn. “And do yu call yourselfa man?”
“Tu nobles! tu nobles!” shrieked he again,hopping about at oar’s length.
“Tu? And would you sell your soul underten?”
“Oh, if that is it,” cried poor Campian,“give her ten, give her ten, brother Pars—Morgans,I mean; and take care of your shins, Offa Cerbero,you know—Oh, virago! Furens quid faeminapossit! Certainly she is some Lamia, some Gorgon,some—”
“Take that, for your Lamys and Gorgons to anhonest woman!” and in a moment poor Campian’sthin legs were cut from under him, while the virago,“mounting on his trunk astride,” like thatmore famous one on Hudibras, cried, “Ten nobles,or I’ll kep ye here till morning!” Andthe ten nobles were paid into her hand.
And now the boat, its dragon guardian being pacified,was run down to the sea, and close past the nook wherepoor little Rose was squeezing herself into the farthestand darkest corner, among wet sea-weed and rough barnacles,holding her breath as they approached.
They passed her, and the boat’s keel was alreadyin the water; Lucy had followed them close, for reasonsof her own, and perceiving close to the water’sedge a dark cavern, cunningly surmised that it containedRose, and planted her ample person right across itsmouth, while she grumbled at her husband, the strangers,and above all at Mr. Leigh’s groom, to whomshe prophesied pretty plainly Launceston gaol and thegallows; while the wretched serving-man, who wouldas soon have dared to leap off Welcombe Cliff as toreturn railing for railing to the White Witch, invain entreated her mercy, and tried, by all possibledodging, to keep one of the party between himselfand her, lest her redoubted eye should “overlook”him once more to his ruin.
But the night’s adventures were not ended yet;for just as the boat was launched, a faint halloowas heard upon the beach, and a minute after, a horsemanplunged down the pebbles, and along the sand, and pullinghis horse up on its haunches close to the terrifiedgroup, dropped, rather than leaped, from the saddle.
The serving-man, though he dared not tackle a witch,knew well enough how to deal with a swordsman; anddrawing, sprang upon the newcomer, and then recoiled—
“God forgive me, it’s Mr. Eustace!Oh, dear sir, I took you for one of Sir Richard’smen! Oh, sir, you’re hurt!”
“A scratch, a scratch!” almost moanedEustace. “Help me into the boat, Jack.Gentlemen, I must with you.”
“Not with us, surely, my dear son, vagabondsupon the face of the earth?” said kind-heartedCampian.
“With you, forever. All is over here.Whither God and the cause lead”—andhe staggered toward the boat.
As he passed Rose, she saw his ghastly bleeding face,half bound up with a handkerchief, which could notconceal the convulsions of rage, shame, and despair,which twisted it from all its usual beauty. Hiseyes glared wildly round—and once, rightinto the cavern. They met hers, so full, andkeen, and dreadful, that forgetting she was utterlyinvisible, the terrified girl was on the point ofshrieking aloud.
“He has overlooked me!” said she, shudderingto herself, as she recollected his threat of yesterday.
“Who has wounded you?” asked Campian.
“My cousin—Amyas—and takenthe letter!”
“The devil take him, then!” cried Parsons,stamping up and down upon the sand in fury.
“Ay, curse him—you may! I darenot! He saved me—sent me here!”—andwith a groan, he made an effort to enter the boat.
“Oh, my dear young gentleman,” cried LucyPassmore, her woman’s heart bursting out atthe sight of pain, “you must not goo forth witha grane wound like to that. Do ye let me justbind mun up—do ye now!” and she advanced.
Eustace thrust her back.
“No! better bear it, I deserve it—devils!I deserve it! On board, or we shall all be lost—WilliamCary is close behind me!”
And at that news the boat was thrust into the sea,faster than ever it went before, and only in time;for it was but just round the rocks, and out of sight,when the rattle of Cary’s horsehoofs was heardabove.
“That rascal of Mr. Leigh’s will catchit now, the Popish villain!” said Lucy Passmore,aloud. “You lie still there, dear life,and settle your sperrits; you’m so safe as everwas rabbit to burrow. I’ll see what happens,if I die for it!” And so saying, she squeezedherself up through a cleft to a higher ledge, fromwhence she could see what passed in the valley.
“There mun is! in the meadow, trying to catchthe horses! There comes Mr. Cary! Goodness,Father, how a rid’th! he’s over wall already!Ron, Jack! ron then! A’ll get to the river!No, a wain’t! Goodness, Father! There’sMr. Cary cotched mun! A’s down, a’sdown!”
“Is he dead?” asked Rose, shuddering.
“Iss, fegs, dead as nits! and Mr. Cary off hishorse, standing overthwart mun! No, a bain’t!A’s up now. Suspose he was hit wi’the flat. Whatever is Mr. Cary tu? Tellingwi’ mun, a bit. Oh dear, dear, dear!”
“Has he killed him?” cried poor Rose.
“No, fegs, no! kecking mun, kecking mun, sohard as ever was futeball! Goodness, Father,who did ever? If a haven’t kecked mun rightinto river, and got on mun’s horse and rod away!”
And so saying, down she came again.
“And now then, my dear life, us be better togoo hoom and get you sommat warm. You’mmortal cold, I rackon, by now. I was cruel fear’dfor ye: but I kept mun off clever, didn’tI, now?”
“I wish—I wish I had not seen Mr.Leigh’s face!”
“Iss, dreadful, weren’t it, poor youngsoul; a sad night for his poor mother!”
“Lucy, I can’t get his face out of mymind. I’m sure he overlooked me.”
“Oh then! who ever heard the like o’ that?When young gentlemen do overlook young ladies, tain’tthikketheor aways, I knoo. Never you think onit.”
“But I can’t help thinking of it,”said Rose. “Stop. Shall we go homeyet? Where’s that servant?”
“Never mind, he wain’t see us, here underthe hill. I’d much sooner to know wheremy old man was. I’ve a sort of a forecastingin my inwards, like, as I always has when aught’sgwain to happen, as though I shuldn’t zee munagain, like, I have, miss. Well—hewas a bedient old soul, after all, he was. Goodness,Father! and all this while us have forgot the verything us come about! Who did you see?”
“Only that face!” said Rose, shuddering.
“Not in the glass, maid? Say then, notin the glass?”
“Would to heaven it had been! Lucy, whatif he were the man I was fated to—”
“He? Why, he’s a praste, a Popishpraste, that can’t marry if he would, poor wratch.”
“He is none; and I have cause enough to knowit!” And, for want of a better confidant, Rosepoured into the willing ears of her companion thewhole story of yesterday’s meeting.
“He’s a pretty wooer!” said Lucyat last, contemptuously. “Be a brave maid,then, be a brave maid, and never terrify yourself withhis unlucky face. It’s because there wasnone here worthy of ye, that ye seed none in glass.Maybe he’s to be a foreigner, from over seas,and that’s why his sperit was so long a coming.A duke, or a prince to the least, I’ll warrant,he’ll be, that carries off the Rose of Bideford.”
But in spite of all the good dame’s flattery,Rose could not wipe that fierce face away from hereyeballs. She reached home safely, and creptto bed undiscovered: and when the next morning,as was to be expected, found her laid up with somethingvery like a fever, from excitement, terror, and cold,the phantom grew stronger and stronger before her,and it required all her woman’s tact and self-restraintto avoid betraying by her exclamations what had happenedon that fantastic night. After a fortnight’sweakness, however, she recovered and went back to Bideford:but ere she arrived there, Amyas was far across theseas on his way to Milford Haven, as shall be toldin the ensuing chapters.
CHAPTER VII
THE TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM OF PLYMOUTH
“The fair breeze blew, thewhite foam flew;
The furrow follow’d free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.”
The AncientMariner.
It was too late and too dark last night to see theold house at Stow. We will look round us, then,this bright October day, while Sir Richard and Amyas,about eleven o’clock in the forenoon, are pacingup and down the terraced garden to the south.Amyas has slept till luncheon, i. e. till an hourago: but Sir Richard, in spite of the bustle oflast night, was up and in the valley by six o’clock,recreating the valiant souls of himself and two terrierdogs by the chase of sundry badgers.
Old Stow House stands, or rather stood, some fourmiles beyond the Cornish border, on the northern slopeof the largest and loveliest of those combes of whichI spoke in the last chapter. Eighty years afterSir Richard’s time there arose there a huge Palladianpile, bedizened with every monstrosity of bad taste,which was built, so the story runs, by Charles theSecond, for Sir Richard’s great-grandson, theheir of that famous Sir Bevil who defeated the Parliamentarytroops at Stratton, and died soon after, fightingvaliantly at Lansdowne over Bath. But, like mostother things which owed their existence to the Stuarts,it rose only to fall again. An old man who hadseen, as a boy, the foundation of the new house laid,lived to see it pulled down again, and the very bricksand timber sold upon the spot; and since then thestables have become a farm-house, the tennis-courta sheep-cote, the great quadrangle a rick-yard; andcivilization, spreading wave on wave so fast elsewhere,has surged back from that lonely corner of the land—letus hope, only for a while.
But I am not writing of that great new Stow House,of the past glories whereof quaint pictures stillhang in the neighboring houses; nor of that famedSir Bevil, most beautiful and gallant of his generation,on whom, with his grandfather Sir Richard, old Princehas his pompous epigram—
“Where next shallfamous Grenvil’s ashes stand?
Thy grandsire fillsthe sea, and thou the land.”
I have to deal with a simpler age, and a sterner generation;and with the old house, which had stood there, inpart at least, from gray and mythic ages, when thefirst Sir Richard, son of Hamon Dentatus, Lord ofCarboyle, the grandson of Duke Robert, son of Rou,settled at Bideford, after slaying the Prince of South-Galis,and the Lord of Glamorgan, and gave to the Cistercianmonks of Neath all his conquests in South Wales.It was a huge rambling building, half castle, halfdwelling-house, such as may be seen still (almostan unique specimen) in Compton Castle near Torquay,the dwelling-place of Humphrey Gilbert, Walter Raleigh’shalf-brother, and Richard Grenville’s bosom friend,of whom more hereafter. On three sides, to thenorth, west, and south, the lofty walls of the oldballium still stood, with their machicolated turrets,loopholes, and dark downward crannies for droppingstones and fire on the besiegers, the relics of amore unsettled age: but the southern court ofthe ballium had become a flower-garden, with quaintterraces, statues, knots of flowers, clipped yewsand hollies, and all the pedantries of the topiarianart. And toward the east, where the vista ofthe valley opened, the old walls were gone, and thefrowning Norman keep, ruined in the Wars of the Roses,had been replaced by the rich and stately architectureof the Tudors. Altogether, the house, like thetime, was in a transitionary state, and representedfaithfully enough the passage of the old middle ageinto the new life which had just burst into blossomthroughout Europe, never, let us pray, to see its autumnor its winter.
From the house on three sides, the hill sloped steeplydown, and the garden where Sir Richard and Amyas werewalking gave a truly English prospect. At oneturn they could catch, over the western walls, a glimpseof the blue ocean flecked with passing sails; and atthe next, spread far below them, range on range offertile park, stately avenue, yellow autumn woodland,and purple heather moors, lapping over and over eachother up the valley to the old British earthwork, whichstood black and furze-grown on its conical peak; andstanding out against the sky on the highest bank ofhill which closed the valley to the east, the loftytower of Kilkhampton church, rich with the monumentsand offerings of five centuries of Grenvilles.A yellow eastern haze hung soft over park, and wood,and moor; the red cattle lowed to each other as theystood brushing away the flies in the rivulet far below;the colts in the horse-park close on their right whinnied
as they played together, and their sires from theQueen’s Park, on the opposite hill, answeredthem in fuller though fainter voices. A ruttingstag made the still woodland rattle with his hoarsethunder, and a rival far up the valley gave back atrumpet note of defiance, and was himself defied fromheathery brows which quivered far away above, halfseen through the veil of eastern mist. And closeat home, upon the terrace before the house, amid rompingspaniels and golden-haired children, sat Lady Grenvilleherself, the beautiful St. Leger of Annery, the centraljewel of all that glorious place, and looked downat her noble children, and then up at her more noblehusband, and round at that broad paradise of the West,till life seemed too full of happiness, and heavenof light.And all the while up and down paced Amyas and SirRichard, talking long, earnestly, and slow; for theyboth knew that the turning point of the boy’slife was come.
“Yes,” said Sir Richard, after Amyas,in his blunt simple way, had told him the whole storyabout Rose Salterne and his brother,—“yes,sweet lad, thou hast chosen the better part, thouand thy brother also, and it shall not be taken fromyou. Only be strong, lad, and trust in God thatHe will make a man of you.”
“I do trust,” said Amyas.
“Thank God,” said Sir Richard, “thatyou have yourself taken from my heart that which wasmy great anxiety for you, from the day that your goodfather, who sleeps in peace, committed you to my hands.For all best things, Amyas, become, when misused,the very worst; and the love of woman, because itis able to lift man’s soul to the heavens, isalso able to drag him down to hell. But you havelearnt better, Amyas; and know, with our old Germanforefathers, that, as Tacitus saith, Sera juvenumVenus, ideoque inexhausta pubertas. And not onlythat, Amyas; but trust me, that silly fashion of theFrench and Italians, to be hanging ever at some woman’sapron string, so that no boy shall count himself aman unless he can vagghezziare le donne, whether maidsor wives, alas! matters little; that fashion, I say,is little less hurtful to the soul than open sin;for by it are bred vanity and expense, envy and heart-burning,yea, hatred and murder often; and even if that beescaped, yet the rich treasure of a manly worship,which should be kept for one alone, is squanderedand parted upon many, and the bride at last comesin for nothing but the very last leavings and caputmortuum of her bridegroom’s heart, and becomesa mere ornament for his table, and a means wherebyhe may obtain a progeny. May God, who has savedme from that death in life, save you also!”And as he spoke, he looked down toward his wife uponthe terrace below; and she, as if guessing instinctivelythat he was talking of her, looked up with so sweeta smile, that Sir Richard’s stern face meltedinto a very glory of spiritual sunshine.
Amyas looked at them both and sighed; and then turningthe conversation suddenly—
“And I may go to Ireland to-morrow?”
“You shall sail in the ‘Mary’ forMilford Haven, with these letters to Winter.If the wind serves, you may bid the master drop downthe river tonight, and be off; for we must lose notime.”
“Winter?” said Amyas. “He isno friend of mine, since he left Drake and us so cowardlyat the Straits of Magellan.”
“Duty must not wait for private quarrels, eventhough they be just ones, lad: but he will notbe your general. When you come to the marshal,or the Lord Deputy, give either of them this letter,and they will set you work,—and hard worktoo, I warrant.
“I want nothing better.”
“Right, lad; the best reward for having wroughtwell already, is to have more to do; and he that hasbeen faithful over a few things, must find his accountin being made ruler over many things. That isthe true and heroical rest, which only is worthy ofgentlemen and sons of God. As for those who,either in this world or the world to come, look foridleness, and hope that God shall feed them with pleasantthings, as it were with a spoon, Amyas, I count themcowards and base, even though they call themselvessaints and elect.”
“I wish you could persuade my poor cousin ofthat.”
“He has yet to learn what losing his life tosave it means, Amyas. Bad men have taught him(and I fear these Anabaptists and Puritans at hometeach little else), that it is the one great businessof every one to save his own soul after he dies; everyone for himself; and that that, and not divine self-sacrifice,is the one thing needful, and the better part whichMary chose.”
“I think men are inclined enough already tobe selfish, without being taught that.”
“Right, lad. For me, if I could hang upsuch a teacher on high as an enemy of mankind, anda corrupter of youth, I would do it gladly. Isthere not cowardice and self-seeking enough about thehearts of us fallen sons of Adam, that these falseprophets, with their baits of heaven, and their terrorsof hell, must exalt our dirtiest vices into heavenlyvirtues and the means of bliss? Farewell to chivalryand to desperate valor, farewell to patriotism andloyalty, farewell to England and to the manhood ofEngland, if once it shall become the fashion of ourpreachers to bid every man, as the Jesuits do, takecare first of what they call the safety of his soul.Every man will be afraid to die at his post, becausehe will be afraid that he is not fit to die. Amyas,do thou do thy duty like a man, to thy country, thyqueen, and thy God; and count thy life a worthlessthing, as did the holy men of old. Do thy work,lad; and leave thy soul to the care of Him who is justand merciful in this, that He rewards every man accordingto his work. Is there respect of persons withGod? Now come in, and take the letters, and tohorse. And if I hear of thee dead there at Smerwickfort, with all thy wounds in front, I shall weep forthy mother, lad; but I shall have never a sigh forthee.”
If any one shall be startled at hearing a fine gentlemanand a warrior like Sir Richard quote Scripture, andthink Scripture also, they must be referred to thewritings of the time; which they may read not withoutprofit to themselves, if they discover therefrom howit was possible then for men of the world to be thoroughlyingrained with the Gospel, and yet to be free fromany taint of superstitious fear, or false devoutness.The religion of those days was such as no soldier needhave been ashamed of confessing. At least, SirRichard died as he lived, without a shudder, and withouta whine; and these were his last words, fifteen yearsafter that, as he lay shot through and through, a captiveamong Popish Spaniards, priests, crucifixes, confession,extreme unction, and all other means and appliancesfor delivering men out of the hands of a God of love:—
“Here die I, Richard Grenville, with a joyfuland quiet mind; for that I have ended my life as atrue soldier ought, fighting for his country, queen,religion, and honor: my soul willingly departingfrom this body, leaving behind the lasting fame ofhaving behaved as every valiant soldier is in hisduty bound to do.”
Those were the last words of Richard Grenville.The pulpits of those days had taught them to him.
But to return. That day’s events were notover yet. For, when they went down into the house,the first person whom they met was the old steward,in search of his master.
“There is a manner of roog, Sir Richard, a masterlessman, at the door; a very forward fellow, and mustneeds speak with you.”
“A masterless man? He had better not tospeak to me, unless he is in love with gaol and gallows.”
“Well, your worship,” said the steward,“I expect that is what he does want, for heswears he will not leave the gate till he has seenyou.”
“Seen me? Halidame! he shall see me, hereand at Launceston too, if he likes. Bring himin.”
“Fegs, Sir Richard, we are half afeard.With your good leave—”
“Hillo, Tony,” cried Amyas, “whowas ever afeard yet with Sir Richard’s goodleave?”
“What, has the fellow a tail or horns?”
“Massy no: but I be afeard of treason foryour honor; for the fellow is pinked all over in heathenpatterns, and as brown as a filbert; and a tall roog,a very strong roog, sir, and a foreigner too, and amighty staff with him. I expect him to be a mannerof Jesuit, or wild Irish, sir; and indeed the groomshave no stomach to handle him, nor the dogs neither,or he had been under the pump before now, for theythat saw him coming up the hill swear that he hadfire coming out of his mouth.”
“Fire out of his mouth?” said Sir Richard.“The men are drunk.”
“Pinked all over? He must be a sailor,”said Amyas; “let me out and see the fellow,and if he needs putting forth—”
“Why, I dare say he is not so big but what hewill go into thy pocket. So go, lad, while Ifinish my writing.”
Amyas went out, and at the back door, leaning on hisstaff, stood a tall, raw-boned, ragged man, “pinkedall over,” as the steward had said.
“Hillo, lad!” quoth Amyas. “Beforewe come to talk, thou wilt please to lay down thatPlymouth cloak of thine.” And he pointedto the cudgel, which among West-country mariners usuallybore that name.
“I’ll warrant,” said the old steward,“that where he found his cloak he found pursenot far off.”
“But not hose or doublet; so the magical virtueof his staff has not helped him much. But putdown thy staff, man, and speak like a Christian, ifthou be one.”
“I am a Christian, though I look like a heathen;and no rogue, though a masterless man, alas!But I want nothing, deserving nothing, and only askto speak with Sir Richard, before I go on my way.”
There was something stately and yet humble about theman’s tone and manner which attracted Amyas,and he asked more gently where he was going and whencehe came.
“From Padstow Port, sir, to Clovelly town, tosee my old mother, if indeed she be yet alive, whichGod knoweth.”
“Clovally man! why didn’t thee say theewas Clovally man?” asked all the grooms at once,to whom a West-countryman was of course a brother.The old steward asked—
“What’s thy mother’s name, then?”
“Susan Yeo.”
“What, that lived under the archway?”asked a groom.
“Lived?” said the man.
“Iss, sure; her died three days since, so weheard, poor soul.”
The man stood quite silent and unmoved for a minuteor two; and then said quietly to himself, in Spanish,“That which is, is best.”
“You speak Spanish?” asked Amyas, moreand more interested.
“I had need to do so, young sir; I have beenfive years in the Spanish Main, and only set footon shore two days ago; and if you will let me havespeech of Sir Richard, I will tell him that at whichboth the ears of him that heareth it shall tingle;and if not, I can but go on to Mr. Cary of Clovelly,if he be yet alive, and there disburden my soul; butI would sooner have spoken with one that is a marinerlike to myself.”
“And you shall,” said Amyas. “Steward,we will have this man in; for all his rags, he isa man of wit.” And he led him in.
“I only hope he ben’t one of those Popishmurderers,” said the old steward, keeping ata safe distance from him as they entered the hall.
“Popish, old master? There’s littlefear of my being that. Look here!” Anddrawing back his rags, he showed a ghastly scar, whichencircled his wrist and wound round and up his fore-arm.
“I got that on the rack,” said he, quietly,“in the Inquisition at Lima.”
“O Father! Father! why didn’t youtell us that you were a poor Christian?” askedthe penitent steward.
“Because I have had naught but my deserts; andbut a taste of them either, as the Lord knoweth whodelivered me; and I wasn’t going to make myselfa beggar and a show on their account.”
“By heaven, you are a brave fellow!” saidAmyas. “Come along straight to Sir Richard’sroom.”
So in they went, where Sir Richard sat in his libraryamong books, despatches, state-papers, and warrants;for though he was not yet, as in after times (afterthe fashion of those days) admiral, general, memberof parliament, privy councillor, justice of the peace,and so forth, all at once, yet there were few greatmen with whom he did not correspond, or great matterswith which he was not cognizant.
“Hillo, Amyas, have you bound the wild man already,and brought him in to swear allegiance?”
But before Amyas could answer, the man looked earnestlyon him—“Amyas?” said he; “isthat your name, sir?”
“Amyas Leigh is my name, at your service, goodfellow.”
“Of Burrough by Bideford?”
“Why then? What do you know of me?”
“Oh sir, sir! young brains and happy ones haveshort memories; but old and sad brains too long onesoften! Do you mind one that was with Mr. Oxenham,sir? A swearing reprobate he was, God forgivehim, and hath forgiven him too, for His dear Son’ssake—one, sir, that gave you a horn, atoy with a chart on it?”
“Soul alive!” cried Amyas, catching himby the hand; “and are you he? The horn?why, I have it still, and will keep it to my dyingday, too. But where is Mr. Oxenham?”
“Yes, my good fellow, where is Mr. Oxenham?”asked Sir Richard, rising. “You are somewhatover-hasty in welcoming your old acquaintance, Amyas,before we have heard from him whether he can give honestaccount of himself and of his captain. For thereis more than one way by which sailors may come homewithout their captains, as poor Mr. Barker of Bristolfound to his cost. God grant that there may havebeen no such traitorous dealing here.”
“Sir Richard Grenville, if I had been a guiltyman to my noble captain, as I have to God, I had notcome here this day to you, from whom villainy hasnever found favor, nor ever will; for I know yourconditions well, sir; and trust in the Lord, that ifyou will be pleased to hear me, you shall know mine.”
“Thou art a well-spoken knave. We shallsee.”
“My dear sir,” said Amyas, in a whisper,“I will warrant this man guiltless.”
“I verily believe him to be; but this is tooserious a matter to be left on guess. If he willbe sworn—”
Whereon the man, humbly enough, said, that if it wouldplease Sir Richard, he would rather not be sworn.
“But it does not please me, rascal! DidI not warn thee, Amyas?”
“Sir,” said the man, proudly, “Godforbid that my word should not be as good as my oath:but it is against my conscience to be sworn.”
“What have we here? some fantastical Anabaptist,who is wiser than his teachers.”
“My conscience, sir—”
“The devil take it and thee! I never hearda man yet begin to prate of his conscience, but Iknew that he was about to do something more than ordinarilycruel or false.”
“Sir,” said the man, coolly enough, “doyou sit here to judge me according to law, and yetcontrary to the law swear profane oaths, for whicha fine is provided?”
Amyas expected an explosion: but Sir Richardpulled a shilling out and put it on the table.“There—my fine is paid, sirrah, tothe poor of Kilkhampton: but hearken thou allthe same. If thou wilt not speak an oath, thoushalt speak on compulsion; for to Launceston gaol thougoest, there to answer for Mr. Oxenham’s death,on suspicion whereof, and of mutiny causing it, Iwill attach thee and every soul of his crew that comeshome. We have lost too many gallant captains oflate by treachery of their crews, and he that willnot clear himself on oath, must be held for guilty,and self-condemned.”
“My good fellow,” said Amyas, who couldnot give up his belief in the man’s honesty,“why, for such fantastical scruples, peril notonly your life, but your honor, and Mr. Oxenham’salso? For if you be examined by question, youmay be forced by torment to say that which is not true.”
“Little fear of that, young sir!” answeredhe, with a grim smile; “I have had too muchof the rack already, and the strappado too, to caremuch what man can do unto me. I would heartilythat I thought it lawful to be sworn: but notso thinking, I can but submit to the cruelty of man;though I did expect more merciful things, as a mostmiserable and wrecked mariner, at the hands of onewho hath himself seen God’s ways in the sea,and His wonders in the great deep. Sir RichardGrenville, if you will hear my story, may God avengeon my head all my sins from my youth up until now,and cut me off from the blood of Christ, and, if itwere possible, from the number of His elect, if I tellyou one whit more or less than truth; and if not,I commend myself into the hands of God.”
Sir Richard smiled. “Well, thou art a braveass, and valiant, though an ass manifest. Dostthou not see, fellow, how thou hast sworn a ten-timesbigger oath than ever I should have asked of thee?But this is the way with your Anabaptists, who bytheir very hatred of forms and ceremonies, show ofhow much account they think them, and then bind themselvesout of their own fantastical self-will with far heavierburdens than ever the lawful authorities have laidon them for the sake of the commonweal. But whatdo they care for the commonweal, as long as they cansave, as they fancy, each man his own dirty soul forhimself? However, thou art sworn now with a vengeance;go on with thy tale: and first, who art thou,and whence?”
“Well, sir,” said the man, quite unmovedby this last explosion; “my name is SalvationYeo, born in Clovelly Street, in the year 1526, wheremy father exercised the mystery of a barber surgeon,and a preacher of the people since called Anabaptists,for which I return humble thanks to God.”
Sir Richard.—Fie! thou naughty knave; returnthanks that thy father was an ass?
Yeo.—Nay, but because he was a barber surgeon;for I myself learnt a touch of that trade, and therebysaved my life, as I will tell presently. AndI do think that a good mariner ought to have all knowledgeof carnal and worldly cunning, even to tailoring andshoemaking, that he may be able to turn his hand towhatsoever may hap.
Sir Richard.—Well spoken, fellow:but let us have thy text without thy comments.Forwards!
Yeo.—Well, sir. I was bred to thesea from my youth, and was with Captain Hawkins inhis three voyages, which he made to Guinea for negroslaves, and thence to the West Indies.
Sir Richard.—Then thrice thou wentest toa bad end, though Captain Hawkins be my good friend;and the last time to a bad end thou camest.
Yeo.—No denying that last, your worship:but as for the former, I doubt—about theunlawfulness, I mean; being the negroes are of thechildren of Ham, who are cursed and reprobate, as Scripturedeclares, and their blackness testifies, being Satan’sown livery; among whom therefore there can be noneof the elect, wherefore the elect are not requiredto treat them as brethren.
Sir Richard.—What a plague of a pragmaticalsea-lawyer have we here? And I doubt not, thouhypocrite, that though thou wilt call the negroes’black skin Satan’s livery, when it serves thyturn to steal them, thou wilt find out sables to beHeaven’s livery every Sunday, and up with agodly howl unless a parson shall preach in a blackgown, Geneva fashion. Out upon thee! Goon with thy tale, lest thou finish thy sermon at Launcestonafter all.
Yeo.—The Lord’s people were alwaysa reviled people and a persecuted people: butI will go forward, sir; for Heaven forbid but thatI should declare what God has done for me. Fortill lately, from my youth up, I was given over toall wretchlessness and unclean living, and was bynature a child of the devil, and to every good workreprobate, even as others.
Sir Richard.—Hark to his “even asothers”! Thou new-whelped Pharisee, canstnot confess thine own villainies without making outothers as bad as thyself, and so thyself no worsethan others? I only hope that thou hast shownnone of thy devil’s doings to Mr. Oxenham.
Yeo.—On the word of a Christian man, sir,as I said before, I kept true faith with him, andwould have been a better friend to him, sir, what ismore, than ever he was to himself.
Sir Richard.—Alas! that might easily be.
Yeo.—I think, sir, and will make good againstany man, that Mr. Oxenham was a noble and valiantgentleman; true of his word, stout of his sword, skilfulby sea and land, and worthy to have been Lord HighAdmiral of England (saving your worship’s presence),but that through two great sins, wrath and avarice,he was cast away miserably or ever his soul was broughtto the knowledge of the truth. Ah, sir, he wasa captain worth sailing under!
And Yeo heaved a deep sigh.
Sir Richard.—Steady, steady, good fellow!If thou wouldst quit preaching, thou art no fool afterall. But tell us the story without more bush-beating.
So at last Yeo settled himself to his tale:—
“Well, sirs, I went, as Mr. Leigh knows, toNombre de Dios, with Mr. Drake and Mr. Oxenham, in1572, where what we saw and did, your worship, I suppose,knows as well as I; and there was, as you’veheard maybe, a covenant between Mr. Oxenham and Mr.Drake to sail the South Seas together, which theymade, your worship, in my hearing, under the treeover Panama. For when Mr. Drake came down fromthe tree, after seeing the sea afar off, Mr. Oxenhamand I went up and saw it too; and when we came down,Drake says, ’John, I have made a vow to God thatI will sail that water, if I live and God gives megrace;’ which he had done, sir, upon his bendedknees, like a godly man as he always was, and wouldI had taken after him! and Mr. O. says, ’I amwith you, Drake, to live or die, and I think I knowsome one there already, so we shall not be quite amongstrangers;’ and laughed withal. Well, sirs,that voyage, as you know, never came off, becauseCaptain Drake was fighting in Ireland; so Mr. Oxenham,who must be up and doing, sailed for himself, and I,who loved him, God knows, like a brother (saving thedifference in our ranks), helped him to get the crewtogether, and went as his gunner. That was in1575; as you know, he had a 140-ton ship, sir, andseventy men out of Plymouth and Fowey and Dartmouth,and many of them old hands of Drake’s, besidea dozen or so from Bideford that I picked up when Isaw young Master here.”
“Thank God that you did not pick me up too.”
“Amen, amen!” said Yeo, clasping his handson his breast. “Those seventy men, sir,—seventygallant men, sir, with every one of them an immortalsoul within him,—where are they now?Gone, like the spray!” And he swept his handsabroad with a wild and solemn gesture. “Andtheir blood is upon my head!”
Both Sir Richard and Amyas began to suspect that theman’s brain was not altogether sound.
“God forbid, my man,” said the knight,kindly.
“Thirteen men I persuaded to join in Bidefordtown, beside William Penberthy of Marazion, my goodcomrade. And what if it be said to me at theday of judgment, ’Salvation Yeo, where are thosefourteen whom thou didst tempt to their deaths bycovetousness and lust of gold?’ Not that I wasalone in my sin, if the truth must be told. Forall the way out Mr. Oxenham was making loud speech,after his pleasant way, that he would make all theirfortunes, and take them to such a Paradise, that theyshould have no lust to come home again. And I—Godknows why—for every one boast of his wouldmake two, even to lying and empty fables, and anythingto keep up the men’s hearts. For I had reallypersuaded myself that we should all find treasures
beyond Solomon his temple, and Mr. Oxenham would surelyshow us how to conquer some golden city or discoversome island all made of precious stones. And oneday, as the captain and I were talking after our fashion,I said, ’And you shall be our king, captain.’To which he, ’If I be, I shall not be long withouta queen, and that no Indian one either.’And after that he often jested about the Spanish ladies,saying that none could show us the way to their heartsbetter than he. Which speeches I took no countof then, sirs: but after I minded them, whetherI would or not. Well, sirs, we came to the shoreof New Spain, near to the old place—that’sNombre de Dios; and there Mr. Oxenham went ashoreinto the woods with a boat’s crew, to find thenegroes who helped us three years before. Thoseare the Cimaroons, gentles, negro slaves who havefled from those devils incarnate, their Spanish masters,and live wild, like the beasts that perish; men ofgreat stature, sirs, and fierce as wolves in the onslaught,but poor jabbering mazed fellows if they be but a bitdismayed: and have many Indian women with them,who take to these negroes a deal better than to theirown kin, which breeds war enough, as you may guess.“Well, sirs, after three days the captain comesback, looking heavy enough, and says, ’We playedour trick once too often, when we played it once.There is no chance of stopping another reco (that is,a mule-train, sirs) now. The Cimaroons say thatsince our last visit they never move without plentyof soldiers, two hundred shot at least. Therefore,’he said, ’my gallants, we must either returnempty-handed from this, the very market and treasuryof the whole Indies, or do such a deed as men neverdid before, which I shall like all the better forthat very reason.’ And we, asking his meaning,‘Why,’ he said, ’if Drake will notsail the South Seas, we will;’ adding profanelythat Drake was like Moses, who beheld the promisedland afar; but he was Joshua, who would enter intoit, and smite the inhabitants thereof. And, forour confirmation, showed me and the rest the superscriptionof a letter: and said, ’How I came by thisis none of your business: but I have had it inmy bosom ever since I left Plymouth; and I tell younow, what I forbore to tell you at first, that theSouth Seas have been my mark all along! such newshave I herein of plate-ships, and gold-ships, and whatnot, which will come up from Quito and Lima this verymonth, all which, with the pearls of the Gulf of Panama,and other wealth unspeakable, will be ours, if wehave but true English hearts within us.’
“At which, gentles, we were like madmen forlust of that gold, and cheerfully undertook a toilincredible; for first we run our ship aground in agreat wood which grew in the very sea itself, and thentook out her masts, and covered her in boughs, withher four cast pieces of great ordnance (of which morehereafter), and leaving no man in her, started forthe South Seas across the neck of Panama, with twosmall pieces of ordnance and our culverins, and goodstore of victuals, and with us six of those negroesfor a guide, and so twelve leagues to a river whichruns into the South Sea.
“And there, having cut wood, we made a pinnace(and work enough we had at it) of five-and-forty footin the keel; and in her down the stream, and to theIsle of Pearls in the Gulf of Panama.”
“Into the South Sea? Impossible!”said Sir Richard. “Have a care what yousay, my man; for there is that about you which wouldmake me sorry to find you out a liar.”
“Impossible or not, liar or none, we went there,sir.”
“Question him, Amyas, lest he turn out to havebeen beforehand with you.”
The man looked inquiringly at Amyas, who said—
“Well, my man, of the Gulf of Panama I cannotask you, for I never was inside it, but what otherparts of the coast do you know?”
“Every inch, sir, from Cabo San Francisco toLima; more is my sorrow, for I was a galley-slavethere for two years and more.”
“You know Lima?”
“I was there three times, worshipful gentlemen,and the last was February come two years; and thereI helped lade a great plate-ship, the Cacafuogo,’they called her.”
Amyas started. Sir Richard nodded to him gentlyto be silent, and then—
“And what became of her, my lad?”
“God knows, who knows all, and the devil whofreighted her. I broke prison six weeks afterwards,and never heard but that she got safe into Panama.”
“You never heard, then, that she was taken?”
“Taken, your worships? Who should takeher?”
“Why should not a good English ship take heras well as another?” said Amyas.
“Lord love you, sir; yes, faith, if they hadbut been there. Many’s the time that Ithought to myself, as we went alongside, ’Oh,if Captain Drake was but here, well to windward, andour old crew of the “Dragon"!’ Ask yourpardon, gentles: but how is Captain Drake, ifI may make so bold?”
Neither could hold out longer.
“Fellow, fellow!” cried Sir Richard, springingup, “either thou art the cunningest liar thatever earned a halter, or thou hast done a deed thelike of which never man adventured. Dost thounot know that Captain Drake took that ‘Cacafuogo’and all her freight, in February come two years?”
“Captain Drake! God forgive me, sir; but—CaptainDrake in the South Seas? He saw them, sir, fromthe tree-top over Panama, when I was with him, andI too; but sailed them, sir?—sailed them?”
“Yes, and round the world too,” said Amyas,“and I with him; and took that very ‘Cacafuogo’off Cape San Francisco, as she came up to Panama.”
One glance at the man’s face was enough to provehis sincerity. The great stern Anabaptist, whohad not winced at the news of his mother’s death,dropt right on his knees on the floor, and burst intoviolent sobs.
“Glory to God! Glory to God! O Lord,I thank thee! Captain Drake in the South Seas!The blood of thy innocents avenged, O Lord! Thespoiler spoiled, and the proud robbed; and all theywhose hands were mighty have found nothing. Glory,glory! Oh, tell me, sir, did she fight?”
“We gave her three pieces of ordnance only,and struck down her mizzenmast, and then boarded swordin hand, but never had need to strike a blow; andbefore we left her, one of her own boys had changedher name, and rechristened her the ‘Cacaplata.’”
“Glory, glory! Cowards they are, as I toldthem. I told them they never could stand theDevon mastiffs, and well they flogged me for sayingit; but they could not stop my mouth. O sir,tell me, did you get the ship that came up after her?”
“What was that?”
“A long race-ship, sir, from Guayaquil, withan old gentleman on board,—Don Franciscode Xararte was his name, and by token, he had a goldfalcon hanging to a chain round his neck, and a greenstone in the breast of it. I saw it as we rowedhim aboard. O tell me, sir, tell me for the loveof God, did you take that ship?”
“We did take that ship, and the jewel too, andher majesty has it at this very hour.”
“Then tell me, sir,” said he slowly, asif he dreaded an answer; “tell me, sir, andoh, try and mind—was there a little maidaboard with the old gentleman?”
“A little maid? Let me think. No;I saw none.”
The man settled his features again sadly.
“I thought not. I never saw her come aboard.Still I hoped, like; I hoped. Alackaday!God help me, Salvation Yeo!”
“What have you to do with this little maid,then, good fellow!” asked Grenville.
“Ah, sir, before I tell you that, I must goback and finish the story of Mr. Oxenham, if you willbelieve me enough to hear it.”
“I do believe thee, good fellow, and honor theetoo.”
“Then, sir, I can speak with a free tongue.Where was I?”
“Where was he, Amyas?”
“At the Isle of Pearls.”
“And yet, O gentles, tell me first, how CaptainDrake came into the South Seas:—over theneck, as we did?”
“Through the Straits, good fellow, like anySpaniard: but go on with thy story, and thoushalt have Mr. Leigh’s after.”
“Through the Straits! O glory! ButI’ll tell my tale. Well, sirs both—Tothe Island of Pearls we came, we and some of the negroes.We found many huts, and Indians fishing for pearls,and also a fair house, with porches; but no Spaniardtherein, save one man; at which Mr. Oxenham was likea man transported, and fell on that Spaniard, crying,‘Perro, where is your mistress? Where isthe bark from Lima?’ To which he boldly enough,‘What was his mistress to the Englishman?’But Mr. O. threatened to twine a cord round his headtill his eyes burst out; and the Spaniard, being terrified,said that the ship from Lima was expected in a fortnight’stime. So for ten days we lay quiet, letting neithernegro nor Spaniard leave the island, and took goodstore of pearls, feeding sumptuously on wild cattleand hogs until the tenth day, when there came by asmall bark; her we took, and found her from Quito,
and on board 60,000 pezos of gold and other store.With which if we had been content, gentlemen, allhad gone well. And some were willing to go backat once, having both treasure and pearls in plenty;but Mr. O., he waxed right mad, and swore to slayany one who made that motion again, assuring us thatthe Lima ship of which he had news was far greaterand richer, and would make princes of us all; whichbark came in sight on the sixteenth day, and was takenwithout shot or slaughter. The taking of whichbark, I verily believe, was the ruin of every mother’sson of us.”And being asked why, he answered, “First, becauseof the discontent which was bred thereby; for on boardwas found no gold, but only 100,000 pezos of silver.”
Sir Richard Grenville.—Thou greedy fellow;and was not that enough to stay your stomachs?
Yeo answered that he would to God it had been; andthat, moreover, the weight of that silver was afterwardsa hindrance to them, and fresh cause of discontent,as he would afterwards declare. “So thatit had been well for us, sirs, if we had left it behind,as Mr. Drake left his three years before, and carriedaway the gold only. In which I do see the evidenthand of God, and His just punishment for our greedinessof gain; who caused Mr. Oxenham, by whom we had hopedto attain great wealth, to be a snare to us, and acause of utter ruin.”
“Do you think, then,” said Sir Richard,“that Mr. Oxenham deceived you wilfully?”
“I will never believe that, sir: Mr. Oxenhamhad his private reasons for waiting for that ship,for the sake of one on board, whose face would thathe had never seen, though he saw it then, as I fear,not for the first time by many a one.”And so was silent.
“Come,” said both his hearers, “youhave brought us thus far, and you must go on.”
“Gentlemen, I have concealed this matter fromall men, both on my voyage home and since; and I hopeyou will be secret in the matter, for the honor ofmy noble captain, and the comfort of his friends whoare alive. For I think it shame to publish harmof a gallant gentleman, and of an ancient and worshipfulfamily, and to me a true and kind captain, when whatis done cannot be undone, and least said soonest mended.Neither now would I have spoken of it, but that Iwas inwardly moved to it for the sake of that younggentleman there” (looking at Amyas), “thathe might be warned in time of God’s wrath againstthe crying sin of adultery, and flee youthful lusts,which war against the soul.”
“Thou hast done wisely enough, then,”said Sir Richard; “and look to it if I do notreward thee: but the young gentleman here, thankGod, needs no such warnings, having got them alreadyboth by precept and example, where thou and poor Oxenhammight have had them also.”
“You mean Captain Drake, your worship?”
“I do, sirrah. If all men were as cleanlivers as he, the world would be spared one half thetears that are shed in it.”
“Amen, sir. At least there would have beenmany a tear spared to us and ours. For—asall must out—in that bark of Lima he tooka young lady, as fair as the sunshine, sir, and seeminglyabout two or three-and-twenty years of age, havingwith her a tall young lad of sixteen, and a littlegirl, a marvellously pretty child, of about a sixor seven. And the lady herself was of an excellentbeauty, like a whale’s tooth for whiteness,so that all the crew wondered at her, and could notbe satisfied with looking upon her. And, gentlemen,this was strange, that the lady seemed in no wiseafraid or mournful, and bid her little girl fear naught,as did also Mr. Oxenham: but the lad kept a verysour countenance, and the more when he saw the ladyand Mr. Oxenham speaking together apart.
“Well, sir, after this good luck we were mindedto have gone straight back to the river whence wecame, and so home to England with all speed.But Mr. Oxenham persuaded us to return to the island,and get a few more pearls. To which foolishness(which after caused the mishap) I verily believe hewas moved by the instigation of the devil and of thatlady. For as we were about to go ashore, I, goingdown into the cabin of the prize, saw Mr. Oxenhamand that lady making great cheer of each other with,‘My life,’ and ‘My king,’ and‘Light of my eyes,’ and such toys; andbeing bidden by Mr. Oxenham to fetch out the lady’smails, and take them ashore, heard how the two laughedtogether about the old ape of Panama (which ape, ordevil rather, I saw afterwards to my cost), and alsohow she said that she had been dead for five years,and now that Mr. Oxenham was come, she was alive again,and so forth.
“Mr. Oxenham bade take the little maid ashore,kissing her and playing with her, and saying to thelady, ’What is yours is mine, and what is mineis yours.’ And she asking whether the ladshould come ashore, he answered, ’He is neitheryours nor mine; let the spawn of Beelzebub stay onshore.’ After which I, coming on deck again,stumbled over that very lad, upon the hatchway ladder,who bore so black and despiteful a face, that I verilybelieve he had overheard their speech, and so thrusthim upon deck; and going below again, told Mr. Oxenhamwhat I thought, and said that it were better to puta dagger into him at once, professing to be readyso to do. For which grievous sin, seeing thatit was committed in my unregenerate days, I hope Ihave obtained the grace of forgiveness, as I havethat of hearty repentance. But the lady criedout, ‘Though he be none of mine, I have sin enoughalready on my soul;’ and so laid her hand onMr. Oxenham’s mouth, entreating pitifully.And Mr. Oxenham answered laughing, when she wouldlet him, ’What care we? let the young monkeygo and howl to the old one;’ and so went ashorewith the lady to that house, whence for three dayshe never came forth, and would have remained longer,but that the men, finding but few pearls, and beingwearied with the watching and warding so many Spaniards,and negroes came clamoring to him, and swore that theywould return or leave him there with the lady.So all went on board the pinnace again, every onein ill humor with the captain, and he with them.
“Well, sirs, we came back to the mouth of theriver, and there began our troubles; for the negroes,as soon as we were on shore, called on Mr. Oxenhamto fulfil the bargain he had made with them. Andnow it came out (what few of us knew till then) thathe had agreed with the Cimaroons that they shouldhave all the prisoners which were taken, save the gold.And he, though loath, was about to give up the Spaniardsto them, near forty in all, supposing that they intendedto use them as slaves: but as we all stood talking,one of the Spaniards, understanding what was forward,threw himself on his knees before Mr. Oxenham, andshrieking like a madman, entreated not to be givenup into the hands of ’those devils,’ saidhe, ’who never take a Spanish prisoner, but theyroast him alive, and then eat his heart among them.’We asked the negroes if this was possible? Towhich some answered, What was that to us? Butothers said boldly, that it was true enough, and thatrevenge made the best sauce, and nothing was so sweetas Spanish blood; and one, pointing to the lady, saidsuch foul and devilish things as I should be ashamedeither for me to speak, or you to hear. At thiswe were like men amazed for very horror; and Mr. Oxenhamsaid, ’You incarnate fiends, if you had takenthese fellows for slaves, it had been fair enough;for you were once slaves to them, and I doubt notcruelly used enough: but as for this abomination,’says he, ’God do so to me, and more also, ifI let one of them come into your murderous hands.’So there was a great quarrel; but Mr. Oxenham stoutlybade put the prisoners on board the ships again, andso let the prizes go, taking with him only the treasure,and the lady and the little maid. And so the ladwent on to Panama, God’s wrath having gone outagainst us.
“Well, sirs, the Cimaroons after that went awayfrom us, swearing revenge (for which we cared littleenough), and we rowed up the river to a place wherethree streams met, and then up the least of the three,some four days’ journey, till it grew all shoaland swift; and there we hauled the pinnace upon thesands, and Mr. Oxenham asked the men whether theywere willing to carry the gold and silver over themountains to the North Sea. Some of them at firstwere loath to do it, and I and others advised thatwe should leave the plate behind, and take the goldonly, for it would have cost us three or four journeysat the least. But Mr. Oxenham promised everyman 100 pezos of silver over and above his wages,which made them content enough, and we were all tostart the morrow morning. But, sirs, that night,as God had ordained, came a mishap by some rash speechesof Mr. Oxenham’s, which threw all abroad again;for when we had carried the treasure about half aleague inland, and hidden it away in a house whichwe made of boughs, Mr. O. being always full of thathis fair lady, spoke to me and William Penberthy ofMarazion, my good comrade, and a few more, saying,
’That we had no need to return to England, seeingthat we were already in the very garden of Eden, andwanted for nothing, but could live without labor ortoil; and that it was better, when we got over tothe North Sea, to go and seek out some fair island,and there dwell in joy and pleasure till our lives’end. And we two,’ he said, ’willbe king and queen, and you, whom I can trust, my officers;and for servants we will have the Indians, who, Iwarrant, will be more fain to serve honest and merrymasters like us than those Spanish devils,’and much more of the like; which words I liked well,—mymind, alas! being given altogether to carnal pleasureand vanity,—as did William Penberthy, mygood comrade, on whom I trust God has had mercy.But the rest, sirs, took the matter all across, andbegan murmuring against the captain, saying that poorhonest mariners like them had always the labor andthe pain, while he took his delight with his lady;and that they would have at least one merry night beforethey were slain by the Cimaroons, or eaten by panthersand lagartos; and so got out of the pinnace two greatskins of Canary wine, which were taken in the Limaprize, and sat themselves down to drink. Moreover,there were in the pinnace a great sight of hens, whichcame from the same prize, by which Mr. O. set greatstore, keeping them for the lady and the little maid;and falling upon these, the men began to blaspheme,saying, ’What a plague had the captain to fillthe boat with dirty live lumber for that giglet’ssake? They had a better right to a good supperthan ever she had, and might fast awhile to cool herhot blood;’ and so cooked and ate those hens,plucking them on board the pinnace, and letting thefeathers fall into the stream. But when WilliamPenberthy, my good comrade, saw the feathers floatingaway down, he asked them if they were mad, to laya trail by which the Spaniards would surely trackthem out, if they came after them, as without doubtthey would. But they laughed him to scorn, andsaid that no Spanish cur dared follow on the heelsof true English mastiffs as they were, and other boastfulspeeches; and at last, being heated with wine, beganafresh to murmur at the captain. And one speakingof his counsel about the island, the rest altogethertook it amiss and out of the way; and some sprang upcrying treason, and others that he meant to defraudthem of the plate which he had promised, and othersthat he meant to desert them in a strange land, andso forth, till Mr. O., hearing the hubbub, came outto them from the house, when they reviled him foully,swearing that he meant to cheat them; and one EdwardStiles, a Wapping man, mad with drink, dared to saythat he was a fool for not giving up the prisonersto the negroes, and what was it to him if the ladyroasted? the negroes should have her yet; and drawinghis sword, ran upon the captain: for which I wasabout to strike him through the body; but the captain,not caring to waste steel on such a ribald, with hisfist caught him such a buffet behind the ear, thathe fell down stark dead, and all the rest stood amazed.Then Mr. Oxenham called out, ’All honest menwho know me, and can trust me, stand by your lawfulcaptain against these ruffians.’ Whereon,sirs, I, and Penberthy my good comrade, and four Plymouthmen, who had sailed with Mr. O. in Mr. Drake’sship, and knew his trusty and valiant conditions,came over to him, and swore before God to stand byhim and the lady. Then said Mr. O. to the rest,’Will you carry this treasure, knaves, or willyou not? Give me an answer here.’ Andthey refused, unless he would, before they started,give each man his share. So Mr. O. waxed verymad, and swore that he would never be served by menwho did not trust him, and so went in again; and thatnight was spent in great disquiet, I and those fiveothers keeping watch about the house of boughs tillthe rest fell asleep, in their drink. And nextmorning, when the wine was gone out of them, Mr. O.asked them whether they would go to the hills withhim, and find those negroes, and persuade them afterall to carry the treasure. To which they agreedafter awhile, thinking that so they should save themselveslabor; and went off with Mr. Oxenham, leaving us sixwho had stood by him to watch the lady and the treasure,after he had taken an oath of us that we would dealjustly and obediently by him and by her, which Godknows, gentlemen, we did. So he parted with muchweeping and wailing of the lady, and was gone sevendays; and all that time we kept that lady faithfullyand honestly, bringing her the best we could find,and serving her upon our bended knees, both for heradmirable beauty, and for her excellent conditions,for she was certainly of some noble kin, and courteous,and without fear, as if she had been a very princess.But she kept always within the house, which the littlemaid (God bless her!) did not, but soon learned toplay with us and we with her, so that we made greatcheer of her, gentlemen, sailor fashion—foryou know we must always have our minions aboard topet and amuse us—maybe a monkey, or a littledog, or a singing bird, ay, or mice and spiders, ifwe have nothing better to play withal. And shewas wonderful sharp, sirs, was the little maid, andpicked up her English from us fast, calling us jollymariners, which I doubt but she has forgotten by now,but I hope in God it be not so;” and therewiththe good fellow began wiping his eyes.“Well, sir, on the seventh day we six were downby the pinnace clearing her out, and the little maidwith us gathering of flowers, and William Penberthyfishing on the bank, about a hundred yards below, whenon a sudden he leaps up and runs toward us, crying,‘Here come our hens’ feathers back againwith a vengeance!’ and so bade catch up the littlemaid, and run for the house, for the Spaniards wereupon us.
“Which was too true; for before we could winthe house, there were full eighty shot at our heels,but could not overtake us; nevertheless, some of themstopping, fixed their calivers and let fly, killingone of the Plymouth men. The rest of us escapedto the house, and catching up the lady, fled forth,not knowing whither we went, while the Spaniards,finding the house and treasure, pursued us no farther.
“For all that day and the next we wandered ingreat misery, the lady weeping continually, and callingfor Mr. Oxenham most piteously, and the little maidlikewise, till with much ado we found the track ofour comrades, and went up that as best we might:but at nightfall, by good hap, we met the whole crewcoming back, and with them 200 negroes or more, withbows and arrows. At which sight was great joyand embracing, and it was a strange thing, sirs, tosee the lady; for before that she was altogether desperate:and yet she was now a very lioness, as soon as shehad got her love again; and prayed him earnestly notto care for that gold, but to go forward to the NorthSea, vowing to him in my hearing that she cared nomore for poverty than she had cared for her good name,and then—they being a little apart fromthe rest—pointed round to the green forest,and said in Spanish—which I suppose theyknew not that I understood,—’See,all round us is Paradise. Were it not enoughfor you and me to stay here forever, and let them takethe gold or leave it as they will?’
“To which Mr. Oxenham—’Thosewho lived in Paradise had not sinned as we have, andwould never have grown old or sick, as we shall.’
“And she—’If we do that, thereare poisons enough in these woods, by which we maydie in each other’s arms, as would to Heavenwe had died seven years agone!’
“But he—’No, no, my life.It stands upon my honor both to fulfil my bond withthese men, whom I have brought hither, and to takehome to England at least something of my prize asa proof of my own valor.’
“Then she smiling—’Am I notprize enough, and proof enough?’ But he wouldnot be so tempted, and turning to us offered us thehalf of that treasure, if we would go back with him,and rescue it from the Spaniard. At which thelady wept and wailed much; but I took upon myself tocomfort her, though I was but a simple mariner, tellingher that it stood upon Mr. Oxenham’s honor;and that in England nothing was esteemed so foul ascowardice, or breaking word and troth betwixt man andman; and that better was it for him to die seven timesby the Spaniards, than to face at home the scorn ofall who sailed the seas. So, after much ado,back they went again; I and Penberthy, and the threePlymouth men which escaped from the pinnace, keepingthe lady as before.
“Well, sirs, we waited five days, having madehouses of boughs as before, without hearing aught;and on the sixth we saw coming afar off Mr. Oxenham,and with him fifteen or twenty men, who seemed veryweary and wounded; and when we looked for the restto be behind them, behold there were no more; at which,sirs, as you may well think, our hearts sank withinus.
“And Mr. O., coming nearer, cried out afar off,‘All is lost!’ and so walked into thecamp without a word, and sat himself down at the footof a great tree with his head between his hands, speakingneither to the lady or to any one, till she very pitifullykneeling before him, cursing herself for the causeof all his mischief, and praying him to avenge himselfupon that her tender body, won him hardly to look onceupon her, after which (as is the way of vain and unstableman) all between them was as before.
“But the men were full of curses against thenegroes, for their cowardice and treachery; yea, andagainst high Heaven itself, which had put the mostpart of their ammunition into the Spaniards’hands; and told me, and I believe truly, how theyforced the enemy awaiting them in a little copse ofgreat trees, well fortified with barricades of boughs,and having with them our two falcons, which they hadtaken out of the pinnace. And how Mr. Oxenhamdivided both the English and the negroes into twobands, that one might attack the enemy in front, andthe other in the rear, and so set upon them with greatfury, and would have utterly driven them out, butthat the negroes, who had come on with much howling,like very wild beasts, being suddenly scared with theshot and noise of the ordnance, turned and fled, leavingthe Englishmen alone; in which evil strait Mr. O.fought like a very Guy of Warwick, and I verily believeevery man of them likewise; for there was none of themwho had not his shrewd scratch to show. And indeed,Mr. Oxenham’s party had once gotten within thebarricades, but the Spaniards being sheltered by thetree trunks (and especially by one mighty tree, whichstood as I remembered it, and remember it now, borneup two fathoms high upon its own roots, as it wereupon arches and pillars), shot at them with such advantage,that they had several slain, and seven more taken alive,only among the roots of that tree. So seeingthat they could prevail nothing, having little buttheir pikes and swords, they were fain to give back;though Mr. Oxenham swore he would not stir a foot,and making at the Spanish captain was borne down withpikes, and hardly pulled away by some, who at lastreminding him of his lady, persuaded him to come awaywith the rest. Whereon the other party fled also;but what had become of them they knew not, for theytook another way. And so they miserably drewoff, having lost in men eleven killed and seven takenalive, besides five of the rascal negroes who werekilled before they had time to run; and there wasan end of the matter.*
* In the documents from which I havedrawn this veracious history, a note is appendedto this point of Yeo’s story, which seemsto me to smack sufficiently of the old Elizabethanseaman, to be inserted at length.
“All so far, and most after,agreeth with Lopez Vaz his tale, taken from hispocket by my Lord Cumberland’s mariners atthe river Plate, in the year 1586. But note herehis vainglory and falsehood, or else fear ofthe Spaniard.
“First, lest itshould be seen how great an advantage the
Spaniards had, he makethno mention of the English calivers,
nor those two piecesof ordnance which were in the pinnace.
“Second, he saith nothing ofthe flight of the Cimaroons: though it wasevidently to be gathered from that which he himselfsaith, that of less than seventy English were slaineleven, and of the negroes but five. Andwhile of the English seven were taken alive,yet of the negroes none. And why, but becausethe rascals ran?
“Thirdly, it isa thing incredible, and out of experience,
that eleven Englishshould be slain and seven taken, with
loss only of two Spaniardskilled.
“Search now, and see (for I willnot speak of mine own small doings), in all thosememorable voyages, which the worthy and learnedMr. Hakluyt hath so painfully collected, and whichare to my old age next only to my Bible, whether inall the fights which we have endured with theSpaniards, their loss, even in victory, hathnot far exceeded ours. For we are both biggerof body and fiercer of spirit, being even tothe poorest of us (thanks so the care of our illustriousprinces), the best fed men of Europe, the most trainedto feats of strength and use of weapons, and put ourtrust also not in any Virgin or saints, dead ragsand bones, painted idols which have no breathin their mouths, or St. Bartholomew medals andsuch devil’s remembrancers; but in theonly true God and our Lord Jesus Christ, in whom whosoevertrusteth, one of them shall chase a thousand. So I hold, having had good experience; and say,if they have done it once, let them do it again,and kill their eleven to our two, with any weaponthey will, save paper bullets blown out of Fame’slying trumpet. Yet I have no quarrel with thepoor Portugal; for I doubt not but friend LopezVaz had looking over his shoulder as he wrotesome mighty black velvet Don, with a name aslong as that Don Bernaldino Delgadillo de Avellanedawho set forth lately his vainglorious libel oflies concerning the last and fatal voyage ofmy dear friends Sir F. Drake and Sir John Hawkins,who rest in peace, having finished their labors,as would God I rested. To whose shamelessand unspeakable lying my good friend Mr. HenrySavile of this county did most pithily and wittilyreply, stripping the ass out of his lion’s skin;and Sir Thomas Baskerville, general of the fleet,by my advice, send him a cartel of defiance,offering to meet him with choice of weapons,in any indifferent kingdom of equal distancefrom this realm; which challenge he hath prudentlyput in his pipe, or rather rolled it up for oneof his Spanish cigarros, and smoked it, and Idoubt not, found it foul in the mouth.”
“But the next day, gentlemen, in came some five-and-twentymore, being the wreck of the other party, and withthem a few negroes; and these last proved themselvesno honester men than they were brave, for there beinggreat misery among us English, and every one of usstraggling where he could to get food, every day oneor more who went out never came back, and that caused
a suspicion that the negroes had betrayed them tothe Spaniards, or, maybe, slain and eaten them.So these fellows being upbraided, with that altogetherleft us, telling us boldly, that if they had eatenour fellows, we owed them a debt instead of the Spanishprisoners; and we, in great terror and hunger, wentforward and over the mountains till we came to a littleriver which ran northward, which seemed to lead intothe Northern Sea; and there Mr. O.—who,sirs, I will say, after his first rage was over, behavedhimself all through like a valiant and skilful commander—badeus cut down trees and make canoes, to go down to thesea; which we began to do, with great labor and littleprofit, hewing down trees with our swords, and burningthem out with fire, which, after much labor, we kindled;but as we were a-burning out of the first tree, andcutting down of another, a great party of negroescame upon us, and with much friendly show bade us fleefor our lives, for the Spaniards were upon us in greatforce. And so we were up and away again, hardlyable to drag our legs after us for hunger and weariness,and the broiling heat. And some were taken (Godhelp them!) and some fled with the negroes, of whomwhat became God alone knoweth; but eight or ten heldon with the captain, among whom was I, and fled downwardtoward the sea for one day; but afterwards finding,by the noise in the woods, that the Spaniards wereon the track of us, we turned up again toward theinland, and coming to a cliff, climbed up over it,drawing up the lady and the little maid with cordsof liana (which hang from those trees as honeysuckledoes here, but exceeding stout and long, even to fiftyfathoms); and so breaking the track, hoped to be outof the way of the enemy.“By which, nevertheless, we only increased ourmisery. For two fell from that cliff, as menasleep for very weariness, and miserably broke theirbones; and others, whether by the great toil, or sunstrokes,or eating of strange berries, fell sick of fluxesand fevers; where was no drop of water, but rock ofpumice stone as bare as the back of my hand, and full,moreover, of great cracks, black and without bottom,over which we had not strength to lift the sick, butwere fain to leave them there aloft, in the sunshine,like Dives in his torments, crying aloud for a dropof water to cool their tongues; and every man a greatstinking vulture or two sitting by him, like an uglyblack fiend out of the pit, waiting till the poorsoul should depart out of the corpse: but nothingcould avail, and for the dear life we must down againand into the woods, or be burned up alive upon thoserocks.
“So getting down the slope on the farther side,we came into the woods once more, and there wanderedfor many days, I know not how many; our shoes beinggone, and our clothes all rent off us with brakes andbriars. And yet how the lady endured all was amarvel to see; for she went barefoot many days, andfor clothes was fain to wrap herself in Mr. Oxenham’scloak; while the little maid went all but naked:but ever she looked still on Mr. Oxenham, and seemedto take no care as long as he was by, comforting andcheering us all with pleasant words; yea, and oncesitting down under a great fig-tree, sang us all tosleep with very sweet music; yet, waking about midnight,I saw her sitting still upright, weeping very bitterly;on whom, sirs, God have mercy; for she was a fairand a brave jewel.
“And so, to make few words of a sad matter,at last there were none left but Mr. Oxenham and thelady and the little maid, together with me and WilliamPenberthy of Marazion, my good comrade. And Mr.Oxenham always led the lady, and Penberthy and I carriedthe little maid. And for food we had fruits,such as we could find, and water we got from the leavesof certain lilies which grew on the bark of trees,which I found by seeing the monkeys drink at them;and the little maid called them monkey-cups, and askedfor them continually, making me climb for them.And so we wandered on, and upward into very high mountains,always fearing lest the Spaniards should track uswith dogs, which made the lady leap up often in hersleep, crying that the bloodhounds were upon her.And it befell upon a day, that we came into a greatwood of ferns (which grew not on the ground like ours,but on stems as big as a pinnace’s mast, andthe bark of them was like a fine meshed net, verystrange to see), where was very pleasant shade, cooland green; and there, gentlemen, we sat down on abank of moss, like folk desperate and fordone, andevery one looked the other in the face for a long while.After which I took off the bark of those ferns, forI must needs be doing something to drive away thought,and began to plait slippers for the little maid.
“And as I was plaiting, Mr. Oxenham said, ’Whathinders us from dying like men, every man fallingon his own sword?’ To which I answered thatI dare not; for a wise woman had prophesied of me,sirs, that I should die at sea, and yet neither bywater or battle, wherefore I did not think right tomeddle with the Lord’s purposes. And WilliamPenberthy said, ’That he would sell his life,and that dear, but never give it away.’But the lady said, ’Ah, how gladly would I die!but then la paouvre garse,’ which is in French‘the poor maid,’ meaning the little one.Then Mr. Oxenham fell into a very great weeping, aweakness I never saw him in before or since; and withmany tears besought me never to desert that littlemaid, whatever might befall; which I promised, swearingto it like a heathen, but would, if I had been able,
have kept it like a Christian. But on a suddenthere was a great cry in the wood, and coming throughthe trees on all sides Spanish arquebusiers, a hundredstrong at least, and negroes with them, who bade usstand or they would shoot. William Penberthyleapt up, crying ‘Treason!’ and runningupon the nearest negro ran him through, and then another,and then falling on the Spaniards, fought manfullytill he was borne down with pikes, and so died.But I, seeing no thing better to do, sate still andfinished my plaiting. And so we were all taken,and I and Mr. Oxenham bound with cords; but the soldiersmade a litter for the lady and child, by commandmentof Senor Diego de Trees, their commander, a very courteousgentleman.“Well, sirs, we were brought down to the placewhere the house of boughs had been by the river-side;there we went over in boats, and found waiting forus certain Spanish gentlemen, and among others oneold and ill-favored man, gray-bearded and bent, ina suit of black velvet, who seemed to be a great manamong them. And if you will believe me, Mr. Leigh,that was none other than the old man with the goldfalcon at his breast, Don Francisco Xararte by name,whom you found aboard of the Lima ship. And hadyou known as much of him as I do, or as Mr. Oxenhamdid either, you had cut him up for shark’s bait,or ever you let the cur ashore again.
“Well, sirs, as soon as the lady came to shore,that old man ran upon her sword in hand, and wouldhave slain her, but some there held him back.On which he turned to, and reviled with every fouland spiteful word which he could think of, so thatsome there bade him be silent for shame; and Mr. Oxenhamsaid, ’It is worthy of you, Don Francisco, thusto trumpet abroad your own disgrace. Did I nottell you years ago that you were a cur; and are younot proving my words for me?’
“He answered, ‘English dog, would to HeavenI had never seen you!’
“And Mr. Oxenham, ’Spanish ape, wouldto Heaven that I had sent my dagger through your herring-ribswhen you passed me behind St. Ildegonde’s church,eight years last Easter-eve.’ At which theold man turned pale, and then began again to upbraidthe lady, vowing that he would have her burnt alive,and other devilish words, to which she answered atlast—
“’Would that you had burnt me alive onmy wedding morning, and spared me eight years of misery!’And he—
“’Misery? Hear the witch, senors!Oh, have I not pampered her, heaped with jewels, clothes,coaches, what not? The saints alone know what’I have spent on her. What more would shehave of me?’
“To which she answered only but this one word,‘Fool!’ but in so terrible a voice, thoughlow, that they who were about to laugh at the oldpantaloon, were more minded to weep for her.
“‘Fool!’ she said again, after awhile, ’I will waste no words upon you.I would have driven a dagger to your heart months ago,but that I was loath to set you free so soon fromyour gout and your rheumatism. Selfish and stupid,know when you bought my body from my parents, youdid not buy my soul! Farewell, my love, my life!and farewell, senors! May you be more mercifulto your daughters than my parents were to me!’And so, catching a dagger from the girdle of one ofthe soldiers, smote herself to the heart, and felldead before them all.
“At which Mr. Oxenham smiled, and said, ’Thatwas worthy of us both. If you will unbind myhands, senors, I shall be most happy to copy so faira schoolmistress.’
“But Don Diego shook his head, and said—
“’It were well for you, valiant senor,were I at liberty to do so; but on questioning thoseof your sailors whom I have already taken, I cannothear that you have any letters of license, either fromthe queen of England, or any other potentate.I am compelled, therefore, to ask you whether thisis so; for it is a matter of life and death.’
“To which Mr. Oxenham answered merrily, thatso it was: but that he was not aware that anypotentate’s license was required to permit agentleman’s meeting his lady love; and that asfor the gold which they had taken, if they had neverallowed that fresh and fair young May to be forcedinto marrying that old January, he should never havemeddled with their gold; so that was rather theirfault than his. And added, that if he was tobe hanged, as he supposed, the only favor which heasked for was a long drop and no priests. Andall the while, gentlemen, he still kept his eyes fixedon the lady’s corpse, till he was led away withme, while all that stood by, God reward them for it,lamented openly the tragical end of those two sinfullovers.
“And now, sirs, what befell me after that matterslittle; for I never saw Captain Oxenham again, norever shall in this life.”
“He was hanged, then?”
“So I heard for certain the next year, and withhim the gunner and sundry more: but some weregiven away for slaves to the Spaniards, and may bealive now, unless, like me, they have fallen into thecruel clutches of the Inquisition. For the Inquisitionnow, gentlemen, claims the bodies and souls of allheretics all over the world (as the devils told mewith their own lips, when I pleaded that I was no Spanishsubject); and none that it catches, whether peaceablemerchants or shipwrecked mariners, but must turn orburn.”
“But how did you get into the Inquisition?”
“Why, sir, after we were taken, we set forthto go down the river again; and the old Don took thelittle maid with him in one boat (and bitterly shescreeched at parting from us and from the poor deadcorpse), and Mr. Oxenham with Don Diego de Trees inanother, and I in a third. And from the SpaniardsI learnt that we were to be taken down to Lima, tothe Viceroy; but that the old man lived hard by Panama,and was going straight back to Panama forthwith withthe little maid. But they said, ’It willbe well for her if she ever gets there, for the oldman swears she is none of his, and would have lefther behind him in the woods, now, if Don Diego hadnot shamed him out of it.’ And when I heardthat, seeing that there was nothing but death beforeme, I made up my mind to escape; and the very firstnight, sirs, by God’s help, I did it, and wentsouthward away into the forest, avoiding the tracksof the Cimaroons, till I came to an Indian town.And there, gentlemen, I got more mercy from heathensthan ever I had from Christians; for when they foundthat I was no Spaniard, they fed me and gave me a house,and a wife (and a good wife she was to me), and paintedme all over in patterns, as you see; and because Ihad some knowledge of surgery and blood-letting, andmy fleams in my pocket, which were worth to me a fortune,I rose to great honor among them, though they taughtme more of simples than ever I taught them of surgery.So I lived with them merrily enough, being a veryheathen like them, or indeed worse, for they worshippedtheir Xemes, but I nothing. And in time my wifebare me a child; in looking at whose sweet face, gentlemen,I forgot Mr. Oxenham and his little maid, and my oath,ay, and my native land also. Wherefore it wastaken from me, else had I lived and died as the beastswhich perish; for one night, after we were all laindown, came a noise outside the town, and I startingup saw armed men and calivers shining in the moonlight,and heard one read in Spanish, with a loud voice, somefool’s sermon, after their custom when theyhunt the poor Indians, how God had given to St. Peterthe dominion of the whole earth, and St. Peter againthe Indies to the Catholic king; wherefore, if theywould all be baptized and serve the Spaniard, theyshould have some monkey’s allowance or otherof more kicks than pence; and if not, then have atthem with fire and sword; but I dare say your worshipsknow that devilish trick of theirs better than I.”
“I know it, man. Go on.”
“Well—no sooner were the words spokenthan, without waiting to hear what the poor innocentswithin would answer (though that mattered little,for they understood not one word of it), what do thevillains but let fly right into the town with theircalivers, and then rush in, sword in hand, killingpell-mell all they met, one of which shots, gentlemen,passing through the doorway, and close by me, struckmy poor wife to the heart, that she never spoke word
more. I, catching up the babe from her breast,tried to run: but when I saw the town full ofthem, and their dogs with them in leashes, which wasyet worse, I knew all was lost, and sat down againby the corpse with the babe on my knees, waiting theend, like one stunned and in a dream; for now I thoughtGod from whom I had fled had surely found me out, asHe did Jonah, and the punishment of all my sins wascome. Well, gentlemen, they dragged me out, andall the young men and women, and chained us togetherby the neck; and one, catching the pretty babe outof my arms, calls for water and a priest (for theyhad their shavelings with them), and no sooner wasit christened than, catching the babe by the heels,he dashed out its brains,—oh! gentlemen,gentlemen!—against the ground, as if ithad been a kitten; and so did they to several moreinnocents that night, after they had christened them;saying it was best for them to go to heaven whilethey were still sure thereof; and so marched us allfor slaves, leaving the old folk and the wounded todie at leisure. But when morning came, and theyknew by my skin that I was no Indian, and by my speechthat I was no Spaniard, they began threatening me withtorments, till I confessed that I was an Englishman,and one of Oxenham’s crew. At that saysthe leader, ’Then you shall to Lima, to hangby the side of your captain the pirate;’ bywhich I first knew that my poor captain was certainlygone; but alas for me! the priest steps in and claimsme for his booty, calling me Lutheran, heretic, andenemy of God; and so, to make short a sad story, tothe Inquisition at Cartagena I went, where what Isuffered, gentlemen, were as disgustful for you tohear, as unmanly for me to complain of; but so itwas, that being twice racked, and having endured thewater-torment as best I could, I was put to the scarpines,whereof I am, as you see, somewhat lame of one legto this day. At which I could abide no more,and so, wretch that I am! denied my God, in hope tosave my life; which indeed I did, but little it profitedme; for though I had turned to their superstition,I must have two hundred stripes in the public place,and then go to the galleys for seven years. Andthere, gentlemen, ofttimes I thought that it had beenbetter for me to have been burned at once and for all:but you know as well as I what a floating hell ofheat and cold, hunger and thirst, stripes and toil,is every one of those accursed craft. In whichhell, nevertheless, gentlemen, I found the road toheaven,—I had almost said heaven itself.For it fell out, by God’s mercy, that my nextcomrade was an Englishman like myself, a young manof Bristol, who, as he told me, had been some mannerof factor on board poor Captain Barker’s ship,and had been a preacher among the Anabaptists herein England. And, oh! Sir Richard Grenville,if that man had done for you what he did for me, youwould never say a word against those who serve thesame Lord, because they don’t altogether holdwith you. For from time to time, sir, seeingme altogether despairing and furious, like a wild beastin a pit, he set before me in secret earnestly thesweet promises of God in Christ,—who says,’Come to me, all ye that are heavy laden, andI will refresh you; and though your sins be as scarlet,they shall be as white as snow,—till allthat past sinful life of mine looked like a dream whenone awaketh, and I forgot all my bodily miseries inthe misery of my soul, so did I loathe and hate myselffor my rebellion against that loving God who had chosenme before the foundation of the world, and come toseek and save me when I was lost; and falling intovery despair at the burden of my heinous sins, knewno peace until I gained sweet assurance that my Lordhad hanged my burden upon His cross, and washed mysinful soul in His most sinless blood, Amen!”And Sir Richard Grenville said Amen also.
“But, gentlemen, if that sweet youth won a soulto Christ, he paid as dearly for it as ever did saintof God. For after a three or four months, whenI had been all that while in sweet converse with him,and I may say in heaven in the midst of hell, therecame one night to the barranco at Lima, where we werekept when on shore, three black devils of the HolyOffice, and carried him off without a word, only sayingto me, ’Look that your turn come not next, forwe hear that you have had much talk with the villain.’And at these words I was so struck cold with terrorthat I swooned right away, and verily, if they hadtaken me there and then, I should have denied my Godagain, for my faith was but young and weak: butinstead, they left me aboard the galley for a fewmonths more (that was a whole voyage to Panama andback), in daily dread lest I should find myself intheir cruel claws again—and then nothingfor me, but to burn as a relapsed heretic. Butwhen we came back to Lima, the officers came on boardagain, and said to me, ’That heretic has confessednaught against you, so we will leave you for this time:but because you have been seen talking with him somuch, and the Holy Office suspects your conversionto be but a rotten one, you are adjudged to the galleysfor the rest of your life in perpetual servitude.’”
“But what became of him?” asked Amyas.
“He was burned, sir, a day or two before wegot to Lima, and five others with him at the samestake, of whom two were Englishmen; old comrades ofmine, as I guess.”
“Ah!” said Amyas, “we heard of thatwhen we were off Lima; and they said, too, that therewere six more lying still in prison, to be burnt ina few days. If we had had our fleet with us (aswe should have had if it had not been for John Winter)we would have gone in and rescued them all, poor wretches,and sacked the town to boot: but what could wedo with one ship?”
“Would to God you had, sir; for the story wastrue enough; and among them, I heard, were two youngladies of quality and their confessor, who came totheir ends for reproving out of Scripture the filthyand loathsome living of those parts, which, as I sawwell enough and too well, is liker to Sodom than toa Christian town; but God will avenge His saints,and their sins. Amen.”
“Amen,” said Sir Richard: “buton with thy tale, for it is as strange as ever manheard.”
“Well, gentlemen, when I heard that I must endmy days in that galley, I was for awhile like a madman:but in a day or two there came over me, I know nothow, a full assurance of salvation, both for this lifeand the life to come, such as I had never had before;and it was revealed to me (I speak the truth, gentlemen,before Heaven) that now I had been tried to the uttermost,and that my deliverance was at hand.
“And all the way up to Panama (that was afterwe had laden the ‘Cacafuogo’) I cast inmy mind how to escape, and found no way: but justas I was beginning to lose heart again, a door wasopened by the Lord’s own hand; for (I know notwhy) we were marched across from Panama to Nombre,which had never happened before, and there put alltogether into a great barranco close by the quay-side,shackled, as is the fashion, to one long bar thatran the whole length of the house. And the veryfirst night that we were there, I, looking out ofthe window, spied, lying close aboard of the quay,a good-sized caravel well armed and just loading forsea; and the land breeze blew off very strong, so thatthe sailors were laying out a fresh warp to hold herto the shore. And it came into my mind, thatif we were aboard of her, we should be at sea in fiveminutes; and looking at the quay, I saw all the soldierswho had guarded us scattered about drinking and gambling,and some going into taverns to refresh themselvesafter their journey. That was just at sundown;and half an hour after, in comes the gaoler to takea last look at us for the night, and his keys at hisgirdle. Whereon, sirs (whether by madness, orwhether by the spirit which gave Samson strength torend the lion), I rose against him as he passed me,without forethought or treachery of any kind, chainedthough I was, caught him by the head, and threw himthere and then against the wall, that he never spokeword after; and then with his keys freed myself andevery soul in that room, and bid them follow me, vowingto kill any man who disobeyed my commands. Theyfollowed, as men astounded and leaping out of nightinto day, and death into life, and so aboard thatcaravel and out of the harbor (the Lord only knowshow, who blinded the eyes of the idolaters), ’withno more hurt than a few chance-shot from the soldierson the quay. But my tale has been over-long already,gentlemen—”
“Go on till midnight, my good fellow, if youwill.”
“Well, sirs, they chose me for captain, anda certain Genoese for lieutenant, and away to go.I would fain have gone ashore after all, and backto Panama to hear news of the little maid: butthat would have been but a fool’s errand.Some wanted to turn pirates: but I, and the Genoesetoo, who was a prudent man, though an evil one, persuadedthem to run for England and get employment in theNetherland wars, assuring them that there would be
no safety in the Spanish Main, when once our escapegot wind. And the more part being of one mind,for England we sailed, watering at the Barbadoes becauseit was desolate; and so eastward toward the Canaries.In which voyage what we endured (being taken by longcalms), by scurvy, calentures, hunger, and thirst,no tongue can tell. Many a time were we gladto lay out sheets at night to catch the dew, and suckthem in the morning; and he that had a noggin of rain-waterout of the scuppers was as much sought to as if hehad been Adelantado of all the Indies; till of a hundredand forty poor wretches a hundred and ten were dead,blaspheming God and man, and above all me and theGenoese, for taking the Europe voyage, as if I hadnot sins enough of my own already. And last ofall, when we thought ourselves safe, we were wreckedby southwesters on the coast of Brittany, near toCape Race, from which but nine souls of us came ashorewith their lives; and so to Brest, where I found aFlushinger who carried me to Falmouth and so endsmy tale, in which if I have said one word more or lessthan truth, I can wish myself no worse, than to haveit all to undergo a second time.”And his voice, as he finished, sank from very wearinessof soul; while Sir Richard sat opposite him in silence,his elbows on the table, his cheeks on his doubledfists, looking him through and through with kindlingeyes. No one spoke for several minutes; and then—
“Amyas, you have heard this story. Youbelieve it?”
“Every word, sir, or I should not have the heartof a Christian man.”
“So do I. Anthony!”
The butler entered.
“Take this man to the buttery; clothe him comfortably,and feed him with the best; and bid the knaves treathim as if he were their own father.”
But Yeo lingered.
“If I might be so bold as to ask your worshipa favor?—”
“Anything in reason, my brave fellow.”
“If your worship could put me in the way ofanother adventure to the Indies?”
“Another! Hast not had enough of the Spaniardsalready?”
“Never enough, sir, while one of the idolatroustyrants is left unhanged,” said he, with a rightbitter smile. “But it’s not for thatonly, sir: but my little maid—Oh, sir!my little maid, that I swore to Mr. Oxenham to lookto, and never saw her from that day to this! Imust find her, sir, or I shall go mad, I believe.Not a night but she comes and calls to me in my dreams,the poor darling; and not a morning but when I wakethere is my oath lying on my soul, like a great blackcloud, and I no nearer the keeping of it. I toldthat poor young minister of it when we were in thegalleys together; and he said oaths were oaths, andkeep it I must; and keep it I will, sir, if you’llbut help me.”
“Have patience, man. God will take as goodcare of thy little maid as ever thou wilt.”
“I know it, sir. I know it: but faith’sweak, sir! and oh! if she were bred up a Papist andan idolater; wouldn’t her blood be on my headthen, sir? Sooner than that, sooner than that,I’d be in the Inquisition again to-morrow, Iwould!”
“My good fellow, there are no adventures tothe Indies forward now: but if you want to fightSpaniards, here is a gentleman will show you the way.Amyas, take him with you to Ireland. If he haslearnt half the lessons God has set him to learn,he ought to stand you in good stead.”
Yeo looked eagerly at the young giant.
“Will you have me, sir? There’s fewmatters I can’t turn my hand to: and maybeyou’ll be going to the Indies again, some day,eh? and take me with you? I’d serve yourturn well, though I say it, either for gunner or forpilot. I know every stone and tree from Nombreto Panama, and all the ports of both the seas.You’ll never be content, I’ll warrant,till you’ve had another turn along the goldcoasts, will you now?”
Amyas laughed, and nodded; and the bargain was concluded.
So out went Yeo to eat, and Amyas having receivedhis despatches, got ready for his journey home.
“Go the short way over the moors, lad; and sendback Cary’s gray when you can. You mustnot lose an hour, but be ready to sail the moment thewind goes about.”
So they started: but as Amyas was getting intothe saddle, he saw that there was some stir amongthe servants, who seemed to keep carefully out ofYeo’s way, whispering and nodding mysteriously;and just as his foot was in the stirrup, Anthony,the old butler, plucked him back.
“Dear father alive, Mr. Amyas!” whisperedhe: “and you ben’t going by the moorroad all alone with that chap?”
“Why not, then? I’m too big for himto eat, I reckon.”
“Oh, Mr. Amyas! he’s not right, I tellyou; not company for a Christian—to goforth with creatures as has flames of fire in theirinwards; ’tis temptation of Providence, indeed,then, it is.”
“Tale of a tub.”
“Tale of a Christian, sir. There was twoboys pig-minding, seed him at it down the hill, besidea maiden that was taken mazed (and no wonder, poorsoul!) and lying in screeching asterisks now down tothe mill—you ask as you go by—andsaw the flames come out of the mouth of mun, and thesmoke out of mun’s nose like a vire-drake, andthe roaring of mun like the roaring of ten thousandbulls. Oh, sir! and to go with he after darkover moor! ’Tis the devil’s devices,sir, against you, because you’m going againsthis sarvants the Pope of Room and the Spaniard; andyou’ll be Pixy-led, sure as life, and lockedinto a bog, you will, and see mun vanish away to fireand brimstone, like a jack-o’-lantern. Oh,have a care, then, have a care!”
And the old man wrung his hands, while Amyas, burstingwith laughter, rode off down the park, with the unconsciousYeo at his stirrup, chatting away about the Indies,and delighting Amyas more and more by his shrewdness,high spirit, and rough eloquence.
They had gone ten miles or more; the day began todraw in, and the western wind to sweep more cold andcheerless every moment, when Amyas, knowing that therewas not an inn hard by around for many a mile ahead,took a pull at a certain bottle which Lady Grenvillehad put into his holster, and then offered Yeo a pullalso.
He declined; he had meat and drink too about him,Heaven be praised!
“Meat and drink? Fall to, then, man, anddon’t stand on manners.”
Whereon Yeo, seeing an old decayed willow by a brook,went to it, and took therefrom some touchwood, towhich he set a light with his knife and a stone, whileAmyas watched, a little puzzled and startled, as Yeo’sfiery reputation came into his mind. Was he reallya salamander-sprite, and going to warm his insideby a meal of burning tinder? But now Yeo, inhis solemn methodical way, pulled out of his bosoma brown leaf, and began rolling a piece of it up neatlyto the size of his little finger; and then, puttingthe one end into his mouth and the other on the tinder,sucked at it till it was a-light; and drinking downthe smoke, began puffing it out again at his nostrilswith a grunt of deepest satisfaction, and resumedhis dog-trot by Amyas’s side, as if he had beena walking chimney.
On which Amyas burst into a loud laugh, and cried—
“Why, no wonder they said you breathed fire?Is not that the Indians’ tobacco?”
“Yea, verily, Heaven be praised! but did younever see it before?”
“Never, though we heard talk of it along thecoast; but we took it for one more Spanish lie.Humph—well, live and learn!”
“Ah, sir, no lie, but a blessed truth, as Ican tell, who have ere now gone in the strength ofthis weed three days and nights without eating; andtherefore, sir, the Indians always carry it with themon their war-parties: and no wonder; for whenall things were made none was made better than this;to be a lone man’s companion, a bachelor’sfriend, a hungry man’s food, a sad man’scordial, a wakeful man’s sleep, and a chillyman’s fire, sir; while for stanching of wounds,purging of rheum, and settling of the stomach, there’sno herb like unto it under the canopy of heaven.”
The truth of which eulogium Amyas tested in afteryears, as shall be fully set forth in due place andtime. But “Mark in the meanwhile,”says one of the veracious chroniclers from whom Idraw these facts, writing seemingly in the palmy daysof good Queen Anne, and “not having” (ashe says) “before his eyes the fear of that misocapnicSolomon James I. or of any other lying Stuart,”“that not to South Devon, but to North; notto Sir Walter Raleigh, but to Sir Amyas Leigh; notto the banks of Dart, but to the banks of Torridge,does Europe owe the day-spring of the latter age,that age of smoke which shall endure and thrive, whenthe age of brass shall have vanished like those ofiron and of gold; for whereas Mr. Lane is said tohave brought home that divine weed (as Spenser wellnames it) from Virginia, in the year 1584, it is herebyindisputable that full four years earlier, by the bridgeof Putford in the Torridge moors (which all true smokersshall hereafter visit as a hallowed spot and pointof pilgrimage) first twinkled that fiery beacon and
beneficent lodestar of Bidefordian commerce, to spreadhereafter from port to port and peak to peak, likethe watch-fires which proclaimed the coming of theArmada or the fall of Troy, even to the shores ofthe Bosphorus, the peaks of the Caucasus, and the farthestisles of the Malayan sea, while Bideford, metropolisof tobacco, saw her Pool choked with Virginian traders,and the pavement of her Bridgeland Street groaningbeneath the savory bales of roll Trinadado, leaf, andpudding; and her grave burghers, bolstered and blockedout of their own houses by the scarce less savorystock-fish casks which filled cellar, parlor, andattic, were fain to sit outside the door, a silverpipe in every strong right hand, and each left handchinking cheerfully the doubloons deep lodged in theauriferous caverns of their trunk-hose; while in thosefairy-rings of fragrant mist, which circled round theircontemplative brows, flitted most pleasant visionsof Wiltshire farmers jogging into Sherborne fair,their heaviest shillings in their pockets, to buy(unless old Aubrey lies) the lotus-leaf of Torridgefor its weight in silver, and draw from thence, afterthe example of the Caciques of Dariena, supplies ofinspiration much needed, then as now, in those Gothamiteregions. And yet did these improve, as Englishmen,upon the method of those heathen savages; for the latter(so Salvation Yeo reported as a truth, and Dampier’ssurgeon Mr. Wafer after him), when they will deliberateof war or policy, sit round in the hut of the chief;where being placed, enter to them a small boy witha cigarro of the bigness of a rolling-pin and puffsthe smoke thereof into the face of each warrior, fromthe eldest to the youngest; while they, putting theirhand funnel-wise round their mouths, draw into thesinuosities of the brain that more than Delphic vaporof prophecy; which boy presently falls down in a swoon,and being dragged out by the heels and laid by tosober, enter another to puff at the sacred cigarro,till he is dragged out likewise; and so on till thetobacco is finished, and the seed of wisdom has sproutedin every soul into the tree of meditation, bearingthe flowers of eloquence, and in due time the fruitof valiant action.” With which quaint fact(for fact it is, in spite of the bombast) I end thepresent chapter.CHAPTER VIII
HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED
“It is virtue, yea virtue, gentlemen,that maketh gentlemen; that maketh the poor rich,the base-born noble, the subject a sovereign, thedeformed beautiful, the sick whole, the weak strong,the most miserable most happy. There aretwo principal and peculiar gifts in the natureof man, knowledge and reason; the one commandeth, andthe other obeyeth: these things neither thewhirling wheel of fortune can change, neitherthe deceitful cavillings of worldlings separate,neither sickness abate, neither age abolish.”—LILLY’sEuphues, 1586.
It now falls to my lot to write of the foundationof that most chivalrous brotherhood of the Rose, whichafter a few years made itself not only famous in itsnative country of Devon, but formidable, as will berelated hereafter, both in Ireland and in the Netherlands,in the Spanish Main and the heart of South America.And if this chapter shall seem to any Quixotic andfantastical, let them recollect that the generationwho spoke and acted thus in matters of love and honorwere, nevertheless, practised and valiant soldiers,and prudent and crafty politicians; that he who wrotethe “Arcadia” was at the same time, inspite of his youth, one of the subtlest diplomatistsof Europe; that the poet of the “Faerie Queene”was also the author of “The State of Ireland;”and if they shall quote against me with a sneer Lilly’s“Euphues” itself, I shall only answer byasking—Have they ever read it? Forif they have done so, I pity them if they have notfound it, in spite of occasional tediousness and pedantry,as brave, righteous, and pious a book as man needlook into: and wish for no better proof of thenobleness and virtue of the Elizabethan age, than thefact that “Euphues” and the “Arcadia”were the two popular romances of the day. Itmay have suited the purposes of Sir Walter Scott, inhis cleverly drawn Sir Piercie Shafton, to ridiculethe Euphuists, and that affectatam comitatem of thetravelled English of which Languet complains; but overand above the anachronism of the whole character (for,to give but one instance, the Euphuist knight talksof Sidney’s quarrel with Lord Oxford at leastten years before it happened), we do deny that Lilly’sbook could, if read by any man of common sense, producesuch a coxcomb, whose spiritual ancestors would ratherhave been Gabriel Harvey and Lord Oxford,—ifindeed the former has not maligned the latter, andill-tempered Tom Nash maligned the maligner in histurn.
But, indeed, there is a double anachronism in SirPiercie; for he does not even belong to the days ofSidney, but to those worse times which began in thelatter years of Elizabeth, and after breaking her mightyheart, had full license to bear their crop of fools’heads in the profligate days of James. Of them,perhaps, hereafter. And in the meanwhile, letthose who have not read “Euphues” believethat, if they could train a son after the fashionof his Ephoebus, to the great saving of their ownmoney and his virtue, all fathers, even in these money-makingdays, would rise up and call them blessed. Letus rather open our eyes, and see in these old Elizabethgallants our own ancestors, showing forth with theluxuriant wildness of youth all the virtues whichstill go to the making of a true Englishman. Letus not only see in their commercial and military daring,in their political astuteness, in their deep reverencefor law, and in their solemn sense of the great callingof the English nation, the antitypes or rather the
examples of our own: but let us confess that theirchivalry is only another garb of that beautiful tendernessand mercy which is now, as it was then, the twin sisterof English valor; and even in their extravagant fondnessfor Continental manners and literature, let us recognizethat old Anglo-Norman teachableness and wide-heartedness,which has enabled us to profit by the wisdom and civilizationof all ages and of all lands, without prejudice toour own distinctive national character.And so I go to my story, which, if any one dislikes,he has but to turn the leaf till he finds pasturagewhich suits him better.
Amyas could not sail the next day, or the day after;for the southwester freshened, and blew three partsof a gale dead into the bay. So having got the“Mary Grenville” down the river into Appledorepool, ready to start with the first shift of wind,he went quietly home; and when his mother startedon a pillion behind the old serving-man to ride toClovelly, where Frank lay wounded, he went in withher as far as Bideford, and there met, coming downthe High Street, a procession of horsem*n headed byWill Cary, who, clad cap-a-pie in a shining armor,sword on thigh, and helmet at saddle-bow, looked asgallant a young gentleman as ever Bideford dames peepedat from door and window. Behind him, upon countryponies, came four or five stout serving-men, carryinghis lances and baggage, and their own long-bows, swords,and bucklers; and behind all, in a horse-litter, toMrs. Leigh’s great joy, Master Frank himself.He deposed that his wounds were only flesh-wounds,the dagger having turned against his ribs; that hemust see the last of his brother; and that with hergood leave he would not come home to Burrough, buttake up his abode with Cary in the Ship Tavern, closeto the Bridge-foot. This he did forthwith, andsettling himself on a couch, held his levee therein state, mobbed by all the gossips of the town, notwithout white fibs as to who had brought him into thatsorry plight.
But in the meanwhile he and Amyas concocted a scheme,which was put into effect the next day (being market-day);first by the innkeeper, who began under Amyas’sorders a bustle of roasting, boiling, and frying,unparalleled in the annals of the Ship Tavern; andnext by Amyas himself, who, going out into the market,invited as many of his old schoolfellows, one by oneapart, as Frank had pointed out to him, to a merrysupper and a “rowse” thereon consequent;by which crafty scheme, in came each of Rose Salterne’sgentle admirers, and found himself, to his considerabledisgust, seated at the same table with six rivals,to none of whom had he spoken for the last six months.However, all were too well bred to let the Leighsdiscern as much; and they (though, of course, theyknew all) settled their guests, Frank on his couchlying at the head of the table, and Amyas taking thebottom: and contrived, by filling all mouthswith good things, to save them the pain of speaking
to each other till the wine should have loosened theirtongues and warmed their hearts. In the meanwhileboth Amyas and Frank, ignoring the silence of theirguests with the most provoking good-humor, chatted,and joked, and told stories, and made themselves suchgood company, that Will Cary, who always found merrimentinfectious, melted into a jest, and then into another,and finding good-humor far more pleasant than bad,tried to make Mr. Coffin laugh, and only made him bow,and to make Mr. Fortescue laugh, and only made himfrown; and unabashed nevertheless, began playing hislight artillery upon the waiters, till he drove themout of the room bursting with laughter.So far so good. And when the cloth was drawn,and sack and sugar became the order of the day, and“Queen and Bible” had been duly drunk withall the honors, Frank tried a fresh move, and—
“I have a toast, gentlemen—here itis. ’The gentlemen of the Irish wars; andmay Ireland never be without a St. Leger to stand bya Fortescue, a Fortescue to stand by a St. Leger,and a Chichester to stand by both.’”
Which toast of course involved the drinking the healthsof the three representatives of those families, andtheir returning thanks, and paying a compliment eachto the other’s house: and so the ice crackeda little further; and young Fortescue proposed thehealth of “Amyas Leigh and all bold mariners;”to which Amyas replied by a few blunt kindly words,“that he wished to know no better fortune thanto sail round the world again with the present companyas fellow-adventurers, and so give the Spaniards anothertaste of the men of Devon.”
And by this time, the wine going down sweetly, causedthe lips of them that were asleep to speak; till theice broke up altogether, and every man began talkinglike a rational Englishman to the man who sat nexthim.
“And now, gentlemen,” said Frank, whosaw that it was the fit moment for the grand assaultwhich he had planned all along; “let me giveyou a health which none of you, I dare say, will refuseto drink with heart and soul as well as with lips;—thehealth of one whom beauty and virtue have so ennobled,that in their light the shadow of lowly birth is unseen;—thehealth of one whom I would proclaim as peerless inloveliness, were it not that every gentleman here hassisters, who might well challenge from her the girdleof Venus: and yet what else dare I say, whilethose same lovely ladies who, if they but use theirown mirrors, must needs be far better judges of beautythan I can be, have in my own hearing again and againassigned the palm to her? Surely, if the goddessesdecide among themselves the question of the goldenapple, Paris himself must vacate the judgment-seat.Gentlemen, your hearts, I doubt not, have alreadybid you, as my unworthy lips do now, to drink ‘TheRose of Torridge.’”
If the Rose of Torridge herself had walked into theroom, she could hardly have caused more blank astonishmentthan Frank’s bold speech. Every guest turnedred, and pale, and red again, and looked at the otheras much as to say, “What right has any one butI to drink her? Lift your glass, and I will dash*t out of your hand;” but Frank, with sweeteffrontery, drank “The health of the Rose ofTorridge, and a double health to that worthy gentleman,whosoever he may be, whom she is fated to honor withher love!”
“Well done, cunning Frank Leigh!” criedblunt Will Cary; “none of us dare quarrel withyou now, however much we may sulk at each other.For there’s none of us, I’ll warrant,but thinks that she likes him the best of all; andso we are bound to believe that you have drunk ourhealths all round.”
“And so I have: and what better thing canyou do, gentlemen, than to drink each other’shealths all round likewise: and so show yourselvestrue gentlemen, true Christians, ay, and true lovers?For what is love (let me speak freely to you, gentlemenand guests), what is love, but the very inspirationof that Deity whose name is Love? Be sure thatnot without reason did the ancients feign Eros tobe the eldest of the gods, by whom the jarring elementsof chaos were attuned into harmony and order.How, then, shall lovers make him the father of strife?Shall Psyche wed with Cupid, to bring forth a co*ckatrice’segg? or the soul be filled with love, the likenessof the immortals, to burn with envy and jealousy,division and distrust? True, the rose has itsthorn: but it leaves poison and stings to thenettle. Cupid has his arrow: but he hurlsno scorpions. Venus is awful when despised, asthe daughters of Proetus found: but her handmaidsare the Graces, not the Furies. Surely he wholoves aright will not only find love lovely, but becomehimself lovely also. I speak not to reprehendyou, gentlemen; for to you (as your piercing witshave already perceived, to judge by your honorableblushes) my discourse tends; but to point you, if youwill but permit me, to that rock which I myself have,I know not by what Divine good hap, attained; if,indeed, I have attained it, and am not about to bewashed off again by the next tide.”
Frank’s rapid and fantastic oratory, utterlyunexpected as it was, had as yet left their wits notime to set their tempers on fire; but when, weakfrom his wounds, he paused for breath, there was ahaughty murmur from more than one young gentleman,who took his speech as an impertinent interferencewith each man’s right to make a fool of himself;and Mr. Coffin, who had sat quietly bolt upright, andlooking at the opposite wall, now rose as quietly,and with a face which tried to look utterly unconcerned,was walking out of the room: another minute,and Lady Bath’s prophecy about the feast of theLapithae might have come true.
But Frank’s heart and head never failed him.
“Mr. Coffin!” said he, in a tone whichcompelled that gentleman to turn round, and so broughthim under the power of a face which none could havebeheld for five minutes and borne malice, so imploring,tender, earnest was it. “My dear Mr. Coffin!If my earnestness has made me forget even for a momentthe bounds of courtesy, let me entreat you to forgiveme. Do not add to my heavy griefs, heavy enoughalready, the grief of losing a friend. Only hearme patiently to the end (generously, I know, you willhear me); and then, if you are still incensed, I canbut again entreat your forgiveness a second time.”
Mr. Coffin, to tell the truth, had at that time neverbeen to Court; and he was therefore somewhat jealousof Frank, and his Court talk, and his Court clothes,and his Court company; and moreover, being the eldestof the guests, and only two years younger than Frankhimself, he was a little nettled at being classedin the same category with some who were scarce eighteen.And if Frank had given the least hint which seemedto assume his own superiority, all had been lost:but when, instead thereof, he sued in forma pauperis,and threw himself upon Coffin’s mercy, the latter,who was a true-hearted man enough, and after all hadknown Frank ever since either of them could walk, hadnothing to do but to sit down again and submit, whileFrank went on more earnestly than ever.
“Believe me; believe me, Mr. Coffin, and gentlemenall, I no more arrogate to myself a superiority overyou than does the sailor hurled on shore by the surgefancy himself better than his comrade who is stillbattling with the foam. For I too, gentlemen,—letme confess it, that by confiding in you I may, perhaps,win you to confide in me,—have loved, ayand do love, where you love also. Do not start.Is it a matter of wonder that the sun which has dazzledyou has dazzled me; that the lodestone which has drawnyou has drawn me? Do not frown, either, gentlemen.I have learnt to love you for loving what I love, andto admire you for admiring that which I admire.Will you not try the same lesson: so easy, and,when learnt, so blissful? What breeds more closecommunion between subjects than allegiance to the samequeen? between brothers, than duty to the same father?between the devout, than adoration for the same Deity?And shall not worship for the same beauty be likewisea bond of love between the worshippers? and each loversee in his rival not an enemy, but a fellow-sufferer?You smile and say in your hearts, that though allmay worship, but one can enjoy; and that one man’smeat must be the poison of the rest. Be it so,though I deny it. Shall we anticipate our owndoom, and slay ourselves for fear of dying? Shallwe make ourselves unworthy of her from our very eagernessto win her, and show ourselves her faithful knights,by cherishing envy,—most unknightly ofall sins? Shall we dream with the Italian orthe Spaniard that we can become more amiable in a lady’s
eyes, by becoming hateful in the eyes of God and ofeach other? Will she love us the better, if wecome to her with hands stained in the blood of himwhom she loves better than us? Let us recollectourselves rather, gentlemen; and be sure that ouronly chance of winning her, if she be worth winning,is to will what she wills, honor whom she honors, lovewhom she loves. If there is to be rivalry amongus, let it be a rivalry in nobleness, an emulationin virtue. Let each try to outstrip the otherin loyalty to his queen, in valor against her foes,in deeds of courtesy and mercy to the afflicted andoppressed; and thus our love will indeed prove itsown divine origin, by raising us nearer to those godswhose gift it is. But yet I show you a more excellentway, and that is charity. Why should we not makethis common love to her, whom I am unworthy to name,the sacrament of a common love to each other?Why should we not follow the heroical examples ofthose ancient knights, who having but one grief, onedesire, one goddess, held that one heart was enoughto contain that grief, to nourish that desire, to worshipthat divinity; and so uniting themselves in friendshiptill they became but one soul in two bodies, livedonly for each other in living only for her, vowingas faithful worshippers to abide by her decision, tofind their own bliss in hers, and whomsoever she esteemedmost worthy of her love, to esteem most worthy also,and count themselves, by that her choice, the boundenservants of him whom their mistress had condescendedto advance to the dignity of her master?—asI (not without hope that I shall be outdone in generousstrife) do here promise to be the faithful friend,and, to my ability, the hearty servant, of him whoshall be honored with the love of the Rose of Torridge.”He ceased, and there was a pause.
At last young Fortescue spoke.
“I may be paying you a left-handed compliment,sir: but it seems to me that you are so likely,in that case, to become your own faithful friend andhearty servant (even if you have not borne off thebell already while we have been asleep), that thebargain is hardly fair between such a gay Italianistand us country swains.”
“You undervalue yourself and your country, mydear sir. But set your mind at rest. I knowno more of that lady’s mind than you do:nor shall I know. For the sake of my own peace,I have made a vow neither to see her, nor to hear,if possible, tidings of her, till three full yearsare past. Dixi?”
Mr. Coffin rose.
“Gentlemen, I may submit to be outdone by Mr.Leigh in eloquence, but not in generosity; if he leavesthese parts for three years, I do so also.”
“And go in charity with all mankind,”said Cary. “Give us your hand, old fellow.If you are a Coffin, you were sawn out of no wishy-washyelm-board, but right heart-of-oak. I am going,too, as Amyas here can tell, to Ireland away, to coolmy hot liver in a bog, like a Jack-hare in March.Come, give us thy neif, and let us part in peace.I was minded to have fought thee this day—”
“I should have been most happy, sir,”said Coffin.
—“But now I am all love and charityto mankind. Can I have the pleasure of beggingpardon of the world in general, and thee in particular?Does any one wish to pull my nose; send me an errand;make me lend him five pounds; ay, make me buy a horseof him, which will be as good as giving him ten?Come along! Join hands all round, and swear eternalfriendship, as brothers of the sacred order of the—ofwhat. Frank Leigh? Open thy mouth, Daniel,and christen us!”
“The Rose!” said Frank quietly, seeingthat his new love-philtre was working well, and determinedto strike while the iron was hot, and carry the mattertoo far to carry it back again.
“The Rose!” cried Cary, catching holdof Coffin’s hand with his right, and Fortescue’swith his left. “Come, Mr. Coffin! Bend,sturdy oak! ’Woe to the stiffnecked andstout-hearted!’ says Scripture.”
And somehow or other, whether it was Frank’schivalrous speech, or Cary’s fun, or Amyas’sgood wine, or the nobleness which lies in every younglad’s heart, if their elders will take the troubleto call it out, the whole party came in to terms oneby one, shook hands all round, and vowed on the hiltof Amyas’s sword to make fools of themselvesno more, at least by jealousy: but to stand byeach other and by their lady-love, and neither grudgenor grumble, let her dance with, flirt with, or marrywith whom she would; and in order that the honor oftheir peerless dame, and the brotherhood which wasnamed after her, might be spread through all lands,and equal that of Angelica or Isonde of Brittany, theywould each go home, and ask their fathers’ leave(easy enough to obtain in those brave times) to goabroad wheresoever there were “good wars,”to emulate there the courage and the courtesy of WalterManny and Gonzalo Fernandes, Bayard and Gaston deFoix. Why not? Sidney was the hero of Europeat five-and-twenty; and why not they?
And Frank watched and listened with one of his quietsmiles (his eyes, as some folks’ do, smiledeven when his lips were still), and only said:“Gentlemen, be sure that you will never repentthis day.”
“Repent?” said Cary. “I feelalready as angelical as thou lookest, Saint Silvertongue.What was it that sneezed?—the cat?”
“The lion, rather, by the roar of it,”said Amyas, making a dash at the arras behind him.“Why, here is a doorway here! and—”
And rushing under the arras, through an open doorbehind, he returned, dragging out by the head Mr.John Brimblecombe.
Who was Mr. John Brimblecombe?
If you have forgotten him, you have done pretty nearlywhat every one else in the room had done. Butyou recollect a certain fat lad, son of the schoolmaster,whom Sir Richard punished for tale-bearing three yearsbefore, by sending him, not to Coventry, but to Oxford.That was the man. He was now one-and-twenty,and a bachelor of Oxford, where he had learnt suchthings as were taught in those days, with more or lesssuccess; and he was now hanging about Bideford oncemore, intending to return after Christmas and readdivinity, that he might become a parson, and a shepherdof souls in his native land.
Jack was in person exceedingly like a pig: butnot like every pig: not in the least like theDevon pigs of those days, which, I am sorry to say,were no more shapely than the true Irish greyhoundwho pays Pat’s “rint” for him; orthan the lanky monsters who wallow in German rivulets,while the village swineherd, beneath a shady lime,forgets his fleas in the melody of a Jew’s harp—strangemud-colored creatures, four feet high and four inchesthick, which look as if they had passed their lives,as a collar of Oxford brawn is said to do, betweentwo tight boards. Such were then the pigs ofDevon: not to be compared with the true wilddescendant of Noah’s stock, high-withered, furry,grizzled, game-flavored little rooklers, whereof manya sownder still grunted about Swinley down and Brauntonwoods, Clovelly glens and Bursdon moor. Not likethese, nor like the tame abomination of those barbaroustimes, was Jack: but prophetic in face, figure,and complexion, of Fisher Hobbs and the triumphs ofscience. A Fisher Hobbs’ pig of twelve stone,on his hind-legs—that was what he was,and nothing else; and if you do not know, reader,what a Fisher Hobbs is, you know nothing about pigs,and deserve no bacon for breakfast. But such wasJack. The same plump mulberry complexion, garnishedwith a few scattered black bristles; the same sleekskin, looking always as if it was upon the point ofbursting; the same little toddling legs; the samedapper bend in the small of the back; the same crackedsqueak; the same low upright forehead, and tiny eyes;the same round self-satisfied jowl; the same charmingsensitive little co*cked nose, always on the look-outfor a savory smell,—and yet while watchingfor the best, contented with the worst; a pig of self-helpfuland serene spirit, as Jack was, and therefore, likehim, fatting fast while other pigs’ ribs arestaring through their skins.
Such was Jack; and lucky it was for him that suchhe was; for it was little that he got to fat him atOxford, in days when a servitor meant really a servant-student;and wistfully that day did his eyes, led by his nose,survey at the end of the Ship Inn passage the preparationsfor Amyas’s supper. The innkeeper was afriend of his; for, in the first place, they had livedwithin three doors of each other all their lives;and next, Jack was quite pleasant company enough, besidebeing a learned man and an Oxford scholar, to be askedin now and then to the innkeeper’s private parlor,when there were no gentlemen there, to crack his littlejoke and tell his little story, sip the leavings ofthe guests’ sack, and sometimes help the hostto eat the leavings of their supper. And it was,perhaps, with some such hope that Jack trotted offround the corner to the Ship that very afternoon; forthat faithful little nose of his, as it sniffed outof a back window of the school, had given him warningof Sabean gales, and scents of Paradise, from theinn kitchen below; so he went round, and asked for
his pot of small ale (his only luxury), and stoodat the bar to drink it; and looked inward with hislittle twinkling right eye, and sniffed inward withhis little curling right nostril, and beheld, in thekitchen beyond, salad in stacks and fa*gots: saladof lettuce, salad of cress and endive, salad of boiledcoleworts, salad of pickled coleworts, salad of angelica,salad of scurvy-wort, and seven salads more; for potatoeswere not as yet, and salads were during eight monthsof the year the only vegetable. And on the dresser,and before the fire, whole hecatombs of fragrant victims,which needed neither frankincense nor myrrh; Clovellyherrings and Torridge salmon, Exmoor mutton and Stowvenison, stubble geese and woodco*cks, curlew and snipe,hams of Hampshire, chitterlings of Taunton, and botargosof Cadiz, such as Pantagruel himself might have devoured.And Jack eyed them, as a ragged boy eyes the cakesin a pastrycook’s window; and thought of thescraps from the commoners’ dinner, which werehis wages for cleaning out the hall; and meditateddeeply on the unequal distribution of human bliss.“Ah, Mr. Brimblecombe!” said the host,bustling out with knife and apron to cool himselfin the passage. “Here are doings! Ninegentlemen to supper!”
“Nine! Are they going to eat all that?”
“Well, I can’t say—that Mr.Amyas is as good as three to his trencher: butstill there’s crumbs, Mr. Brimblecombe, crumbs;and waste not want not is my doctrine; so you andI may have a somewhat to stay our stomachs, aboutan eight o’clock.”
“Eight?” said Jack, looking wistfullyat the clock. “It’s but four now.Well, it’s kind of you, and perhaps I’lllook in.”
“Just you step in now, and look to this venison.There’s a breast! you may lay your two fingersinto the say there, and not get to the bottom of thefat. That’s Sir Richard’s sending.He’s all for them Leighs, and no wonder, they’mbrave lads, surely; and there’s a saddle-o’-mutton!I rode twenty miles for mun yesterday, I did, overbeyond Barnstaple; and five year old, Mr. John, itis, if ever five years was; and not a tooth to mun’shead, for I looked to that; and smelt all the way homelike any apple; and if it don’t ate so softas ever was scald cream, never you call me ThomasBurman.”
“Humph!” said Jack. “And that’stheir dinner. Well, some are born with a silverspoon in their mouth.”
“Some be born with roast beef in their mouths,and plum-pudding in their pocket to take away thetaste o’ mun; and that’s better than emptyspunes, eh?”
“For them that get it,” said Jack.“But for them that don’t—”And with a sigh he returned to his small ale, andthen lingered in and out of the inn, watching thedinner as it went into the best room, where the guestswere assembled.
And as he lounged there, Amyas went in, and saw him,and held out his hand, and said—
“Hillo, Jack! how goes the world? How you’vegrown!” and passed on;—what had JackBrimblecombe to do with Rose Salterne?
So Jack lingered on, hovering around the fragrantsmell like a fly round a honey-pot, till he foundhimself invisibly attracted, and as it were led bythe nose out of the passage into the adjoining room,and to that side of the room where there was a door;and once there he could not help hearing what passedinside; till Rose Salterne’s name fell on hisear. So, as it was ordained, he was taken in thefact. And now behold him brought in red-handto judgment, not without a kick or two from the wrathfulfoot of Amyas Leigh. Whereat there fell on hima storm of abuse, which, for the honor of that gallantcompany, I shall not give in detail; but which abuse,strange to say, seemed to have no effect on the impenitentand unabashed Jack, who, as soon as he could get hisbreath, made answer fiercely, amid much puffing andblowing.
“What business have I here? As much asany of you. If you had asked me in, I would havecome: but as you didn’t, I came withoutasking.”
“You shameless rascal!” said Cary.“Come if you were asked, where there was goodwine? I’ll warrant you for that!”
“Why,” said Amyas, “no lad everhad a cake at school but he would dog him up one streetand down another all day for the crumbs, the trencher-scrapingspaniel!”
“Patience, masters!” said Frank.“That Jack’s is somewhat of a gnathonicand parasitic soul, or stomach, all Bideford apple-womenknow; but I suspect more than Deus Venter has broughthim hither.”
“Deus eavesdropping, then. We shall havethe whole story over the town by to-morrow,”said another; beginning at that thought to feel somewhatashamed of his late enthusiasm.
“Ah, Mr. Frank! You were always the onlyone that would stand up for me! Deus Venter,quotha? ’Twas Deus Cupid, it was!”
A roar of laughter followed this announcement.
“What?” asked Frank; “was it Cupid,then, who sneezed approval to our love, Jack, as hedid to that of Dido and Aeneas?”
But Jack went on desperately.
“I was in the next room, drinking of my beer.I couldn’t help that, could I? And thenI heard her name; and I couldn’t help listeningthen. Flesh and blood couldn’t.”
“Nor fat either!”
“No, nor fat, Mr. Cary. Do you supposefat men haven’t souls to be saved as well asthin ones, and hearts to burst, too, as well as stomachs?Fat! Fat can feel, I reckon, as well as lean.Do you suppose there’s naught inside here butbeer?”
And he laid his hand, as Drayton might have said,on that stout bastion, hornwork, ravelin, or demilune,which formed the outworks to the citadel of his purpleisle of man.
“Naught but beer?—Cheese, I suppose?”
“Bread?”
“Beef?”
“Love!” cried Jack. “Yes, Love!—Ay,you laugh; but my eyes are not so grown up with fatbut what I can see what’s fair as well as you.”
“Oh, Jack, naughty Jack, dost thou heap sinon sin, and luxury on gluttony?”
“Sin? If I sin, you sin: I tell you,and I don’t care who knows it, I’ve lovedher these three years as well as e’er a one ofyou, I have. I’ve thought o’ nothingelse, prayed for nothing else, God forgive me!And then you laugh at me, because I’m a poorparson’s son, and you fine gentlemen: Godmade us both, I reckon. You?—you makea deal of giving her up to-day. Why, it’swhat I’ve done for three miserable years asever poor sinner spent; ay, from the first day I saidto myself, ’Jack, if you can’t have thatpearl, you’ll have none; and that you can’thave, for it’s meat for your masters: soconquer or die.’ And I couldn’t conquer.I can’t help loving her, worshipping her, nomore than you; and I will die: but you needn’tlaugh meanwhile at me that have done as much as you,and will do again.”
“It is the old tale,” said Frank to himself;“whom will not love transform into a hero?”
And so it was. Jack’s squeaking voice wasfirm and manly, his pig’s eyes flashed veryfire, his gestures were so free and earnest, that theungainliness of his figure was forgotten; and whenhe finished with a violent burst of tears, Frank,forgetting his wounds, sprang up and caught him bythe hand.
“John Brimblecombe, forgive me! Gentlemen,if we are gentlemen, we ought to ask his pardon.Has he not shown already more chivalry, more self-denial,and therefore more true love, than any of us?My friends, let the fierceness of affection, whichwe have used as an excuse for many a sin of our own,excuse his listening to a conversation in which hewell deserved to bear a part.”
“Ah,” said Jack, “you make me oneof your brotherhood; and see if I do not dare to sufferas much as any of you! You laugh? Do youfancy none can use a sword unless he has a baker’sdozen of quarterings in his arms, or that Oxford scholarsknow only how to handle a pen?”
“Let us try his metal,” said St. Leger.“Here’s my sword, Jack; draw, Coffin!and have at him.”
“Nonsense!” said Coffin, looking somewhatdisgusted at the notion of fighting a man of Jack’srank; but Jack caught at the weapon offered to him.
“Give me a buckler, and have at any of you!”
“Here’s a chair bottom,” cried Cary;and Jack, seizing it in his left, flourished his swordso fiercely, and called so loudly to Coffin to comeon, that all present found it necessary, unless theywished blood to be spilt, to turn the matter off witha laugh: but Jack would not hear of it.
“Nay: if you will let me be of your brotherhood,well and good: but if not, one or other I willfight: and that’s flat.”
“You see, gentlemen,” said Amyas, “wemust admit him or die the death; so we needs mustgo when Sir Urian drives. Come up, Jack, and takethe oaths. You admit him, gentlemen?”
“Let me but be your chaplain,” said Jack,“and pray for your luck when you’re atthe wars. If I do stay at home in a country curacy,’tis not much that you need be jealous of mewith her, I reckon,” said Jack, with a patheticalglance at his own stomach.
“Sia!” said Cary: “but if hebe admitted, it must be done according to the solemnforms and ceremonies in such cases provided. Takehim into the next room, Amyas, and prepare him forhis initiation.”
“What’s that?” asked Amyas, puzzledby the word. But judging from the corner of Will’seye that initiation was Latin for a practical joke,he led forth his victim behind the arras again, andwaited five minutes while the room was being darkened,till Frank’s voice called to him to bring inthe neophyte.
“John Brimblecombe,” said Frank, in asepulchral tone, “you cannot be ignorant, asa scholar and bachelor of Oxford, of that dread sacramentby which Catiline bound the soul of his fellow-conspirators,in order that both by the daring of the deed he mighthave proof of their sincerity, and by the horror thereofastringe their souls by adamantine fetters, and Novem-Stygianoaths, to that wherefrom hereafter the weakness ofthe flesh might shrink. Wherefore, O Jack! wetoo have determined, following that ancient and classicalexample, to fill, as he did, a bowl with the lifebloodof our most heroic selves, and to pledge each othertherein, with vows whereat the stars shall tremblein their spheres, and Luna, blushing, veil her silvercheeks. Your blood alone is wanted to fill upthe goblet. Sit down, John Brimblecombe, and bareyour arm!”
“But, Mr. Frank!—” said Jack,who was as superstitious as any old wife, and, whatwith the darkness and the discourse, already in a coldperspiration.
“But me no buts! or depart as recreant, notby the door like a man, but up the chimney like aflittermouse.”
“But, Mr. Frank!”
“Thy vital juice, or the chimney! Choose!”roared Cary in his ear.
“Well, if I must,” said Jack; “butit’s desperate hard that because you can’tkeep faith without these barbarous oaths, I must takethem too, that have kept faith these three years withoutany.”
At this pathetic appeal Frank nearly melted:but Amyas and Cary had thrust the victim into a chairand all was prepared for the sacrifice.
“Bind his eyes, according to the classic fashion,”said Will.
“Oh no, dear Mr. Cary; I’ll shut themtight enough, I warrant: but not with your dagger,dear Mr. William—sure, not with your dagger?I can’t afford to lose blood, though I do looklusty—I can’t indeed; sure, a pinwould do—I’ve got one here, to mysleeve, somewhere—Oh!”
“See the fount of generous juice! Flowon, fair stream. How he bleeds!—pints,quarts! Ah, this proves him to be in earnest!”
“A true lover’s blood is always at hisfingers’ ends.”
“He does not grudge it; of course not.Eh, Jack? What matters an odd gallon for hersake?”
“For her sake? Nothing, nothing! Takemy life, if you will: but—oh, gentlemen,a surgeon, if you love me! I’m going off—I’m fainting!”
“Drink, then, quick; drink and swear! Pathis back, Cary. Courage, man! it will be overin a minute. Now, Frank!—”
And Frank spoke—
“If plighted troth I fail, or secret speechreveal, May Cocytean ghosts around my pillow squeal;While Ate’s brazen claws distringe my spleenin sunder, And drag me deep to Pluto’s keep,’mid brimstone, smoke, and thunder!”
“Placetne, domine?”
“Placet!” squeaked Jack, who thought himselfat the last gasp, and gulped down full three-quartersof the goblet which Cary held to his lips.
“Ugh—Ah—Puh! Mercyon us! It tastes mighty like wine!”
“A proof, my virtuous brother,” said Frank,“first, of thy abstemiousness, which has thusforgotten what wine tastes like; and next, of thypure and heroical affection, by which thy carnal sensesbeing exalted to a higher and supra-lunar sphere, likethose Platonical daemonizomenoi and enthusiazomenoi(of whom Jamblichus says that they were insensibleto wounds and flame, and much more, therefore, to evilsavors), doth make even the most nauseous draught redolentof that celestial fragrance, which proceeding, O Jack!from thine own inward virtue, assimilates by sympathyeven outward accidents unto its own harmony and melody;for fragrance is, as has been said well, the songof flowers, and sweetness, the music of apples—Ahem!Go in peace, thou hast conquered!”
“Put him out of the door, Will,” saidAmyas, “or he will swoon on our hands.”
“Give him some sack,” said Frank.
“Not a blessed drop of yours, sir,” saidJack. “I like good wine as well as anyman on earth, and see as little of it; but not a dropof yours, sirs, after your frumps and flouts abouthanging-on and trencher-scraping. When I firstbegan to love her, I bid good-bye to all dirty tricks;for I had some one then for whom to keep myself clean.”
And so Jack was sent home, with a pint of good redAlicant wine in him (more, poor fellow, than he hadtasted at once in his life before); while the rest,in high glee with themselves and the rest of the world,relighted the candles, had a right merry evening, andparted like good friends and sensible gentlemen ofdevon, thinking (all except Frank) Jack Brimblecombeand his vow the merriest jest they had heard for manya day. After which they all departed: Amyasand Cary to Winter’s squadron; Frank (as soonas he could travel) to the Court again; and with himyoung Basset, whose father Sir Arthur, being in London,procured for him a page’s place in Leicester’shousehold. Fortescue and Chicester went to theirbrothers in Dublin; St. Leger to his uncle the Marshalof Munster; Coffin joined Champernoun and Norris inthe Netherlands; and so the Brotherhood of the Rosewas scattered far and wide, and Mistress Salternewas left alone with her looking-glass.
CHAPTER IX
HOW AMYAS KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS DAY
“Take aim, you noble musqueteers,
And shoot you round about;
Stand to it, valiant pikemen,
And we shall keep them out.
There’s not a man of all of us
A foot will backward flee;
I’ll be the foremost man in fight,
Says brave Lord Willoughby!”
Elizabethan Ballad.
It was the blessed Christmas afternoon. The lightwas fading down; the even-song was done; and the goodfolks of Bideford were trooping home in merry groups,the father with his children, the lover with his sweetheart,to cakes and ale, and flapdragons and mummer’splays, and all the happy sports of Christmas night.One lady only, wrapped close in her black mufflerand followed by her maid, walked swiftly, yet sadly,toward the long causeway and bridge which led to Northamtown. Sir Richard Grenville and his wife caughther up and stopped her courteously.
“You will come home with us, Mrs. Leigh,”said Lady Grenville, “and spend a pleasant Christmasnight?”
Mrs. Leigh smiled sweetly, and laying one hand onLady Grenville’s arm, pointed with the otherto the westward, and said:
“I cannot well spend a merry Christmas nightwhile that sound is in my ears.”
The whole party around looked in the direction inwhich she pointed. Above their heads the softblue sky was fading into gray, and here and therea misty star peeped out: but to the westward,where the downs and woods of Raleigh closed in withthose of Abbotsham, the blue was webbed and turfedwith delicate white flakes; iridescent spots, markingthe path by which the sun had sunk, showed all thecolors of the dying dolphin; and low on the horizonlay a long band of grassy green. But what wasthe sound which troubled Mrs. Leigh? None of them,with their merry hearts, and ears dulled with thedin and bustle of the town, had heard it till thatmoment: and yet now—listen! Itwas dead calm. There was not a breath to stira blade of grass. And yet the air was full ofsound, a low deep roar which hovered over down andwood, salt-marsh and river, like the roll of a thousandwheels, the tramp of endless armies, or—whatit was—the thunder of a mighty surge uponthe boulders of the pebble ridge.
“The ridge is noisy to-night,” said SirRichard. “There has been wind somewhere.”
“There is wind now, where my boy is, God helphim!” said Mrs. Leigh: and all knew thatshe spoke truly. The spirit of the Atlantic stormhad sent forward the token of his coming, in the smoothground-swell which was heard inland, two miles away.To-morrow the pebbles, which were now rattling downwith each retreating wave, might be leaping to theridge top, and hurled like round-shot far ashore uponthe marsh by the force of the advancing wave, fleeingbefore the wrath of the western hurricane.
“God help my boy!” said Mrs. Leigh again.
“God is as near him by sea as by land,”said good Sir Richard.
“True, but I am a lone mother; and one thathas no heart just now but to go home and pray.”
And so Mrs. Leigh went onward up the lane, and spentall that night in listening between her prayers tothe thunder of the surge, till it was drowned, longere the sun rose, in the thunder of the storm.
And where is Amyas on this same Christmas afternoon?
Amyas is sitting bareheaded in a boat’s sternin Smerwick bay, with the spray whistling throughhis curls, as he shouts cheerfully—
“Pull, and with a will, my merry men all, andnever mind shipping a sea. Cannon balls are acargo that don’t spoil by taking salt-water.”
His mother’s presage has been true enough.Christmas eve has been the last of the still, dark,steaming nights of the early winter; and the westerngale has been roaring for the last twelve hours uponthe Irish coast.
The short light of the winter day is fading fast.Behind him is a leaping line of billows lashed intomist by the tempest. Beside him green foam-fringedcolumns are rushing up the black rocks, and fallingagain in a thousand cataracts of snow. Beforehim is the deep and sheltered bay: but it isnot far up the bay that he and his can see; for somefour miles out at sea begins a sloping roof of thickgray cloud, which stretches over their heads, andup and far away inland, cutting the cliffs off atmid-height, hiding all the Kerry mountains, and darkeningthe hollows of the distant firths into the blacknessof night. And underneath that awful roof of whirlingmist the storm is howling inland ever, sweeping beforeit the great foam-sponges, and the gray salt spray,till all the land is hazy, dim, and dun. Let ithowl on! for there is more mist than ever salt spraymade, flying before that gale; more thunder than eversea-surge wakened echoing among the cliffs of Smerwickbay; along those sand-hills flash in the evening gloomred sparks which never came from heaven; for thatfort, now christened by the invaders the Fort DelOro, where flaunts the hated golden flag of Spain,holds San Josepho and eight hundred of the foe; andbut three nights ago, Amyas and Yeo, and the restof Winter’s shrewdest hands, slung four culverinsout of the Admiral’s main deck, and floated themashore, and dragged them up to the battery among thesand-hills; and now it shall be seen whether Spanishand Italian condottieri can hold their own on Britishground against the men of Devon.
Small blame to Amyas if he was thinking, not of hislonely mother at Burrough Court, but of those quickbright flashes on sand-hill and on fort, where SalvationYeo was hurling the eighteen-pound shot with deadlyaim, and watching with a cool and bitter smile of triumphthe flying of the sand, and the crashing of the gabions.Amyas and his party had been on board, at the riskof their lives, for a fresh supply of shot; for Winter’sbattery was out of ball, and had been firing stonesfor the last four hours, in default of better missiles.They ran the boat on shore through the surf, wherea cove in the shore made landing possible, and almostcareless whether she stove or not, scrambled overthe sand-hills with each man his brace of shot slungacross his shoulder; and Amyas, leaping into the trenches,shouted cheerfully to Salvation Yeo—
“More food for the bull-dogs, Gunner, and plumsfor the Spaniards’ Christmas pudding!”
“Don’t speak to a man at his business,Master Amyas. Five mortal times have I missed;but I will have that accursed Popish rag down, as I’ma sinner.”
“Down with it, then; nobody wants you to shootcrooked. Take good iron to it, and not footypaving-stones.”
“I believe, sir, that the foul fiend is there,a turning of my shot aside, I do. I thought Isaw him once: but, thank Heaven, here’sball again. Ah, sir, if one could but cast asilver one! Now, stand by, men!”
And once again Yeo’s eighteen-pounder roared,and away. And, oh glory! the great yellow flagof Spain, which streamed in the gale, lifted cleaninto the air, flagstaff and all, and then pitched wildlydown head-foremost, far to leeward.
A hurrah from the sailors, answered by the soldiersof the opposite camp, shook the very cloud above them:but ere its echoes had died away, a tall officer leaptupon the parapet of the fort, with the fallen flagin his hand, and rearing it as well as he could uponhis lance point, held it firmly against the gale,while the fallen flagstaff was raised again within.
In a moment a dozen long bows were bent at the daringfoeman: but Amyas behind shouted—
“Shame, lads! Stop and let the gallantgentleman have due courtesy!”
So they stopped, while Amyas, springing on the rampartof the battery, took off his hat, and bowed to theflag-holder, who, as soon as relieved of his charge,returned the bow courteously, and descended.
It was by this time all but dark, and the firing beganto slacken on all sides; Salvation and his brothergunners, having covered up their slaughtering tacklewith tarpaulings, retired for the night, leaving Amyas,who had volunteered to take the watch till midnight;and the rest of the force having got their scantysupper of biscuit (for provisions were running veryshort) lay down under arms among the sand-hills, andgrumbled themselves to sleep.
He had paced up and down in the gusty darkness forsome hour or more, exchanging a passing word now andthen with the sentinel, when two men entered the battery,chatting busily together. One was in completearmor; the other wrapped in the plain short cloak ofa man of pens and peace: but the talk of bothwas neither of sieges nor of sallies, catapult, bombard,nor culverin, but simply of English hexameters.
And fancy not, gentle reader, that the two were thereinfiddling while Rome was burning; for the commonwealof poetry and letters, in that same critical year1580, was in far greater danger from those same hexametersthan the common woe of Ireland (as Raleigh called it)was from the Spaniards.
Imitating the classic metres, “versifying,”as it was called in contradistinction to rhyming,was becoming fast the fashion among the more learned.Stonyhurst and others had tried their hands at hexametertranslations from the Latin and Greek epics, whichseem to have been doggerel enough; and ever and anonsome youthful wit broke out in iambics, sapphics,elegiacs, and what not, to the great detriment of thequeen’s English and her subjects’ ears.
I know not whether Mr. William Webbe had yet givento the world any fragments of his precious hints forthe “Reformation of English poetry,” tothe tune of his own “Tityrus, happily thou liesttumbling under a beech-tree:” but the CambridgeMalvolio, Gabriel Harvey, had succeeded in arguingSpenser, Dyer, Sidney, and probably Sidney’ssister, and the whole clique of beaux-esprits roundthem, into following his model of
“What might Icall this tree? A laurel? O bonny laurel!
Needes to thy boweswill I bowe this knee, and vail my bonetto;”
after snubbing the first book of “that ElvishQueene,” which was then in manuscript, as abase declension from the classical to the romanticschool.
And now Spenser (perhaps in mere melancholy wilfulnessand want of purpose, for he had just been jilted bya fair maid of Kent) was wasting his mighty geniusupon doggerel which he fancied antique; and some piraticalpublisher (bitter Tom Nash swears, and with likelihoodthat Harvey did it himself) had just given to theworld,—“Three proper wittie and familiarLetters, lately past between two University men, touchingthe Earthquake in April last, and our English reformedVersifying,” which had set all town wits a-buzzinglike a swarm of flies, being none other than a correspondencebetween Spenser and Harvey, which was to prove tothe world forever the correctness and melody of suchlines as,
“For like magnificoes,not a beck but glorious in show,
In deede most frivolous,not a looke but Tuscanish always.”
Let them pass—Alma Mater has seen as badhexameters since. But then the matter was serious.There is a story (I know not how true) that Spenserwas half bullied into re-writing the “FaerieQueene” in hexameters, had not Raleigh, a trueromanticist, “whose vein for ditty or amorousode was most lofty, insolent, and passionate,”persuaded him to follow his better genius. Thegreat dramatists had not yet arisen, to form completelythat truly English school, of which Spenser, unconsciousof his own vast powers, was laying the foundation.And, indeed, it was not till Daniel, twenty yearsafter, in his admirable apology for rhyme, had smashedMr. Campian and his “eight several kinds of classicalnumbers,” that the matter was finally settled,and the English tongue left to go the road on whichHeaven had started it. So that we may excuse Raleigh’sanswering somewhat waspish to some quotation of Spenser’sfrom the three letters of “Immerito and G. H.”
“Tut, tut, Colin Clout, much learning has madethee mad. A good old fishwives’ balladjingle is worth all your sapphics and trimeters, and‘riff-raff thurlery bouncing.’ Hey?have I you there, old lad? Do you mind that preciousverse?”
“But, dear Wat, Homer and Virgil—”
“But, dear Ned, Petrarch and Ovid—”
“But, Wat, what have we that we do not owe tothe ancients?”
“Ancients, quotha? Why, the legend of KingArthur, and Chevy Chase too, of which even your fellow-sinnerSidney cannot deny that every time he hears it evenfrom a blind fiddler it stirs his heart like a trumpet-blast.Speak well of the bridge that carries you over, man!Did you find your Redcross Knight in Virgil, or sucha dame as Una in old Ovid? No more than you didyour Pater and Credo, you renegado baptized heathen,you!”
“Yet, surely, our younger and more barbaroustaste must bow before divine antiquity, and imitateafar—”
“As dottrels do fowlers. If Homer was blind,lad, why dost not poke out thine eye? Ay, thishexameter is of an ancient house, truly, Ned Spenser,and so is many a rogue: but he cannot make wayon our rough English roads. He goes hopping andtwitching in our language like a three-legged terrierover a pebble-bank, tumble and up again, rattle andcrash.”
“Nay, hear, now—
’See ye the blindfoldedpretty god that feathered archer,
Oflovers’ miseries which maketh his bloody game?’*
True, the accent gapes in places, as I have oftenconfessed to Harvey, but—”
* Strange as it mayseem, this distich is Spenser’s own; and
the other hexametersare all authentic.
Harvey be hanged for a pedant, and the whole crewof versifiers, from Lord Dorset (but he, poor man,has been past hanging some time since) to yourself!Why delude you into playing Procrustes as he does withthe queen’s English, racking one word till itsjoints be pulled asunder, and squeezing the next alla-heap as the Inquisitors do heretics in their bancacava? Out upon him and you, and Sidney, and thewhole kin. You have not made a verse among you,and never will, which is not as lame a gosling asHarvey’s own—
’Oh thou weatherco*cke,that stands on the top of Allhallows,
Come thy ways down,if thou dar’st for thy crown, and take the wall
on us.’
“Hark, now! There is our young giant comfortinghis soul with a ballad. You will hear rhyme andreason together here, now. He will not miscall‘blind-folded,’ ’blind-fold-ed, Iwarrant; or make an ‘of’ and a ‘which’and a ‘his’ carry a whole verse on theirwretched little backs.”
And as he spoke, Amyas, who had been grumbling tohimself some Christmas carol, broke out full-mouthed:—
“As Joseph wasa-walking
He heard an angel sing—
’This night shallbe the birth night
Of Christ, our heavenlyKing.
His birthbed shall beneither
In housen nor in hall,
Nor in the place ofparadise,
But in the oxen’sstall.
He neither shall berocked
In silver nor in gold,
But in the wooden manger
That lieth on the mould.
He neither shall bewashen
With white wine norwith red,
But with the fair springwater
That on you shall beshed.
He neither shall beclothed
In purple nor in pall,
But in the fair whitelinen
That usen babies all.’
As Joseph was a-walking
Thus did the angel sing,
And Mary’s Sonat midnight
Was born to be our King.
Then be you glad, goodpeople,
At this time of theyear;
And light you up yourcandles,
For His star it shinethclear.”
“There, Edmunde Classicaster,” said Raleigh,“does not that simple strain go nearer to theheart of him who wrote ’The Shepherd’sCalendar,’ than all artificial and outlandish
‘Wote ye why hismother with a veil hath covered his face?’
Why dost not answer, man?”
But Spenser was silent awhile, and then,—
“Because I was thinking rather of the rhymerthan the rhyme. Good heaven! how that brave ladshames me, singing here the hymns which his mothertaught him, before the very muzzles of Spanish guns;instead of bewailing unmanly, as I have done, thelove which he held, I doubt not, as dear as I dideven my Rosalind. This is his welcome to the winter’sstorm; while I, who dream, forsooth, of heavenly inspiration,can but see therein an image of mine own cowardlydespair.
’Thou barren ground,whom winter’s wrath has wasted,
Art made a mirror tobehold my plight.’*
Pah! away with frosts, icicles, and tears, and sighs—”
* “The Shepherd’sCalendar.”
“And with hexameters and trimeters too, I hope,”interrupted Raleigh: “and all the trickeriesof self-pleasing sorrow.”
“—I will set my heart to higher workthan barking at the hand which chastens me.”
“Wilt put the lad into the ‘Faerie Queene,’then, by my side? He deserves as good a placethere, believe me, as ever a Guyon, or even as LordGrey your Arthegall. Let us hail him. Hallo!young chanticleer of Devon! Art not afraid ofa chance shot, that thou crowest so lustily upon thineown mixen?”
“co*cks crow all night long at Christmas, CaptainRaleigh, and so do I,” said Amyas’s cheerfulvoice; “but who’s there with you?”
“A penitent pupil of yours—Mr. SecretarySpenser.”
“Pupil of mine?” said Amyas. “Iwish he’d teach me a little of his art; I couldfill up my time here with making verses.”
“And who would be your theme, fair sir?”said Spenser.
“No ‘who’ at all. I don’twant to make sonnets to blue eyes, nor black either:but if I could put down some of the things I saw inthe Spice Islands—”
“Ah,” said Raleigh, “he would beatyou out of Parnassus, Mr. Secretary. Remember,you may write about Fairyland, but he has seen it.”
“And so have others,” said Spenser; “itis not so far off from any one of us. Whereveris love and loyalty, great purposes, and lofty souls,even though in a hovel or a mine, there is Fairyland.”
“Then Fairyland should be here, friend; foryou represent love, and Leigh loyalty; while, as forgreat purposes and lofty souls, who so fit to standfor them as I, being (unless my enemies and my conscienceare liars both) as ambitious and as proud as Lucifer’sown self?”
“Ah, Walter, Walter, why wilt always slanderthyself thus?”
“Slander? Tut.—I do but givethe world a fair challenge, and tell it, ’There—youknow the worst of me: come on and try a fall,for either you or I must down.’ Slander?Ask Leigh here, who has but known me a fortnight,whether I am not as vain as a peaco*ck, as selfish asa fox, as imperious as a bona roba, and ready to makea cat’s paw of him or any man, if there be achestnut in the fire: and yet the poor fool cannothelp loving me, and running of my errands, and takingall my schemes and my dreams for gospel; and verilybelieves now, I think, that I shall be the man inthe moon some day, and he my big dog.”
“Well,” said Amyas, half apologetically,“if you are the cleverest man in the world whatharm in my thinking so?”
“Hearken to him, Edmund! He will know betterwhen he has outgrown this same callow trick of honesty,and learnt of the great goddess Detraction how toshow himself wiser than the wise, by pointing out tothe world the fool’s motley which peeps throughthe rents in the philosopher’s cloak. Goto, lad! slander thy equals, envy thy betters, prayfor an eye which sees spots in every sun, and fora vulture’s nose to scent carrion in every rose-bed.If thy friend win a battle, show that he has needlesslythrown away his men; if he lose one, hint that he soldit; if he rise to a place, argue favor; if he fallfrom one, argue divine justice. Believe nothing,hope nothing, but endure all things, even to kicking,if aught may be got thereby; so shalt thou be clothedin purple and fine linen, and sit in kings’palaces, and fare sumptuously every day.”
“And wake with Dives in the torment,”said Amyas. “Thank you for nothing, captain.”
“Go to, Misanthropos,” said Spenser.“Thou hast not yet tasted the sweets of thisworld’s comfits, and thou railest at them?”
“The grapes are sour, lad.”
“And will be to the end,” said Amyas,“if they come off such a devil’s treeas that. I really think you are out of your mind,Captain Raleigh, at times.”
“I wish I were; for it is a troublesome, hungry,windy mind as man ever was cursed withal. Butcome in, lad. We were sent from the lord deputyto bid thee to supper. There is a dainty lumpof dead horse waiting for thee.”
“Send me some out, then,” said matter-of-factAmyas. “And tell his lordship that, withhis good leave, I don’t stir from here till morning,if I can keep awake. There is a stir in the fort,and I expect them out on us.”
“Tut, man! their hearts are broken. Weknow it by their deserters.”
“Seeing’s believing. I never trustrunaway rogues. If they are false to their masters,they’ll be false to us.”
“Well, go thy ways, old honesty; and Mr. Secretaryshall give you a book to yourself in the ’FaerieQueene’—’Sir Monoculus or theLegend of Common Sense,’ eh, Edmund?”
“Monoculus?”
“Ay, Single-eye, my prince of word-coiners—won’tthat fit?—And give him the Cyclops headfor a device. Heigh-ho! They may laugh thatwin. I am sick of this Irish work; were it notfor the chance of advancement I’d sooner bedriving a team of red Devons on Dartside; and now Iam angry with the dear lad because he is not sickof it too. What a plague business has he to bepaddling up and down, contentedly doing his duty,like any city watchman? It is an insult to themighty aspirations of our nobler hearts,—eh,my would-be Ariosto?”
“Ah, Raleigh! you can afford to confess yourselfless than some, for you are greater than all.Go on and conquer, noble heart! But as for me,I sow the wind, and I suppose I shall reap the whirlwind.”
“Your harvest seems come already; what a blastthat was! Hold on by me, Colin Clout, and I’llhold on by thee. So! Don’t tread onthat pikeman’s stomach, lest he take thee fora marauding Don, and with sudden dagger slit Cohn’spipe, and Colin’s weasand too.”
And the two stumbled away into the darkness, leavingAmyas to stride up and down as before, puzzling hisbrains over Raleigh’s wild words and Spenser’smelancholy, till he came to the conclusion that therewas some mysterious connection between clevernessand unhappiness, and thanking his stars that he wasneither scholar, courtier, nor poet, said grace overhis lump of horseflesh when it arrived, devoured itas if it had been venison, and then returned to hispacing up and down; but this time in silence, forthe night was drawing on, and there was no need totell the Spaniards that any one was awake and watching.
So he began to think about his mother, and how shemight be spending her Christmas; and then about Frank,and wondered at what grand Court festival he was assisting,amid bright lights and sweet music and gay ladies,and how he was dressed, and whether he thought of hisbrother there far away on the dark Atlantic shore;and then he said his prayers and his creed; and thenhe tried not to think of Rose Salterne, and of coursethought about her all the more. So on passed thedull hours, till it might be past eleven o’clock,and all lights were out in the battery and the shipping,and there was no sound of living thing but the monotonoustramp of the two sentinels beside him, and now andthen a grunt from the party who slept under arms sometwenty yards to the rear.
So he paced to and fro, looking carefully out nowand then over the strip of sand-hill which lay betweenhim and the fort; but all was blank and black, andmoreover it began to rain furiously.
Suddenly he seemed to hear a rustle among the harshsand-grass. True, the wind was whistling throughit loudly enough, but that sound was not altogetherlike the wind. Then a soft sliding noise; somethinghad slipped down a bank, and brought the sand downafter it. Amyas stopped, crouched down besidea gun, and laid his ear to the rampart, whereby heheard clearly, as he thought, the noise of approachingfeet; whether rabbits or Christians, he knew not,but he shrewdly guessed the latter.
Now Amyas was of a sober and business-like turn, atleast when he was not in a passion; and thinking withinhimself that if he made any noise, the enemy (whetherfour or two-legged) would retire, and all the sportbe lost, he did not call to the two sentries, who wereat the opposite ends of the battery; neither did hethink it worth while to rouse the sleeping company,lest his ears should have deceived him, and the wholecamp turn out to repulse the attack of a buck rabbit.
So he crouched lower and lower beside the culverin,and was rewarded in a minute or two by hearing somethinggently deposited against the mouth of the embrasure,which, by the noise, should be a piece of timber.
“So far, so good,” said he to himself;“when the scaling ladder is up, the soldierfollows, I suppose. I can only humbly thank themfor giving my embrasure the preference. Therehe comes! I hear his feet scuffling.”
He could hear plainly enough some one working himselfinto the mouth of the embrasure: but the plaguewas, that it was so dark that he could not see hishand between him and the sky, much less his foe attwo yards off. However, he made a pretty fairguess as to the whereabouts, and, rising softly, dischargedsuch a blow downwards as would have split a yule log.A volley of sparks flew up from the hapless Spaniard’sarmor, and a grunt issued from within it, which provedthat, whether he was killed or not, the blow had notimproved his respiration.
Amyas felt for his head, seized it, dragged him inover the gun, sprang into the embrasure on his knees,felt for the top of the ladder, found it, hove itclean off and out, with four or five men on it, andthen of course tumbled after it ten feet into thesand, roaring like a town bull to her majesty’sliege subjects in general.
Sailor-fashion, he had no armor on but a light morionand a cuirass, so he was not too much encumbered toprevent his springing to his legs instantly, and settingto work, cutting and foining right and left at everysound, for sight there was none.
Battles (as soldiers know, and newspaper editors donot) are usually fought, not as they ought to be fought,but as they can be fought; and while the literaryman is laying down the law at his desk as to how manytroops should be moved here, and what rivers shouldbe crossed there, and where the cavalry should havebeen brought up, and when the flank should have beenturned, the wretched man who has to do the work findsthe matter settled for him by pestilence, want of shoes,empty stomachs, bad roads, heavy rains, hot suns,and a thousand other stern warriors who never showon paper.
So with this skirmish; “according to co*cker,”it ought to have been a very pretty one; for Herculesof Pisa, who planned the sortie, had arranged it all(being a very sans-appel in all military science) uponthe best Italian precedents, and had brought againstthis very hapless battery a column of a hundred toattack directly in front, a company of fifty to turnthe right flank, and a company of fifty to turn theleft flank, with regulations, orders, passwords, countersigns,and what not; so that if every man had had his rights(as seldom happens), Don Guzman Maria Magdalena deSoto, who commanded the sortie, ought to have takenthe work out of hand, and annihilated all therein.But alas! here stern fate interfered. They hadchosen a dark night, as was politic; they had waitedtill the moon was up, lest it should be too dark, aswas politic likewise: but, just as they had started,on came a heavy squall of rain, through which sevenmoons would have given no light, and which washedout the plans of Hercules of Pisa as if they had beenwritten on a schoolboy’s slate. The companywho were to turn the left flank walked manfully downinto the sea, and never found out where they were goingtill they were knee-deep in water. The companywho were to turn the right flank, bewildered by theutter darkness, turned their own flank so often, thattired of falling into rabbit-burrows and filling theirmouths with sand, they halted and prayed to all thesaints for a compass and lantern; while the centrebody, who held straight on by a trackway to withinfifty yards of the battery, so miscalculated that shortdistance, that while they thought the ditch two pikes’length off, they fell into it one over the other,and of six scaling ladders, the only one which couldbe found was the very one which Amyas threw down again.After which the clouds broke, the wind shifted, andthe moon shone out merrily. And so was the deeppolicy of Hercules of Pisa, on which hung the fateof Ireland and the Papacy, decided by a ten minutes’squall.
But where is Amyas?
In the ditch, aware that the enemy is tumbling intoit, but unable to find them; while the company above,finding it much too dark to attempt a counter sortie,have opened a smart fire of musketry and arrows onthings in general, whereat the Spaniards are swearinglike Spaniards (I need say no more), and the Italiansspitting like venomous cats; while Amyas, not wishingto be riddled by friendly balls, has got his backagainst the foot of the rampart, and waits on Providence.
Suddenly the moon clears; and with one more fiercevolley, the English sailors, seeing the confusion,leap down from the embrasures, and to it pell-mell.Whether this also was “according to co*cker,”I know not: but the sailor, then as now, is notsusceptible of highly-finished drill.
Amyas is now in his element, and so are the bravefellows at his heels; and there are ten breathless,furious minutes among the sand-hills; and then thetrumpets blow a recall, and the sailors drop back againby twos and threes, and are helped up into the embrasuresover many a dead and dying foe; while the guns ofFort del Oro open on them, and blaze away for halfan hour without reply; and then all is still once more.And in the meanwhile, the sortie against the deputy’scamp has fared no better, and the victory of the nightremains with the English.
Twenty minutes after, Winter and the captains whowere on shore were drying themselves round a peat-fireon the beach, and talking over the skirmish, whenWill Cary asked—
“Where is Leigh? who has seen him? I amsadly afraid he has gone too far, and been slain.”
“Slain? Never less, gentlemen!” repliedthe voice of the very person in question, as he stalkedout of the darkness into the glare of the fire, andshot down from his shoulders into the midst of thering, as he might a sack of corn, a huge dark body,which was gradually seen to be a man in rich armor;who being so shot down, lay quietly where he was dropped,with his feet (luckily for him mailed) in the fire.
“I say,” quoth Amyas, “some of youhad better take him up, if he is to be of any use.Unlace his helm, Will Cary.”
“Pull his feet out of the embers; I dare sayhe would have been glad enough to put us to the scarpines;but that’s no reason we should put him to them.”
As has been hinted, there was no love lost betweenAdmiral Winter and Amyas; and Amyas might certainlyhave reported himself in a more ceremonious manner.So Winter, whom Amyas either had not seen, or hadnot chosen to see, asked him pretty sharply, “Whatthe plague he had to do with bringing dead men intocamp?”
“If he’s dead, it’s not my fault.He was alive enough when I started with him, and Ikept him right end uppermost all the way; and whatwould you have more, sir?”
“Mr. Leigh!” said Winter, “it behovesyou to speak with somewhat more courtesy, if not respect,to captains who are your elders and commanders.”
“Ask your pardon, sir,” said the giant,as he stood in front of the fire with the rain steamingand smoking off his armor; “but I was bred ina school where getting good service done was more esteemedthan making fine speeches.”
“Whatsoever school you were trained in, sir,”said Winter, nettled at the hint about Drake; “itdoes not seem to have been one in which you learnedto obey orders. Why did you not come in when therecall was sounded?”
“Because,” said Amyas, very coolly, “inthe first place I did not hear it; and in the next,in my school I was taught when I had once startednot to come home empty-handed.”
This was too pointed; and Winter sprang up with anoath—“Do you mean to insult me, sir?”
“I am sorry, sir, that you should take a complimentto Sir Francis Drake as an insult to yourself.I brought in this gentleman because I thought he mightgive you good information; if he dies meanwhile, theloss will be yours, or rather the queen’s.”
“Help me, then,” said Cary, glad to createa diversion in Amyas’s favor, “and wewill bring him round;” while Raleigh rose, andcatching Winter’s arm, drew him aside, and begantalking earnestly.
“What a murrain have you, Leigh, to quarrelwith Winter?” asked two or three.
“I say, my reverend fathers and dear children,do get the Don’s talking tackle free again,and leave me and the admiral to settle it our ownway.”
There was more than one captain sitting in the ring,but discipline, and the degrees of rank, were notso severely defined as now; and Amyas, as a “gentlemanadventurer,” was, on land, in a position verydifficult to be settled, though at sea he was as liableto be hanged as any other person on board; and onthe whole it was found expedient to patch the matterup. So Captain Raleigh returning, said that thoughAdmiral Winter had doubtless taken umbrage at certainwords of Mr. Leigh’s, yet that he had no doubtthat Mr. Leigh meant nothing thereby but what wasconsistent with the profession of a soldier and a gentleman,and worthy both of himself and of the admiral.
From which proposition Amyas found it impossible todissent; whereon Raleigh went back, and informed Winterthat Leigh had freely retracted his words, and fullywiped off any imputation which Mr. Winter might conceiveto have been put upon him, and so forth. So Winterreturned, and Amyas said frankly enough—
“Admiral Winter, I hope, as a loyal soldier,that you will understand thus far; that naught whichhas passed to-night shall in any way prevent you findingme a forward and obedient servant to all your commands,be they what they may, and a supporter of your authorityamong the men, and honor against the foe, even withmy life. For I should be ashamed if private differencesshould ever prejudice by a grain the public weal.”
This was a great effort of oratory for Amyas; andhe therefore, in order to be safe by following precedent,tried to talk as much as he could like Sir RichardGrenville. Of course Winter could answer nothingto it, in spite of the plain hint of private differences,but that he should not fail to show himself a captainworthy of so valiant and trusty a gentleman; whereonthe whole party turned their attention to the captive,who, thanks to Will Cary, was by this time sittingup, standing much in need of a handkerchief, and lookingabout him, having been unhelmed, in a confused anddoleful manner.
“Take the gentleman to my tent,” saidWinter, “and let the surgeon see to him.Mr. Leigh, who is he?—”
“An enemy, but whether Spaniard or Italian Iknow not; but he seemed somebody among them, I thoughtthe captain of a company. He and I cut at eachother twice or thrice at first, and then lost eachother; and after that I came on him among the sand-hills,trying to rally his men, and swearing like the mouthof the pit, whereby I guess him a Spaniard. Buthis men ran; so I brought him in.”
“And how?” asked Raleigh. “Thouart giving us all the play but the murders and themarriages.”
“Why, I bid him yield, and he would not.Then I bid him run, and he would not. And itwas too pitch-dark for fighting; so I took him by theears, and shook the wind out of him, and so broughthim in.”
“Shook the wind out of him?” cried Cary,amid the roar of laughter which followed. “Dostknow thou hast nearly wrung his neck in two? Hisvizor was full of blood.”
“He should have run or yielded, then,”said Amyas; and getting up, slipped off to find someale, and then to sleep comfortably in a dry burrowwhich he scratched out of a sandbank.
The next morning, as Amyas was discussing a scantybreakfast of biscuit (for provisions were runningvery short in camp), Raleigh came up to him.
“What, eating? That’s more than Ihave done to-day.”
“Sit down, and share, then.”
“Nay, lad, I did not come a-begging. Ihave set some of my rogues to dig rabbits; but asI live, young Colbrand, you may thank your stars thatyou are alive to-day to eat. Poor young Cheek—SirJohn Cheek, the grammarian’s son—gothis quittance last night by a Spanish pike, rushingheadlong on, just as you did. But have you seenyour prisoner?”
“No; nor shall, while he is in Winter’stent.”
“Why not, then? What quarrel have you againstthe admiral, friend Bobadil? Cannot you let FrancisDrake fight his own battles, without thrusting yourhead in between them?”
“Well, that is good! As if the quarrelwas not just as much mine, and every man’s inthe ship. Why, when he left Drake, he left usall, did he not?”
“And what if he did? Let bygones be bygonesis the rule of a Christian, and of a wise man too,Amyas. Here the man is, at least, safe home,in favor and in power; and a prudent youth will justhold his tongue, mumchance, and swim with the stream.”
“But that’s just what makes me mad; tosee this fellow, after deserting us there in unknownseas, win credit and rank at home here for being thefirst man who ever sailed back through the Straits.What had he to do with sailing back at all! Aswell make the fox a knight for being the first thatever jumped down a jakes to escape the hounds.The fiercer the flight the fouler the fear, say I.”
“Amyas! Amyas! thou art a hard hitter,but a soft politician.”
“I am no politician, Captain Raleigh, nor everwish to be. An honest man’s my friend,and a rogue’s my foe; and I’ll tell bothas much, as long as I breathe.”
“And die a poor saint,” said Raleigh,laughing. “But if Winter invites you tohis tent himself, you won’t refuse to come?”
“Why, no, considering his years and rank; buthe knows too well to do that.”
“He knows too well not to do it,” saidRaleigh, laughing as he walked away. And verilyin half-an-hour came an invitation, extracted of course,from the admiral by Raleigh’s silver tongue,which Amyas could not but obey.
“We all owe you thanks for last night’sservice, sir,” said Winter, who had for somegood reasons changed his tone. “Your prisoneris found to be a gentleman of birth and experience,and the leader of the assault last night. Hehas already told us more than we had hoped, for whichalso we are beholden to you; and, indeed, my Lord Greyhas been asking for you already.”
“I have, young sir,” said a quiet andlofty voice; and Amyas saw limping from the innertent the proud and stately figure of the stern deputy,Lord Grey of Wilton, a brave and wise man, but witha naturally harsh temper, which had been soured stillmore by the wound which had crippled him, while yeta boy, at the battle of Leith. He owed that limpto Mary Queen of Scots; and he did not forget thedebt.
“I have been asking for you; having heard frommany, both of your last night’s prowess, andof your conduct and courage beyond the promise ofyour years, displayed in that ever-memorable voyage,which may well be ranked with the deeds of the ancientArgonauts.”
Amyas bowed low; and the lord deputy went on, “Youwill needs wish to see your prisoner. You willfind him such a one as you need not be ashamed tohave taken, and as need not be ashamed to have beentaken by you: but here he is, and will, I doubtnot, answer as much for himself. Know each otherbetter, gentlemen both: last night was an illone for making acquaintances. Don Guzman MariaMagdalena Sotomayor de Soto, know the hidalgo, AmyasLeigh!”
As he spoke, the Spaniard came forward, still in hisarmor, all save his head, which was bound up in ahandkerchief.
He was an exceedingly tall and graceful personage,of that sangre azul which marked high Visigothic descent;golden-haired and fair-skinned, with hands as smalland white as a woman’s; his lips were delicatebut thin, and compressed closely at the corners ofthe mouth; and his pale blue eye had a glassy dulness.In spite of his beauty and his carriage, Amyas shrankfrom him instinctively; and yet he could not helpholding out his hand in return, as the Spaniard, holdingout his, said languidly, in most sweet and sonorousSpanish—
“I kiss his hands and feet. The senor speaks,I am told, my native tongue?”
“I have that honor.”
“Then accept in it (for I can better expressmyself therein than in English, though I am not altogetherignorant of that witty and learned language) the expressionof my pleasure at having fallen into the hands ofone so renowned in war and travel; and of one also,”he added, glancing at Amyas’s giant bulk, “thevastness of whose strength, beyond that of commonmortality, makes it no more shame for me to have beenoverpowered and carried away by him than if my captorhad been a paladin of Charlemagne’s.”
Honest Amyas bowed and stammered, a little thrownoff his balance by the unexpected assurance and coolflattery of his prisoner; but he said—
“If you are satisfied, illustrious senor, Iam bound to be so. I only trust that in my hurryand the darkness I have not hurt you unnecessarily.”
The Don laughed a pretty little hollow laugh:“No, kind senor, my head, I trust, will aftera few days have become united to my shoulders; and,for the present, your company will make me forget anyslight discomfort.”
“Pardon me, senor; but by this daylight I shouldhave seen that armor before.”
“I doubt it not, senor, as having been yourselfalso in the forefront of the battle,” said theSpaniard, with a proud smile.
“If I am right, senor, you are he who yesterdayheld up the standard after it was shot down.”
“I do not deny that undeserved honor; and Ihave to thank the courtesy of you and your countrymenfor having permitted me to do so with impunity.”
“Ah, I heard of that brave feat,” saidthe lord deputy. “You should consider yourself,Mr. Leigh, honored by being enabled to show courtesyto such a warrior.”
How long this interchange of solemn compliments, ofwhich Amyas was getting somewhat weary, would havegone on, I know not; but at that moment Raleigh enteredhastily—
“My lord, they have hung out a white flag, andare calling for a parley!”
The Spaniard turned pale, and felt for his sword,which was gone; and then, with a bitter laugh, murmuredto himself—“As I expected.”
“I am very sorry to hear it. Would to Heaventhey had simply fought it out!” said Lord Grey,half to himself; and then, “Go, Captain Raleigh,and answer them that (saving this gentleman’spresence) the laws of war forbid a parley with anywho are leagued with rebels against their lawful sovereign.”
“But what if they wish to treat for this gentleman’sransom?”
“For their own, more likely,” said theSpaniard; “but tell them, on my part, senor,that Don Guzman refuses to be ransomed; and will returnto no camp where the commanding officer, unable toinfect his captains with his own cowardice, dishonorsthem against their will.”
“You speak sharply, senor,” said Winter,after Raleigh had gone out.
“I have reason, Senor Admiral, as you will find,I fear, erelong.”
“We shall have the honor of leaving you here,for the present, sir, as Admiral Winter’s guest,”said the lord deputy.
“But not my sword, it seems.”
“Pardon me, senor; but no one has deprived youof your sword,” said Winter.
“I don’t wish to pain you, sir,”said Amyas, “but I fear that we were both carelessenough to leave it behind last night.”
A flash passed over the Spaniard’s face, whichdisclosed terrible depths of fury and hatred beneaththat quiet mask, as the summer lightning displaysthe black abysses of the thunder-storm; but like thesummer lightning it passed almost unseen; and blandlyas ever, he answered:
“I can forgive you for such a neglect, mostvaliant sir, more easily than I can forgive myself.Farewell, sir! One who has lost his sword isno fit company for you.” And as Amyas andthe rest departed, he plunged into the inner tent,stamping and writhing, gnawing his hands with rageand shame.
As Amyas came out on the battery, Yeo hailed him:
“Master Amyas! Hillo, sir! For thelove of Heaven, tell me!”
“What, then?”
“Is his lordship stanch? Will he do theLord’s work faithfully, root and branch:or will he spare the Amalekites?”
“The latter, I think, old hip-and-thigh,”said Amyas, hurrying forward to hear the news fromRaleigh, who appeared in sight once more.
“They ask to depart with bag and baggage,”said he, when he came up.
“God do so to me, and more also, if they carryaway a straw!” said Lord Grey. “Makeshort work of it, sir!”
“I do not know how that will be, my lord; asI came up a captain shouted to me off the walls thatthere were mutineers; and, denying that he surrendered,would have pulled down the flag of truce, but the soldiersbeat him off.”
“A house divided against itself will not standlong, gentlemen. Tell them that I give no conditions.Let them lay down their arms, and trust in the Bishopof Rome who sent them hither, and may come to savethem if he wants them. Gunners, if you see thewhite flag go down, open your fire instantly.Captain Raleigh, we need your counsel here. Mr.Cary, will you be my herald this time?”
“A better Protestant never went on a pleasantererrand, my lord.”
So Cary went, and then ensued an argument, as to whatshould be done with the prisoners in case of a surrender.
I cannot tell whether my Lord Grey meant, by offeringconditions which the Spaniards would not accept, toforce them into fighting the quarrel out, and so savehimself the responsibility of deciding on their fate;or whether his mere natural stubbornness, as well ashis just indignation, drove him on too far to retract:but the council of war which followed was both a sadand a stormy one, and one which he had reason to regretto his dying day. What was to be done with theenemy? They already outnumbered the English;and some fifteen hundred of Desmond’s wild Irishhovered in the forests round, ready to side with thewinning party, or even to attack the English at theleast sign of vacillation or fear. They couldnot carry the Spaniards away with them, for they hadneither shipping nor food, not even handcuffs enoughfor them; and as Mackworth told Winter when he proposedit, the only plan was for him to make San Josephoa present of his ships, and swim home himself as hecould. To turn loose in Ireland, as Captain Touchurged, on the other hand, seven hundred such monstersof lawlessness, cruelty, and lust, as Spanish andItalian condottieri were in those days, was as fatalto their own safety as cruel to the wretched Irish.All the captains, without exception, followed on thesame side. “What was to be done, then?”asked Lord Grey, impatiently. “Would theyhave him murder them all in cold blood?”
And for a while every man, knowing that it must cometo that, and yet not daring to say it; till Sir WarhamSt. Leger, the marshal of Munster, spoke out stoutly:“Foreigners had been scoffing them too long andtoo truly with waging these Irish wars as if theymeant to keep them alive, rather than end them.Mercy and faith to every Irishman who would show mercyand faith, was his motto; but to invaders, no mercy.Ireland was England’s vulnerable point; it mightbe some day her ruin; a terrible example must be madeof those who dare to touch the sore. Rather pardonthe Spaniards for landing in the Thames than in Ireland!”—tillLord Grey became much excited, and turning as a lasthope to Raleigh, asked his opinion: but Raleigh’s
silver tongue was that day not on the side of indulgence.He skilfully recapitulated the arguments of his fellow-captains,improving them as he went on, till each worthy soldierwas surprised to find himself so much wiser a man thanhe had thought; and finished by one of his rapid andpassionate perorations upon his favorite theme—theWest Indian cruelties of the Spaniards, “. .. by which great tracts and fair countries are nowutterly stripped of inhabitants by heavy bondage andtorments unspeakable. Oh, witless Islanders!”said he, apostrophizing the Irish, “would toHeaven that you were here to listen to me! Whatother fate awaits you, if this viper, which you areso ready to take into your bosom, should be warmedto life, but to groan like the Indians, slaves tothe Spaniard; but to perish like the Indians, by heavyburdens, cruel chains, plunder and ravishment; scourged,racked, roasted, stabbed, sawn in sunder, cast tofeed the dogs, as simple and more righteous peopleshave perished ere now by millions? And what else,I say, had been the fate of Ireland had this invasionprospered, which God has now, by our weak hands, confoundedand brought to naught? Shall we then answer it,my lord, either to our conscience, our God, or ourqueen, if we shall set loose men (not one of whom,I warrant, but is stained with murder on murder) togo and fill up the cup of their iniquity among thesesilly sheep? Have not their native wolves, theirbarbarous chieftains, shorn, peeled, and slaughteredthem enough already, but we must add this pack offoreign wolves to the number of their tormentors, andfit the Desmond with a body-guard of seven, yea, sevenhundred devils worse than himself? Nay, ratherlet us do violence to our own human nature, and showourselves in appearance rigorous, that we may be kindindeed; lest while we presume to be over-mercifulto the guilty, we prove ourselves to be over-cruelto the innocent.”“Captain Raleigh, Captain Raleigh,” saidLord Grey, “the blood of these men be on yourhead!”
“It ill befits your lordship,” answeredRaleigh, “to throw on your subordinates theblame of that which your reason approves as necessary.”
“I should have thought, sir, that one so notedfor ambition as Captain Raleigh would have been morecareful of the favor of that queen for whose smileshe is said to be so longing a competitor. If youhave not yet been of her counsels, sir, I can tellyou you are not likely to be. She will be furiouswhen she hears of this cruelty.”
Lord Grey had lost his temper: but Raleigh kepthis, and answered quietly—
“Her majesty shall at least not find me amongthe number of those who prefer her favor to her safety,and abuse to their own profit that over-tendernessand mercifulness of heart which is the only blemish(and yet, rather like a mole on a fair cheek, but anew beauty) in her manifold perfections.”
At this juncture Cary returned.
“My lord,” said he, in some confusion,“I have proposed your terms; but the captainsstill entreat for some mitigation; and, to tell youtruth, one of them has insisted on accompanying mehither to plead his cause himself.”
“I will not see him, sir. Who is he?”
“His name is Sebastian of Modena, my lord.”
“Sebastian of Modena? What think you, gentlemen?May we make an exception in favor of so famous a soldier?”
“So villainous a cut-throat,” said Zouchto Raleigh, under his breath.
All, however, were for speaking with so famous a man;and in came, in full armor, a short, bull-necked Italian,evidently of immense strength, of the true CaesarBorgia stamp.
“Will you please to be seated, sir?” saidLord Grey, coldly.
“I kiss your hands, most illustrious: butI do not sit in an enemy’s camp. Ha, myfriend Zouch! How has your signoria fared sincewe fought side by side at Lepanto? So you tooare here, sitting in council on the hanging of me.”
“What is your errand, sir? Time is short,”said the lord deputy.
“Corpo di Bacco! It has been long enoughall the morning, for my rascals have kept me and myfriend the Colonel Hercules (whom you know, doubtless)prisoners in our tents at the pike’s point.My lord deputy, I have but a few words. I shallthank you to take every soldier in the fort—Italian,Spaniard, and Irish—and hang them up ashigh as Haman, for a set of mutinous cowards, withthe arch-traitor San Josepho at their head.”
“I am obliged to you for your offer, sir, andshall deliberate presently as to whether I shall notaccept it.”
“But as for us captains, really your excellencymust consider that we are gentlemen born, and giveus either buena querra, as the Spaniards say, or afair chance for life; and so to my business.”
“Stay, sir. Answer this first. Haveyou or yours any commission to show either from theKing of Spain or any other potentate?”
“Never a one but the cause of Heaven and ourown swords. And with them, my lord, we are readyto meet any gentlemen of your camp, man to man, withour swords only, half-way between your leaguer andours; and I doubt not that your lordship will seefair play. Will any gentleman accept so civilan offer? There sits a tall youth in that cornerwho would suit me very well. Will any fit my gallantcomrades with half-an-hour’s punto and stoccado?”
There was a silence, all looking at the lord deputy,whose eyes were kindling in a very ugly way.
“No answer? Then I must proceed to exhortation.So! Will that be sufficient?”
And walking composedly across the tent, the fearlessruffian quietly stooped down, and smote Amyas Leighfull in the face.
Up sprang Amyas, heedless of all the august assembly,and with a single buffet felled him to the earth.
“Excellent!” said he, rising unabashed.“I can always trust my instinct. I knewthe moment I saw him that he was a cavalier worth lettingblood. Now, sir, your sword and harness, andI am at your service outside!”
The solemn and sententious Englishmen were altogethertaken aback by the Italian’s impudence; butZouch settled the matter.
“Most noble captain, will you be pleased torecollect a certain little occurrence at Messina,in the year 1575? For if you do not, I do; andbeg to inform this gentleman that you are unworthyof his sword, and had you, unluckily for you, beenan Englishman, would have found the fashions of ourcountry so different from your own that you would havebeen then hanged, sir, and probably may be so still.”
The Italian’s sword flashed out in a moment:but Lord Grey interfered.
“No fighting here, gentlemen. That maywait; and, what is more, shall wait till—Striketheir swords down, Raleigh, Mackworth! Striketheir swords down! Colonel Sebastian, you willbe pleased to return as you came, in safety, havinglost nothing, as (I frankly tell you) you have gainednothing, by your wild bearing here. We shall proceedto deliberate on your fate.”
“I trust, my lord,” said Amyas, “thatyou will spare this braggart’s life, at leastfor a day or two. For in spite of Captain Zouch’swarning, I must have to do with him yet, or my cheekwill rise up in judgment against me at the last day.”
“Well spoken, lad,” said the colonel,as he swung out. “So! worth a reprieve,by this sword, to have one more rapier-rattle beforethe gallows! Then I take back no further answer,my lord deputy? Not even our swords, our virginblades, signor, the soldier’s cherished bride?Shall we go forth weeping widowers, and leave to strangeembrace the lovely steel?”
“None, sir, by heaven!” said he, waxingwroth. “Do you come hither, pirates asyou are, to dictate terms upon a foreign soil?Is it not enough to have set up here the Spanish flag,and claimed the land of Ireland as the Pope’sgift to the Spaniard; violated the laws of nations,and the solemn treaties of princes, under color ofa mad superstition?”
“Superstition, my lord? Nothing less.Believe a philosopher who has not said a pater oran ave for seven years past at least. Quod tangocredo, is my motto; and though I am bound to say, underpain of the Inquisition, that the most holy Fatherthe Pope has given this land of Ireland to his mostCatholic Majesty the King of Spain, Queen Elizabethhaving forfeited her title to it by heresy,—why,my lord, I believe it as little as you do. Ibelieve that Ireland would have been mine, if I hadwon it; I believe religiously that it is not mine,now I have lost it. What is, is, and a fig forpriests; to-day to thee, to-morrow to me. Addio!”And out he swung.
“There goes a most gallant rascal,” saidthe lord deputy.
“And a most rascally gallant,” said Zouch.“The murder of his own page, of which I gavehim a remembrancer, is among the least of his sins.”
“And now, Captain Raleigh,” said LordGrey, “as you have been so earnest in preachingthis butchery, I have a right to ask none but you topractise it.”
Raleigh bit his lip, and replied by the “quipcourteous—”
“I am at least a man, my lord, who thinks itshame to allow others to do that which I dare notdo myself.”
Lord Grey might probably have returned “thecountercheck quarrelsome,” had not Mackworthrisen—
“And I, my lord, being in that matter at leastone of Captain Raleigh’s kidney, will just gowith him to see that he takes no harm by being boldenough to carry out an ugly business, and serving theserascals as their countrymen served Mr. Oxenham.”
“I bid you good morning, then, gentlemen, thoughI cannot bid you God speed,” said Lord Grey;and sitting down again, covered his face with hishands, and, to the astonishment of all bystanders,burst, say the chroniclers, into tears.
Amyas followed Raleigh out. The latter was pale,but determined, and very wroth against the deputy.
“Does the man take me for a hangman,”said he, “that he speaks to me thus? Butsuch is the way of the great. If you neglect yourduty, they haul you over the coals; if you do it,you must do it on your own responsibility. Farewell,Amyas; you will not shrink from me as a butcher whenI return?”
“God forbid! But how will you do it?”
“March one company in, and drive them forth,and let the other cut them down as they come out.—Pah!”
* * * * *
It was done. Right or wrong, it was done.The shrieks and curses had died away, and the Fortdel Oro was a red shambles, which the soldiers weretrying to cover from the sight of heaven and earth,by dragging the bodies into the ditch, and coveringthem with the ruins of the rampart; while the Irish,who had beheld from the woods that awful warning, fledtrembling into the deepest recesses of the forest.It was done; and it never needed to be done again.The hint was severe, but it was sufficient. Manyyears passed before a Spaniard set foot again in Ireland.
The Spanish and Italian officers were spared, andAmyas had Don Guzman Maria Magdalena Sotomayor deSoto duly adjudged to him, as his prize by right ofwar. He was, of course, ready enough to fightSebastian of Modena: but Lord Grey forbade theduel: blood enough had been shed already.The next question was, where to bestow Don Guzman tillhis ransom should arrive; and as Amyas could not welldeliver the gallant Don into the safe custody of Mrs.Leigh at Burrough, and still less into that of Frankat Court, he was fain to write to Sir Richard Grenville,and ask his advice, and in the meanwhile keep the Spaniardwith him upon parole, which he frankly gave,—sayingthat as for running away, he had nowhere to run to;and as for joining the Irish he had no mind to turnpig; and Amyas found him, as shall be hereafter told,pleasant company enough. But one morning Raleighentered—
“I have done you a good turn, Leigh, if youthink it one. I have talked St. Leger into makingyou my lieutenant, and giving you the custody of aright pleasant hermitage—some castle Shackatoryor other in the midst of a big bog, where time willrun swift and smooth with you, between hunting wildIrish, snaring snipes, and drinking yourself drunkwith usquebaugh over a turf fire.”
“I’ll go,” quoth Amyas; “anythingfor work.” So he went and took possessionof his lieutenancy and his black robber tower, andthere passed the rest of the winter, fighting or huntingall day, and chatting and reading all the evening,with Senor Don Guzman, who, like a good soldier offortune, made himself thoroughly at home, and a generalfavorite with the soldiers.
At first, indeed, his Spanish pride and stateliness,and Amyas’s English taciturnity, kept the twoapart somewhat; but they soon began, if not to trust,at least to like each other; and Don Guzman told Amyas,bit by bit, who he was, of what an ancient house,and of what a poor one; and laughed over the verysmall chance of his ransom being raised, and the certaintythat, at least, it could not come for a couple of years,seeing that the only De Soto who had a penny to sparewas a fat old dean at St. Yago de Leon, in the Caracas,at which place Don Guzman had been born. Thisof course led to much talk about the West Indies, andthe Don was as much interested to find that Amyashad been one of Drake’s world-famous crew, asAmyas was to find that his captive was the grandsonof none other than that most terrible of man-hunters,Don Ferdinando de Soto, the conqueror of Florida,of whom Amyas had read many a time in Las Casas, “asthe captain of tyrants, the notoriousest and mostexperimented amongst them that have done the most hurts,mischiefs, and destructions in many realms.”And often enough his blood boiled, and he had muchado to recollect that the speaker was his guest, asDon Guzman chatted away about his grandfather’shunts of innocent women and children, murders of caciquesand burnings alive of guides, “pour encouragerles autres,” without, seemingly, the least feelingthat the victims were human beings or subjects forhuman pity; anything, in short, but heathen dogs,enemies of God, servants of the devil, to be usedby the Christian when he needed, and when not neededkilled down as cumberers of the ground. But DonGuzman was a most finished gentleman nevertheless;and told many a good story of the Indies, and toldit well; and over and above his stories, he had amonghis baggage two books,—the one AntonioGalvano’s “Discoveries of the World,”a mine of winter evening amusem*nt to Amyas; and theother, a manuscript book, which, perhaps, it had beenwell for Amyas had he never seen. For it wasnone other than a sort of rough journal which Don Guzmanhad kept as a lad, when he went down with the AdelantadoGonzales Ximenes de Casada, from Peru to the Riverof Amazons, to look for the golden country of El Dorado,and the city of Manoa, which stands in the midst ofthe White Lake, and equals or surpasses in glory eventhe palace of the Inca Huaynacapac; “all thevessels of whose house and kitchen are of gold andsilver, and in his wardrobe statues of gold which seemedgiants, and figures in proportion and bigness of allthe beasts, birds, trees, and herbs of the earth,and the fishes of the water; and ropes, budgets, chests,and troughs of gold: yea, and a garden of pleasurein an Island near Puna, where they went to recreatethemselves when they would take the air of the sea,which had all kind of garden herbs, flowers, and treesof gold and silver of an invention and magnificencetill then never seen.”
Now the greater part of this treasure (and be it rememberedthat these wonders were hardly exaggerated, and thatthere were many men alive then who had beheld them,as they had worse things, “with their corporaland mortal eyes”) was hidden by the Indianswhen Pizarro conquered Peru and slew Atahuallpa, sonof Huaynacapac; at whose death, it was said, one ofthe Inca’s younger brothers fled out of Peru,and taking with him a great army, vanquished all thattract which lieth between the great Rivers of Amazonsand Baraquan, otherwise called Maranon and Orenoque.
There he sits to this day, beside the golden lake,in the golden city, which is in breadth a three days’journey, covered, he and his court, with gold dustfrom head to foot, waiting for the fulfilment of theancient prophecy which was written in the temple ofCaxamarca, where his ancestors worshipped of old;that heroes shall come out of the West, and lead himback across the forests to the kingdom of Peru, andrestore him to the glory of his forefathers.
Golden phantom! so possible, so probable, to imaginationswhich were yet reeling before the actual and veritableprodigies of Peru, Mexico, and the East Indies.Golden phantom! which has cost already the lives ofthousands, and shall yet cost more; from Diego de Ordas,and Juan Corteso, and many another, who went forthon the quest by the Andes, and by the Orinoco, andby the Amazons; Antonio Sedenno, with his ghastlycaravan of manacled Indians, “on whose dead carcassesthe tigers being fleshed, assaulted the Spaniards;”Augustine Delgado, who “came to a cacique, whoentertained him with all kindness, and gave him besidemuch gold and slaves, three nymphs very beautiful,which bare the names of three provinces, Guanba, Gotoguane,and Maiarare. To requite which manifold courtesies,he carried off, not only all the gold, but all theIndians he could seize, and took them in irons to Cubagua,and sold them for slaves; after which, Delgado wasshot in the eye by an Indian, of which hurt he died;”Pedro d’Orsua, who found the cinnamon forestsof Loxas, “whom his men murdered, and afterwardsbeheaded Lady Anes his wife, who forsook not her lordin all his travels unto death,” and many another,who has vanished with valiant comrades at his backinto the green gulfs of the primaeval forests, neverto emerge again. Golden phantom! man-devouring,whose maw is never satiate with souls of heroes; fatalto Spain, more fatal still to England upon that shamefulday, when the last of Elizabeth’s heroes shalllay down his head upon the block, nominally for havingbelieved what all around him believed likewise tillthey found it expedient to deny it in order to curryfavor with the crowned cur who betrayed him, reallybecause he alone dared to make one last protest inbehalf of liberty and Protestantism against the incomingnight of tyranny and superstition. Little thoughtAmyas, as he devoured the pages of that manuscript,that he was laying a snare for the life of the manwhom, next to Drake and Grenville, he most admiredon earth.
But Don Guzman, on the other hand, seemed to havean instinct that that book might be a fatal gift tohis captor; for one day ere Amyas had looked intoit, he began questioning the Don about El Dorado.Whereon Don Guzman replied with one of those smilesof his, which (as Amyas said afterwards) was so abominablylike a sneer, that he had often hard work to keephis hands off the man—
“Ah! You have been eating of the fruitof the tree of knowledge, senor? Well; if youhave any ambition to follow many another brave captainto the pit, I know no shorter or easier path than iscontained in that little book.”
“I have never opened your book,” saidAmyas; “your private manuscripts are no concernof mine: but my man who recovered your baggageread part of it, knowing no better; and now you areat liberty to tell me as little as you like.”
The “man,” it should be said, was noneother than Salvation Yeo, who had attached himselfby this time inseparably to Amyas, in quality of body-guard:and, as was common enough in those days, had turnedsoldier for the nonce, and taken under his patronagetwo or three rusty bases (swivels) and falconets (four-pounders),which grinned harmlessly enough from the tower topacross the cheerful expanse of bog.
Amyas once asked him, how he reconciled this Irishsojourn with his vow to find his little maid?Yeo shook his head.
“I can’t tell, sir, but there’ssomething that makes me always to think of you whenI think of her; and that’s often enough, theLord knows. Whether it is that I ben’tto find the dear without your help; or whether itis your pleasant face puts me in mind of hers; or what,I can’t tell; but don’t you part me fromyou, sir, for I’m like Ruth, and where you lodgeI lodge; and where you go I go; and where you die—thoughI shall die many a year first—there I’lldie, I hope and trust; for I can’t abear youout of my sight; and that’s the truth thereof.”
So Yeo remained with Amyas, while Cary went elsewherewith Sir Warham St. Leger, and the two friends metseldom for many months; so that Amyas’s onlycompanion was Don Guzman, who, as he grew more familiar,and more careless about what he said and did in hiscaptor’s presence, often puzzled and scandalizedhim by his waywardness. Fits of deep melancholyalternated with bursts of Spanish boastfulness, utterlyastonishing to the modest and sober-minded Englishman,who would often have fancied him inspired by usquebaugh,had he not had ocular proof of his extreme abstemiousness.
“Miserable?” said he, one night in oneof these fits. “And have I not a rightto be miserable? Why should I not curse the virginand all the saints, and die? I have not a friend,not a ducat on earth; not even a sword—helland the furies! It was my all: the only bequestI ever had from my father, and I lived by it and earnedby it. Two years ago I had as pretty a sum ofgold as cavalier could wish—and now!”—
“What is become of it, then? I cannot hearthat our men plundered you of any.”
“Your men? No, senor! What fifty mendared not have done, one woman did! a painted, patched,fucused, periwigged, bolstered, Charybdis, cannibal,Megaera, Lamia! Why did I ever go near that cursedNaples, the common sewer of Europe? whose women, Ibelieve, would be swallowed up by Vesuvius to-morrow,if it were not that Belphegor is afraid of their makingthe pit itself too hot to hold him. Well, sir,she had all of mine and more; and when all was gonein wine and dice, woodco*cks’ brains and ortolans’tongues, I met the witch walking with another man.I had a sword and a dagger; I gave him the first (thoughthe dog fought well enough, to give him his due),and her the second; left them lying across each other,and fled for my life,—and here I am! aftertwenty years of fighting, from the Levant to the Orellana—forI began ere I had a hair on my chin—andthis is the end!—No, it is not! I’llhave that El Dorado yet! the Adelantado made Berreo,when he gave him his daughter, swear that he wouldhunt for it, through life and death.—We’llsee who finds it first, he or I. He’s a bungler;Orsua was a bungler—Pooh! Cortes andPizarro? we’ll see whether there are not as goodCastilians as they left still. I can do it, senor.I know a track, a plan; over the Llanos is the road;and I’ll be Emperor of Manoa yet—possessthe jewels of all the Incas; and gold, gold!Pizarro was a beggar to what I will be!”
Conceive, sir, he broke forth during another of thesepeaco*ck fits, as Amyas and he were riding along thehill-side; “conceive! with forty chosen cavaliers(what need of more?) I present myself before the goldenking, trembling amid his myriad guards at the new miracleof the mailed centaurs of the West; and without dismounting,I approach his throne, lift the crucifix which hangsaround my neck, and pressing it to my lips, presentit for the adoration of the idolater, and give himhis alternative; that which Gayferos and the Cid,my ancestors, offered the Soldan and the Moor—baptismor death! He hesitates; perhaps smiles scornfullyupon my little band; I answer him by deeds, as DonFerdinando, my illustrious grandfather, answered Atahuallpaat Peru, in sight of all his court and camp.”
“With your lance-point, as Gayferos did theSoldan?” asked Amyas, amused.
“No, sir; persuasion first, for the salvationof a soul is at stake. Not with the lance-point,but the spur, sir, thus!”—
And striking his heels into his horse’s flanks,he darted off at full speed.
“The Spanish traitor!” shouted Yeo.“He’s going to escape! Shall we shoot,sir? Shall we shoot?”
“For Heaven’s sake, no!” said Amyas,looking somewhat blank, nevertheless, for he muchdoubted whether the whole was not a ruse on the partof the Spaniard, and he knew how impossible it wasfor his fifteen stone of flesh to give chase to theSpaniard’s twelve. But he was soon reassured;the Spaniard wheeled round towards him, and began toput the rough hackney through all the paces of themanege with a grace and skill which won applause fromthe beholders.
“Thus!” he shouted, waving his hand toAmyas, between his curvets and caracoles, “didmy illustrious grandfather exhibit to the Paynim emperorthe prowess of a Castilian cavalier! Thus!—andthus!—and thus, at last, he dashed up tohis very feet, as I to yours, and bespattering thatunbaptized visage with his Christian bridle foam, pulledup his charger on his haunches, thus!”
And (as was to be expected from a blown Irish garronon a peaty Irish hill-side) down went the haplesshackney on his tail, away went his heels a yard infront of him, and ere Don Guzman could “avoidhis selle,” horse and man rolled over into neighboringbog-hole.
“After pride comes a fall,” quoth Yeowith unmoved visage, as he lugged him out.
“And what would you do with the emperor at last?”asked Amyas when the Don had been scrubbed somewhatclean with a bunch of rushes. “Kill him,as your grandfather did Atahuallpa?”
“My grandfather,” answered the Spaniard,indignantly, “was one of those who, to theireternal honor, protested to the last against that mostcruel and unknightly massacre. He could be terribleto the heathen; but he kept his plighted word, sir,and taught me to keep mine, as you have seen to-day.”
“I have, senor,” said Amyas. “Youmight have given us the slip easily enough just now,and did not. Pardon me, if I have offended you.”
The Spaniard (who, after all, was cross principallywith himself and the “unlucky mare’s son,”as the old romances have it, which had played himso scurvy a trick) was all smiles again forthwith;and Amyas, as they chatted on, could not help askinghim next—
“I wonder why you are so frank about your ownintentions to an enemy like me, who will surely forestallyou if he can.”
“Sir, a Spaniard needs no concealment, and fearsno rivalry. He is the soldier of the Cross, andin it he conquers, like Constantine of old. Notthat you English are not very heroes; but you havenot, sir, and you cannot have, who have forsworn ourLady and the choir of saints, the same divine protection,the same celestial mission, which enables the Catholiccavalier single-handed to chase a thousand Paynims.”
And Don Guzman crossed himself devoutly, and mutteredhalf-a-dozen Ave Marias in succession, while Amyasrode silently by his side, utterly puzzled at thisstrange compound of shrewdness with fanaticism, ofperfect high-breeding with a boastfulness which inan Englishman would have been the sure mark of vulgarity.
At last came a letter from Sir Richard Grenville,complimenting Amyas on his success and promotion,bearing a long and courtly message to Don Guzman (whomGrenville had known when he was in the Mediterranean,at the battle of Lepanto), and offering to receivehim as his own guest at Bideford, till his ransomshould arrive; a proposition which the Spaniard (whoof course was getting sufficiently tired of the Irish
bogs) could not but gladly accept; and one of Winter’sships, returning to England in the spring of 1581,delivered duly at the quay of Bideford the body ofDon Guzman Maria Magdalena. Raleigh, after formingfor that summer one of the triumvirate by which Munsterwas governed after Ormond’s departure, at lastgot his wish and departed for England and the Court;and Amyas was left alone with the snipes and yellowmantles for two more weary years.CHAPTER X
HOW THE MAYOR OF BIDEFORD BAITED HIS HOOK WITH HIS OWN FLESH
“And therewithhe blent, and cried ha!
As though he had beenstricken to the harte.”
Palamonand Arcite.
So it befell to Chaucer’s knight in prison;and so it befell also to Don Guzman; and it befellon this wise.
He settled down quietly enough at Bideford on hisparole, in better quarters than he had occupied formany a day, and took things as they came, like a truesoldier of fortune; till, after he had been with Grenvillehardly a month, old Salterne the Mayor came to supper.
Now Don Guzman, however much he might be puzzled atfirst at our strange English ways of asking burghersand such low-bred folk to eat and drink above thesalt, in the company of noble persons, was quite gentlemanenough to know that Richard Grenville was gentlemanenough to do only what was correct, and accordingto the customs and proprieties. So after shruggingthe shoulders of his spirit, he submitted to eat anddrink at the same board with a tradesman who sat ata desk, and made up ledgers, and took apprentices;and hearing him talk with Grenville neither unwiselynor in a vulgar fashion, actually before the eveningwas out condescended to exchange words with him himself.Whereon he found him a very prudent and courteousperson, quite aware of the Spaniard’s superiorrank, and making him feel in every sentence that hewas aware thereof; and yet holding his own opinion,and asserting his own rights as a wise elder in afashion which the Spaniard had only seen before amongthe merchant princes of Genoa and Venice.
At the end of supper, Salterne asked Grenville todo his humble roof the honor, etc. etc.,of supping with him the next evening, and then turningto the Don, said quite frankly, that he knew how greata condescension it would be on the part of a noblemanof Spain to sit at the board of a simple merchant:but that if the Spaniard deigned to do him such afavor, he would find that the cheer was fit enoughfor any rank, whatsoever the company might be; whichinvitation Don Guzman, being on the whole glad enoughof anything to amuse him, graciously condescendedto accept, and gained thereby an excellent supper,and, if he had chosen to drink it, much good wine.
Now Mr. Salterne was, of course, as a wise merchant,as ready as any man for an adventure to foreign parts,as was afterwards proved by his great exertions inthe settlement of Virginia; and he was, therefore,equally ready to rack the brains of any guest whomhe suspected of knowing anything concerning strangelands; and so he thought no shame, first to try toloose his guest’s tongue by much good sack, andnext, to ask him prudent and well-concocted questionsconcerning the Spanish Main, Peru, the Moluccas, China,the Indies, and all parts.
The first of which schemes failed; for the Spaniardwas as abstemious as any monk, and drank little butwater; the second succeeded not over well, for theSpaniard was as cunning as any fox, and answered littlebut wind.
In the midst of which tongue-fence in came the Roseof Torridge, looking as beautiful as usual; and hearingwhat they were upon, added, artlessly enough, herquestions to her father’s: to her Don Guzmancould not but answer; and without revealing any veryimportant commercial secrets, gave his host and hishost’s daughter a very amusing evening.
Now little Eros, though spirits like Frank Leigh’smay choose to call him (as, perhaps, he really isto them) the eldest of the gods, and the son of Joveand Venus, yet is reported by other equally good authorities,as Burton has set forth in his “Anatomy of Melancholy,”to be after all only the child of idleness and fulnessof bread. To which scandalous calumny the thoughtsof Don Guzman’s heart gave at least a certaincolor; for he being idle (as captives needs must be),and also full of bread (for Sir Richard kept a verygood table), had already looked round for mere amusem*nt’ssake after some one with whom to fall in love.Lady Grenville, as nearest, was, I blush to say, thoughtof first; but the Spaniard was a man of honor, andSir Richard his host; so he put away from his mind(with a self-denial on which he plumed himself much)the pleasure of a chase equally exciting to his prideand his love of danger. As for the sinfulnessof the said chase, he of course thought no more ofthat than other Southern Europeans did then, or than(I blush again to have to say it) the English didafterwards in the days of the Stuarts. Nevertheless,he had put Lady Grenville out of his mind; and soleft room to take Rose Salterne into it, not with anydistinct purpose of wronging her: but, as I saidbefore, half to amuse himself, and half, too, becausehe could not help it. For there was an innocentfreshness about the Rose of Torridge, fond as shewas of being admired, which was new to him and mostattractive. “The train of the peaco*ck,”as he said to himself, “and yet the heart ofthe dove,” made so charming a combination, thatif he could have persuaded her to love no one but him,perhaps he might become fool enough to love no onebut her. And at that thought he was seized witha very panic of prudence, and resolved to keep out
of her way; and yet the days ran slowly, and Lady Grenvillewhen at home was stupid enough to talk and think aboutnothing but her husband; and when she went to Stow,and left the Don alone in one corner of the greathouse at Bideford, what could he do but lounge downto the butt-gardens to show off his fine black cloakand fine black feather, see the shooting, have a gameor two of rackets with the youngsters, a game or twoof bowls with the elders, and get himself invited hometo supper by Mr. Salterne?And there, of course, he had it all his own way, andruled the roast (which he was fond enough of doing)right royally, not only on account of his rank, butbecause he had something to say worth hearing, as atravelled man. For those times were the day-dawnof English commerce; and not a merchant in Bideford,or in all England, but had his imagination all onfire with projects of discoveries, companies, privileges,patents, and settlements; with gallant rivalry of thebrave adventures of Sir Edward Osborne and his newLondon Company of Turkey Merchants; with the privilegesjust granted by the Sultan Murad Khan to the English;with the worthy Levant voyages of Roger Bodenham inthe great bark Aucher, and of John Fox, and LawrenceAldersey, and John Rule; and with hopes from the vastdoor for Mediterranean trade, which the crushing ofthe Venetian power at Famagusta in Cyprus, and thealliance made between Elizabeth and the Grand Turk,had just thrown open. So not a word could fallfrom the Spaniard about the Mediterranean but tookroot at once in right fertile soil. Besides, MasterEdmund Hogan had been on a successful embassy to theEmperor of Morocco; John Hawkins and George Fennerhad been to Guinea (and with the latter Mr. WalterWren, a Bideford man), and had traded there for muskand civet, gold and grain; and African news was becomingalmost as valuable as West Indian. Moreover,but two months before had gone from London CaptainHare in the bark Minion, for Brazil, and a companyof adventurers with him, with Sheffield hardware,and “Devonshire and Northern kersies,”hollands and “Manchester cottons,” forthere was a great opening for English goods by thehelp of one John Whithall, who had married a Spanishheiress, and had an ingenio and slaves in Santos. (Don’tsmile, reader, or despise the day of small things,and those who sowed the seed whereof you reap themighty harvest.) In the meanwhile, Drake had provednot merely the possibility of plundering the Americancoasts, but of establishing an East Indian trade;Frobisher and Davis, worthy forefathers of our Parrysand Franklins, had begun to bore their way upwardthrough the Northern ice, in search of a passage toChina which should avoid the dangers of the Spanishseas; and Anthony Jenkinson, not the least of Englishtravellers, had, in six-and-twenty years of travelin behalf of the Muscovite Company, penetrated intonot merely Russia and the Levant, but Persia and Armenia,Bokhara, Tartary, Siberia, and those waste Arcticshores where, thirty years before, the brave Sir HughWilloughby,
“InArzina caught,
Perished with all hiscrew.”
Everywhere English commerce, under the genial sunshineof Elizabeth’s wise rule, was spreading andtaking root; and as Don Guzman talked with his newfriends, he soon saw (for he was shrewd enough) thatthey belonged to a race which must be exterminatedif Spain intended to become (as she did intend) themistress of the world; and that it was not enoughfor Spain to have seized in the Pope’s name thewhole new world, and claimed the exclusive right tosail the seas of America; not enough to have crushedthe Hollanders; not enough to have degraded the Venetiansinto her bankers, and the Genoese into her mercenaries;not enough to have incorporated into herself, withthe kingdom of Portugal, the whole East Indian tradeof Portugal, while these fierce islanders remainedto assert, with cunning policy and texts of Scripture,and, if they failed, with sharp shot and cold steel,free seas and free trade for all the nations uponearth. He saw it, and his countrymen saw it too:and therefore the Spanish Armada came: but ofthat hereafter. And Don Guzman knew also, byhard experience, that these same islanders, who satin Salterne’s parlor, talking broad Devon throughtheir noses, were no mere counters of money and huckstersof goods: but men who, though they thoroughlyhated fighting, and loved making money instead, couldfight, upon occasion, after a very dogged and terriblefashion, as well as the bluest blood in Spain; andwho sent out their merchant ships armed up to theteeth, and filled with men who had been trained fromchildhood to use those arms, and had orders to usethem without mercy if either Spaniard, Portugal, orother created being dared to stop their money-making.And one evening he waxed quite mad, when, after havingcivilly enough hinted that if Englishmen came wherethey had no right to come, they might find themselvessent back again, he was answered by a volley of—
“We’ll see that, sir.”
“Depends on who says ‘No right.’”
“You found might right,” said another,“when you claimed the Indian seas; we may findright might when we try them.”
“Try them, then, gentlemen, by all means, ifit shall so please your worships; and find the sacredflag of Spain as invincible as ever was the Romaneagle.”
“We have, sir. Did you ever hear of FrancisDrake?”
“Or of George Fenner and the Portugals at theAzores, one against seven?”
“Or of John Hawkins, at St. Juan d’Ulloa?”
“You are insolent burghers,” said DonGuzman, and rose to go.
“Sir,” said old Salterne, “as yousay, we are burghers and plain men, and some of ushave forgotten ourselves a little, perhaps; we mustbeg you to forgive our want of manners, and to putit down to the strength of my wine; for insolent wenever meant to be, especially to a noble gentlemanand a foreigner.”
But the Don would not be pacified; and walked out,calling himself an ass and a blinkard for having demeanedhimself to such a company, forgetting that he hadbrought it on himself.
Salterne (prompted by the great devil Mammon) cameup to him next day, and begged pardon again; promising,moreover, that none of those who had been so rudeshould be henceforth asked to meet him, if he woulddeign to honor his house once more. And the Donactually was appeased, and went there the very nextevening, sneering at himself the whole time for going.
“Fool that I am! that girl has bewitched me,I believe. Go I must, and eat my share of dirt,for her sake.”
So he went; and, cunningly enough, hinted to old Salternethat he had taken such a fancy to him, and felt sobound by his courtesy and hospitality, that he mightnot object to tell him things which he would not mentionto every one; for that the Spaniards were not jealousof single traders, but of any general attempt to deprivethem of their hard-earned wealth: that, however,in the meanwhile, there were plenty of opportunitiesfor one man here and there to enrich himself, etc.
Old Salterne, shrewd as he was, had his weak point,and the Spaniard had touched it; and delighted atthis opportunity of learning the mysteries of theSpanish monopoly, he often actually set Rose on todraw out the Don, without a fear (so blind does moneymake men) lest she might be herself drawn in.For, first, he held it as impossible that she wouldthink of marrying a Popish Spaniard as of marryingthe man in the moon; and, next, as impossible thathe would think of marrying a burgher’s daughteras of marrying a negress; and trusted that the religionof the one, and the family pride of the other, wouldkeep them as separate as beings of two different species.And as for love without marriage, if such a possibilityever crossed him, the thought was rendered absurd;on Rose’s part by her virtue, on which the oldroan (and rightly) would have staked every farthinghe had on earth; and on the Don’s part, by acertain human fondness for the continuity of the carotidartery and the parts adjoining, for which (and thatnot altogether justly, seeing that Don Guzman caredas little for his own life as he did for his neighbor’s)Mr. Salterne gave him credit. And so it came topass, that for weeks and months the merchant’shouse was the Don’s favorite haunt, and he sawthe Rose of Torridge daily, and the Rose of Torridgeheard him.
And as for her, poor child, she had never seen sucha man. He had, or seemed to have, all the high-bredgrace of Frank, and yet he was cast in a manlier mould;he had just enough of his nation’s proud self-assertionto make a woman bow before him as before a superior,and yet tact enough to let it very seldom degenerateinto that boastfulness of which the Spaniards werethen so often and so justly accused. He had marvelsto tell by flood and field as many and more than Amyas;and he told them with a grace and an eloquence ofwhich modest, simple, old Amyas possessed nothing.Besides, he was on the spot, and the Leighs were not,nor indeed were any of her old lovers; and what couldshe do but amuse herself with the only person whocame to hand?
So thought, in time, more ladies than she; for thecountry, the north of it at least, was all but barejust then of young gallants, what with the Netherlandwars and the Irish wars; and the Spaniard became soonwelcome at every house for many a mile round, andmade use of his welcome so freely, and received somuch unwonted attention from fair young dames, thathis head might have been a little turned, and RoseSalterne have thereby escaped, had not Sir Richarddelicately given him to understand that in spite ofthe free and easy manners of English ladies, brotherswere just as jealous, and ladies’ honors at leastas inexpugnable, as in the land of demureness andduennas. Don Guzman took the hint well enough,and kept on good terms with the country gentlemen aswith their daughters; and to tell the truth, the cunningsoldier of fortune found his account in being intimatewith all the ladies he could, in order to preventold Salterne from fancying that he had any peculiarpredilection for Mistress Rose.
Nevertheless, Mr. Salterne’s parlor being nearestto him, still remained his most common haunt; where,while he discoursed for hours about
“Antres vast anddeserts idle,
And of the cannibalsthat each other eat,
Of Anthropophagi, andmen whose heads
Do grow beneath theirshoulders,”
to the boundless satisfaction of poor Rose’sfancy, he took care to season his discourse with scrapsof mercantile information, which kept the old merchantalways expectant and hankering for more, and made itworth his while to ask the Spaniard in again and again.
And his stories, certainly, were worth hearing.He seemed to have been everywhere, and to have seeneverything: born in Peru, and sent home to Spainat ten years old; brought up in Italy; a soldier inthe Levant; an adventurer to the East Indies; againin America, first in the islands, and then in Mexico.Then back again to Spain, and thence to Rome, andthence to Ireland. Shipwrecked; captive amongsavages; looking down the craters of volcanoes; hangingabout all the courts of Europe; fighting Turks, Indians,lions, elephants, alligators, and what not? Atfive-and-thirty he had seen enough for three lives,and knew how to make the best of what he had seen.
He had shared, as a lad, in the horrors of the memorablesiege of Famagusta, and had escaped, he hardly knewhimself how, from the hands of the victorious Turks,and from the certainty (if he escaped being flayedalive or impaled, as most of the captive officers were)of ending his life as a Janissary at the Sultan’scourt. He had been at the Battle of the ThreeKings; had seen Stukely borne down by a hundred lances,unconquered even in death; and had held upon his kneethe head of the dying King of Portugal.
And now, as he said to Rose one evening, what hadhe left on earth, but a heart trampled as hard asthe pavement? Whom had he to love? Who lovedhim? He had nothing for which to live but fame:and even that was denied to him, a prisoner in a foreignland.
Had he no kindred, then? asked pitying Rose.
“My two sisters are in a convent;—theyhad neither money nor beauty; so they are dead tome. My brother is a Jesuit, so he is dead to me.My father fell by the hands of Indians in Mexico;my mother, a penniless widow, is companion, duenna—whatsoeverthey may choose to call it—carrying fansand lapdogs for some princess or other there in Seville,of no better blood than herself; and I—devil!I have lost even my sword—and so faresthe house of De Soto.”
Don Guzman, of course, intended to be pitied, andpitied he was accordingly. And then he wouldturn the conversation, and begin telling Italian stories,after the Italian fashion, according to his auditory:the pathetic ones when Rose was present, the racy oneswhen she was absent; so that Rose had wept over thesorrows of Juliet and Desdemona, and over many anothermoving tale, long before they were ever enacted onan English stage, and the ribs of the Bideford worthieshad shaken to many a jest which Cinthio and Bandello’sghosts must come and make for themselves over againif they wish them to be remembered, for I shall lendthem no shove toward immortality.
And so on, and so on. What need of more words?Before a year was out, Rose Salterne was far morein love with Don Guzman than he with her; and bothsuspected each other’s mind, though neither hintedat the truth; she from fear, and he, to tell the truth,from sheer Spanish pride of blood. For he soonbegan to find out that he must compromise that bloodby marrying the heretic burgher’s daughter, orall his labor would be thrown away.
He had seen with much astonishment, and then practisedwith much pleasure, that graceful old English fashionof saluting every lady on the cheek at meeting, which(like the old Dutch fashion of asking young ladiesout to feasts without their mothers) used to give suchcause of brutal calumny and scandal to the coarseminds of Romish visitors from the Continent; and hehad seen, too, fuming with jealous rage, more thanone Bideford burgher, redolent of onions, profane inthat way the velvet cheek of Rose Salterne.
So, one day, he offered his salute in like wise; buthe did it when she was alone; for something within(perhaps a guilty conscience) whispered that it mightbe hardly politic to make the proffer in her father’spresence: however, to his astonishment, he receiveda prompt though quiet rebuff.
“No, sir; you should know that my cheek is notfor you.”
“Why,” said he, stifling his anger, “itseems free enough to every counter-jumper in the town!”
Was it love, or simple innocence, which made her answerapologetically?
“True, Don Guzman; but they are my equals.”
“And I?”
“You are a nobleman, sir; and should recollectthat you are one.”
“Well,” said he, forcing a sneer, “itis a strange taste to prefer the shopkeeper!”
“Prefer?” said she, forcing a laugh inher turn; “it is a mere form among us.They are nothing to me, I can tell you.”
“And I, then, less than nothing?”
Rose turned very red; but she had nerve to answer—
“And why should you be anything to me?You have condescended too much, sir, already to us,in giving us many a—many a pleasant evening.You must condescend no further. You wrong yourself,sir, and me too. No, sir; not a step nearer!—Iwill not! A salute between equals means nothing:but between you and me—I vow, sir, if youdo not leave me this moment, I will complain to myfather.”
“Do so, madam! I care as little for yourfather’s anger, as you for my misery.”
“Cruel!” cried Rose, trembling from headto foot.
“I love you, madam!” cried he, throwinghimself at her feet. “I adore you!Never mention differences of rank to me more; for Ihave forgotten them; forgotten all but love, all butyou, madam! My light, my lodestar, my princess,my goddess! You see where my pride is gone; rememberI plead as a suppliant, a beggar—thoughone who may be one day a prince, a king! ay, and aprince now, a very Lucifer of pride to all except toyou; to you a wretch who grovels at your feet, andcries, ’Have mercy on me, on my loneliness,my homelessness, my friendlessness.’ Ah,Rose (madam I should have said, forgive the madnessof my passion), you know not the heart which you break.Cold Northerns, you little dream how a Spaniard canlove. Love? Worship, rather; as I worshipyou, madam; as I bless the captivity which broughtme the sight of you, and the ruin which first mademe rich. Is it possible, saints and Virgin! domy own tears deceive my eyes, or are there tears,too, in those radiant orbs?”
“Go, sir!” cried poor Rose, recoveringherself suddenly; “and let me never see youmore.” And, as a last chance for life, shedarted out of the room.
“Your slave obeys you, madam, and kisses yourhands and feet forever and a day,” said thecunning Spaniard, and drawing himself up, walked serenelyout of the house; while she, poor fool, peeped afterhim out of her window upstairs, and her heart sankwithin her as she watched his jaunty and carelessair.
How much of that rhapsody of his was honest, how muchpremeditated, I cannot tell: though she, poorchild, began to fancy that it was all a set speech,when she found that he had really taken her at herword, and set foot no more within her father’shouse. So she reproached herself for the cruelestof women; settled, that if he died, she should be hismurderess; watched for him to pass at the window, inhopes that he might look up, and then hid herselfin terror the moment he appeared round the corner;and so forth, and so forth:—one love-makingis very like another, and has been so, I suppose,since that first blessed marriage in Paradise, whenAdam and Eve made no love at all, but found it ready-made
for them from heaven; and really it is fiddling whileRome is burning, to spend more pages over the sorrowsof poor little Rose Salterne, while the destiniesof Europe are hanging on the marriage between Elizabethand Anjou: and Sir Humphrey Gilbert is stirringheaven and earth, and Devonshire, of course, as themost important portion of the said earth, to carryout his dormant patent, which will give to Englandin due time (we are not jesting now) Newfoundland,Nova Scotia, and Canada, and the Northern States;and to Humphrey Gilbert himself something better thana new world, namely another world, and a crown ofglory therein which never fades away.CHAPTER XI
HOW EUSTACE LEIGH MET THE POPE’S LEGATE
“Misguided, rash,intruding fool, farewell!
Thou see’st tobe too busy is some danger.”
Hamlet.
It is the spring of 1582-3. The gray March skiesare curdling hard and high above black mountain peaks.The keen March wind is sweeping harsh and dry acrossa dreary sheet of bog, still red and yellow with thestains of winter frost. One brown knoll alonebreaks the waste, and on it a few leafless wind-cliptoaks stretch their moss-grown arms, like giant hairyspiders, above a desolate pool which crisps and shiversin the biting breeze, while from beside its brinkrises a mournful cry, and sweeps down, faint and fitful,amid the howling of the wind.
Along the brink of the bog, picking their road amongcrumbling rocks and green spongy springs, a companyof English soldiers are pushing fast, clad cap-a-piein helmet and quilted jerkin, with arquebus on shoulder,and pikes trailing behind them; stern steadfast men,who, two years since, were working the guns at Smerwickfort, and have since then seen many a bloody fray,and shall see more before they die. Two captainsride before them on shaggy ponies, the taller in armor,stained and rusted with many a storm and fray, theother in brilliant inlaid cuirass and helmet, gaudysash and plume, and sword hilt glittering with gold,a quaint contrast enough to the meager garron whichcarries him and his finery. Beside them, securedby a cord which a pikeman has fastened to his ownwrist, trots a bare-legged Irish kerne, whose onlyclothing is his ragged yellow mantle, and the unkempt“glib” of hair, through which his eyespeer out, right and left, in mingled fear and sullenness.He is the guide of the company, in their hunt afterthe rebel Baltinglas; and woe to him if he play themfalse.
“A pleasant country, truly, Captain Raleigh,”says the dingy officer to the gay one. “Iwonder how, having once escaped from it to Whitehall,you have the courage to come back and spoil that gaysuit with bog-water and mud.”
“A very pleasant country, my friend Amyas; whatyou say in jest, I say in earnest.”
“Hillo! Our tastes have changed places.I am sick of it already, as you foretold. WouldHeaven that I could hear of some adventure Westward-ho!and find these big bones swinging in a hammock oncemore. Pray what has made you so suddenly in lovewith bog and rock, that you come back to tramp themwith us? I thought you had spied out the nakednessof the land long ago.”
“Bog and rock? Nakedness of the land?What is needed here but prudence and skill, justiceand law? This soil, see, is fat enough, if menwere here to till it. These rocks—whoknows what minerals they may hold? I hear ofgold and jewels found already in divers parts; andDaniel, my brother Humphrey’s German assayer,assures me that these rocks are of the very same kindas those which yield the silver in Peru. Tut,man! if her gracious majesty would but bestow on mesome few square miles of this same wilderness, inseven years’ time I would make it blossom likethe rose, by God’s good help.”
“Humph! I should be more inclined to stayhere, then.”
“So you shall, and be my agent, if you will,to get in my mine-rents and my corn-rents, and myfishery-rents, eh? Could you keep accounts, oldknight of the bear’s-paw?”
“Well enough for such short reckonings as yourswould be, on the profit side at least. No, no—I’dsooner carry lime all my days from Cauldy to Bideford,than pass another twelve-month in the land of Ire,among the children of wrath. There is a curseupon the face of the earth, I believe.”
“There is no curse upon it, save the old oneof man’s sin—’Thorns and thistlesit shall bring forth to thee.’ But if youroot up the thorns and thistles, Amyas, I know nofiend who can prevent your growing wheat instead;and if you till the ground like a man, you plough andbarrow away nature’s curse, and other fablesof the schoolmen beside,” added he, in thatdaring fashion which afterwards obtained for him (andnever did good Christian less deserve it) the imputationof atheism.
“It is sword and bullet, I think, that are neededhere, before plough and harrow, to clear away someof the curse. Until a few more of these Irishlords are gone where the Desmonds are, there is nopeace for Ireland.”
“Humph! not so far wrong, I fear. And yet—Irishlords? These very traitors are better Englishblood than we who hunt them down. When Yeo hereslew the Desmond the other day, he no more let outa drop of Irish blood, than if he had slain the lorddeputy himself.”
“His blood be on his own head,” said Yeo,“He looked as wild a savage as the worst ofthem, more shame to him; and the ancient here had nighcut off his arm before he told us who he was:and then, your worship, having a price upon his head,and like to bleed to death too—”
“Enough, enough, good fellow,” said Raleigh.“Thou hast done what was given thee to do.Strange, Amyas, is it not? Noble Normans sunkinto savages—Hibernis ipsis hiberniores!Is there some uncivilizing venom in the air?”
“Some venom, at least, which makes English mentraitors. But the Irish themselves are well enough,if their tyrants would let them be. See now,what more faithful liegeman has her majesty than theInchiquin, who, they say, is Prince of Themond, andshould be king of all Ireland, if every man had hisright?”
“Don’t talk of rights in the land of wrongs,man. But the Inchiquin knows well that the trueIrish Esau has no worse enemy than his supplanter,the Norman Jacob. And yet, Amyas are even thesem*n worse than we might be, if we had been bred upmasters over the bodies and souls of men, in someremote land where law and order had never come?Look at this Desmond, brought up a savage among savages,a Papist among Papists, a despot among slaves; a thousandeasy maidens deeming it honor to serve his pleasure,a thousand wild ruffians deeming it piety to fulfilhis revenge: and let him that is without sin amongus cast the first stone.”
“Ay,” went on Raleigh to himself, as theconversation dropped. “What hadst thoubeen, Raleigh, hadst thou been that Desmond whose landsthou now desirest? What wilt thou be when thouhast them? Will thy children sink downwards,as these noble barons sank? Will the genius oftyranny and falsehood find soil within thy heart togrow and ripen fruit? What guarantee hast thoufor doing better here than those who went before thee?And yet, cannot I do justice and love mercy? CanI not establish plantations, build and sow, and makethe desert valleys laugh with corn? Shall I nothave my Spenser with me, to fill me with all noblethoughts, and raise my soul to his heroic pitch?Is not this true knight-errantry, to redeem to peaceand use, and to the glory of that glorious queen whomGod has given to me, a generous soil and a more generousrace? Trustful and tenderhearted they are—nonemore; and if they be fickle and passionate, will notthat very softness of temper, which makes them soeasily led to evil, make them as easy to be led towardsgood? Yes—here, away from courts,among a people who should bless me as their benefactorand deliverer—what golden days might bemine! And yet—is this but anotherangel’s mask from that same cunning fiend ambition’sstage? And will my house be indeed the houseof God, the foundations of which are loyalty, andits bulwarks righteousness, and not the house of fame,whose walls are of the soap-bubble, and its floor asea of glass mingled with fire? I would be goodand great—When will the day come when Ishall be content to be good, and yet not great, likethis same simple Leigh, toiling on by my side to dohis duty, with no more thought for the morrow thanthe birds of God? Greatness? I have tastedthat cup within the last twelve months; do I not knowthat it is sweet in the mouth, but bitter in the belly?Greatness? And was not Essex great, and Johnof Austria great, and Desmond great, whose race, butthree short years ago, had stood for ages higher thanI shall ever hope to climb—castles, andlands, and slaves by thousands, and five hundred gentlemenof his name, who had vowed to forswear God before theyforswore him and well have they kept their vow!And now, dead in a turf-hovel, like a coney in a burrow!Leigh, what noise was that?”
“An Irish howl, I fancied: but it camefrom off the bog; it may be only a plover’scry.”
“Something not quite right, sir captain, tomy mind,” said the ancient. “Theyhave ugly stories here of pucks and banshees, and whatnot of ghosts. There it was again, wailing justlike a woman. They say the banshee cried allnight before Desmond was slain.”
“Perhaps, then, this one may be crying for Baltinglas;for his turn is likely to come next—notthat I believe in such old wives’ tales.”
“Shamus, my man,” said Amyas to the guide,“do you hear that cry in the bog?”
The guide put on the most stolid of faces, and answeredin broken English—
“Shamus hear naught. Perhaps—whatyou call him?—fishing in ta pool.”
“An otter, he means, and I believe he is right.Stay, no! Did you not hear it then, Shamus?It was a woman’s voice.”
“Shamus is shick in his ears ever since Christmas.”
“Shamus will go after Desmond if he lies,”said Amyas. “Ancient, we had better senda few men to see what it is; there may be a poor soultaken by robbers, or perhaps starving to death, asI have seen many a one.”
“And I too, poor wretches; and by no fault oftheir own or ours either: but if their lordswill fall to quarrelling, and then drive each other’scattle, and waste each other’s lands, sir, youknow—”
“I know,” said Amyas, impatiently; “whydost not take the men, and go?”
“Cry you mercy, noble captain, but—Ifear nothing born of woman.”
“Well, what of that?” said Amyas, witha smile.
“But these pucks, sir. The wild Irish dosay that they haunt the pools; and they do no mannerof harm, sir, when you are coming up to them; butwhen you are past, sir, they jump on your back liketo apes, sir,—and who can tackle that mannerof fiend?”
“Why, then, by thine own showing, ancient,”said Raleigh, “thou may’st go and seeall safely enough, and then if the puck jumps on theeas thou comest back, just run in with him here, andI’ll buy him of thee for a noble; or thou may’stkeep him in a cage, and make money in London by showinghim for a monster.”
“Good heavens forefend, Captain Raleigh! butyou talk rashly! But if I must, Captain Leigh—
’Where duty calls
To brazen walls,
How base the slave who flinches’
Lads, who’ll follow me?”
“Thou askest for volunteers, as if thou wertto lead a forlorn hope. Pull away at the usquebaugh,man, and swallow Dutch courage, since thine Englishis oozed away. Stay, I’ll go myself.”
“And I with you,” said Raleigh. “Asthe queen’s true knight-errant, I am bound tobe behindhand in no adventure. Who knows but wemay find a wicked magician, just going to cut offthe head of some saffron-mantled princess?”and he dismounted.
“Oh, sirs, sirs, to endanger your precious—”
“Pooh,” said Raleigh. “I wearan amulet, and have a spell of art-magic at my tongue’send, whereby, sir ancient, neither can a ghost seeme, nor I see them. Come with us, Yeo, the Desmond-slayer,and we will shame the devil, or be shamed by him.”
“He may shame me, sir, but he will never frightenme,” quoth Yeo; “but the bog, captains?”
“Tut! Devonshire men, and heath-trottersborn, and not know our way over a peat moor!”
And the three strode away.
They splashed and scrambled for some quarter of amile to the knoll, while the cry became louder andlouder as they neared.
“That’s neither ghost nor otter, sirs,but a true Irish howl, as Captain Leigh said; andI’ll warrant Master Shamus knew as much longago,” said Yeo.
And in fact, they could now hear plainly the “Ochone,Ochonorie,” of some wild woman; and scramblingover the boulders of the knoll, in another minutecame full upon her.
She was a young girl, slu*ttish and unkempt, of course,but fair enough: her only covering, as usual,was the ample yellow mantle. There she sat upona stone, tearing her black dishevelled hair, and everynow and then throwing up her head, and bursting intoa long mournful cry, “for all the world,”as Yeo said, “like a dumb four-footed hound,and not a Christian soul.”
On her knees lay the head of a man of middle age,in the long soutane of a Romish priest. One lookat the attitude of his limbs told them that he wasdead.
The two paused in awe; and Raleigh’s spirit,susceptible of all poetical images, felt keenly thatstrange scene,—the bleak and bitter sky,the shapeless bog, the stunted trees, the savage girlalone with the corpse in that utter desolation.And as she bent her head over the still face, andcalled wildly to him who heard her not, and then, utterlyunmindful of the intruders, sent up again that drearywail into the dreary air, they felt a sacred horror,which almost made them turn away, and leave her unquestioned:but Yeo, whose nerves were of tougher fibre, askedquietly—
“Shall I go and search the fellow, captain?”
“Better, I think,” said Amyas.
Raleigh went gently to the girl, and spoke to herin English. She looked up at him, his armor andhis plume, with wide and wondering eyes, and thenshook her head, and returned to her lamentation.
Raleigh gently laid his hand on her arm, and liftedher up, while Yeo and Amyas bent over the corpse.
It was the body of a large and coarse-featured man,but wasted and shrunk as if by famine to a very skeleton.The hands and legs were cramped up, and the trunkbowed together, as if the man had died of cold orfamine. Yeo drew back the clothes from the thinbosom, while the girl screamed and wept, but madeno effort to stop him.
“Ask her who it is? Yeo, you know a littleIrish,” said Amyas.
He asked, but the girl made no answer. “Thestubborn jade won’t tell, of course, sir.If she were but a man, I’d make her soon enough.”
“Ask her who killed him?”
“No one, she says; and I believe she says true,for I can find no wound. The man has been starved,sirs, as I am a sinful man. God help him, thoughhe is a priest; and yet he seems full enough down below.What’s here? A big pouch, sirs, stuffedfull of somewhat.”
“Hand it hither.”
The two opened the pouch; papers, papers, but no scrapof food. Then a parchment. They unrolledit.
“Latin,” said Amyas; “you must construe,Don Scholar.”
“Is it possible?” said Raleigh, afterreading a moment. “This is indeed a prize!This is Saunders himself!”
Yeo sprang up from the body as if he had touched anadder. “Nick Saunders, the Legacy, sir?”
“Nicholas Saunders, the legate.”
“The villain! why did not he wait for me tohave the comfort of killing him? Dog!”and he kicked the corpse with his foot.
“Quiet! quiet! Remember the poor girl,”said Amyas, as she shrieked at the profanation, whileRaleigh went on, half to himself:
“Yes, this is Saunders. Misguided fool,and this is the end! To this thou hast come withthy plotting and thy conspiring, thy lying and thyboasting, consecrated banners and Pope’s bulls,Agnus Deis and holy waters, the blessing of all saintsand angels, and thy Lady of the Immaculate Conception!Thou hast called on the heavens to judge between theeand us, and here is their answer! What is thatin his hand, Amyas? Give it me. A pastoralepistle to the Earl of Ormond, and all nobles of therealm of Ireland; ’To all who groan beneath theloathsome tyranny of an illegitimate adulteress, etc.,Nicholas Saunders, by the grace of God, Legate, etc.’Bah! and this forsooth was thy last meditation!Incorrigible pedant! Victrix causa Diis placuit,sed victa Catoni!”
He ran his eye through various other documents, writtenin the usual strain: full of huge promises fromthe Pope and the king of Spain; frantic and filthyslanders against Elizabeth, Burghley, Leicester, Essex(the elder), Sidney, and every great and good man (nevermind of which party) who then upheld the commonweal;bombastic attempts to terrify weak consciences, bydenouncing endless fire against those who opposedthe true faith; fulsome ascriptions of martyrdom andsanctity to every rebel and traitor who had been hangedfor the last twenty years; wearisome arguments aboutthe bull In Caena Domini, Elizabeth’s excommunication,the nullity of English law, the sacred duty of rebellion,the right to kill a prince impenitently heretical,and the like insanities and villainies, which maybe read at large in Camden, the Phoenix Britannicus,Fox’s Martyrs, or, surest of all, in the writingsof the worthies themselves.
With a gesture of disgust, Raleigh crammed the foulstuff back again into the pouch. Taking it withthem, they walked back to the company, and then remounting,marched away once more towards the lands of the Desmonds;and the girl was left alone with the dead.
An hour had passed, when another Englishman was standingby the wailing girl, and round him a dozen shockheadedkernes, skene on thigh and javelin in hand, were tossingabout their tawny rags, and adding their lamentationsto those of the lonely watcher.
The Englishman was Eustace Leigh; a layman still,but still at his old work. By two years of intrigueand labor from one end of Ireland to the other, hehad been trying to satisfy his conscience for rejecting“the higher calling” of the celibate;for mad hopes still lurked within that fiery heart.His brow was wrinkled now; his features harshened;the scar upon his face, and the slight distortionwhich accompanied it, was hidden by a bushy beardfrom all but himself; and he never forgot it for aday, nor forgot who had given it to him.
He had been with Desmond, wandering in moor and mossfor many a month in danger of his life; and now hewas on his way to James Fitz-Eustace, Lord Baltinglas,to bring him the news of Desmond’s death; andwith him a remnant of the clan, who were either toostout-hearted, or too desperately stained with crime,to seek peace from the English, and, as their fellowsdid, find it at once and freely.
There Eustace stood, looking down on all that wasleft of the most sacred personage of Ireland; theman who, as he once had hoped, was to regenerate hisnative land, and bring the proud island of the Westonce more beneath that gentle yoke, in which unitedChristendom labored for the commonweal of the universalChurch. There he was, and with him all Eustace’sdreams, in the very heart of that country which hehad vowed, and believed as he vowed, was ready torise in arms as one man, even to the baby at the breast(so he had said), in vengeance against the Saxon heretic,and sweep the hated name of Englishman into the deepestabysses of the surge which walled her coasts; withSpain and the Pope to back him, and the wealth ofthe Jesuits at his command; in the midst of faithfulCatholics, valiant soldiers, noblemen who had pledgedthemselves to die for the cause, serfs who worshippedhim as a demigod—starved to death in abog! It was a pretty plain verdict on the reasonablenessof his expectations; but not to Eustace Leigh.
It was a failure, of course; but it was an accident;indeed, to have been expected, in a wicked world whoseprince and master, as all knew, was the devil himself;indeed, proof of the righteousness of the cause—forwhen had the true faith been other than persecutedand trampled under foot? If one came to thinkof it with eyes purified from the tears of carnalimpatience, what was it but a glorious martyrdom?
“Blest Saunders!” murmured Eustace Leigh;“let me die the death of the righteous, andlet my last end he like this! Ora pro me, mostexcellent martyr, while I dig thy grave upon thislonely moor, to wait there for thy translation toone of those stately shrines, which, cemented by theblood of such as thee, shall hereafter rise restoredtoward heaven, to make this land once more ‘TheIsle of Saints.’”
The corpse was buried; a few prayers said hastily;and Eustace Leigh was away again, not now to findBaltinglas; for it was more than his life was worth.The girl had told him of the English soldiers who hadpassed, and he knew that they would reach the earlprobably before he did. The game was up; allwas lost. So he retraced his steps, as a desperateresource, to the last place where he would be lookedfor, and after a month of disguising, hiding, andother expedients, found himself again in his nativecounty of Devon, while Fitz-Eustace Viscount Baltinglashad taken ship for Spain, having got little by hisfamous argument to Ormond in behalf of his joiningthe Church of Rome, “Had not thine ancestor,blessed Thomas of Canterbury, died for the Church ofRome, thou hadst never been Earl of Ormond.”The premises were certainly sounder than those ofhis party were wont to be; for it was to expiate themurder of that turbulent hero that the Ormond landshad been granted by Henry II.: but as for theconclusion therefrom, it was much on a par with therest.
And now let us return to Raleigh and Amyas, as theyjog along their weary road. They have many thingsto talk of; for it is but three days since they met.
Amyas, as you see, is coming fast into Raleigh’sold opinion of Ireland. Raleigh, under the inspirationof a possible grant of Desmond’s lands, lookson bogs and rocks transfigured by his own hopes andfancy, as if by the glory of a rainbow. He lookedat all things so, noble fellow, even thirty yearsafter, when old, worn out, and ruined; well for himhad it been otherwise, and his heart had grown oldwith his head! Amyas, who knows nothing aboutDesmond’s lands, is puzzled at the change.
“Why, what is this, Raleigh? You are likechildren sitting in the market-place, and nothingpleases you. You wanted to get to Court, andyou have got there; and are lord and master, I hear,or something very like it, already—andas soon as fortune stuffs your mouth full of sweet-meats,do you turn informer on her?”
Raleigh laughed insignificantly, but was silent.
“And how is your friend Mr. Secretary Spenser,who was with us at Smerwick?”
“Spenser? He has thriven even as I have;and he has found, as I have, that in making one friendat Court you make ten foes; but ’Oderint dummetuant’ is no more my motto than his, Leigh.I want to be great—great I am already,they say, if princes’ favor can swell the froginto an ox; but I want to be liked, loved—Iwant to see people smile when I enter.”
“So they do, I’ll warrant,” saidAmyas.
“So do hyenas,” said Raleigh; “grinbecause they are hungry, and I may throw them a bone;I’ll throw you one now, old lad, or rather agood sirloin of beef, for the sake of your smile.That’s honest, at least, I’ll warrant,whosoever’s else is not. Have you heardof my brother Humphrey’s new project?”
“How should I hear anything in this waste howlingwilderness?”
“Kiss hands to the wilderness, then, and comewith me to Newfoundland!”
“You to Newfoundland?”
“Yes. I to Newfoundland, unless my littlematter here is settled at once. Gloriana don’tknow it, and sha’n’t till I’m off.She’d send me to the Tower, I think, if shecaught me playing truant. I could hardly getleave to come hither; but I must out, and try my fortune.I am over ears in debt already, and sick of courtsand courtiers. Humphrey must go next spring andtake possession of his kingdom beyond seas, or hispatent expires; and with him I go, and you too, mycircumnavigating giant.”
And then Raleigh expounded to Amyas the details ofthe great Newfoundland scheme, which whoso will mayread in the pages of Hakluyt.
Sir Humphrey Gilbert, Raleigh’s half-brother,held a patent for “planting” the landsof Newfoundland and “Meta Incognita” (Labrador).He had attempted a voyage thither with Raleigh in 1578,whereof I never could find any news, save that hecame back again, after a heavy brush with some Spanishships (in which his best captain, Mr. Morgan, waskilled), having done nothing, and much impaired hisown estate: but now he had collected a largesum; Sir Gilbert Peckham of London, Mr. Hayes of SouthDevon, and various other gentlemen, of whom more hereafter,had adventured their money; and a considerable colonywas to be sent out the next year, with miners, assayers,and, what was more, Parmenius Budaeus, Frank’sold friend, who had come to England full of thirstto see the wonders of the New World; and over andabove this, as Raleigh told Amyas in strictest secrecy,Adrian Gilbert, Humphrey’s brother, was turningevery stone at Court for a patent of discovery in theNorth-West; and this Newfoundland colony, though itwas to produce gold, silver, merchandise, and whatnot, was but a basis of operations, a halfway housefrom whence to work out the North-West passage to theIndies—that golden dream, as fatal to Englishvalor as the Guiana one to Spanish—andyet hardly, hardly to be regretted, when we rememberthe seamanship, the science, the chivalry, the heroism,unequalled in the history of the English nation, whichit has called forth among those our later Arctic voyagers,who have combined the knight-errantry of the middleage with the practical prudence of the modern, anddared for duty more than Cortez or Pizarro dared forgold.
Amyas, simple fellow, took all in greedily; he knewenough of the dangers of the Magellan passage to appreciatethe boundless value of a road to the East Indies whichwould (as all supposed then) save half the distance,and be as it were a private possession of the English,safe from Spanish interference; and he listened reverentlyto Sir Humphrey’s quaint proofs, half true,half fantastic, of such a passage, which Raleigh detailedto him—of the Primum Mobile, and its diurnalmotion from east to west, in obedience to which thesea-current flowed westward ever round the Cape of
Good Hope, and being unable to pass through the narrowstrait between South America and the Antarctic Continent,rushed up the American shore, as the Gulf Stream,and poured northwestward between Greenland and Labradortowards Cathay and India; of that most crafty argumentof Sir Humphrey’s—how Aristotle inhis book “De Mundo,” and Simon Gryneusin his annotations thereon, declare that the world(the Old World) is an island, compassed by that whichHomer calls the river Oceanus; ergo, the New Worldis an island also, and there is a North-West passage;of the three brothers (names unknown) who had actuallymade the voyage, and named what was afterwards calledDavis’s Strait after themselves; of the Indianswho were cast ashore in Germany in the reign of FredericBarbarossa who, as Sir Humphrey had learnedly provedper modum tollendi, could have come only by the North-West;and above all, of Salvaterra, the Spaniard, who in1568 had told Sir Henry Sidney (Philip’s father),there in Ireland, how he had spoken with a Mexicanfriar named Urdaneta, who had himself come from Mardel Zur (the Pacific) into Germany by that very North-Westpassage; at which last Amyas shook his head, and saidthat friars were liars, and seeing believing; “butif you must needs have an adventure, you insatiablesoul you, why not try for the golden city of Manoa?”“Manoa?” asked Raleigh, who had heard,as most had, dim rumors of the place. “Whatdo you know of it?”
Whereon Amyas told him all that he had gathered fromthe Spaniard; and Raleigh, in his turn, believed everyword.
“Humph!” said he after a long silence.“To find that golden emperor; offer him helpand friendship from the queen of England; defend himagainst the Spaniards; if we became strong enough,conquer back all Peru from the Popish tyrants, andreinstate him on the throne of the Incas, with ourselvesfor his body-guard, as the Norman Varangians were tothe effeminate emperors of Byzant—Hey, Amyas?You would make a gallant chieftain of Varangs.We’ll do it, lad!”
“We’ll try,” said Amyas; “butwe must be quick, for there’s one Berreo swornto carry out the quest to the death; and if the Spaniardsonce get thither, their plan of works will be muchmore like Pizarro’s than like yours; and bythe time we come, there will be neither gold nor cityleft.”
“Nor Indians either, I’ll warrant thebutchers; but, lad, I am promised to Humphrey; I havea bark fitting out already, and all I have, and more,adventured in her; so Manoa must wait.”
“It will wait well enough, if the Spaniardsprosper no better on the Amazon than they have done;but must I come with you? To tell the truth,I am quite shore-sick, and to sea I must go. Whatwill my mother say?”
“I’ll manage thy mother,” said Raleigh;and so he did; for, to cut a long story short, hewent back the month after, and he not only took homeletters from Amyas to his mother, but so impressedon that good lady the enormous profits and honorsto be derived from Meta Incognita, and (which wasmost true) the advantage to any young man of sailingwith such a general as Humphrey Gilbert, most piousand most learned of seamen and of cavaliers, belovedand honored above all his compeers by Queen Elizabeth,that she consented to Amyas’s adventuring inthe voyage some two hundred pounds which had cometo him as his share of prize-money, after the evermemorable circumnavigation. For Mrs. Leigh, beit understood, was no longer at Burrough Court.By Frank’s persuasion, she had let the old place,moved up to London with her eldest son, and takenfor herself a lodging somewhere by Palace Stairs,which looked out upon the silver Thames (for Thameswas silver then), with its busy ferries and glidingboats, across to the pleasant fields of Lambeth, andthe Archbishop’s palace, and the wooded Surreyhills; and there she spent her peaceful days, closeto her Frank and to the Court. Elizabeth wouldhave had her re-enter it, offering her a small placein the household: but she declined, saying thatshe was too old and heart-weary for aught but prayer.So by prayer she lived, under the sheltering shadowof the tall minster where she went morn and even toworship, and to entreat for the two in whom her heartwas bound up; and Frank slipped in every day if butfor five minutes, and brought with him Spenser, orRaleigh, or Dyer, or Budaeus or sometimes Sidney’sself: and there was talk of high and holy things,of which none could speak better than could she; andeach guest went from that hallowed room a humblerand yet a loftier man. So slipped on the peacefulmonths, and few and far between came Irish letters,for Ireland was then farther from Westminster thanis the Black Sea now; but those were days in whichwives and mothers had learned (as they have learnedonce more, sweet souls!) to walk by faith and notby sight for those they love: and Mrs. Leighwas content (though when was she not content?) to hearthat Amyas was winning a good report as a brave andprudent officer, sober, just, and faithful, belovedand obeyed alike by English soldiers and Irish kernes.
Those two years, and the one which followed, werethe happiest which she had known since her husband’sdeath. But the cloud was fast coming up the horizon,though she saw it not. A little longer, and thesun would be hid for many a wintry day.
Amyas went to Plymouth (with Yeo, of course, at hisheels), and there beheld, for the first time, themajestic countenance of the philosopher of Comptoncastle. He lodged with Drake, and found him notover-sanguine as to the success of the voyage.
“For learning and manners, Amyas, there’snot his equal; and the queen may well love him, andDevon be proud of him: but book-learning is notbusiness: book-learning didn’t get me roundthe world; book-learning didn’t make CaptainHawkins, nor his father neither, the best ship-buildersfrom Hull to Cadiz; and book-learning, I very muchfear, won’t plant Newfoundland.”
However, the die was cast, and the little fleet offive sail assembled in Cawsand Bay. Amyas wasto go as a gentleman adventurer on board of Raleigh’sbark; Raleigh himself, however, at the eleventh hour,had been forbidden by the queen to leave England.Ere they left, Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s picturewas painted by some Plymouth artist, to be sent upto Elizabeth in answer to a letter and a gift sentby Raleigh, which, as a specimen of the men and ofthe time, I here transcribe*—
“Brother—I have sent you a tokenfrom her Majesty, an anchor guided by a lady, as yousee. And further, her Highness willed me to sendyou word, that she wisheth you as great good hap andsafety to your ship as if she were there in person,desiring you to have care of yourself as of that whichshe tendereth and, therefore, for her sake, you mustprovide for it accordingly. Furthermore, shecommandeth that you leave your picture with her.For the rest I leave till our meeting, or to the reportof the bearer, who would needs be the messenger ofthis good news. So I commit you to the will andprotection of God, who send us such life and deathas he shall please, or hath appointed.
“Richmond, this Friday morning,
“Your true Brother,
“W. Raleigh.”
* This letter was afew years since in the possession of Mr.
Pomeroy Gilbert, fort-majorat Dartmouth, a descendant of
the admiral’s.
“Who would not die, sir, for such a woman?”said Sir Humphrey (and he said truly), as he showedthat letter to Amyas.
“Who would not? But she bids you ratherlive for her.”
“I shall do both, young man; and for God too,I trust. We are going in God’s cause; wego for the honor of God’s Gospel, for the deliveranceof poor infidels led captive by the devil; for therelief of my distressed countrymen unemployed withinthis narrow isle; and to God we commit our cause.We fight against the devil himself; and stronger isHe that is within us than he that is against us.”
Some say that Raleigh himself came down to Plymouth,accompanied the fleet a day’s sail to sea, andwould have given her majesty the slip, and gone withthem Westward-ho, but for Sir Humphrey’s advice.It is likely enough: but I cannot find evidencefor it. At all events, on the 11th June the fleetsailed out, having, says Mr. Hayes, “in numberabout 260 men, among whom we had of every facultygood choice, as shipwrights, masons, carpenters, smiths,and such like, requisite for such an action; alsomineral men and refiners. Beside, for solace ofour people and allurement of the savages, we wereprovided of musique in good variety; not omittingthe least toys, as morris-dancers, hobby-horses, andMay-like conceits, to delight the savage people, whomwe intended to win by all fair means possible.”An armament complete enough, even to that tendernesstowards the Indians, which is so striking a feature
of the Elizabethan seamen (called out in them, perhaps,by horror at the Spanish cruelties, as well as bytheir more liberal creed), and to the daily serviceof God on board of every ship, according to the simpleold instructions of Captain John Hawkins to one ofhis little squadrons, “Keep good company; bewareof fire; serve God daily; and love one another”—anarmament, in short, complete in all but men. Thesailors had been picked up hastily and anywhere, andsoon proved themselves a mutinous, and, in the caseof the bark Swallow, a piratical set. The mechanicswere little better. The gentlemen-adventurers,puffed up with vain hopes of finding a new Mexico,became soon disappointed and surly at the hard practicalreality; while over all was the head of a sage andan enthusiast, a man too noble to suspect others, andtoo pure to make allowances for poor dirty human weaknesses.He had got his scheme perfect upon paper; well forhim, and for his company, if he had asked FrancisDrake to translate it for him into fact! As earlyas the second day, the seeds of failure began to sproutabove ground. The men of Raleigh’s bark,the Vice-Admiral, suddenly found themselves seized,or supposed themselves seized, with a contagious sickness,and at midnight forsook the fleet, and went back toPlymouth; whereto Mr. Hayes can only say, “Thereason I never could understand. Sure I am thatMr. Raleigh spared no cost in setting them forth.And so I leave it unto God!”But Amyas said more. He told Butler the captainplainly that, if the bark went back, he would not;that he had seen enough of ships deserting their consorts;that it should never be said of him that he had followedWinter’s example, and that, too, on a fair easterlywind; and finally that he had seen Doughty hangedfor trying to play such a trick; and that he mightsee others hanged too before he died. WhereonCaptain Butler offered to draw and fight, to whichAmyas showed no repugnance; whereon the captain, havingtaken a second look at Amyas’s thews and sinews,reconsidered the matter, and offered to put Amyas onboard of Sir Humphrey’s Delight, if he couldfind a crew to row him.
Amyas looked around.
“Are there any of Sir Francis Drake’smen on board?”
“Three, sir,” said Yeo. “RobertDrew, and two others.”
“Pelicans!” roared Amyas, “you havebeen round the world, and will you turn back fromWestward-ho?”
There was a moment’s silence, and then Drewcame forward.
“Lower us a boat, captain, and lend us a caliverto make signals with, while I get my kit on deck;I’ll after Captain Leigh, if I row him aboardall alone to my own hands.”
“If I ever command a ship, I will not forgetyou,” said Amyas.
“Nor us either, sir, we hope; for we haven’tforgotten you and your honest conditions,” saidboth the other Pelicans; and so away over the sidewent all the five, and pulled away after the admiral’slantern, firing shots at intervals as signals.Luckily for the five desperadoes, the night was allbut calm. They got on board before the morning,and so away into the boundless West.*
* The Raleigh, the largest ship ofthe squadron, was of only 200 tons burden; TheGolden Hind, Hayes’ ship, which returnedsafe, of 40; and The Squirrel (whereof more hereafter),of 10 tons! In such co*ckboats did these oldheroes brave the unknown seas.
CHAPTER XII
HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE
“Three lords satdrinking late yestreen,
And ere they paid thelawing,
They set a combat thembetween,
To fight it in the dawing”—ScotchBallad.
Every one who knows Bideford cannot but know Bidefordbridge; for it is the very omphalos, cynosure, andsoul, around which the town, as a body, has organizeditself; and as Edinburgh is Edinburgh by virtue ofits castle, Rome Rome by virtue of its capitol, andEgypt Egypt by virtue of its pyramids, so is BidefordBideford by virtue of its bridge. But all donot know the occult powers which have advanced andanimated the said wondrous bridge for now five hundredyears, and made it the chief wonder, according toPrince and Fuller, of this fair land of Devon:being first an inspired bridge, a soul-saving bridge,an alms-giving bridge, an educational bridge, a sentientbridge, and last, but not least, a dinner-giving bridge.All do not know how, when it began to be built somehalf mile higher up, hands invisible carried the stonesdown-stream each night to the present site; until SirRichard Gurney, parson of the parish, going to bedone night in sore perplexity and fear of the evilspirit who seemed so busy in his sheepfold, behelda vision of an angel, who bade build the bridge wherehe himself had so kindly transported the materials;for there alone was sure foundation amid the broadsheet of shifting sand. All do not know how BishopGrandison of Exeter proclaimed throughout his dioceseindulgences, benedictions, and “participationin all spiritual blessings for ever,” to allwho would promote the bridging of that dangerous ford;and so, consulting alike the interests of their soulsand of their bodies, “make the best of bothworlds.”
All do not know, nor do I, that “though thefoundation of the bridge is laid upon wool, yet itshakes at the slightest step of a horse;” orthat, “though it has twenty-three arches, yetone Wm. Alford (another Milo) carried on his backfor a wager four bushels salt-water measure, all thelength thereof;” or that the bridge is a veritableesquire, bearing arms of its own (a ship and bridgeproper on a plain field), and owning lands and tenementsin many parishes, with which the said miraculous bridgehas, from time to time, founded charities, built schools,waged suits at law, and finally (for this concernsus most) given yearly dinners, and kept for that purpose(luxurious and liquorish bridge that it was) the beststocked cellar of wines in all Devon.
To one of these dinners, as it happened, were invitedin the year 1583 all the notabilities of Bideford,and beside them Mr. St. Leger of Annery close by,brother of the marshal of Munster, and of Lady Grenville;a most worthy and hospitable gentleman, who, findingriches a snare, parted with them so freely to allhis neighbors as long as he lived, that he effectuallyprevented his children after him from falling intothe temptations thereunto incident.
Between him and one of the bridge trustees arose anargument, whether a salmon caught below the bridgewas better or worse than one caught above; and asthat weighty question could only be decided by practicalexperiment, Mr. St. Leger vowed that as the bridgehad given him a good dinner, he would give the bridgeone; offered a bet of five pounds that he would findthem, out of the pool below Annery, as firm and flakya salmon as the Appledore one which they had justeaten; and then, in the fulness of his heart, invitedthe whole company present to dine with him at Annerythree days after, and bring with them each a wife ordaughter; and Don Guzman being at table, he was invitedtoo.
So there was a mighty feast in the great hall at Annery,such as had seldom been since Judge Hankford feastedEdward the Fourth there; and while every one was eatingtheir best and drinking their worst, Rose Salterneand Don Guzman were pretending not to see each other,and watching each other all the more. But Rose,at least, had to be very careful of her glances; fornot only was her father at the table, but just oppositeher sat none other than Messrs. William Cary and ArthurSt. Leger, lieutenants in her majesty’s Irisharmy, who had returned on furlough a few days before.
Rose Salterne and the Spaniard had not exchanged aword in the last six months, though they had met manytimes. The Spaniard by no means avoided her company,except in her father’s house; he only took careto obey her carefully, by seeming always unconsciousof her presence, beyond the stateliest of salutesat entering and departing. But he took care, atthe same time, to lay himself out to the very bestadvantage whenever he was in her presence; to be morewitty, more eloquent, more romantic, more full ofwonderful tales than he ever yet had been. Thecunning Don had found himself foiled in his firsttactic; and he was now trying another, and a far moreformidable one. In the first place, Rose deserveda very severe punishment, for having dared to refusethe love of a Spanish nobleman; and what greater punishmentcould he inflict than withdrawing the honor of hisattentions, and the sunshine of his smiles? Therewas conceit enough in that notion, but there was cunningtoo; for none knew better than the Spaniard, thatwomen, like the world, are pretty sure to value aman (especially if there be any real worth in him)at his own price; and that the more he demands forhimself, the more they will give for him.
And now he would put a high price on himself, andpique her pride, as she was too much accustomed toworship, to be won by flattering it. He mighthave done that by paying attention to some one else:but he was too wise to employ so coarse a method,which might raise indignation, or disgust, or despairin Rose’s heart, but would have never broughther to his feet—as it will never bringany woman worth bringing. So he quietly and unobtrusively
showed her that he could do without her; and she, poorfool, as she was meant to do, began forthwith to askherself—why? What was the hidden treasure,what was the reserve force, which made him independentof her, while she could not say that she was independentof him? Had he a secret? how pleasant to knowit! Some huge ambition? how pleasant to sharein it! Some mysterious knowledge? how pleasantto learn it! Some capacity of love beyond thecommon? how delicious to have it all for her own!He must be greater, wiser, richer-hearted than shewas, as well as better-born. Ah, if his wealthwould but supply her poverty! And so, step bystep, she was being led to sue in forma pauperis tothe very man whom she had spurned when he sued in likeform to her. That temptation of having some mysteriousprivate treasure, of being the priestess of some hiddensanctuary, and being able to thank Heaven that shewas not as other women are, was becoming fast too muchfor Rose, as it is too much for most. For noneknew better than the Spaniard how much more fond womenare, by the very law of their sex, of worshippingthan of being worshipped, and of obeying than of beingobeyed; how their coyness, often their scorn, is buta mask to hide their consciousness of weakness; anda mask, too, of which they themselves will often bethe first to tire.And Rose was utterly tired of that same mask as shesat at table at Annery that day; and Don Guzman sawit in her uneasy and downcast looks, and thinking(conceited coxcomb) that she must be by now sufficientlypunished, stole a glance at her now and then, and wasnot abashed when he saw that she dropped her eyeswhen they met his, because he saw her silence andabstraction increase, and something like a blush stealinto her cheeks. So he pretended to be as muchdowncast and abstracted as she was, and went on withhis glances, till he once found her, poor thing, lookingat him to see if he was looking at her; and then heknew his prey was safe, and asked her, with his eyes,“Do you forgive me?” and saw her stopdead in her talk to her next neighbor, and falter,and drop her eyes, and raise them again after a minutein search of his, that he might repeat the pleasantquestion. And then what could she do but answerwith all her face and every bend of her pretty neck,“And do you forgive me in turn?”
Whereon Don Guzman broke out jubilant, like nightingaleon bough, with story, and jest, and repartee; andbecame forthwith the soul of the whole company, andthe most charming of all cavaliers. And poor Roseknew that she was the cause of his sudden change ofmood, and blamed herself for what she had done, andshuddered and blushed at her own delight, and longedthat the feast was over, that she might hurry homeand hide herself alone with sweet fancies about a lovethe reality of which she felt she dared not face.
It was a beautiful sight, the great terrace at Annerythat afternoon; with the smart dames in their gaudydresses parading up and down in twos and threes beforethe stately house; or looking down upon the park, withthe old oaks, and the deer, and the broad land-lockedriver spread out like a lake beneath, all bright inthe glare of the midsummer sun; or listening obsequiouslyto the two great ladies who did the honors, Mrs. St.Leger the hostess, and her sister-in-law, fair LadyGrenville. All chatted, and laughed, and eyedeach other’s dresses, and gossiped about eachother’s husbands and servants: only RoseSalterne kept apart, and longed to get into a cornerand laugh or cry, she knew not which.
“Our pretty Rose seems sad,” said LadyGrenville, coming up to her. “Cheer up,child! we want you to come and sing to us.”
Rose answered she knew not what, and obeyed mechanically.
She took the lute, and sat down on a bench beneaththe house, while the rest grouped themselves roundher.
“What shall I sing?”
“Let us have your old song, ‘Earl Haldan’sDaughter.’”
Rose shrank from it. It was a loud and dashingballad, which chimed in but little with her thoughts;and Frank had praised it too, in happier days longsince gone by. She thought of him, and of others,and of her pride and carelessness; and the song seemedominous to her: and yet for that very reasonshe dared not refuse to sing it, for fear of suspicionwhere no one suspected; and so she began per force—
I.
“It was Earl Haldan’s daughter, She look’dacross the sea; She look’d across the water,And long and loud laugh’d she; ’The locksof six princesses Must be my marriage-fee, So heybonny boat, and ho bonny boat! Who comes a wooingme?’
II.
“It was Earl Haldan’s daughter, She walk’dalong the sand; When she was aware of a knight sofair, Come sailing to the land. His sails wereall of velvet, His mast of beaten gold, And ’heybonny boat, and ho bonny boat, Who saileth here sobold?’
III.
“’The locks of five princesses I won beyondthe sea; I shore their golden tresses, To fringe acloak for thee. One handful yet is wanting, Butone of all the tale; So hey bonny boat, and ho bonnyboat! Furl up thy velvet sail!’
IV.
“He leapt into the water, That rover young andbold; He gript Earl Haldan’s daughter, He shoreher locks of gold; ’Go weep, go weep, proudmaiden, The tale is full to-day. Now hey bonnyboat, and ho bonny boat! Sail Westward-ho, andaway!’”
As she ceased, a measured voice, with a foreign accent,thrilled through her.
“In the East, they say the nightingale singsto the rose; Devon, more happy, has nightingale androse in one.”
“We have no nightingales in Devon, Don Guzman,”said Lady Grenville; “but our little forestthrushes sing, as you hear, sweetly enough to contentany ear. But what brings you away from the gentlemenso early?”
“These letters,” said he, “whichhave just been put into my hand; and as they callme home to Spain, I was loath to lose a moment of thatdelightful company from which I must part so soon.”
“To Spain?” asked half-a-dozen voices:for the Don was a general favorite.
“Yes, and thence to the Indies. My ransomhas arrived, and with it the promise of an office.I am to be Governor of La Guayra in Caracas.Congratulate me on my promotion.”
A mist was over Rose’s eyes. The Spaniard’svoice was hard and flippant. Did he care forher, after all? And if he did, was it neverthelesshopeless? How her cheeks glowed! Everybodymust see it! Anything to turn away their attentionfrom her, and in that nervous haste which makes peoplespeak, and speak foolishly too, just because they oughtto be silent, she asked—
“And where is La Guayra?”
“Half round the world, on the coast of the SpanishMain. The loveliest place on earth, and the loveliestgovernor’s house, in a forest of palms at thefoot of a mountain eight thousand feet high: Ishall only want a wife there to be in paradise.”
“I don’t doubt that you may persuade somefair lady of Seville to accompany you thither,”said Lady Grenville.
“Thanks, gracious madam: but the truthis, that since I have had the bliss of knowing Englishladies, I have begun to think that they are the onlyones on earth worth wooing.”
“A thousand thanks for the compliment; but Ifear none of our free English maidens would like tosubmit to the guardianship of a duenna. Eh, Rose?how should you like to be kept under lock and key allday by an ugly old woman with a horn on her forehead?”
Poor Rose turned so scarlet that Lady Grenville knewher secret on the spot, and would have tried to turnthe conversation: but before she could speak,some burgher’s wife blundered out a commonplaceabout the jealousy of Spanish husbands; and another,to make matters better, giggled out something moretrue than delicate about West Indian masters and fairslaves.
“Ladies,” said Don Guzman, reddening,“believe me that these are but the calumniesof ignorance. If we be more jealous than othernations, it is because we love more passionately.If some of us abroad are profligate, it is becausethey, poor men, have no helpmate, which, like theamethyst, keeps its wearer pure. I could tellyou stories, ladies, of the constancy and devotionof Spanish husbands, even in the Indies, as strangeas ever romancer invented.”
“Can you? Then we challenge you to giveus one at least.”
“I fear it would be too long, madam.”
“The longer the more pleasant, senor. Howcan we spend an hour better this afternoon, whilethe gentlemen within are finishing their wine?”
Story-telling, in those old times, when books (andauthors also, lucky for the public) were rarer thannow, was a common amusem*nt; and as the Spaniard’saccomplishments in that line were well known, all theladies crowded round him; the servants brought chairsand benches; and Don Guzman, taking his seat in themidst, with a proud humility, at Lady Grenville’sfeet, began—
“Your perfections, fair and illustrious ladies,must doubtless have heard, ere now, how SebastianCabota, some forty-five years ago, sailed forth witha commission from my late master, the Emperor Charlesthe Fifth, to discover the golden lands of Tarshish,Ophir, and Cipango; but being in want of provisions,stopped short at the mouth of that mighty South Americanriver to which he gave the name of Rio de la Plata,and sailing up it, discovered the fair land of Paraguay.But you may not have heard how, on the bank of thatriver, at the mouth of the Rio Terceiro, he builta fort which men still call Cabot’s Tower; norhave you, perhaps, heard of the strange tale whichwill ever make the tower a sacred spot to all truelovers.
“For when he returned to Spain the year after,he left in his tower a garrison of a hundred and twentymen, under the command of Nuno de Lara, Ruiz Moschera,and Sebastian da Hurtado, old friends and fellow-soldiersof my invincible grandfather Don Ferdinando da Soto;and with them a jewel, than which Spain never possessedone more precious, Lucia Miranda, the wife of Hurtado,who, famed in the court of the emperor no less forher wisdom and modesty than for her unrivalled beauty,had thrown up all the pomp and ambition of a palace,to marry a poor adventurer, and to encounter withhim the hardships of a voyage round the world.Mangora, the cacique of the neighboring Timbuez Indians(with whom Lara had contrived to establish a friendship),cast his eyes on this fair creature, and no soonersaw than he coveted; no sooner coveted than he plotted,with the devilish subtilty of a savage, to seize byforce what he knew he could never gain by right.She soon found out his passion (she was wise enough—whatevery woman is not—to know when she isloved), and telling her husband, kept as much as shecould out of her new lover’s sight; while thesavage pressed Hurtado to come and visit him, andto bring his lady with him. Hurtado, suspectingthe snare, and yet fearing to offend the cacique,excused himself courteously on the score of his soldier’sduty; and the savage, mad with desire and disappointment,began plotting against Hurtado’s life.
“So went on several weeks, till food grew scarce,and Don Hurtado and Don Ruiz Moschera, with fiftysoldiers, were sent up the river on a foraging party.Mangora saw his opportunity, and leapt at it forthwith.
“The tower, ladies, as I have heard from thosewho have seen it, stands on a knoll at the meetingof the two rivers, while on the land side stretchesa dreary marsh, covered with tall grass and bushes;a fit place for the ambuscade of four thousand Indians,which Mangora, with devilish cunning, placed aroundthe tower, while he himself went boldly up to it,followed by thirty men, laden with grain, fruit, game,and all the delicacies which his forests could afford.
“There, with a smiling face, he told the unsuspectingLara his sorrow for the Spaniards’ want of food;besought him to accept the provision he had brought,and was, as he had expected, invited by Lara to comein and taste the wines of Spain.
“In went he and his thirty fellow-bandits, andthe feast continued, with songs and libations, farinto the night, while Mangora often looked round,and at last boldly asked for the fair Miranda:but she had shut herself into her lodging, pleadingillness.
“A plea, fair ladies, which little availed thathapless dame, for no sooner had the Spaniards retiredto rest, leaving (by I know not what madness) Mangoraand his Indians within, than they were awakened bythe cry of fire, the explosion of their magazine,and the inward rush of the four thousand from themarsh outside.
“Why pain your gentle ears with details of slaughter?A few fearful minutes sufficed to exterminate my bewilderedand unarmed countrymen, to bind the only survivors,Miranda (innocent cause of the whole tragedy) andfour other women with their infants, and to lead themaway in triumph across the forest towards the Indiantown.
“Stunned by the suddenness of the evils whichhad passed, and still more by the thought of thoseworse which were to come (as she too well foresaw),Miranda travelled all night through the forest, andwas brought in triumph at day-dawn before the Indianking to receive her doom. Judge of her astonishment,when, on looking up, she saw that he was not Mangora.
“A ray of hope flashed across her, and she askedwhere he was.
“‘He was slain last night,’ saidthe king; ’and I, his brother Siripa, am nowcacique of the Timbuez.’
“It was true; Lara, maddened with drink, rage,and wounds, had caught up his sword, rushed into thethick of the fight, singled out the traitor, and slainhim on the spot; and then, forgetting safety in revenge,had continued to plunge his sword into the corpse,heedless of the blows of the savages, till he fellpierced with a hundred wounds.
“A ray of hope, as I said, flashed across thewretched Miranda for a moment; but the next she foundthat she had been freed from one bandit only to bedelivered to another.
“‘Yes,’ said the new king, in brokenSpanish; ’my brother played a bold stake, andlost it; but it was well worth the risk, and he showedhis wisdom thereby. You cannot be his queen now:you must content yourself with being mine.’
“Miranda, desperate, answered him with everyfierce taunt which she could invent against his treacheryand his crime; and asked him, how he came to dreamthat the wife of a Christian Spaniard would condescendto become the mistress of a heathen savage; hoping,unhappy lady, to exasperate him into killing her onthe spot. But in vain; she only prolonged therebyher own misery. For, whether it was, ladies, thatthe novel sight of divine virtue and beauty awed (as
it may have awed me ere now), where it had just beforemaddened; or whether some dream crossed the savage(as it may have crossed me ere now), that he couldmake the wisdom of a mortal angel help his ambition,as well as her beauty his happiness; or whether (whichI will never believe of one of those dark childrenof the devil, though I can boldly assert it of myself)some spark of boldness within him made him too proudto take by force what he could not win by persuasion,certain it is, as the Indians themselves confessedafterwards, that the savage only answered her by smiles;and bidding his men unbind her, told her that shewas no slave of his, and that it only lay with herto become the sovereign of him and all his vassals;assigned her a hut to herself, loaded her with savageornaments, and for several weeks treated her with noless courtesy (so miraculous is the power of love)than if he had been a cavalier of Castile.“Three months and more, ladies, as I have heard,passed in this misery, and every day Miranda grewmore desperate of all deliverance, and saw staringher in the face, nearer and nearer, some hideous andshameful end; when one day going down with the wivesof the cacique to draw water in the river, she sawon the opposite bank a white man in a tattered Spanishdress, with a drawn sword in his hand; who had no soonerespied her, than shrieking her name, he plunged intothe stream, swam across, landed at her feet, and claspedher in his arms. It was no other, ladies, incredibleas it may seem, than Don Sebastian himself, who hadreturned with Ruiz Moschera to the tower, and foundit only a charred and bloodstained heap of ruins.
“He guessed, as by inspiration, what had passed,and whither his lady was gone; and without a thoughtof danger, like a true Spanish gentleman and a trueSpanish lover, darted off alone into the forest, andguided only by the inspiration of his own loyal heart,found again his treasure, and found it still unstainedand his own.
“Who can describe the joy, and who again theterror, of their meeting? The Indian women hadfled in fear, and for the short ten minutes that thelovers were left together, life, to be sure, was onelong kiss. But what to do they knew not.To go inland was to rush into the enemy’s arms.He would have swum with her across the river, and attemptedit; but his strength, worn out with hunger and travel,failed him; he drew her with difficulty on shore again,and sat down by her to await their doom with prayer,the first and last resource of virtuous ladies, asweapons are of cavaliers.
“Alas for them! May no true lovers everhave to weep over joys so soon lost, after havingbeen so hardly found! For, ere a quarter of anhour was passed, the Indian women, who had fled athis approach, returned with all the warriors of thetribe. Don Sebastian, desperate, would fain haveslain his wife and himself on the spot; but his handsank again—and whose would not but an Indian’s?—ashe raised it against that fair and faithful breast;in a few minutes he was surrounded, seized from behind,disarmed, and carried in triumph into the village.And if you cannot feel for him in that misery, fairladies, who have known no sorrow, yet I, a prisoner,can.”
Don Guzman paused a moment, as if overcome by emotion;and I will not say that, as he paused, he did notlook to see if Rose Salterne’s eyes were onhim, as indeed they were.
“Yes, I can feel with him; I can estimate, betterthan you, ladies, the greatness of that love whichcould submit to captivity; to the loss of his sword;to the loss of that honor, which, next to god and hismother, is the true Spaniard’s deity. Thereare those who have suffered that shame at the handsof valiant gentlemen” (and again Don Guzman lookedup at Rose), “and yet would have sooner dieda thousand deaths; but he dared to endure it fromthe hands of villains, savages, heathens; for he wasa true Spaniard, and therefore a true lover: butI will go on with my tale.
“This wretched pair, then, as I have been toldby Ruiz Moschera himself, stood together before thecacique. He, like a true child of the devil,comprehending in a moment who Don Sebastian was, laughedwith delight at seeing his rival in his power, andbade bind him at once to a tree, and shoot him todeath with arrows.
“But the poor Miranda sprang forward, and threwherself at his feet, and with piteous entreaties besoughtfor mercy from him who knew no mercy.
“And yet love and the sight of her beauty, andthe terrible eloquence of her words, while she invokedon his head the just vengeance of Heaven, wroughteven on his heart: nevertheless the pleasure ofseeing her, who had so long scorned him, a suppliantat his feet, was too delicate to be speedily foregone;and not till she was all but blind with tears, anddumb with agony of pleading, did he make answer, thatif she would consent to become his wife, her husband’slife should be spared. She, in her haste andmadness, sobbed out desperately I know not what consent.Don Sebastian, who understood, if not the language,still the meaning (so had love quickened his understanding),shrieked to her not to lose her precious soul forthe sake of his worthless body; that death was nothingcompared to the horror of that shame; and such otherwords as became a noble and valiant gentleman.She, shuddering now at her own frailty, would haverecalled her promise; but Siripa kept her to it, vowing,if she disappointed him again, such a death to herhusband as made her blood run cold to hear of; andthe wretched woman could only escape for the presentby some story, that it was not the custom of her raceto celebrate nuptials till a month after the betrothment;that the anger of Heaven would be on her, unless shefirst performed in solitude certain religious rites;and lastly, that if he dared to lay hands on her husband,she would die so resolutely, that every drop of watershould be deep enough to drown her, every thorn sharpenough to stab her to the heart: till fearinglest by demanding too much he should lose all, andawed too, as he had been at first by a voice and lookswhich seemed to be, in comparison with his own, divine,Siripa bade her go back to her hut, promising herhusband life; but promising too, that if he ever foundthe two speaking together, even for a moment, he wouldpour out on them both all the cruelty of those torturesin which the devil, their father, has so perfectlyinstructed the Indians.
“So Don Sebastian, being stripped of his garments,and painted after the Indian fashion, was set to allmean and toilsome work, amid the buffetings and insultsof the whole village. And this, ladies, he enduredwithout a murmur, ay, took delight in enduring it,as he would have endured things worse a thousand times,only for the sake, like a true lover as he was, ofbeing near the goddess whom he worshipped, and ofseeing her now and then afar off, happy enough to berepaid even by that for all indignities.
“And yet, you who have loved may well guess,as I can, that ere a week had passed, Don Sebastianand the Lady Miranda had found means, in spite ofall spiteful eyes, to speak to each other once andagain; and to assure each other of their love; evento talk of escape, before the month’s graceshould be expired. And Miranda, whose heart wasfull of courage as long as she felt her husband nearher, went so far as to plan a means of escape whichseemed possible and hopeful.
“For the youngest wife of the cacique, who,till Miranda’s coming, had been his favorite,often talked with the captive, insulting and tormentingher in her spite and jealousy, and receiving in returnonly gentle and conciliatory words. And one daywhen the woman had been threatening to kill her, Mirandatook courage to say, ’Do you fancy that I shallnot be as glad to be rid of your husband, as you tobe rid of me? Why kill me needlessly, when allthat you require is to get me forth of the place?Out of sight, out of mind. When I am gone, yourhusband will soon forget me, and you will be his favoriteas before.’ Soon, seeing that the girlwas inclined to listen, she went on to tell her ofher love to Don Sebastian, entreating and adjuringher, by the love which she bore the cacique, to pityand help her; and so won upon the girl, that she consentedto be privy to Miranda’s escape, and even offeredto give her an opportunity of speaking to her husbandabout it; and at last was so won over by Miranda,that she consented to keep all intruders out of theway, while Don Sebastian that very night visited Mirandain her hut.
“The hapless husband, thirsting for his love,was in that hut, be sure, the moment that kind darknesscovered his steps:—and what cheer thesetwo made of each other, when they once found themselvestogether, lovers must fancy for themselves: butso it was, that after many a leave-taking, there wasno departure; and when the night was well-nigh past,Sebastian and Miranda were still talking together asif they had never met before, and would never meetagain.
“But it befell, ladies (would that I was notspeaking truth, but inventing, that I might have inventedsomething merrier for your ears), it befell that verynight, that the young wife of the cacique, whose heartwas lifted up with the thought that her rival was nowat last disposed of, tried all her wiles to win backher faithless husband; but in vain. He only answeredher caresses by indifference, then by contempt, theninsults, then blows (for with the Indians, woman isalways a slave, or rather a beast of burden), and wenton to draw such cruel comparisons between her darkskin and the glorious fairness of the Spanish lady,that the wretched girl, beside herself with rage, burstout at last with her own secret. ’Fool thatyou are to madden yourself about a stranger who prizesone hair of her Spanish husband’s head morethan your whole body! Much does your new bridecare for you! She is at this moment in her husband’sarms!’
“The cacique screamed furiously to know whatshe meant; and she, her jealousy and hate of the guiltlesslady boiling over once for all, bade him, if he doubtedher, go see for himself.
“What use of many words? They were taken.Love, or rather lust, repelled, turned in a momentinto devilish hate; and the cacique, summoning hisIndians, bade them bind the wretched Don Sebastianto a tree, and there inflicted on him the lingeringdeath to which he had at first been doomed. ForMiranda he had more exquisite cruelty in store.And shall I tell it? Yes, ladies, for the honorof love and of Spain, and for a justification of thosecruelties against the Indians which are so falselyimputed to our most Christian nation, it shall be told:he delivered the wretched lady over to the tendermercies of his wives; and what they were is neitherfit for me to tell, nor you to hear.
“The two wretched lovers cast themselves uponeach other’s neck; drank each other’ssalt tears with the last kisses; accused themselvesas the cause of each other’s death; and then,rising above fear and grief, broke out into triumphat thus dying for and with each other; and proclaimingthemselves the martyrs of love, commended their soulsto God, and then stepped joyfully and proudly to theirdoom.”
“And what was that?” asked half-a-dozentrembling voices.
“Don Sebastian, as I have said, was shot todeath with arrows; but as for the Lady Miranda, thewretches themselves confessed afterwards, when theyreceived due vengeance for their crimes (as they didreceive it), that after all shameful and horribleindignities, she was bound to a tree, and there burnedslowly in her husband’s sight, stifling hershrieks lest they should wring his heart by one additionalpang, and never taking her eyes, to the last, offthat beloved face. And so died (but not unavenged)Sebastian de Hurtado and Lucia Miranda,—aSpanish husband and a Spanish wife.”
The Don paused, and the ladies were silent awhile,for, indeed, there was many a gentle tear to be dried;but at last Mrs. St. Leger spoke, half, it seemed,to turn off the too painful impression of the over-truetale, the outlines whereof may be still read in oldCharlevoix.
“You have told a sad and a noble tale, sir,and told it well; but, though your story was to setforth a perfect husband, it has ended rather by settingforth a perfect wife.”
“And if I have forgotten, madam, in praisingher to praise him also, have I not done that whichwould have best pleased his heroical and chivalrousspirit? He, be sure, would have forgotten hisown virtue in the light of hers; and he would havewished me, I doubt not, to do the same also.And beside, madam, where ladies are the theme, whohas time or heart to cast one thought upon their slaves?”And the Don made one of his deliberate and highly-finishedbows.
“Don Guzman is courtier enough, as far as complimentsgo,” said one of the young ladies; “butit was hardly courtier-like of him to find us so sadan entertainment, upon a merry evening.”
“Yes,” said another; “we must askhim for no more stories.”
“Or songs either,” said a third.“I fear he knows none but about forsaken maidensand despairing lovers.”
“I know nothing at all about forsaken ladies,madam; because ladies are never forsaken in Spain.”
“Nor about lovers despairing there, I suppose?”
“That good opinion of ourselves, madam, withwhich you English are pleased to twit us now and then,always prevents so sad a state of mind. For myself,I have had little to do with love; but I have had stillless to do with despair, and intend, by help of Heaven,to have less.”
“You are valiant, sir.”
“You would not have me a coward, madam?”and so forth.
Now all this time Don Guzman had been talking at RoseSalterne, and giving her the very slightest hint,every now and then, that he was talking at her; tillthe poor girl’s face was almost crimson withpleasure, and she gave herself up to the spell.He loved her still; perhaps he knew that she lovedhim: he must know some day. She felt nowthat there was no escape; she was almost glad to thinkthat there was none.
The dark, handsome, stately face; the melodious voice,with its rich Spanish accent; the quiet grace of thegestures; the wild pathos of the story; even the measuredand inflated style, as of one speaking of anotherand a loftier world; the chivalrous respect and admirationfor woman, and for faithfulness to woman—whata man he was! If he had been pleasant heretofore,he was now enchanting. All the ladies round feltthat, she could see, as much as she herself did; no,not quite as much, she hoped. She surely understoodhim, and felt for his loneliness more than any ofthem. Had she not been feeling for it throughlong and sad months? But it was she whom he wasthinking of, she whom he was speaking to, all along.Oh, why had the tale ended so soon? She wouldgladly have sat and wept her eyes out till midnightover one melodious misery after another; but she wasquite wise enough to keep her secret to herself; andsat behind the rest, with greedy eyes and demure lips,full of strange and new happiness—or misery;she knew not which to call it.
In the meanwhile, as it was ordained, Cary could seeand hear through the window of the hall a good dealof what was going on.
“How that Spanish crocodile ogles the Rose!”whispered he to young St. Leger.
“What wonder? He is not the first by manya one.”
“Ay—but—By heaven, sheis making side-shots at him with those languishingeyes of hers, the little baggage!”
“What wonder? He is not the first, sayI, and won’t be the last. Pass the wine,man.”
“I have had enough; between sack and singing,my head is as mazed as a dizzy sheep. Let meslip out.”
“Not yet, man; remember you are bound for onesong more.”
So Cary, against his will, sat and sang another song;and in the meanwhile the party had broken up, andwandered away by twos and threes, among trim gardensand pleasaunces, and clipped yew-walks—
Where west-winds withmusky wing
About the cedarn alleysfling
Nard and cassia’sbalmy smells—”
admiring the beauty of that stately place, long sincepassed into other hands, and fallen to decay, butthen (if old Prince speaks true) one of the noblestmansions of the West.
At last Cary got away and out; sober, but just enoughflushed with wine to be ready for any quarrel; andluckily for him, had not gone twenty yards along thegreat terrace before he met Lady Grenville.
“Has your ladyship seen Don Guzman?”
“Yes—why, where is he? He waswith me not ten minutes ago. You know he is goingback to Spain.”
“Going! Has his ransom come?”
“Yes, and with it a governorship in the Indies.”
“Governorship! Much good may it do thegoverned.”
“Why not, then? He is surely a most gallantgentleman.”
“Gallant enough—yes,” saidCary, carelessly. “I must find him, andcongratulate him on his honors.”
“I will help you to find him,” said LadyGrenville, whose woman’s eye and ear had alreadysuspected something. “Escort me, sir.”
“It is but too great an honor to squire theQueen of Bideford,” said Cary, offering hishand.
“If I am your queen, sir, I must be obeyed,”answered she, in a meaning tone. Cary took thehint, and went on chattering cheerfully enough.
But Don Guzman was not to be found in garden or inpleasaunce.
“Perhaps,” at last said a burgher’swife, with a toss of her head, “your ladyshipmay meet with him at Hankford’s oak.”
“At Hankford’s oak! what should take himthere?”
“Pleasant company, I reckon” (with anothertoss). “I heard him and Mistress Salternetalking about the oak just now.”
Cary turned pale and drew in his breath.
“Very likely,” said Lady Grenville, quietly.“Will you walk with me so far, Mr. Cary?”
“To the world’s end, if your ladyshipcondescends so far.” And off they went,Lady Grenville wishing that they were going anywhereelse, but afraid to let Cary go alone; and suspecting,too, that some one or other ought to go.
So they went down past the herds of deer, by a trim-keptpath into the lonely dell where stood the fatal oak;and, as they went, Lady Grenville, to avoid more unpleasanttalk, poured into Cary’s unheeding ears thestory (which he probably had heard fifty times before)how old Chief-justice Hankford (whom some contradictorymyths make the man who committed Prince Henry to prisonfor striking him on the bench), weary of life andsickened at the horrors and desolations of the Warsof the Roses, went down to his house at Annery there,and bade his keeper shoot any man who, passing throughthe deer-park at night, should refuse to stand whenchallenged; and then going down into that glen himself,and hiding himself beneath that oak, met willinglyby his keeper’s hand the death which his owndared not inflict: but ere the story was halfdone, Cary grasped Lady Grenville’s hand sotightly that she gave a little shriek of pain.
“There they are!” whispered he, heedlessof her; and pointed to the oak, where, half hiddenby the tall fern, stood Rose and the Spaniard.
Her head was on his bosom. She seemed sobbing,trembling; he talking earnestly and passionately;but Lady Grenville’s little shriek made themboth look up. To turn and try to escape was toconfess all; and the two, collecting themselves instantly,walked towards her, Rose wishing herself fathoms deepbeneath the earth.
“Mind, sir,” whispered Lady Grenvilleas they came up; “you have seen nothing.”
“Madam?”
“If you are not on my ground, you are on mybrother’s. Obey me!”
Cary bit his lip, and bowed courteously to the Don.
“I have to congratulate you, I hear, senor,on your approaching departure.”
“I kiss your hands, senor, in return; but Iquestion whether it be a matter of congratulation,considering all that I leave behind.”
“So do I,” answered Cary, bluntly enough,and the four walked back to the house, Lady Grenvilletaking everything for granted with the most charminggood humor, and chatting to her three silent companionstill they gained the terrace once more, and found fouror five of the gentlemen, with Sir Richard at theirhead, proceeding to the bowling-green.
Lady Grenville, in an agony of fear about the quarrelwhich she knew must come, would have gladly whisperedfive words to her husband: but she dared notdo it before the Spaniard, and dreaded, too, a faintor a scream from the Rose, whose father was of theparty. So she walked on with her fair prisoner,commanding Cary to escort them in, and the Spaniardto go to the bowling-green.
Cary obeyed: but he gave her the slip the momentshe was inside the door, and then darted off to thegentlemen.
His heart was on fire: all his old passion forthe Rose had flashed up again at the sight of herwith a lover;—and that lover a Spaniard!He would cut his throat for him, if steel could doit! Only he recollected that Salterne was there,and shrank from exposing Rose; and shrank, too, asevery gentleman should, from making a public quarrelin another man’s house. Never mind.Where there was a will there was a way. He couldget him into a corner, and quarrel with him privatelyabout the cut of his beard, or the color of his ribbon.So in he went; and, luckily or unluckily, found standingtogether apart from the rest, Sir Richard, the Don,and young St. Leger.
“Well, Don Guzman, you have given us wine-bibbersthe slip this afternoon. I hope you have beenwell employed in the meanwhile?”
“Delightfully to myself, senor,” saidthe Don, who, enraged at being interrupted, if notdiscovered, was as ready to fight as Cary, but disliked,of course, an explosion as much as he did; “andto others, I doubt not.”
“So the ladies say,” quoth St. Leger.“He has been making them all cry with one ofhis stories, and robbing us meanwhile of the pleasurewe had hoped for from some of his Spanish songs.”
“The devil take Spanish songs!” said Cary,in a low voice, but loud enough for the Spaniard.Don Guzman clapt his hand on his sword-hilt instantly.
“Lieutenant Cary,” said Sir Richard, ina stern voice, “the wine has surely made youforget yourself!”
“As sober as yourself, most worshipful knight;but if you want a Spanish song, here’s one;and a very scurvy one it is, like its subject—
“DonDesperado
Walkedon the Prado,
And there he met hisenemy.
Hepulled out a knife, a,
Andlet out his life, a,
And fled for his ownacross the sea.”
And he bowed low to the Spaniard.
The insult was too gross to require any spluttering.
“Senor Cary, we meet?”
“I thank your quick apprehension, Don GuzmanMaria Magdalena Sotomayor de Soto. When, where,and with what weapons?”
“For God’s sake, gentlemen! NephewArthur, Cary is your guest; do you know the meaningof this?”
St. Leger was silent. Cary answered for him.
“An old Irish quarrel, I assure you, sir.A matter of years’ standing. In unlacingthe senor’s helmet, the evening that he was takenprisoner, I was unlucky enough to twitch his mustachios.You recollect the fact, of course, senor?”
“Perfectly,” said the Spaniard; and then,half-amused and half-pleased, in spite of his bitterwrath, at Cary’s quickness and delicacy in shieldingRose, he bowed, and—
“And it gives me much pleasure to find thathe whom I trust to have the pleasure of killing tomorrowmorning is a gentleman whose nice sense of honor rendershim thoroughly worthy of the sword of a De Soto.”
Cary bowed in return, while Sir Richard, who saw plainlyenough that the excuse was feigned, shrugged his shoulders.
“What weapons, senor?” asked Will again.
“I should have preferred a horse and pistols,”said Don Guzman after a moment, half to himself, andin Spanish; “they make surer work of it thanbodkins; but” (with a sigh and one of his smiles)“beggars must not be choosers.”
“The best horse in my stable is at your service,senor,” said Sir Richard Grenville, instantly.
“And in mine also, senor,” said Cary;“and I shall be happy to allow you a week totrain him, if he does not answer at first to a Spanishhand.”
“You forget in your courtesy, gentle sir, thatthe insult being with me, the time lies with me also.We wipe it off to-morrow morning with simple rapiersand daggers. Who is your second?”
“Mr. Arthur St. Leger here, senor: whois yours?”
The Spaniard felt himself alone in the world for onemoment; and then answered with another of his smiles,—
“Your nation possesses the soul of honor.He who fights an Englishman needs no second.”
“And he who fights among Englishmen will alwaysfind one,” said Sir Richard. “I amthe fittest second for my guest.”
“You only add one more obligation, illustriouscavalier, to a two-years’ prodigality of favors,which I shall never be able to repay.”
“But, Nephew Arthur,” said Grenville,“you cannot surely be second against your father’sguest, and your own uncle.”
“I cannot help it, sir; I am bound by an oath,as Will can tell you. I suppose you won’tthink it necessary to let me blood?”
“You half deserve it, sirrah!” said SirRichard, who was very angry: but the Don interposedquickly.
“Heaven forbid, senors! We are no Frenchduellists, who are mad enough to make four or sixlives answer for the sins of two. This gentlemanand I have quarrel enough between us, I suspect, tomake a right bloody encounter.”
“The dependence is good enough, sir,”said Cary, licking his sinful lips at the thought.“Very well. Rapiers and shirts at threetomorrow morning—Is that the bill of fare?Ask Sir Richard where, Atty? It is against punctilionow for me to speak to him till after I am killed.”
“On the sands opposite. The tide will beout at three. And now, gallant gentlemen, letus join the bowlers.”
And so they went back and spent a merry evening, allexcept poor Rose, who, ere she went back, had pouredall her sorrows into Lady Grenville’s ear.For the kind woman, knowing that she was motherlessand guileless, carried her off into Mrs. St. Leger’schamber, and there entreated her to tell the truth,and heaped her with pity but with no comfort.For indeed, what comfort was there to give?
* * * * *
Three o’clock, upon a still pure bright midsummermorning. A broad and yellow sheet of ribbed tide-sands,through which the shallow river wanders from one hill-footto the other, whispering round dark knolls of rock,and under low tree-fringed cliffs, and banks of goldenbroom. A mile below, the long bridge and thewhite walled town, all sleeping pearly in the softhaze, beneath a cloudless vault of blue. Thewhite glare of dawn, which last night hung high inthe northwest, has travelled now to the northeast,and above the wooded wall of the hills the sky isflushing with rose and amber.
A long line of gulls goes wailing up inland; the rooksfrom Annery come cawing and sporting round the cornerat Landcross, while high above them four or five heronsflap solemnly along to find their breakfast on theshallows. The pheasants and partridges are cluckingmerrily in the long wet grass; every copse and hedgerowrings with the voice of birds, but the lark, who hasbeen singing since midnight in the “blank heightof the dark,” suddenly hushes his carol anddrops headlong among the corn, as a broad-winged buzzardswings from some wooded peak into the abyss of thevalley, and hangs high-poised above the heavenwardsongster. The air is full of perfume; sweet clover,new-mown hay, the fragrant breath of kine, the daintyscent of sea-weed wreaths and fresh wet sand.Glorious day, glorious place, “bridal of earthand sky,” decked well with bridal garlands,bridal perfumes, bridal songs,—What do thosefour cloaked figures there by the river brink, a darkspot on the fair face of the summer morn?
Yet one is as cheerful as if he too, like all natureround him, were going to a wedding; and that is WillCary. He has been bathing down below, to coolhis brain and steady his hand; and he intends to stopDon Guzman Maria Magdalena Sotomayor de Soto’swooing for ever and a day. The Spaniard is ina very different mood; fierce and haggard, he is pacingup and down the sand. He intends to kill WillCary; but then? Will he be the nearer to Roseby doing so? Can he stay in Bideford? Willshe go with him? Shall he stoop to stain his familyby marrying a burgher’s daughter? It isa confused, all but desperate business; and Don Guzmanis certain but of one thing, that he is madly in lovewith this fair witch, and that if she refuse him,then, rather than see her accept another man, he wouldkill her with his own hands.
Sir Richard Grenville too is in no very pleasant humor,as St. Leger soon discovers, when the two secondsbegin whispering over their arrangements.
“We cannot have either of them killed, Arthur.”
“Mr. Cary swears he will kill the Spaniard,sir.”
“He sha’n’t. The Spaniard ismy guest. I am answerable for him to Leigh, andfor his ransom too. And how can Leigh accept theransom if the man is not given up safe and sound?They won’t pay for a dead carcass, boy!The man’s life is worth two hundred pounds.”
“A very bad bargain, sir, for those who paythe said two hundred for the rascal; but what if hekills Cary?”
“Worse still. Cary must not be killed.I am very angry with him, but he is too good a ladto be lost; and his father would never forgive us.We must strike up their swords at the first scratch.”
“It will make them very mad, sir.”
“Hang them! let them fight us then, if theydon’t like our counsel. It must be, Arthur.”
“Be sure, sir,” said Arthur, “thatwhatsoever you shall command I shall perform.It is only too great an honor to a young man as I amto find myself in the same duel with your worship,and to have the advantage of your wisdom and experience.”
Sir Richard smiles, and says—“Now,gentlemen! are you ready?”
The Spaniard pulls out a little crucifix, and kissesit devoutly, smiting on his breast; crosses himselftwo or three times, and says—“Mostwillingly, senor.”
Cary kisses no crucifix, but says a prayer nevertheless.
Cloaks and doublets are tossed off, the men placed,the rapiers measured hilt and point; Sir Richard andSt. Leger place themselves right and left of the combatants,facing each other, the points of their drawn swordson the sand. Cary and the Spaniard stand for amoment quite upright, their sword-arms stretched straightbefore them, holding the long rapier horizontally,the left hand clutching the dagger close to theirbreasts. So they stand eye to eye, with clenchedteeth and pale crushed lips, while men might counta score; St. Leger can hear the beating of his ownheart; Sir Richard is praying inwardly that no lifemay be lost. Suddenly there is a quick turn ofCary’s wrist and a leap forward. The Spaniard’sdagger flashes, and the rapier is turned aside; Carysprings six feet back as the Spaniard rushes on himin turn. Parry, thrust, parry—thesteel rattles, the sparks fly, the men breathe fierceand loud; the devil’s game is begun in earnest.
Five minutes have the two had instant death a shortsix inches off from those wild sinful hearts of theirs,and not a scratch has been given. Yes! the Spaniard’srapier passes under Cary’s left arm; he bleeds.
“A hit! a hit! Strike up, Atty!”and the swords are struck up instantly.
Cary, nettled by the smart, tries to close with hisfoe, but the seconds cross their swords before him.
“It is enough, gentlemen. Don Guzman’shonor is satisfied!”
“But not my revenge, senor,” says theSpaniard, with a frown. “This duel is al’outrance, on my part; and, I believe, on Mr.Cary’s also.”
“By heaven, it is!” says Will, tryingto push past. “Let me go, Arthur St. Leger;one of us must down. Let me go, I say!”
“If you stir, Mr. Cary, you have to do withRichard Grenville!” thunders the lion voice.“I am angry enough with you for having broughton this duel at all. Don’t provoke me stillfurther, young hot-head!”
Cary stops sulkily.
“You do not know all, Sir Richard, or you wouldnot speak in this way.”
“I do, sir, all; and I shall have the honorof talking it over with Don Guzman myself.”
“Hey!” said the Spaniard. “Youcame here as my second, Sir Richard, as I understood,but not as my counsellor.”
“Arthur, take your man away! Cary! obeyme as you would your father, sir! Can you nottrust Richard Grenville?”
“Come away, for God’s sake!” sayspoor Arthur, dragging Cary’s sword from him;“Sir Richard must know best!”
So Cary is led off sulking, and Sir Richard turnsto the Spaniard,
“And now, Don Guzman, allow me, though muchagainst my will, to speak to you as a friend to afriend. You will pardon me if I say that I cannotbut have seen last night’s devotion to—”
“You will be pleased, senor, not to mentionthe name of any lady to whom I may have shown devotion.I am not accustomed to have my little affairs talkedover by any unbidden counsellors.”
“Well, senor, if you take offence, you takethat which is not given. Only I warn you, withall apologies for any seeming forwardness, that thequest on which you seem to be is one on which you willnot be allowed to proceed.”
“And who will stop me?” asked the Spaniard,with a fierce oath.
“You are not aware, illustrious senor,”said Sir Richard, parrying the question, “thatour English laity look upon mixed marriages with fullas much dislike as your own ecclesiastics.”
“Marriage, sir? Who gave you leave to mentionthat word to me?”
Sir Richard’s brow darkened; the Spaniard, inhis insane pride, had forced upon the good knighta suspicion which was not really just.
“Is it possible, then, Senor Don Guzman, thatI am to have the shame of mentioning a baser word?”
“Mention what you will, sir. All wordsare the same to me; for, just or unjust, I shall answerthem alike only by my sword.”
“You will do no such thing, sir. You forgetthat I am your host.”
“And do you suppose that you have thereforea right to insult me? Stand on your guard, sir!”
Grenville answered by slapping his own rapier homeinto the sheath with a quiet smile.
“Senor Don Guzman must be well enough awareof who Richard Grenville is, to know that he may claimthe right of refusing duel to any man, if he shallso think fit.”
“Sir!” cried the Spaniard, with an oath,“this is too much! Do you dare to hintthat I am unworthy of your sword? Know, insolentEnglishman, I am not merely a De Soto, though that,by St. James, were enough for you or any man.I am a Sotomayor, a Mendoza, a Bovadilla, a Losada,a—sir! I have blood royal in my veins,and you dare to refuse my challenge?”
“Richard Grenville can show quarterings, probably,against even Don Guzman Maria Magdalena Sotomayorde Soto, or against (with no offence to the unquestionednobility of your pedigree) the bluest blood of Spain.But he can show, moreover, thank God, a reputationwhich raises him as much above the imputation of cowardice,as it does above that of discourtesy. If youthink fit, senor, to forget what you have just, invery excusable anger, vented, and to return with me,you will find me still, as ever, your most faithfulservant and host. If otherwise, you have onlyto name whither you wish your mails to be sent, andI shall, with unfeigned sorrow, obey your commandsconcerning them.”
The Spaniard bowed stiffly, answered, “To thenearest tavern, senor,” and then strode away.His baggage was sent thither. He took a boat downto Appledore that very afternoon, and vanished, noneknew whither. A very courteous note to Lady Grenville,enclosing the jewel which he had been used to wearround his neck, was the only memorial he left behindhim: except, indeed, the scar on Cary’sarm, and poor Rose’s broken heart.
Now county towns are scandalous places at best; andthough all parties tried to keep the duel secret,yet, of course, before noon all Bideford knew whathad happened, and a great deal more; and what was evenworse, Rose, in an agony of terror, had seen Sir RichardGrenville enter her father’s private room, andsit there closeted with him for an hour and more;and when he went, upstairs came old Salterne, withhis stick in his hand, and after rating her soundlyfor far worse than a flirt, gave her (I am sorry tohave to say it, but such was the mild fashion of paternalrule in those times, even over such daughters as LadyJane Grey, if Roger Ascham is to be believed) sucha beating that her poor sides were black and bluefor many a day; and then putting her on a pillionbehind him, carried her off twenty miles to her oldprison at Stow mill, commanding her aunt to tame downher saucy blood with bread of affliction and waterof affliction. Which commands were willinglyenough fulfilled by the old dame, who had always bornea grudge against Rose for being rich while she waspoor, and pretty while her daughter was plain; sothat between flouts, and sneers, and watchings, andpretty open hints that she was a disgrace to her family,and no better than she should be, the poor innocentchild watered her couch with her tears for a fortnightor more, stretching out her hands to the wide Atlantic,and calling wildly to Don Guzman to return and takeher where he would, and she would live for him anddie for him; and perhaps she did not call in vain.
CHAPTER XIII
HOW THE GOLDEN HIND CAME HOME AGAIN
“The spirits ofyour fathers
Shall startfrom every wave;
For the deck it wastheir field of fame,
And oceanwas their grave.”
Campbell.
“So you see, my dear Mrs. Hawkins, having thesilver, as your own eyes show you, beside the oresof lead, manganese, and copper, and above all thisgossan (as the Cornish call it), which I suspect tobe not merely the matrix of the ore, but also thevery crude form and materia prima of all metals—youmark me?—If my recipes, which I had fromDoctor Dee, succeed only half so well as I expect,then I refine out the luna, the silver, lay it by,and transmute the remaining ores into sol, gold.Whereupon Peru and Mexico become superfluities, andEngland the mistress of the globe. Strange, nodoubt; distant, no doubt: but possible, my dearmadam, possible!”
“And what good to you if it be, Mr. Gilbert?If you could find a philosopher’s stone to turnsinners into saints, now—but naught saveGod’s grace can do that; and that last seemsofttimes over long in coming.” And Mrs.Hawkins sighed.
“But indeed, my dear madam, conceive now.—TheComb Martin mine thus becomes a gold mine, perhapsinexhaustible; yields me wherewithal to carry outmy North-West patent; meanwhile my brother Humphreyholds Newfoundland, and builds me fresh ships yearby year (for the forests of pine are boundless) formy China voyage.”
“Sir Humphrey has better thoughts in his dearheart than gold, Mr. Adrian; a very close and graciouswalker he has been this seven year. I wish myCaptain John were so too.”
“And how do you know I have naught better inmy mind’s eye than gold? Or, indeed, whatbetter could I have? Is not gold the Spaniard’sstrength—the very mainspring of Antichrist?By gold only, therefore, can we out-wrestle him.You shake your head, but say, dear madam (for goldEngland must have), which is better, to make gold bloodlesslyat home, or take it bloodily abroad?”
“Oh, Mr. Gilbert, Mr. Gilbert! is it not written,that those who make haste to be rich, pierce themselvesthrough with many sorrows? Oh, Mr. Gilbert!God’s blessing is not on it all.”
“Not on you, madam? Be sure that braveCaptain John Hawkins’s star told me a differenttale, when I cast his nativity for him.—Bornunder stormy planets, truly, but under right royaland fortunate ones.”
“Ah, Mr. Adrian! I am a simple body, andyou a great philosopher, but I hold there is no starfor the seaman like the Star of Bethlehem; and thatgoes with ‘peace on earth and good will to men,’and not with such arms as that, Mr. Adrian. Ican’t abide to look upon them.”
And she pointed up to one of the bosses of the ribbedoak-roof, on which was emblazoned the fatal crestwhich Clarencieux Hervey had granted years beforeto her husband, the “Demi-Moor proper, bound.”
“Ah, Mr. Gilbert! since first he went to Guineaafter those poor negroes, little lightness has myheart known; and the very day that that crest wasput up in our grand new house, as the parson read thefirst lesson, there was this text in it, Mr. Gilbert,’Woe to him that buildeth his house by iniquity,and his chambers by wrong. Shalt thou live becausethou closest thyself in cedar?’ And it went intomy ears like fire, Mr. Gilbert, and into my heartlike lead; and when the parson went on, ’Didnot thy father eat and drink, and do judgment and justice?Then it was well with him,’ I thought of goodold Captain Will; and—I tell you, Mr. Gilbert,those negroes are on my soul from morning until night!We are all mighty grand now, and money comes in fast,but the Lord will require the blood of them at ourhands yet, He will!”
“My dearest madam, who can prosper more thanyou? If your husband copied the Dons too closelyonce or twice in the matter of those negroes (whichI do not deny,) was he not punished at once when helost ships, men, all but life, at St. Juan d’Ulloa?”
“Ay, yes,” she said; “and that didgive me a bit of comfort, especially when the queen—Godsave her tender heart!—was so sharp withhim for pity of the poor wretches, but it has notmended him. He is growing fast like the restnow, Mr. Gilbert, greedy to win, and nigg*rdly to spend(God forgive him!) and always fretting and plottingfor some new gain, and envying and grudging at Drake,and all who are deeper in the snare of prosperitythan he is. Gold, gold, nothing but gold in everymouth—there it is! Ah! I mindwhen Plymouth was a quiet little God-fearing placeas God could smile upon: but ever since my John,and Sir Francis, and poor Mr. Oxenham found out theway to the Indies, it’s been a sad place.Not a sailor’s wife but is crying ‘Give,give,’ like the daughters of the horse-leech;and every woman must drive her husband out acrossseas to bring her home money to squander on hoods andfarthingales, and go mincing with outstretched necksand wanton eyes; and they will soon learn to do worsethan that, for the sake of gain. But the Lord’shand will be against their tires and crisping-pins,their mufflers and farthingales, as it was againstthe Jews of old. Ah, dear me!”
The two interlocutors in this dialogue were sittingin a low oak-panelled room in Plymouth town, handsomelyenough furnished, adorned with carving and gildingand coats of arms, and noteworthy for many strangeknickknacks, Spanish gold and silver vessels on thesideboard; strange birds and skins, and charts andrough drawings of coast which hung about the room;while over the fireplace, above the portrait of oldCaptain Will Hawkins, pet of Henry the Eighth, hungthe Spanish ensign which Captain John had taken infair fight at Rio de la Hacha fifteen years before,when, with two hundred men, he seized the town in despiteof ten hundred Spanish soldiers, and watered his shiptriumphantly at the enemy’s wells.
The gentleman was a tall fair man, with a broad andlofty forehead, wrinkled with study, and eyes weakenedby long poring over the crucible and the furnace.
The lady had once been comely enough, but she wasaged and worn, as sailors’ wives are apt tobe, by many sorrows. Many a sad day had she hadalready; for although John Hawkins, port-admiral ofPlymouth, and patriarch of British shipbuilders, wasa faithful husband enough, and as ready to forgiveas he was to quarrel, yet he was obstinate and ruthless,and in spite of his religiosity (for all men were religiousthen) was by no means a “consistent walker.”
And sadder days were in store for her, poor soul.Nine years hence she would be asked to name her son’sbrave new ship, and would christen it The Repentance,giving no reason in her quiet steadfast way (so saysher son Sir Richard) but that “Repentance wasthe best ship in which we could sail to the harborof heaven;” and she would hear that Queen Elizabeth,complaining of the name for an unlucky one, had re-christenedher The Dainty, not without some by-quip, perhaps,at the character of her most dainty captain, RichardHawkins, the complete seaman and Euphuist afloat,of whom, perhaps, more hereafter.
With sad eyes Mrs. (then Lady) Hawkins would see thatgallant bark sail Westward-ho, to go the world around,as many another ship sailed; and then wait, as manya mother beside had waited, for the sail which neverreturned; till, dim and uncertain, came tidings ofher boy fighting for four days three great Armadas(for the coxcomb had his father’s heart in himafter all), a prisoner, wounded, ruined, languishingfor weary years in Spanish prisons. And a sadderday than that was in store, when a gallant fleet shouldround the Ram Head, not with drum and trumpet, butwith solemn minute-guns, and all flags half-mast high,to tell her that her terrible husband’s workwas done, his terrible heart broken by failure andfatigue, and his body laid by Drake’s beneaththe far-off tropic seas.
And if, at the close of her eventful life, one gleamof sunshine opened for a while, when her boy Richardreturned to her bosom from his Spanish prison, tobe knighted for his valor, and made a privy councillorfor his wisdom; yet soon, how soon, was the old cloudto close in again above her, until her weary eyesshould open in the light of Paradise. For thatson dropped dead, some say at the very council-table,leaving behind him naught but broken fortunes, andhuge purposes which never were fulfilled; and thestormy star of that bold race was set forever, andLady Hawkins bowed her weary head and died, the groanof those stolen negroes ringing in her ears, havinglived long enough to see her husband’s youthfulsin become a national institution, and a nationalcurse for generations yet unborn.
I know not why she opened her heart that night toAdrian Gilbert, with a frankness which she would hardlyhave dared to use to her own family. Perhapsit was that Adrian, like his great brothers, Humphreyand Raleigh, was a man full of all lofty and delicateenthusiasms, tender and poetical, such as women clingto when their hearts are lonely; but so it was; andAdrian, half ashamed of his own ambitious dreams, satelooking at her a while in silence; and then—
“The Lord be with you, dearest lady. Strange,how you women sit at home to love and suffer, whilewe men rush forth to break our hearts and yours againstrocks of our own seeking! Ah well! were it notfor Scripture, I should have thought that Adam, ratherthan Eve, had been the one who plucked the fruit ofthe forbidden tree.”
“We women, I fear; did the deed nevertheless;for we bear the doom of it our lives long.”
“You always remind me, madam, of my dear Mrs.Leigh of Burrough, and her counsels.”
“Do you see her often? I hear of her asone of the Lord’s most precious vessels.”
“I would have done more ere now than see her,”said he with a blush, “had she allowed me:but she lives only for the memory of her husband andthe fame of her noble sons.”
As he spoke the door opened, and in walked, wrappedin his rough sea-gown, none other than one of thosesaid noble sons.
Adrian turned pale.
“Amyas Leigh! What brings you hither? howfares my brother? Where is the ship?”
“Your brother is well, Mr. Gilbert. TheGolden Hind is gone on to Dartmouth, with Mr. Hayes.I came ashore here, meaning to go north to Bideford,ere I went to London. I called at Drake’sjust now, but he was away.”
“The Golden Hind? What brings her homeso soon?”
“Yet welcome ever, sir,” said Mrs. Hawkins.“This is a great surprise, though. CaptainJohn did not look for you till next year.”
Amyas was silent.
“Something is wrong!” cried Adrian.“Speak!”
Amyas tried, but could not.
“Will you drive a man mad, sir? Has theadventure failed? You said my brother was well.”
“He is well.”
“Then what—Why do you look at mein that fashion, sir?” and springing up, Adrianrushed forward, and held the candle to Amyas’sface.
Amyas’s lip quivered, as he laid his hand onAdrian’s shoulder.
“Your great and glorious brother, sir, is betterbestowed than in settling Newfoundland.”
“Dead?” shrieked Adrian.
“He is with the God whom he served!”
“He was always with Him, like Enoch: parableme no parables, if you love me, sir!”
“And, like Enoch, he was not; for God took him.”
Adrian clasped his hands over his forehead, and leanedagainst the table.
“Go on, sir, go on. God will give me strengthto hear all.”
And gradually Amyas opened to Adrian that tragic story,which Mr. Hayes has long ago told far too well toallow a second edition of it from me: of theunruliness of the men, ruffians, as I said before,caught up at hap-hazard; of conspiracies to carryoff the ships, plunder of fishing vessels, desertionsmultiplying daily; licenses from the general to thelazy and fearful to return home: till Adrian brokeout with a groan—
“From him? Conspired against him?Deserted from him? Dotards, buzzards! Wherewould they have found such another leader?”
“Your illustrious brother, sir,” saidAmyas, “if you will pardon me, was a very greatphilosopher, but not so much of a general.”
“General, sir? Where was braver man?”
“Not on God’s earth, but that does notmake a general, sir. If Cortez had been braveand no more, Mexico would have been Mexico still.The truth is, sir, Cortez, like my Captain Drake,knew when to hang a man; and your great brother didnot.”
Amyas, as I suppose, was right. Gilbert was aman who could be angry enough at baseness or neglect,but who was too kindly to punish it; he was one whocould form the wisest and best-digested plans, butwho could not stoop to that hail-fellow-well-met drudgeryamong his subordinates which has been the talismanof great captains.
Then Amyas went on to tell the rest of his story;the setting sail from St. John’s to discoverthe southward coast; Sir Humphrey’s chivalrousdetermination to go in the little Squirrel of onlyten tons, and “overcharged with nettings, fights,and small ordnance,” not only because she wasmore fit to examine the creeks, but because he hadheard of some taunt against him among the men, thathe was afraid of the sea.
After that, woe on woe; how, seven days after theyleft Cape Raz, their largest ship, the Delight, aftershe had “most part of the night” (I quoteHayes), “like the swan that singeth before herdeath, continued in sounding of trumpets, drums, andfifes, also winding of the comets and hautboys, and,in the end of their jollity, left off with the battleand doleful knells,” struck the next day (theGolden Hind and the Squirrel sheering off just intime) upon unknown shoals; where were lost all butfourteen, and among them Frank’s philosopherfriend, poor Budaeus; and those who escaped, afterall horrors of cold and famine, were cast on shorein Newfoundland. How, worn out with hunger andwant of clothes, the crews of the two remaining shipspersuaded Sir Humphrey to sail toward England on the31st of August; and on “that very instant, evenin winding about,” beheld close alongside “avery lion in shape, hair, and color, not swimming,but sliding on the water, with his whole body; whopassed along, turning his head to and fro, yawningand gaping wide, with ugly demonstration of long teethand glaring eyes; and to bid us farewell (coming rightagainst the Hind) he sent forth a horrible voice,roaring or bellowing as doth a lion.” “Whatopinion others had thereof, and chiefly the generalhimself, I forbear to deliver; but he took it forbonum omen, rejoicing that he was to war against suchan enemy, if it were the devil.”
“And the devil it was, doubtless,” saidAdrian, “the roaring lion who goes about seekingwhom he may devour.”
“He has not got your brother, at least,”quoth Amyas.
“No,” rejoined Mrs. Hawkins (smile not,reader, for those were days in which men believedin the devil); “he roared for joy to think howmany poor souls would be left still in heathen darknessby Sir Humphrey’s death. God be with thatgood knight, and send all mariners where he is now!”
Then Amyas told the last scene; how, when they wereoff the Azores, the storms came on heavier than ever,with “terrible seas, breaking short and pyramid-wise,”till, on the 9th September, the tiny Squirrel nearlyfoundered and yet recovered; “and the general,sitting abaft with a book in his hand, cried out tous in the Hind so oft as we did approach within hearing,‘We are as near heaven by sea as by land,’reiterating the same speech, well beseeming a soldierresolute in Jesus Christ, as I can testify he was.
“The same Monday, about twelve of the clock,or not long after, the frigate (the Squirrel) beingahead of us in the Golden Hind, suddenly her lightswere out; and withal our watch cried, the general wascast away, which was true; for in that moment thefrigate was devoured and swallowed up of the sea.”
And so ended (I have used Hayes’ own words)Amyas Leigh’s story.
“Oh, my brother! my brother!” moaned poorAdrian; “the glory of his house, the glory ofDevon!”
“Ah! what will the queen say?” asked Mrs.Hawkins through her tears.
“Tell me,” asked Adrian, “had hethe jewel on when he died?”
“The queen’s jewel? He always worethat, and his own posy too, ’Mutare vel timeresperno.’ He wore it; and he lived it.”
“Ay,” said Adrian, “the same tothe last!”
“Not quite that,” said Amyas. “Hewas a meeker man latterly than he used to be.As he said himself once, a better refiner than anywhom he had on board had followed him close all theseas over, and purified him in the fire. Andgold seven times tried he was, when God, having doneHis work in him, took him home at last.”
And so the talk ended. There was no doubt thatthe expedition had been an utter failure; Adrian wasa ruined man; and Amyas had lost his venture.
Adrian rose, and begged leave to retire; he must collecthimself.
“Poor gentleman!” said Mrs. Hawkins; “itis little else he has left to collect.”
“Or I either,” said Amyas. “Iwas going to ask you to lend me one of your son’sshirts, and five pounds to get myself and my men home.”
“Five? Fifty, Mr. Leigh! God forbidthat John Hawkins’s wife should refuse her lastpenny to a distressed mariner, and he a gentleman born.But you must eat and drink.”
“It’s more than I have done for many aday worth speaking of.”
And Amyas sat down in his rags to a good supper, whileMrs. Hawkins told him all the news which she couldof his mother, whom Adrian Gilbert had seen a fewmonths before in London; and then went on, naturallyenough, to the Bideford news.
“And by the by, Captain Leigh, I’ve sadnews for you from your place; and I had it from onewho was there at the time. You must know a Spanishcaptain, a prisoner—”
“What, the one I sent home from Smerwick?”
“You sent? Mercy on us! Then, perhaps,you’ve heard—”
“How can I have heard? What?”
“That he’s gone off, the villain?”
“Without paying his ransom?”
“I can’t say that; but there’s apoor innocent young maid gone off with him, one Salterne’sdaughter—the Popish serpent!”
“Rose Salterne, the mayor’s daughter,the Rose of Torridge!”
“That’s her. Bless your dear soul,what ails you?”
Amyas had dropped back in his seat as if he had beenshot; but he recovered himself before kind Mrs. Hawkinscould rush to the cupboard for cordials.
“You’ll forgive me, madam; but I’mweak from the sea; and your good ale has turned mea bit dizzy, I think.”
“Ay, yes, ’tis too, too heavy, till you’vebeen on shore a while. Try the aqua vitae; myCaptain John has it right good; and a bit too fondof it too, poor dear soul, between whiles, Heavenforgive him!”
So she poured some strong brandy and water down Amyas’sthroat, in spite of his refusals, and sent him tobed, but not to sleep; and after a night of tossing,he started for Bideford, having obtained the meansfor so doing from Mrs. Hawkins.
CHAPTER XIV
HOW SALVATION YEO SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS
“Ignorance andevil, even in full flight, deal terrible backhanded
strokes at their pursuers.”—Helps.
Now I am sorry to say, for the honor of my country,that it was by no means a safe thing in those daysto travel from Plymouth to the north of Devon; because,to get to your journey’s end, unless you wereminded to make a circuit of many miles, you must needspass through the territory of a foreign and hostilepotentate, who had many times ravaged the dominions,and defeated the forces of her Majesty Queen Elizabeth,and was named (behind his back at least) the Kingof the Gubbings. “So now I dare call them,”says Fuller, “secured by distance, which oneof more valor durst not do to their face, for feartheir fury fall upon him. Yet hitherto have Imet with none who could render a reason of their name.We call the shavings of fish (which are little worth)gubbings; and sure it is that they are sensible thatthe word importeth shame and disgrace.
“As for the suggestion of my worthy and learnedfriend, Mr. Joseph Maynard, that such as did inhabitaremontes gibberosos, were called Gubbings, such willsmile at the ingenuity who dissent from the truth ofthe etymology.
“I have read of an England beyond Wales, butthe Gubbings land is a Scythia within England, andthey pure heathens therein. It lieth nigh Brent.For in the edge of Dartmoor it is reported that, sometwo hundred years since, two bad women, being withchild, fled thither to hide themselves; to whom certainlewd fellows resorted, and this was their first original.They are a peculiar of their own making, exempt frombishop, archdeacon, and all authority, either ecclesiastical
or civil. They live in cots (rather holes thanhouses) like swine, having all in common, multipliedwithout marriage into many hundreds. Their languageis the dross of the dregs of the vulgar Devonian; andthe more learned a man is, the worse he can understandthem. During our civil wars no soldiers werequartered upon them, for fear of being quartered amongstthem. Their wealth consisteth in other men’sgoods; they live by stealing the sheep on the moors;and vain is it for any to search their houses, beinga work beneath the pains of any sheriff, and abovethe power of any constable. Such is their fleetness,they will outrun many horses; vivaciousness, theyoutlive most men; living in an ignorance of luxury,the extinguisher of life. They hold together likebees; offend one, and all will revenge his quarrel.“But now I am informed that they begin to becivilized, and tender their children to baptism, andreturn to be men, yea, Christians again. I hopeno civil people amongst us will turn barbarians,now these barbarians begin to be civilized."*
* Fuller, p. 398.
With which quip against the Anabaptists of his day,Fuller ends his story; and I leave him to set forthhow Amyas, in fear of these same Scythians and heathens,rode out of Plymouth on a right good horse, in hisfull suit of armor, carrying lance and sword, and overand above two great dags, or horse-pistols; and behindhim Salvation Yeo, and five or six north Devon men(who had served with him in Ireland, and were returningon furlough), clad in head-pieces and quilted jerkins,each man with his pike and sword, and Yeo with arquebuseand match, while two sumpter ponies carried the baggageof this formidable troop.
They pushed on as fast as they could, through Tavistock,to reach before nightfall Lydford, where they meantto sleep; but what with buying the horses, and otherdelays, they had not been able to start before noon;and night fell just as they reached the frontiers ofthe enemy’s country. A dreary place enoughit was, by the wild glare of sunset. A high tablelandof heath, banked on the right by the crags and hillsof Dartmoor, and sloping away to the south and westtoward the foot of the great cone of Brent-Tor, whichtowered up like an extinct volcano (as some say thatit really is), crowned with the tiny church, the votiveoffering of some Plymouth merchant of old times, whovowed in sore distress to build a church to the BlessedVirgin on the first point of English land which heshould see. Far away, down those waste slopes,they could see the tiny threads of blue smoke risingfrom the dens of the Gubbings; and more than oncethey called a halt, to examine whether distant furze-bushesand ponies might not be the patrols of an advancingarmy. It is all very well to laugh at it now,in the nineteenth century, but it was no laughingmatter then; as they found before they had gone twomiles farther.
On the middle of the down stood a wayside inn; a desolateand villainous-looking lump of lichen-spotted granite,with windows paper-patched, and rotting thatch keptdown by stones and straw-banks; and at the back arambling court-ledge of barns and walls, around whichpigs and barefoot children grunted in loving communionof dirt. At the door, rapt apparently in thecontemplation of the mountain peaks which glowed richorange in the last lingering sun-rays, but really watchingwhich way the sheep on the moor were taking, stoodthe innkeeper, a brawny, sodden-visaged, blear-eyedsix feet of brutishness, holding up his hose withone hand, for want of points, and clawing with theother his elf-locks, on which a fair sprinkling offeathers might denote: first, that he was justout of bed, having been out sheep-stealing all thenight before; and secondly, that by natural geniushe had anticipated the opinion of that great apostleof slu*ttishness, Fridericus Dedekind, and his faithfuldisciple Dekker, which last speaks thus to all gullsand grobians: “Consider that as those treesof cobweb lawn, woven by spinners in the fresh Maymornings, do dress the curled heads of the mountains,and adorn the swelling bosoms of the valleys; or asthose snowy fleeces, which the naked briar steals fromthe innocent sheep to make himself a warm winter livery,are, to either of them both, an excellent ornament;so make thou account, that to have feathers stickinghere and there on thy head will embellish thee, andset thy crown out rarely. None dare upbraid thee,that like a beggar thou hast lain on straw, or likea travelling pedlar upon musty flocks; for those featherswill rise up as witnesses to choke him that says so,and to prove thy bed to have been of the softest down.”Even so did those feathers bear witness that the possessorof Rogues’ Harbor Inn, on Brent-Tor Down, whateverelse he lacked, lacked not geese enough to keep himin soft lying.
Presently he spies Amyas and his party coming slowlyover the hill, pricks up his ears, and counts them;sees Amyas’s armor; shakes his head and grunts;and then, being a man of few words, utters a sleepyhowl—
“Mirooi!—Fushing pooale!”
A strapping lass—whose only covering (forcountry women at work in those days dispensed withthe ornament of a gown) is a green bodice and redpetticoat, neither of them over ample—bringsout his fishing-rod and basket, and the man, havingtied up his hose with some ends of string, examinesthe footlink.
“Don vlies’ gone!”
“May be,” says Mary; “shouldn’thay’ left mun out to coort. May be oldhen’s ate mun off. I see her chocking abouta while agone.”
The host receives this intelligence with an oath,and replies by a violent blow at Mary’s head,which she, accustomed to such slight matters, dodges,and then returns the blow with good effect on the shockhead.
Whereon mine host, equally accustomed to such slightmatters, quietly shambles off, howling as he departs—
“Tell Patrico!”
Mary runs in, combs her hair, slips a pair of stockingsand her best gown over her dirt, and awaits the comingguests, who make a few long faces at the “mucksysort of a place,” but prefer to spend the nightthere than to bivouac close to the enemy’s camp.
So the old hen who has swallowed the dun fly is killed,plucked, and roasted, and certain “black Dartmoormutton” is put on the gridiron, and being compelledto confess the truth by that fiery torment, proclaimsitself to all noses as red-deer venison. In themeanwhile Amyas has put his horse and the ponies intoa shed, to which he can find neither lock nor key,and therefore returns grumbling, not without fear forhis steed’s safety. The baggage is heapedin a corner of the room, and Amyas stretches his legsbefore a turf fire; while Yeo, who has his notionsabout the place, posts himself at the door, and themen are seized with a desire to superintend the cooking,probably to be attributed to the fact that Mary iscook.
Presently Yeo comes in again.
“There’s a gentleman just coming up, sir,all alone.”
“Ask him to make one of our party, then, withmy compliments.” Yeo goes out, and returnsin five minutes.
“Please, sir, he’s gone in back ways,by the court.”
“Well, he has an odd taste, if he makes himselfat home here.”
Out goes Yeo again, and comes back once more afterfive minutes, in high excitement.
“Come out, sir; for goodness’ sake comeout. I’ve got him. Safe as a rat ina trap, I have!”
“Who?”
“A Jesuit, sir.”
“Nonsense, man!”
“I tell you truth, sir. I went round thehouse, for I didn’t like the looks of him ashe came up. I knew he was one of them villainsthe minute he came up, by the way he turned in histoes, and put down his feet so still and careful,like as if he was afraid of offending God at everystep. So I just put my eye between the wall andthe dern of the gate, and I saw him come up to theback door and knock, and call ‘Mary!’quite still, like any Jesuit; and the wench flies outto him ready to eat him; and ‘Go away,’I heard her say, ‘there’s a dear man;’and then something about a ‘queer cuffin’(that’s a justice in these canters’ thieves’Latin); and with that he takes out a somewhat—I’llswear it was one of those Popish Agnuses—andgives it her; and she kisses it, and crosses herself,and asks him if that’s the right way, and thenputs it into her bosom, and he says, ‘Blessyou, my daughter;’ and then I was sure of thedog: and he slips quite still to the stable, andpeeps in, and when he sees no one there, in he goes,and out I go, and shut to the door, and back a cartthat was there up against it, and call out one ofthe men to watch the stable, and the girl’s cryinglike mad.”
“What a fool’s trick, man! How doyou know that he is not some honest gentleman, afterall?”
“Fool or none, sir; honest gentlemen don’tgive maidens Agnuses. I’ve put him in;and if you want him let out again, you must come anddo it yourself, for my conscience is against it, sir.If the Lord’s enemies are delivered into myhand, I’m answerable, sir,” went on Yeoas Amyas hurried out with him. “’Tis written,’If any let one of them go, his life shall befor the life of him.’”
So Amyas ran out, pulled back the cart grumbling,opened the door, and began a string of apologies to—hiscousin Eustace.
Yes, here he was, with such a countenance, half foolish,half venomous, as reynard wears when the last spadefulof earth is thrown back, and he is revealed sittingdisconsolately on his tail within a yard of the terriers’noses.
Neither cousin spoke for a minute or two. Atlast Amyas—
“Well, cousin hide-and-seek, how long have youadded horse-stealing to your other trades?”
“My dear Amyas,” said Eustace, very meekly,“I may surely go into an inn stable withoutintending to steal what is in it.”
“Of course, old fellow,” said Amyas, mollified,“I was only in jest. But what brings youhere? Not prudence, certainly.”
“I am bound to know no prudence save for theLord’s work.”
“That’s giving away Agnus Deis, and deceivingpoor heathen wenches, I suppose,” said Yeo.
Eustace answered pretty roundly—
“Heathens? Yes, truly; you Protestantsleave these poor wretches heathens, and then insultand persecute those who, with a devotion unknown toyou, labor at the danger of their lives to make themChristians. Mr. Amyas Leigh, you can give me upto be hanged at Exeter, if it shall so please youto disgrace your own family; but from this spot neitheryou, no, nor all the myrmidons of your queen, shalldrive me, while there is a soul here left unsaved.”
“Come out of the stable, at least,” saidAmyas; “you don’t want to make the horsesPapists, as well as the asses, do you? Come out,man, and go to the devil your own way. I sha’n’tinform against you; and Yeo here will hold his tongueif I tell him, I know.”
“It goes sorely against my conscience, sir;but being that he is your cousin, of course—”
“Of course; and now come in and eat with me;supper’s just ready, and bygones shall be bygones,if you will have them so.”
How much forgiveness Eustace felt in his heart, Iknow not: but he knew, of course, that he oughtto forgive; and to go in and eat with Amyas was toperform an act of forgiveness, and for the best ofmotives, too, for by it the cause of the Church mightbe furthered; and acts and motives being correct,what more was needed? So in he went; and yet henever forgot that scar upon his cheek; and Amyas couldnot look him in the face but Eustace must fancy thathis eyes were on the scar, and peep up from underhis lids to see if there was any smile of triumph onthat honest visage. They talked away over thevenison, guardedly enough at first; but as they wenton, Amyas’s straightforward kindliness warmedpoor Eustace’s frozen heart; and ere they wereaware, they found themselves talking over old hauntsand old passages of their boyhood—uncles,aunts, and cousins; and Eustace, without any sinisterintention, asked Amyas why he was going to Bideford,while Frank and his mother were in London.
“To tell you the truth, I cannot rest till Ihave heard the whole story about poor Rose Salterne.”
“What about her?” cried Eustace.
“Do you not know?”
“How should I know anything here? For heaven’ssake, what has happened?”
Amyas told him, wondering at his eagerness, for hehad never had the least suspicion of Eustace’slove.
Eustace shrieked aloud.
“Fool, fool that I have been! Caught inmy own trap! Villain, villain that he is!After all he promised me at Lundy!”
And springing up, Eustace stamped up and down theroom, gnashing his teeth, tossing his head from sideto side, and clutching with outstretched hands atthe empty air, with the horrible gesture (Heaven grantthat no reader has ever witnessed it!) of that despairwhich still seeks blindly for the object which itknows is lost forever.
Amyas sat thunderstruck. His first impulse wasto ask, “Lundy? What knew you of him?What had he or you to do at Lundy?” but pityconquered curiosity.
“Oh, Eustace! And you then loved her too?”
“Don’t speak to me! Loved her?Yes, sir, and had as good a right to love her as anyone of your precious Brotherhood of the Rose.Don’t speak to me, I say, or I shall do youa mischief!”
So Eustace knew of the brotherhood too! Amyaslonged to ask him how; but what use in that?If he knew it, he knew it; and what harm? So heonly answered:
“My good cousin, why be wroth with me?If you really love her, now is the time to take counselwith me how best we shall—”
Eustace did not let him finish his sentence.Conscious that he had betrayed himself upon more pointsthan one, he stopped short in his walk, suddenly collectedhimself by one great effort, and eyed Amyas from underneathhis brows with the old down look.
“How best we shall do what, my valiant cousin?”said he, in a meaning and half-scornful voice.“What does your most chivalrous Brotherhood ofthe Rose purpose in such a case?”
Amyas, a little nettled, stood on his guard in return,and answered bluntly—
“What the Brotherhood of the Rose will do, Ican’t yet say. What it ought to do, I havea pretty sure guess.”
“So have I. To hunt her down as you would anoutlaw, because forsooth she has dared to love a Catholic;to murder her lover in her arms, and drag her homeagain stained with his blood, to be forced by threatsand persecution to renounce that Church into whosematernal bosom she has doubtless long since foundrest and holiness!”
“If she has found holiness, it matters littleto me where she has found it, Master Eustace, butthat is the very point that I should be glad to knowfor certain.”
“And you will go and discover for yourself?”
“Have you no wish to discover it also?”
“And if I had, what would that be to you?”
“Only,” said Amyas, trying hard to keephis temper, “that, if we had the same purpose,we might sail in the same ship.”
“You intend to sail, then?”
“I mean simply, that we might work together.”
“Our paths lie on very different roads, sir!”
“I am afraid you never spoke a truer word, sir.In the meanwhile, ere we part, be so kind as to tellme what you meant by saying that you had met thisSpaniard at Lundy?”
“I shall refuse to answer that.”
“You will please to recollect, Eustace, thathowever good friends we have been for the last half-hour,you are in my power. I have a right to know thebottom of this matter; and, by heaven, I will knowit.”
“In your power? See that you are not inmine! Remember, sir, that you are within a—withina few miles, at least, of those who will obey me,their Catholic benefactor, but who owe no allegianceto those Protestant authorities who have left themto the lot of the beasts which perish.”
Amyas was very angry. He wanted but little moreto make him catch Eustace by the shoulders, shakethe life out of him, and deliver him into the tenderguardianship of Yeo; but he knew that to take him atall was to bring certain death on him, and disgraceon the family; and remembering Frank’s conducton that memorable night at Clovelly, he kept himselfdown.
“Take me,” said Eustace, “if youwill, sir. You, who complain of us that we keepno faith with heretics, will perhaps recollect thatyou asked me into this room as your guest, and thatin your good faith I trusted when I entered it.”
The argument was a worthless one in law; for Eustacehad been a prisoner before he was a guest, and Amyaswas guilty of something very like misprision of treasonin not handing him over to the nearest justice.However, all he did was, to go to the door, open it,and bowing to his cousin, bid him walk out and goto the devil, since he seemed to have set his mindon ending his days in the company of that personage.
Whereon Eustace vanished.
“Pooh!” said Amyas to himself, “Ican find out enough, and too much, I fear, withoutthe help of such crooked vermin. I must see Cary;I must see Salterne; and I suppose, if I am readyto do my duty, I shall learn somehow what it is.Now to sleep; to-morrow up and away to what God sends.”
“Come in hither, men,” shouted he downthe passage, “and sleep here. Haven’tyou had enough of this villainous sour cider?”
The men came in yawning, and settled themselves tosleep on the floor.
“Where’s Yeo?”
No one knew; he had gone out to say his prayers, andhad not returned.
“Never mind,” said Amyas, who suspectedsome plot on the old man’s part. “He’lltake care of himself, I’ll warrant him.”
“No fear of that, sir;” and the four tarswere soon snoring in concert round the fire, whileAmyas laid himself on the settle, with his saddlefor a pillow.
* * * * *
It was about midnight, when Amyas leaped to his feet,or rather fell upon his back, upsetting saddle, settle,and finally, table, under the notion that ten thousandflying dragons were bursting in the window close tohis ear, with howls most fierce and fell. Theflying dragons past, however, being only a flock ofterror-stricken geese, which flew flapping and screaminground the corner of the house; but the noise whichhad startled them did not pass; and another minutemade it evident that a sharp fight was going on inthe courtyard, and that Yeo was hallooing lustilyfor help.
Out turned the men, sword in hand, burst the backdoor open, stumbling over pails and pitchers, andinto the courtyard, where Yeo, his back against thestable-door, was holding his own manfully with swordand buckler against a dozen men.
Dire and manifold was the screaming; geese screamed,chickens screamed, pigs screamed, donkeys screamed,Mary screamed from an upper window; and to completethe chorus, a flock of plovers, attracted by the noise,wheeled round and round overhead, and added their screamsalso to that Dutch concert.
The screaming went on, but the fight ceased; for,as Amyas rushed into the yard, the whole party ofruffians took to their heels, and vanished over alow hedge at the other end of the yard.
“Are you hurt, Yeo?”
“Not a scratch, thank Heaven! But I’vegot two of them, the ringleaders, I have. Oneof them’s against the wall. Your horse didfor t’other.”
The wounded man was lifted up; a huge ruffian, nearlyas big as Amyas himself. Yeo’s sword hadpassed through his body. He groaned and chokedfor breath.
“Carry him indoors. Where is the other?”
“Dead as a herring, in the straw. Havea care, men, have a care how you go in! the horsesare near mad!”
However, the man was brought out after a while.With him all was over. They could feel neitherpulse nor breath.
“Carry him in too, poor wretch. And now,Yeo, what is the meaning of all this?”
Yeo’s story was soon told. He could notget out of his Puritan head the notion (quite unfounded,of course) that Eustace had meant to steal the horses.He had seen the inn-keeper sneak off at their approach;and expecting some night-attack, he had taken up hislodging for the night in the stable.
As he expected, an attempt was made. The doorwas opened (how, he could not guess, for he had fastenedit inside), and two fellows came in, and began toloose the beasts. Yeo’s account was, thathe seized the big fellow, who drew a knife on him,and broke loose; the horses, terrified at the scuffle,kicked right and left; one man fell, and the otherran out, calling for help, with Yeo at his heels; “Whereon,”said Yeo, “seeing a dozen more on me with clubsand bows, I thought best to shorten the number whileI could, ran the rascal through, and stood on my ward;and only just in time I was, what’s more; there’stwo arrows in the house wall, and two or three morein my buckler, which I caught up as I went out, forI had hung it close by the door, you see, sir, to beall ready in case,” said the cunning old Philistine-slayer,as they went in after the wounded man.
But hardly had they stumbled through the low doorwayinto the back-kitchen when a fresh hubbub arose inside—moreshouts for help. Amyas ran forward breaking hishead against the doorway, and beheld, as soon as hecould see for the flashes in his eyes, an old acquaintance,held on each side by a sturdy sailor.
With one arm in the sleeve of his doublet, and theother in a not over spotless shirt; holding up hishose with one hand, and with the other a candle, wherebyhe had lighted himself to his own confusion; foamingwith rage, stood Mr. Evan Morgans, alias Father Parsons,looking, between his confused habiliments and hisfiery visage (as Yeo told him to his face), “thevery moral of a half-plucked turkey-co*ck.”And behind him, dressed, stood Eustace Leigh.
“We found the maid letting these here two outby the front door,” said one of the captors.
“Well, Mr. Parsons,” said Amyas; “andwhat are you about here? A pretty nest of thievesand Jesuits we seem to have routed out this evening.”
“About my calling, sir,” said Parsons,stoutly. “By your leave, I shall preparethis my wounded lamb for that account to which yourman’s cruelty has untimely sent him.”
The wounded man, who lay upon the floor, heard Parsons’voice, and moaned for the “Patrico.”
“You see, sir,” said he, pompously, “thesheep know their shepherd’s voice.”
“The wolves you mean, you hypocritical scoundrel!”said Amyas, who could not contain his disgust.“Let the fellow truss up his points, lads, anddo his work. After all, the man is dying.”
“The requisite matters, sir, are not at hand,”said Parsons, unabashed.
“Eustace, go and fetch his matters for him;you seem to be in all his plots.”
Eustace went silently and sullenly.
“What’s that fresh noise at the back,now?”
“The maid, sir, a wailing over her uncle; thefellow that we saw sneak away when we came up.It was him the horse killed.”
It was true. The wretched host had slipped offon their approach, simply to call the neighboringoutlaws to the spoil; and he had been filled withthe fruit of his own devices.
“His blood be on his own head,” said Amyas.
“I question, sir,” said Yeo, in a lowvoice, “whether some of it will not be on theheads of those proud prelates who go clothed in purpleand fine linen, instead of going forth to convert suchas he, and then wonder how these Jesuits get holdof them. If they give place to the devil in theirsheepfolds, sure he’ll come in and lodge there.Look, sir, there’s a sight in a gospel land!”
And, indeed, the sight was curious enough. ForParsons was kneeling by the side of the dying man,listening earnestly to the confession which the mansobbed out in his gibberish, between the spasms ofhis wounded chest. Now and then Parsons shookhis head; and when Eustace returned with the holywafer, and the oil for extreme unction, he asked him,in a low voice, “Ballard, interpret for me.”
And Eustace knelt down on the other side of the sufferer,and interpreted his thieves’ dialect into Latin;and the dying man held a hand of each, and turnedfirst to one and then to the other stupid eyes,—notwithout affection, though, and gratitude.
“I can’t stand this mummery any longer,”said Yeo. “Here’s a soul perishingbefore my eyes, and it’s on my conscience tospeak a word in season.”
“Silence!” whispered Amyas, holding himback by the arm; “he knows them, and he don’tknow you; they are the first who ever spoke to himas if he had a soul to be saved, and first come, firstserved; you can do no good. See, the man’sface is brightening already.”
“But, sir, ’tis a false peace.”
“At all events he is confessing his sins, Yeo;and if that’s not good for him, and you, andme, what is?”
“Yea, Amen! sir; but this is not to the rightperson.”
“How do you know his words will not go to theright person, after all, though he may not send themthere? By heaven! the man is dead!”
It was so. The dark catalogue of brutal deedshad been gasped out; but ere the words of absolutioncould follow, the head had fallen back, and all wasover.
“Confession in extremis is sufficient,”said Parsons to Eustace ("Ballard,” as Parsonscalled him, to Amyas’s surprise), as he rose.“As for the rest, the intention will be acceptedinstead of the act.”
“The Lord have mercy on his soul!” saidEustace.
“His soul is lost before our very eyes,”said Yeo.
“Mind your own business,” said Amyas.
“Humph; but I’ll tell you, sir, what ourbusiness is, if you’ll step aside with me.I find that poor fellow that lies dead is none otherthan the leader of the Gubbings; the king of them,as they dare to call him.”
“Well, what of that?”
“Mark my words, sir, if we have not a hundredstout rogues upon us before two hours are out; forgiveus they never will; and if we get off with our lives,which I don’t much expect, we shall leave ourhorses behind; for we can hold the house, sir, wellenough till morning, but the courtyard we can’t,that’s certain!”
“We had better march at once, then.”
“Think, sir; if they catch us up—asthey are sure to do, knowing the country better thanwe—how will our shot stand their arrows?”
“True, old wisdom; we must keep the road; andwe must keep together; and so be a mark for them,while they will be behind every rock and bank; andtwo or three flights of arrows will do our businessfor us. Humph! stay, I have a plan.”And stepping forward he spoke—
“Eustace, you will be so kind as to go backto your lambs; and tell them, that if they meddlewith us cruel wolves again to-night, we are readyand willing to fight to the death, and have plentyof shot and powder at their service. Father Parsons,you will be so kind as to accompany us; it is butfitting that the shepherd should be hostage for hissheep.”
“If you carry me off this spot, sir, you carrymy corpse only,” said Parsons. “Imay as well die here as be hanged elsewhere, like mymartyred brother Campian.”
“If you take him, you must take me too,”said Eustace.
“What if we won’t?”
“How will you gain by that? you can only leaveme here. You cannot make me go to the Gubbings,if I do not choose.”
Amyas uttered sotto voce an anathema on Jesuits, Gubbings,and things in general. He was in a great hurryto get to Bideford, and he feared that this businesswould delay him, as it was, a day or two. He wantedto hang Parsons, he did not want to hang Eustace;and Eustace, he knew, was well aware of that latterfact, and played his game accordingly; but time ranon, and he had to answer sulkily enough:
“Well then; if you, Eustace, will go and givemy message to your converts, I will promise to setMr. Parsons free again before we come to Lydford town;and I advise you, if you have any regard for his life,to see that your eloquence be persuasive enough; foras sure as I am an Englishman, and he none, if theGubbings attack us, the first bullet that I shallfire at them will have gone through his scoundrellybrains.”
Parsons still kicked.
“Very well, then, my merry men all. Tiethis gentleman’s hands behind his back, getthe horses out, and we’ll right away up intoDartmoor, find a good high tor, stand our ground theretill morning, and then carry him into Okehampton tothe nearest justice. If he chooses to delay mein my journey, it is fair that I should make him payfor it.”
Whereon Parsons gave in, and being fast tied by hisarm to Amyas’s saddle, trudged alongside hishorse for several weary miles, while Yeo walked byhis side, like a friar by a condemned criminal; andin order to keep up his spirits, told him the wofulend of Nicholas Saunders the Legate, and how he wasfound starved to death in a bog.
“And if you wish, sir, to follow in his blessedsteps, which I heartily hope you will do, you haveonly to go over that big cow-backed hill there onyour right hand, and down again the other side to Crawmerepool, and there you’ll find as pretty a bog todie in as ever Jesuit needed; and your ghost may sitthere on a grass tummock, and tell your beads withoutany one asking for you till the day of judgment; andmuch good may it do you!”
At which imagination Yeo was actually heard, for thefirst and last time in this history, to laugh mostheartily.
His ho-ho’s had scarcely died away when theysaw shining under the moon the old tower of Lydfordcastle.
“Cast the fellow off now,” said Amyas.
“Ay, ay, sir!” and Yeo and Simon Evansstopped behind, and did not come up for ten minutesafter.
“What have you been about so long?”
“Why, sir,” said Evans, “you seethe man had a very fair pair of hose on, and a bran-newkersey doublet, very warm-lined; and so, thinking ita pity good clothes should be wasted on such noxioustrade, we’ve just brought them along with us.”
“Spoiling the Egyptians,” said Yeo ascomment.
“And what have you done with the man?”
“Hove him over the bank, sir; he pitched intoa big furze-bush, and for aught I know, there he’llbide.”
“You rascal, have you killed him?
“Never fear, sir,” said Yeo, in his coolfashion. “A Jesuit has as many lives asa cat, and, I believe, rides broomsticks post, likea witch. He would be at Lydford now before us,if his master Satan had any business for him there.”
Leaving on their left Lydford and its ill-omened castle(which, a century after, was one of the principalscenes of Judge Jeffreys’s cruelty), Amyas andhis party trudged on through the mire toward Okehamptontill sunrise; and ere the vapors had lifted from themountain tops, they were descending the long slopesfrom Sourton down, while Yestor and Amicombe sleptsteep and black beneath their misty pall; and roaringfar below unseen,
“Ockment leaptfrom crag and cloud
Down her cataracts,laughing loud.”
The voice of the stream recalled these words to Amyas’smind. The nymph of Torridge had spoken them uponthe day of his triumph. He recollected, too,his vexation on that day at not seeing Rose Salterne.Why, he had never seen her since. Never seenher now for six years and more! Of her ripenedbeauty he knew only by hearsay; she was still to himthe lovely fifteen years’ girl for whose sakehe had smitten the Barnstaple draper over the quay.What a chain of petty accidents had kept them frommeeting, though so often within a mile of each other!“And what a lucky one!” said practicalold Amyas to himself. “If I had seen heras she is now, I might have loved her as Frank does—poorFrank! what will he say? What does he say, forhe must know it already? And what ought I tosay—to do rather, for talking is no useon this side the grave, nor on the other either, Iexpect!” And then he asked himself whether hisold oath meant nothing or something; whether it wasa mere tavern frolic, or a sacred duty. And heheld, the more that he looked at it, that it meantthe latter.
But what could he do? He had nothing on earthbut his sword, so he could not travel to find her.After all, she might not be gone far. Perhapsnot gone at all. It might be a mistake, an exaggeratedscandal. He would hope so. And yet it wasevident that there had been some passages betweenher and Don Guzman. Eustace’s mysteriouswords about the promise at Lundy proved that.The villain! He had felt all along that he wasa villain; but just the one to win a woman’sheart, too. Frank had been away—allthe Brotherhood away. What a fool he had been,to turn the wolf loose into the sheepfold! Andyet who would have dreamed of it? . . .
“At all events,” said Amyas, trying tocomfort himself, “I need not complain.I have lost nothing. I stood no more chance ofher against Frank than I should have stood againstthe Don. So there is no use for me to cry aboutthe matter.” And he tried to hum a tuneconcerning the general frailty of women, but nevertheless,like Sir Hugh, felt that “he had a great dispositionto cry.”
He never had expected to win her, and yet it seemedbitter to know that she was lost to him forever.It was not so easy for a heart of his make to tossaway the image of a first love; and all the less easybecause that image was stained and ruined.
“Curses on the man who had done that deed!I will yet have his heart’s blood somehow, ifI go round the world again to find him. If there’sno law for it on earth, there’s law in heaven,or I’m much mistaken.”
With which determination he rode into the ugly, dirty,and stupid town of Okehampton, with which fallen man(by some strange perversity) has chosen to defileone of the loveliest sites in the pleasant land ofDevon. And heartily did Amyas abuse the old townthat day; for he was detained there, as he expected,full three hours, while the Justice Shallow of theplace was sent for from his farm (whither he had goneat sunrise, after the early-rising fashion of thosedays) to take Yeo’s deposition concerning lastnight’s affray. Moreover, when Shallow came,he refused to take the depositions, because they oughtto have been made before a brother Shallow at Lydford;and in the wrangling which ensued, was very near findingout what Amyas (fearing fresh loss of time and worseevils beside) had commanded to be concealed, namely,the presence of Jesuits in that Moorland Utopia.Then, in broadest Devon—
“And do you call this Christian conduct, sir,to set a quiet man like me upon they Gubbings, asif I was going to risk my precious life—no,nor ever a constable to Okehampton neither? LetLydfor’ men mind Lydfor’ roogs, and byLydfor’ law if they will, hang first and tryafter; but as for me, I’ve rade my Bible, and’He that meddleth with strife is like him thattaketh a dog by the ears.’ So if you chooseto sit down and ate your breakfast with me, well andgood: but depositions I’ll have none.If your man is enquired for, you’ll be answerablefor his appearing, in course; but I expect mortally”(with a wink), “you wain’t hear much moreof the matter from any hand. ’Leave wellalone is a good rule, but leave ill alone is a better.’—Sowe says round about here; and so you’ll say,captain, when you be so old as I.”
So Amyas sat down and ate his breakfast, and wenton afterwards a long and weary day’s journey,till he saw at last beneath him the broad shiningriver, and the long bridge, and the white houses piledup the hill-side; and beyond, over Raleigh downs,the dear old tower of Northam Church.
Alas! Northam was altogether a desert to himthen; and Bideford, as it turned out, hardly lessso. For when he rode up to Sir Richard’sdoor, he found that the good knight was still in Ireland,and Lady Grenville at Stow. Whereupon he rodeback again down the High Street to that same bow-windowedShip Tavern where the Brotherhood of the Rose madetheir vow, and settled himself in the very room wherethey had supped.
“Ah! Mr. Leigh—Captain Leighnow, I beg pardon,” quoth mine host. “Bidefordis an empty place now-a-days, and nothing stirring,sir. What with Sir Richard to Ireland, and SirJohn to London, and all the young gentlemen to thewars, there’s no one to buy good liquor, andno one to court the young ladies, neither. Sack,sir? I hope so. I haven’t brewed agallon of it this fortnight, if you’ll believeme; ale, sir, and aqua vitae, and such low-bred trade,is all I draw now-a-days. Try a pint of sherry,sir, now, to give you an appetite. You mind mysherry of old? Jane! Sherry and sugar, quick,while I pull off the captain’s boots.”
Amyas sat weary and sad, while the innkeeper chatteredon.
“Ah, sir! two or three like you would set theyoung ladies all alive again. By-the-by, there’sbeen strange doings among them since you were herelast. You mind Mistress Salterne!”
“For God’s sake, don’t let us havethat story, man! I heard enough of it at Plymouth!”said Amyas, in so disturbed a tone that mine host lookedup, and said to himself—
“Ah, poor young gentleman, he’s one ofthe hard-hit ones.”
“How is the old man?” asked Amyas, aftera pause.
“Bears it well enough, sir; but a changed man.Never speaks to a soul, if he can help it. Somefolk say he’s not right in his head; or turnedmiser, or somewhat, and takes naught but bread andwater, and sits up all night in the room as was hers,turning over her garments. Heaven knows what’son his mind—they do say he was over hardon her, and that drove her to it. All I knowis, he has never been in here for a drop of liquor(and he came as regular every evening as the town clock,sir) since she went, except a ten days ago, and thenhe met young Mr. Cary at the door, and I heard himask Mr. Cary when you would be home, sir.”
“Put on my boots again. I’ll go andsee him.”
“Bless you, sir! What, without your sack?”
“Drink it yourself, man.”
“But you wouldn’t go out again this timeo’ night on an empty stomach, now?”
“Fill my men’s stomachs for them, andnever mind mine. It’s market-day, is itnot? Send out, and see whether Mr. Cary is stillin town;” and Amyas strode out, and along thequay to Bridgeland Street, and knocked at Mr. Salterne’sdoor.
Salterne himself opened it, with his usual stern courtesy.
“I saw you coming up the street, sir. Ihave been expecting this honor from you for some timepast. I dreamt of you only last night, and manya night before that too. Welcome, sir, into alonely house. I trust the good knight your generalis well.”
“The good knight my general is with God whomade him, Mr. Salterne.”
“Dead, sir?”
“Foundered at sea on our way home; and the Delightlost too.”
“Humph!” growled Salterne, after a minute’ssilence. “I had a venture in her.I suppose it’s gone. No matter—Ican afford it, sir, and more, I trust. And hewas three years younger than I! And Draper Heardwas buried yesterday, five years younger.—Howis it that every one can die, except me? Comein, sir, come in; I have forgotten my manners.”
And he led Amyas into his parlor, and called to theapprentices to run one way, and to the cook to runanother.
“You must not trouble yourself to get me supper,indeed.”
“I must though, sir, and the best of wine too;and old Salterne had a good tap of Alicant in oldtime, old time, old time, sir! and you must drinkit now, whether he does or not!” and out he bustled.
Amyas sat still, wondering what was coming next, andpuzzled at the sudden hilarity of the man, as wellas his hospitality, so different from what the innkeeperhad led him to expect.
In a minute more one of the apprentices came in tolay the cloth, and Amyas questioned him about hismaster.
“Thank the Lord that you are come, sir,”said the lad.
“Why, then?”
“Because there’ll be a chance of us poorfellows getting a little broken meat. We’mhalf-starved this three months—bread anddripping, bread and dripping, oh dear, sir! Andnow he’s sent out to the inn for chickens, andgame, and salads, and all that money can buy, and downin the cellar haling out the best of wine.”—Andthe lad smacked his lips audibly at the thought.
“Is he out of his mind?”
“I can’t tell; he saith as how he mustsave mun’s money now-a-days; for he’vea got a great venture on hand: but what a be hetell’th no man. They call’th mun‘bread and dripping’ now, sir, all townover,” said the prentice, confidentially, toAmyas.
“They do, do they, sirrah! Then they willcall me bread and no dripping to-morrow!” andold Salterne, entering from behind, made a dash atthe poor fellow’s ears: but luckily thoughtbetter of it, having a couple of bottles in each hand.
“My dear sir,” said Amyas, “youdon’t mean us to drink all that wine?”
“Why not, sir?” answered Salterne, ina grim, half-sneering tone, thrusting out his square-grizzledbeard and chin. “Why not, sir? why shouldI not make merry when I have the honor of a noble captainin my house? one who has sailed the seas, sir, andcut Spaniards’ throats; and may cut them againtoo; eh, sir? Boy, where’s the kettle andthe sugar?”
“What on earth is the man at?” quoth Amyasto himself—“flattering me, or laughingat me?”
“Yes,” he ran on, half to himself, ina deliberate tone, evidently intending to hint morethan he said, as he began brewing the sack—inplain English, hot negus; “Yes, bread and drippingfor those who can’t fight Spaniards; but thebest that money can buy for those who can. Iheard of you at Smerwick, sir—Yes, breadand dripping for me too—I can’t fightSpaniards: but for such as you. Look here,sir; I should like to feed a crew of such up, as you’dfeed a main of fighting-co*cks, and then start themwith a pair of Sheffield spurs a-piece—you’vea good one there to your side, sir: but don’tyou think a man might carry two now, and fight asthey say those Chineses do, a sword to each hand?You could kill more that way, Captain Leigh, I reckon?”
Amyas half laughed.
“One will do, Mr. Salterne, if one is quickenough with it.”
“Humph!—Ah—No use beingin a hurry. I haven’t been in a hurry.No—I waited for you; and here you are andwelcome, sir! Here comes supper, a light matter,sir, you see. A capon and a brace of partridges.I had no time to feast you as you deserve.”
And so he ran on all supper-time, hardly allowingAmyas to get a word in edge-ways; but heaping himwith coarse flattery, and urging him to drink, tillafter the cloth was drawn, and the two left alone,he grew so outrageous that Amyas was forced to takehim to task good-humoredly.
“Now, my dear sir, you have feasted me royally,and better far than I deserve, but why will you goabout to make me drunk twice over, first with vaingloryand then with wine?”
Salterne looked at him a while fixedly, and then,sticking out his chin—“Because, CaptainLeigh, I am a man who has all his life tried the crookedroad first, and found the straight one the safer afterall.”
“Eh, sir? That is a strange speech forone who bears the character of the most upright manin Bideford.”
“Humph. So I thought myself once, sir;and well I have proved it. But I’ll beplain with you, sir. You’ve heard how—howI’ve fared since you saw me last?”
Amyas nodded his head.
“I thought so. Shame rides post. Nowthen, Captain Leigh, listen to me. I, being aplain man and a burgher, and one that never drew ironin my life except to mend a pen, ask you, being agentleman and a captain and a man of honor, with aweapon to your side, and harness to your back—whatwould you do in my place?”
“Humph!” said Amyas, “that wouldvery much depend on whether ‘my place’was my own fault or not.”
“And what if it were, sir? What if allthat the charitable folks of Bideford—(Heavenreward them for their tender mercies!)—havebeen telling you in the last hour be true, sir,—true!and yet not half the truth?”
Amyas gave a start.
“Ah, you shrink from me! Of course a manis too righteous to forgive those who repent, thoughGod is not.”
“God knows, sir—”
“Yes, sir, God does know—all; andyou shall know a little—as much as I cantell—or you understand. Come upstairswith me, sir, as you’ll drink no more; I havea liking for you. I have watched you from yourboyhood, and I can trust you, and I’ll showyou what I never showed to mortal man but one.”
And, taking up a candle, he led the way upstairs,while Amyas followed wondering.
He stopped at a door, and unlocked it.
“There, come in. Those shutters have notbeen opened since she—” and the oldman was silent.
Amyas looked round the room. It was a low wainscotedroom, such as one sees in old houses: everythingwas in the most perfect neatness. The snow-whitesheets on the bed were turned down as if ready foran occupant. There were books arranged on theshelves, fresh flowers on the table; the dressing-tablehad all its woman’s mundus of pins, and rings,and brushes; even the dressing-gown lay over the chair-back.Everything was evidently just as it had been left.
“This was her room, sir,” whispered theold man.
Amyas nodded silently, and half drew back.
“You need not be modest about entering it now,sir,” whispered he, with a sort of sneer.“There has been no frail flesh and blood in itfor many a day.”
Amyas sighed.
“I sweep it out myself every morning, and keepall tidy. See here!” and he pulled opena drawer. “Here are all her gowns, and thereare her hoods; and there—I know ’emall by heart now, and the place of every one.And there, sir—”
And he opened a cupboard, where lay in rows all Rose’sdolls, and the worn-out playthings of her childhood.
“That’s the pleasantest place of all inthe room to me,” said he, whispering still,“for it minds me of when—and maybe,she may become a little child once more, sir; it’swritten in the Scripture, you know—”
“Amen!” said Amyas, who felt, to his ownwonder, a big tear stealing down each cheek.
“And now,” he whispered, “one thingmore. Look here!”—and pullingout a key, he unlocked a chest, and lifted up trayafter tray of necklaces and jewels, furs, lawns, clothof gold. “Look there! Two thousandpound won’t buy that chest. Twenty yearshave I been getting those things together. That’sthe cream of many a Levant voyage, and East Indianvoyage, and West Indian voyage. My Lady Bath can’tmatch those pearls in her grand house at Tawstock;I got ’em from a Genoese, though, and paid for’em. Look at that embroidered lawn!There’s not such a piece in London; no, norin Alexandria, I’ll warrant; nor short of Calicut,where it came from. . . . Look here again, there’sa golden cup! I bought that of one that was outwith Pizarro in Peru. And look here, again!”—andthe old man gloated over the treasure.
“And whom do you think I kept all these for?These were for her wedding-day—for herwedding-day. For your wedding-day, if you’dbeen minded, sir! Yes, yours, sir! And yet,I believe, I was so ambitious that I would not havelet her marry under an earl, all the while I was pretendingto be too proud to throw her at the head of a squire’sson. Ah, well! There was my idol, sir.I made her mad, I pampered her up with gewgaws andvanity; and then, because my idol was just what I hadmade her, I turned again and rent her.
“And now,” said he, pointing to the openchest, “that was what I meant; and that”(pointing to the empty bed) “was what God meant.Never mind. Come downstairs and finish your wine.I see you don’t care about it all. Whyshould you! you are not her father, and you may thankGod you are not. Go, and be merry while you can,young sir! . . . And yet, all this might havebeen yours. And—but I don’t supposeyou are one to be won by money—but allthis may be yours still, and twenty thousand poundsto boot.”
“I want no money, sir, but what I can earn withmy own sword.”
“Earn my money, then!”
“What on earth do you want of me!”
“To keep your oath,” said Salterne, clutchinghis arm, and looking up into his face with searchingeyes.
“My oath! How did you know that I had one?”
“Ah! you were well ashamed of it, I suppose,next day! A drunken frolic all about a poor merchant’sdaughter! But there is nothing hidden that shallnot be revealed, nor done in the closet that is notproclaimed on the house-tops.”
“Ashamed of it, sir, I never was: but Ihave a right to ask how you came to know it?”
“What if a poor fat squinny rogue, a low-bornfellow even as I am, whom you had baffled and madea laughing-stock, had come to me in my lonelinessand sworn before God that if you honorable gentlemenwould not keep your words, he the clown would?”
“John Brimblecombe?”
“And what if I had brought him where I havebrought you, and shown him what I have shown you,and, instead of standing as stiff as any Spaniard,as you do, he had thrown himself on his knees by thatbedside, and wept and prayed, sir, till he openedmy hard heart for the first and last time, and I felldown on my sinful knees and wept and prayed by him?”
“I am not given to weeping, Mr. Salterne,”said Amyas; “and as for praying, I don’tknow yet what I have to pray for, on her account:my business is to work. Show me what I can do;and when you have done that, it will be full timeto upbraid me with not doing it.”
“You can cut that fellow’s throat.”
“It will take a long arm to reach him.”
“I suppose it is as easy to sail to the SpanishMain as it was to sail round the world.”
“My good sir,” said Amyas, “I haveat this moment no more worldly goods than my clothesand my sword, so how to sail to the Spanish Main, Idon’t quite see.”
“And do you suppose, sir, that I should hintto you of such a voyage if I meant you to be at thecharge of it? No, sir; if you want two thousandpounds, or five, to fit a ship, take it! Takeit, sir! I hoarded money for my child: andnow I will spend it to avenge her.”
Amyas was silent for a while; the old man still heldhis arm, still looked up steadfastly and fiercelyin his face.
“Bring me home that man’s head, and takeship, prizes—all! Keep the gain, sir,and give me the revenge!”
“Gain? Do you think I need bribing, sir?What kept me silent was the thought of my mother.I dare not go without her leave.”
Salterne made a gesture of impatience.
“I dare not, sir; I must obey my parent, whateverelse I do.”
“Humph!” said he. “If othershad obeyed theirs as well!—But you areright, Captain Leigh, right. You will prosper,whoever else does not. Now, sir, good-night,if you will let me be the first to say so. Myold eyes grow heavy early now-a-days. Perhapsit’s old age, perhaps it’s sorrow.”
So Amyas departed to the inn, and there, to his greatjoy, found Cary waiting for him, from whom he learntdetails, which must be kept for another chapter, andwhich I shall tell, for convenience’ sake, inmy own words and not in his.
CHAPTER XV
HOW MR. JOHN BRIMBLECOMBE UNDERSTOOD THE NATURE OF AN OATH
“The Kynge of Spayn is a foulpaynim,
And lieveth on Mahound;
And pity it were that lady fayre
Should marry a heathen hound.”
Kyng Estmere.
About six weeks after the duel, the miller at Stowhad come up to the great house in much tribulation,to borrow the bloodhounds. Rose Salterne hadvanished in the night, no man knew whither.
Sir Richard was in Bideford: but the old stewardtook on himself to send for the keepers, and downwent the serving-men to the mill with all the idlelads of the parish at their heels, thinking a maiden-huntvery good sport; and of course taking a view of thecase as favorable as possible to Rose.
They reviled the miller and his wife roundly for hard-heartedold heathens; and had no doubt that they had driventhe poor maid to throw herself over cliff, or drownherself in the sea; while all the women of Stow, onthe other hand, were of unanimous opinion that thehussy had “gone off” with some bad fellow;and that pride was sure to have a fall, and so forth.
The facts of the case were, that all Rose’strinkets were left behind, so that she had at leastgone off honestly; and nothing seemed to be missing,but some of her linen, which old Anthony the stewardbroadly hinted was likely to be found in other people’sboxes. The only trace was a little footmark underher bedroom window. On that the bloodhound waslaid (of course in leash), and after a premonitorywhimper, lifted up his mighty voice, and started bell-mouthedthrough the garden gate, and up the lane, towing behindhim the panting keeper, till they reached the downsabove, and went straight away for Marslandmouth, wherethe whole posse comitatus pulled up breathless atthe door of Lucy Passmore.
Lucy, as perhaps I should have said before, was nowa widow, and found her widowhood not altogether contraryto her interest. Her augury about her old manhad been fulfilled; he had never returned since thenight on which he put to sea with Eustace and theJesuits.
"Some natural tearsshe shed, but dried them soon”
as many of them, at least, as were not required forpurposes of business; and then determined to preventsuspicion by a bold move; she started off to Stow,and told Lady Grenville a most pathetic tale:how her husband had gone out to pollock fishing, andnever returned: but how she had heard horsem*ngallop past her window in the dead of night, and wassure they must have been the Jesuits, and that theyhad carried off her old man by main force, and probably,after making use of his services, had killed and saltedhim down for provision on their voyage back to thePope at Rome; after which she ended by entreating protectionagainst those “Popish skulkers up to Chapel,”who were sworn to do her a mischief; and by an appealto Lady Grenville’s sense of justice, as towhether the queen ought not to allow her a pension,for having had her heart’s love turned intoa sainted martyr by the hands of idolatrous traitors.
Lady Grenville (who had a great opinion of Lucy’smedical skill, and always sent for her if one of thechildren had a “housty,” i. e. sore throat)went forth and pleaded the case before Sir Richardwith such effect, that Lucy was on the whole betteroff than ever for the next two or three years. But now—what had she to do with Rose’sdisappearance? and, indeed, where was she herself? Her door was fast; and round it her flock of goatsstood, crying in vain for her to come and milk them;while from the down above, her donkeys, wandering attheir own sweet will, answered the bay of the bloodhoundwith a burst of harmony.
“They’m laughing at us, keper, they neddies;sure enough, we’m lost our labor here.”
But the bloodhound, after working about the door awhile, turned down the glen, and never stopped tillhe reached the margin of the sea.
“They’m taken water. Let’sgo back, and rout out the old witch’s house.”
“’Tis just like that old Lucy, to locka poor maid into shame.”
And returning, they attacked the cottage, and by ageneral plebiscitum, ransacked the little dwelling,partly in indignation, and partly, if the truth betold, in the hope of plunder; but plunder there wasnone. Lucy had decamped with all her movablewealth, saving the huge black cat among the embers,who at the sight of the bloodhound vanished up thechimney (some said with a strong smell of brimstone),and being viewed outside, was chased into the woods,where she lived, I doubt not, many happy years, ascourge to all the rabbits of the glen.
The goats and donkeys were driven off up to Stow;and the mob returned, a little ashamed of themselveswhen their brief wrath was past; and a little afraid,too, of what Sir Richard might say.
He, when he returned, sold the donkeys and goats,and gave the money to the poor, promising to refundthe same, if Lucy returned and gave herself up tojustice. But Lucy did not return; and her cottage,from which the neighbors shrank as from a hauntedplace, remained as she had left it, and crumbled slowlydown to four fern-covered walls, past which the littlestream went murmuring on from pool to pool—theonly voice, for many a year to come, which broke thesilence of that lonely glen.
A few days afterwards, Sir Richard, on his way fromBideford to Stow, looked in at Clovelly Court, andmentioned, with a “by the by,” news whichmade Will Cary leap from his seat almost to the ceiling. What it was we know already.
“And there is no clue?” asked old Cary;for his son was speechless.
“Only this; I hear that some fellow prowlingabout the cliffs that night saw a pinnace runningfor Lundy.”
Will rose, and went hastily out of the room.
In half an hour he and three or four armed servantswere on board a trawling-skiff, and away to Lundy. He did not return for three days, and then broughtnews: that an elderly man, seemingly a foreigner,had been lodging for some months past in a part ofthe ruined Moresco Castle, which was tenanted by oneJohn Braund; that a few weeks since a younger man,a foreigner also, had joined him from on board a ship:the ship a Flushinger, or Easterling of some sort. The ship came and went more than once; and the youngman in her. A few days since, a lady and hermaid, a stout woman, came with him up to the castle,and talked with the elder man a long while in secret;abode there all night; and then all three sailed inthe morning. The fishermen on the beach had heardthe young man call the other father. He was avery still man, much as a mass-priest might be. More they did not know, or did not choose to know.
Whereon old Cary and Sir Richard sent Will on a secondtrip with the parish constable of Hartland (in whichhuge parish, for its sins, is situate the Isle ofLundy, ten miles out at sea); who returned with thebody of the hapless John Braund, farmer, fisherman,smuggler, etc.; which worthy, after much fruitlessexamination (wherein examinate was afflicted withextreme deafness and loss of memory), departed to Exetergaol, on a charge of “harboring priests, Jesuits,gipsies, and other suspect and traitorous persons.”
Poor John Braund, whose motive for entertaining thesaid ugly customers had probably been not treason,but a wife, seven children, and arrears of rent, didnot thrive under the change from the pure air of Lundyto the pestiferous one of Exeter gaol, made infamous,but two years after (if I recollect right), by a “blackassizes,” nearly as fatal as that more notoriousone at Oxford; for in it, “whether by the stenchof the prisoners, or by a stream of foul air,”judge, jury, counsel, and bystanders, numbering amongthem many members of the best families in Devon, sickenedin court, and died miserably within a few days.
John Braund, then, took the gaol-fever in a week,and died raving in that noisome den: his secret,if he had one, perished with him, and nothing butvague suspicion was left as to Rose Salterne’sfate. That she had gone off with the Spaniard,few doubted; but whither, and in what character? On that last subject, be sure, no mercy was shownto her by many a Bideford dame, who had hated thepoor girl simply for her beauty; and by many a countrylady, who had “always expected that the girlwould be brought to ruin by the absurd notice, beyondwhat her station had a right to, which was taken ofher,” while every young maiden aspired to fillthe throne which Rose had abdicated. So that,on the whole, Bideford considered itself as goingon as well without poor Rose as it had done with her,or even better. And though she lingered in somehearts still as a fair dream, the business and thebustle of each day soon swept that dream away, andher place knew her no more.
And Will Cary?
He was for a while like a man distracted. Heheaped himself with all manner of superfluous reproaches,for having (as he said) first brought the Rose intodisgrace, and then driven her into the arms of theSpaniard; while St. Leger, who was a sensible man enough,tried in vain to persuade him that the fault was nothis at all; that the two must have been attached toeach other long before the quarrel; that it must haveended so, sooner or later; that old Salterne’sharshness, rather than Cary’s wrath, had hastenedthe catastrophe; and finally, that the Rose and herfortunes were, now that she had eloped with a Spaniard,not worth troubling their heads about. PoorWill would not be so comforted. He wrote offto Frank at Whitehall, telling him the whole truth,calling himself all fools and villains, and entreatingFrank’s forgiveness; to which he received ananswer, in which Frank said that Will had no reasonto accuse himself; that these strange attachments weredue to a synastria, or sympathy of the stars, whichruled the destinies of each person, to fight againstwhich was to fight against the heavens themselves;that he, as a brother of the Rose, was bound to believe,nay, to assert at the sword’s point if need were,that the incomparable Rose of Torridge could makenone but a worthy and virtuous choice; and that tothe man whom she had honored by her affection was dueon their part, Spaniard and Papist though he mightbe, all friendship, worship, and loyal faith for evermore.
And honest Will took it all for gospel, little dreamingwhat agony of despair, what fearful suspicions, whatbitter prayers, this letter had cost to the gentleheart of Francis Leigh.
He showed the letter triumphantly to St. Leger; andhe was quite wise enough to gainsay no word of it,at least aloud; but quite wise enough, also, to believein secret that Frank looked on the matter in quitea different light; however, he contented himself withsaying:
“The man is an angel as his mother is!”and there the matter dropped for a few days, tillone came forward who had no mind to let it drop, andthat was Jack Brimblecombe, now curate of Hartlandtown, and “passing rich on forty pounds a year.
“I hope no offence, Mr. William; but when areyou and the rest going after—after her?” The name stuck in his throat.
Cary was taken aback.
“What’s that to thee, Catiline the blood-drinker?”asked he, trying to laugh it off.
“What? Don’t laugh at me, sir, forit’s no laughing matter. I drank thatnight naught worse, I expect, than red wine. Whatever it was, we swore our oaths, Mr. Cary; andoaths are oaths, say I.”
“Of course, Jack, of course; but to go to lookfor her—and when we’ve found her,cut her lover’s throat. Absurd, Jack, evenif she were worth looking for, or his throat worthcutting. Tut, tut, tut—”
But Jack looked steadfastly in his face, and aftersome silence:
How far is it to the Caracas, then, sir?”
“What is that to thee, man?”
“Why, he was made governor thereof, I hear;so that would be the place to find her?”
“You don’t mean to go thither to seekher?” shouted Cary, forcing a laugh.
“That depends on whether I can go, sir; butif I can scrape the money together, or get a berthon board some ship, why, God’s will must bedone.”
Will looked at him, to see if he had been drinking,or gone mad; but the little pigs’ eyes wereboth sane and sober.
Will knew no answer. To laugh at the poor fellowwas easy enough; to deny that he was right, that hewas a hero and cavalier, outdoing romance itself infaithfulness, not so easy; and Cary, in the firstimpulse, wished him at the bottom of the bay for shaminghim. Of course, his own plan of letting illalone was the rational, prudent, irreproachable plan,and just what any gentleman in his senses would havedone; but here was a vulgar, fat curate, out of hissenses, determined not to let ill alone, but to dosomething, as Cary felt in his heart, of a far divinerstamp.
“Well,” said Jack, in his stupid steadfastway, “it’s a very bad look-out; but mother’spretty well off, if father dies, and the maidens arestout wenches enough, and will make tidy servants,please the Lord. And you’ll see that theycome to no harm, Mr. William, for old acquaintance’sake, if I never come back.”
Cary was silent with amazement.
“And, Mr. William, you know me for an honestman, I hope. Will you lend me a five pound,and take my books in pawn for them, just to help meout?”
“Are you mad, or in a dream? You willnever find her!”
“That’s no reason why I shouldn’tdo my duty in looking for her, Mr. William.”
“But, my good fellow, even if you get to theIndies, you will be clapt into the Inquisition, andburnt alive, as sure as your name is Jack.”
“I know that,” said he, in a doleful tone;“and a sore struggle of the flesh I have hadabout it; for I am a great coward, Mr. William, a dirtycoward, and always was, as you know: but maybethe Lord will take care of me, as He does of littlechildren and drunken men; and if not, Mr. Will, I’dsooner burn, and have it over, than go on this wayany longer, I would!” and Jack burst out blubbering.
“What way, my dear old lad?” said Will,softened as he well might be.
“Why, not—not to know whether—whether—whethershe’s married to him or not—her thatI looked up to as an angel of God, as pure as the lightof day; and knew she was too good for a poor pot-headlike me; and prayed for her every night, God knows,that she might marry a king, if there was one fitfor her—and I not to know whether she’sliving in sin or not, Mr. William.—It’smore than I can bear, and there’s an end of it.And if she is married to him they keep no faith withheretics; they can dissolve the marriage, or makeaway with her into the Inquisition; burn her, Mr.Cary, as soon as burn me, the devils incarnate!”
Cary shuddered; the fact, true and palpable as itwas, had never struck him before.
“Yes! or make her deny her God by torments,if she hasn’t done it already for love to that—Iknow how love will make a body sell his soul, forI’ve been in love. Don’t you laughat me, Mr. Will, or I shall go mad!”
“God knows, I was never less inclined to laughat you in my life, my brave old Jack.”
“Is it so, then? Bless you for that word!”and Jack held out his hand. “But what willbecome of my soul, after my oath, if I don’tseek her out, just to speak to her, to warn her, forGod’s sake, even if it did no good; just toset before her the Lord’s curse on idolatry andAntichrist, and those who deny Him for the sake ofany creature, though I can’t think he wouldbe hard on her,—for who could? ButI must speak all the same. The Lord has laidthe burden on me, and done it must be. God helpme!”
“Jack,” said Cary, “if this is yourduty, it is others’.”
“No, sir, I don’t say that; you’rea layman, but I am a deacon, and the chaplain of youall, and sworn to seek out Christ’s sheep scatteredup and down this naughty world, and that innocentlamb first of all.”
“You have sheep at Hartland, Jack, already.”
“There’s plenty better than I will tendthem, when I am gone; but none that will tend her,because none love her like me, and they won’tventure. Who will? It can’t be expected,and no shame to them?”
“I wonder what Amyas Leigh would say to allthis, if he were at home?”
“Say? He’d do. He isn’tone for talking. He’d go through fire andwater for her, you trust him, Will Cary; and call mean ass if he won’t.”
“Will you wait, then, till he comes back, andask him?”
“He may not be back for a year and more.”
“Hear reason, Jack. If you will wait likea rational and patient man, instead of rushing blindfoldon your ruin, something may be done.”
“You think so!”
“I cannot promise; but—”
“But promise me one thing. Do you tellMr. Frank what I say—or rather, I’llwarrant, if I knew the truth, he has said the verysame thing himself already.”
“You are out there, old man; for here is hisown handwriting.”
Jack read the letter and sighed bitterly. “Well,I did take him for another guess sort of fine gentleman. Still, if my duty isn’t his, it’s mineall the same. I judge no man; but I go, Mr. Cary.”
“But go you shall not till Amyas returns. As I live, I will tell your father, Jack, unlessyou promise; and you dare not disobey him.”
“I don’t know even that, for conscience’sake,” said Jack, doubtfully.
“At least, you stay and dine here, old fellow,and we will settle whether you are to break the fifthcommandment or not, over good brewed sack.”
Now a good dinner was (as we know) what Jack loved,and loved too oft in vain; so he submitted for thenonce, and Cary thought, ere he went, that he hadtalked him pretty well round. At least he wenthome, and was seen no more for a week.
But at the end of that time he returned, and saidwith a joyful voice—
“I have settled all, Mr. Will. The parsonof Welcombe will serve my church for two Sundays,and I am away for London town, to speak to Mr. Frank.”
“To London? How wilt get there?”
“On Shanks his mare,” said Jack, pointingto his bandy legs. “But I expect I canget a lift on board of a coaster so far as Bristol,and it’s no way on to signify, I hear.”
Cary tried in vain to dissuade him; and then forcedon him a small loan, with which away went Jack, andCary heard no more of him for three weeks.
At last he walked into Clovelly Court again just beforesupper-time, thin and leg-weary, and sat himself downamong the serving-men till Will appeared.
Will took him up above the salt, and made much ofhim (which indeed the honest fellow much needed),and after supper asked him in private how he had sped.
“I have learnt a lesson, Mr. William. I’ve learnt that there is one on earth lovesher better than I, if she had but had the wit to havetaken him.”
“But what says he of going to seek her?”
“He says what I say, Go! and he says what yousay, Wait.”
“Go? Impossible! How can that agreewith his letter?”
“That’s no concern of mine. Of course,being nearer heaven than I am, he sees clearer whathe should say and do than I can see for him. Oh, Mr. Will, that’s not a man, he’s anangel of God; but he’s dying, Mr. Will.”
“Dying?”
“Yes, faith, of love for her. I can seeit in his eyes, and hear it in his voice; but I amof tougher hide and stiffer clay, and so you see Ican’t die even if I tried. But I’llobey my betters, and wait.”
And so Jack went home to his parish that very evening,weary as he was, in spite of all entreaties to passthe night at Clovelly. But he had left behindhim thoughts in Cary’s mind, which gave theirowner no rest by day or night, till the touch of aseeming accident made them all start suddenly intoshape, as a touch of the freezing water covers it inan instant with crystals of ice.
He was lounging (so he told Amyas) one murky day onBideford quay, when up came Mr. Salterne. Caryhad shunned him of late, partly from delicacy, partlyfrom dislike of his supposed hard-heartedness. But this time they happened to meet full; and Carycould not pass without speaking to him.
“Well, Mr. Salterne, and how goes on the shippingtrade?”
“Well enough, sir, if some of you young gentlemenwould but follow Mr. Leigh’s example, and goforth to find us stay-at-homes new markets for ourware.”
“What? you want to be rid of us, eh?”
“I don’t know why I should, sir. We sha’n’t cross each other now, sir,whatever might have been once. But if I wereyou, I should be in the Indies about now, if I werenot fighting the queen’s battles nearer home.”
“In the Indies? I should make but a poorhand of Drake’s trade.” And so theconversation dropped; but Cary did not forget the hint.
“So, lad, to make an end of a long story,”said he to Amyas; “if you are minded to takethe old man’s offer, so am I: and Westward-howith you, come foul come fair.”
“It will be but a wild-goose chase, Will.”
“If she is with him, we shall find her at LaGuayra. If she is not, and the villain has casther off down the wind, that will be only an additionalreason for making an example of him.”
“And if neither of them are there, Will, thePlate-fleets will be; so it will be our own shameif we come home empty-handed. But will yourfather let you run such a risk?”
“My father!” said Cary, laughing. “He has just now so good hope of a long stringof little Carys to fill my place, that he will be inno lack of an heir, come what will.”
“Little Carys?”
“I tell you truth. I think he must havehad a sly sup of that fountain of perpetual youth,which our friend Don Guzman’s grandfather wentto seek in Florida; for some twelvemonth since, hemust needs marry a tenant’s buxom daughter;and Mistress Abishag Jewell has brought him one fatbaby already. So I shall go, back to Ireland,or with you: but somewhere. I can’tabide the thing’s squalling, any more than Ican seeing Mistress Abishag sitting in my poor dearmother’s place, and informing me every otherday that she is come of an illustrious house, becauseshe is (or is not) third cousin seven times removedto my father’s old friend, Bishop Jewell ofglorious memory. I had three-parts of a quarrelwith the dear old man the other day; for after oneof her peaco*ck-bouts, I couldn’t for the lifeof me help saying, that as the Bishop had writtenan Apology for the people of England, my father hadbetter conjure up his ghost to write an apology forhim, and head it, ‘Why green heads should growon gray shoulders.’”
“You impudent villain! And what did hesay?”
Laughed till he cried again, and told me if I didnot like it I might leave it; which is just what Iintend to do. Only mind, if we go, we must needstake Jack Brimblecombe with us, or he will surely heavehimself over Harty Point, and his ghost will hauntus to our dying day.”
“Jack shall go. None deserves it better.”
After which there was a long consultation on practicalmatters, and it was concluded that Amyas should goup to London and sound Frank and his mother beforeany further steps were taken. The other brethrenof the Rose were scattered far and wide, each at hispost, and St. Leger had returned to his uncle, sothat it would be unfair to them, as well as a considerabledelay, to demand of them any fulfilment of their vow.And, as Amyas sagely remarked, “Too many cooksspoil the broth, and half-a-dozen gentlemen aboardone ship are as bad as two kings of Brentford.”
With which maxim he departed next morning for London,leaving Yeo with Cary.
CHAPTER XVI
THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE OF THE GOOD SHIP ROSE
“He is brass within,and steel without,
With beams on his topcastlestrong;
And eighteen piecesof ordinance
He carries on eitherside along.”
Sir AndrewBarton.
Let us take boat, as Amyas did, at Whitehall-stairs,and slip down ahead of him under old London Bridge,and so to Deptford Creek, where remains, as it wereembalmed, the famous ship Pelican, in which Drake hadsailed round the world. There she stands, drawnup high and dry upon the sedgy bank of Thames, likean old warrior resting after his toil. Nailedupon her mainmast are epigrams and verses in honorof her and of her captain, three of which, by theWinchester scholar, Camden gives in his History; andElizabeth’s self consecrated her solemnly, andhaving banqueted on board, there and then honoredDrake with the dignity of knighthood. “Atwhich time a bridge of planks, by which they came onboard, broke under the press of people, and fell downwith a hundred men upon it, who, notwithstanding,had none of them any harm. So as that ship mayseem to have been built under a lucky planet.”
There she has remained since as a show, and moreoveras a sort of dining-hall for jovial parties from thecity; one of which would seem to be on board thisafternoon, to judge from the flags which bedizen themasts, the sounds of revelry and savory steams whichissue from those windows which once were portholes,and the rushing to and fro along the river brink,and across that lucky bridge, of white-aproned waitersfrom the neighboring Pelican Inn. A great feastis evidently toward, for with those white-apronedwaiters are gay serving men, wearing on their shouldersthe city-badge. The lord mayor is giving a dinnerto certain gentlemen of the Leicester house party,who are interested in foreign discoveries; and whatplace so fit for such a feast as the Pelican itself?
Look at the men all round; a nobler company you willseldom see. Especially too, if you be Americans,look at their faces, and reverence them; for to themand to their wisdom you owe the existence of yourmighty fatherland.
At the head of the table sits the lord mayor; whomall readers will recognize at once, for he is noneother than that famous Sir Edward Osborne, clothworker,and ancestor of the dukes of Leeds, whose romancenow-a-days is in every one’s hands. He isaged, but not changed, since he leaped from the windowupon London Bridge into the roaring tide below, torescue the infant who is now his wife. The chivalryand promptitude of the ’prentice boy have grownand hardened into the thoughtful daring of the wealthymerchant adventurer. There he sits, a right kinglyman, with my lord Earl of Cumberland on his right hand,
and Walter Raleigh on his left; the three talk togetherin a low voice on the chance of there being vast andrich countries still undiscovered between Floridaand the River of Canada. Raleigh’s half-scientificdeclamation and his often quotations of Doctor Deethe conjuror, have less effect on Osborne than onCumberland (who tried many an adventure to foreignparts, and failed in all of them; apparently for thesimple reason that, instead of going himself, he sentother people), and Raleigh is fain to call to hishelp the quiet student who sits on his left hand,Richard Hakluyt, of Oxford. But he is deep intalk with a reverend elder, whose long white beardflows almost to his waist, and whose face is furrowedby a thousand storms; Anthony Jenkinson by name, thegreat Asiatic traveller, who is discoursing to theChrist-church virtuoso of reindeer sledges and Siberiansteppes, and of the fossil ivory, plain proof of Noah’sflood, which the Tungoos dig from the ice-cliffs ofthe Arctic sea. Next to him is Christopher Carlile,Walsingham’s son-in-law (as Sidney also is now),a valiant captain, afterwards general of the soldieryin Drake’s triumphant West Indian raid of 1585,with whom a certain Bishop of Carthagena will hereafterdrink good wine. He is now busy talking with AldermanHart the grocer, Sheriff Spencer the clothworker,and Charles Leigh (Amyas’s merchant-cousin),and with Aldworth the mayor of Bristol, and WilliamSalterne, alderman thereof, and cousin of our friendat Bideford. For Carlile, and Secretary Walsinghamalso, have been helping them heart and soul for thelast two years to collect money for Humphrey and AdrianGilbert’s great adventures to the North-West,on one of which Carlile was indeed to have sailedhimself, but did not go after all; I never could discoverfor what reason.On the opposite side of the table is a group, scarcelyless interesting. Martin Frobisher and John Davis,the pioneers of the North-West passage, are talkingwith Alderman Sanderson, the great geographer and “setterforth of globes;” with Mr. Towerson, Sir GilbertPeckham, our old acquaintance Captain John Winter,and last, but not least, with Philip Sidney himself,who, with his accustomed courtesy; has given up hisrightful place toward the head of the table that hemay have a knot of virtuosi all to himself; and hasbrought with him, of course, his two especial intimates,Mr. Edward Dyer and Mr. Francis Leigh. They tooare talking of the North-West passage: and Sidneyis lamenting that he is tied to diplomacy and courts,and expressing his envy of old Martin Frobisher inall sorts of pretty compliments; to which the otherreplies that,
“It’s all very fine to talk of here, asailing on dry land with a good glass of wine beforeyou; but you’d find it another guess sort ofbusiness, knocking about among the icebergs with yourbeard frozen fast to your ruff, Sir Philip, speciallyif you were a bit squeamish about the stomach.”
“That were a slight matter to endure, my dearsir, if by it I could win the honor which her majestybestowed on you, when her own ivory hand waved a farewell’kerchief to your ship from the windows of GreenwichPalace.”
“Well, sir, folks say you have no reason tocomplain of lack of favors, as you have no reasonto deserve lack; and if you can get them by stayingashore, don’t you go to sea to look for more,say I. Eh, Master Towerson?”
Towerson’s gray beard, which has stood manya foreign voyage, both fair and foul, wags grim assent.But at this moment a Waiter enters, and—
“Please my lord mayor’s worship, thereis a tall gentleman outside, would speak with theRight Honorable Sir Walter Raleigh.”
“Show him in, man. Sir Walter’s friendsare ours.”
Amyas enters, and stands hesitating in the doorway.
“Captain Leigh!” cry half a-dozen voices.
“Why did you not walk in, sir?” says Osborne.“You should know your way well enough betweenthese decks.”
“Well enough, my lords and gentlemen. But,Sir Walter—you will excuse me”—andhe gave Raleigh a look which was enough for his quickwit. Turning pale as death, he rose, and followedAmyas into an adjoining cabin. They were fiveminutes together; and then Amyas came out alone.
In few words he told the company the sad story whichwe already know. Ere it was ended, noble tearswere glistening on some of those stern faces.
“The old Egyptians,” said Sir Edward Osborne,“when they banqueted, set a corpse among theirguests, for a memorial of human vanity. Have weforgotten God and our own weakness in this our feast,that He Himself has sent us thus a message from thedead?”
“Nay, my lord mayor,” said Sidney, “notfrom the dead, but from the realm of everlasting life.”
“Amen!” answered Osborne. “But,gentlemen, our feast is at an end. There arethose here who would drink on merrily, as brave menshould, in spite of the private losses of which theyhave just had news; but none here who can drink withthe loss of so great a man still ringing in his ears.”
It was true. Though many of the guests had sufferedseverely by the failure of the expedition, they hadutterly forgotten that fact in the awful news of SirHumphrey’s death; and the feast broke up sadlyand hurriedly, while each man asked his neighbor,“What will the queen say?”
Raleigh re-entered in a few minutes, but was silent,and pressing many an honest hand as he passed, wentout to call a wherry, beckoning Amyas to follow him.Sidney, Cumberland, and Frank went with them in anotherboat, leaving the two to talk over the sad details.
They disembarked at Whitehall-stairs; Raleigh, Sidney,and Cumberland went to the palace; and the two brothersto their mother’s lodgings.
Amyas had prepared his speech to Frank about RoseSalterne, but now that it was come to the point, hehad not courage to begin, and longed that Frank wouldopen the matter. Frank, too, shrank from whathe knew must come, and all the more because he wasignorant that Amyas had been to Bideford, or knewaught of the Rose’s disappearance.
So they went upstairs; and it was a relief to bothof them to find that their mother was at the Abbey;for it was for her sake that both dreaded what wascoming. So they went and stood in the bay-windowwhich looked out upon the river, and talked of thingsindifferent, and looked earnestly at each other’sfaces by the fading light, for it was now three yearssince they had met.
Years and events had deepened the contrast betweenthe two brothers; and Frank smiled with affectionatepride as he looked up in Amyas’s face, and sawthat he was no longer merely the rollicking handy sailor-lad,but the self-confident and stately warrior, showingin every look and gesture,
“The reason firm,the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight,strength, and skill,”
worthy of one whose education had been begun by suchmen as Drake and Grenville, and finished by such asRaleigh and Gilbert. His long locks were nowcropped close to the head; but as a set-off, the lipsand chin were covered with rich golden beard; hisface was browned by a thousand suns and storms; along scar, the trophy of some Irish fight, crossedhis right temple; his huge figure had gained breadthin proportion to its height; and his hand, as it layupon the window-sill, was hard and massive as a smith’s.Frank laid his own upon it, and sighed; and Amyaslooked down, and started at the contrast between thetwo—so slender, bloodless, all but transparent,were the delicate fingers of the courtier. Amyaslooked anxiously into his brother’s face.It was changed, indeed, since they last met.The brilliant red was still on either cheek, but thewhite had become dull and opaque; the lips were pale,the features sharpened; the eyes glittered with unnaturalfire: and when Frank told Amyas that he lookedaged, Amyas could not help thinking that the remarkwas far more true of the speaker himself.
Trying to shut his eyes to the palpable truth, hewent on with his chat, asking the names of one buildingafter another.
“And so this is old Father Thames, with hisbank of palaces?”
“Yes. His banks are stately enough; yet,you see, he cannot stay to look at them. He hurriesdown to the sea; and the sea into the ocean; and theocean Westward-ho, forever. All things move Westward-ho.Perhaps we may move that way ourselves some day, Amyas.”
“What do you mean by that strange talk?”
“Only that the ocean follows the primum mobileof the heavens, and flows forever from east to west.Is there anything so strange in my thinking of that,when I am just come from a party where we have beendrinking success to Westward-ho?”
“And much good has come of it! I have lostthe best friend and the noblest captain upon earth,not to mention all my little earnings, in that sameconfounded gulf of Westward-ho.”
“Yes, Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s star hasset in the West—why not? Sun, moon,and planets sink into the West: why not the meteorsof this lower world? why not a will-o’-the-wisplike me, Amyas?”
“God forbid, Frank!”
“Why, then? Is not the West the land ofpeace, and the land of dreams? Do not our heartstell us so each time we look upon the setting sun,and long to float away with him upon the golden-cushionedclouds? They bury men with their faces to theEast. I should rather have mine turned to theWest, Amyas, when I die; for I cannot but think itsome divine instinct which made the ancient poetsguess that Elysium lay beneath the setting sun.It is bound up in the heart of man, that longing forthe West. I complain of no one for fleeing awaythither beyond the utmost sea, as David wished toflee, and be at peace.”
“Complain of no one for fleeing thither?”asked Amyas. “That is more than I do.”
Frank looked inquiringly at him; and then—
“No. If I had complained of any one, itwould have been of you just now, for seeming to betired of going Westward-ho.”
“Do you wish me to go, then?”
“God knows,” said Frank, after a moment’spause. “But I must tell you now, I suppose,once and for all. That has happened at Bidefordwhich—”
“Spare us both, Frank; I know all. I camethrough Bideford on my way hither; and came hithernot merely to see you and my mother, but to ask youradvice and her permission.”
“True heart! noble heart!” cried Frank.“I knew you would be stanch!”
“Westward-ho it is, then?”
“Can we escape?”
“We?”
“Amyas, does not that which binds you bind me?”
Amyas started back, and held Frank by the shouldersat arm’s length; as he did so, he could feelthrough, that his brother’s arms were but skinand bone.
“You? Dearest man, a month of it wouldkill you!”
Frank smiled, and tossed his head on one side in hispretty way.
“I belong to the school of Thales, who heldthat the ocean is the mother of all life; and feelno more repugnance at returning to her bosom againthan Humphrey Gilbert did.”
“But, Frank,—my mother?”
“My mother knows all; and would not have usunworthy of her.”
“Impossible! She will never give you up!”
“All things are possible to them that believein God, my brother; and she believes. But, indeed,Doctor Dee, the wise man, gave her but this summerI know not what of prognostics and diagnostics concerningme. I am born, it seems, under a cold and wateryplanet, and need, if I am to be long-lived, to gonearer to the vivifying heat of the sun, and therebask out my little life, like fly on wall. Totell truth, he has bidden me spend no more wintershere in the East; but return to our native sea-breezes,there to warm my frozen lungs; and has so filled mymother’s fancy with stories of sick men, whowere given up for lost in Germany and France, andyet renewed their youth, like any serpent or eagle,by going to Italy, Spain, and the Canaries, that sheherself will be more ready to let me go than I to
leave her all alone. And yet I must go, Amyas.It is not merely that my heart pants, as Sidney’sdoes, as every gallant’s ought, to make oneof your noble choir of Argonauts, who are now replenishingthe earth and subduing it for God and for the queen;it is not merely, Amyas, that love calls me,—lovetyrannous and uncontrollable, strengthened by absence,and deepened by despair; but honor, Amyas—myoath—”And he paused for lack of breath, and bursting intoa violent fit of coughing, leaned on his brother’sshoulder, while Amyas cried,
“Fools, fools that we were—that Iwas, I mean—to take that fantastical vow!”
“Not so,” answered a gentle voice frombehind: “you vowed for the sake of peaceon earth, and good-will toward men, and ’Blessedare the peacemakers, for they shall be called thechildren of God.’ No my sons, be sure thatsuch self-sacrifice as you have shown will meet itsfull reward at the hand of Him who sacrificed Himselffor you.”
“Oh, mother! mother!” said Amyas, “anddo you not hate the very sight of me—comehere to take away your first-born?”
“My boy, God takes him, and not you. Andif I dare believe in such predictions, Doctor Deeassured me that some exceeding honor awaited you bothin the West, to each of you according to your deserts.”
“Ah!” said Amyas. “My blessing,I suppose, will be like Esau’s, to live by mysword; while Jacob here, the spiritual man, inheritsthe kingdom of heaven, and an angel’s crown.”
“Be it what it may, it will surely be a blessing,as long as you are such, my children, as you havebeen. At least my Frank will be safe from theintrigues of court, and the temptations of the world.Would that I too could go with you, and share in yourglory! Come, now,” said she, laying herhead upon Amyas’s breast, and looking up intohis face with one of her most winning smiles, “Ihave heard of heroic mothers ere now who went forthwith their sons to battle, and cheered them on tovictory. Why should I not go with you on a morepeaceful errand? I could nurse the sick, if therewere any; I could perhaps have speech of that poorgirl, and win her back more easily than you. Shemight listen to words from a woman—a woman,too, who has loved—which she could nothear from men. At least I could mend and washfor you. I suppose it is as easy to play thegood housewife afloat as on shore? Come, now!”
Amyas looked from one to the other.
“God only knows which of the two is less fitto go. Mother! mother! you know not what youask. Frank! Frank! I do not want youwith me. This is a sterner matter than eitherof you fancy it to be; one that must be worked out,not with kind words, but with sharp shot and cold steel.”
“How?” cried both together, aghast.
“I must pay my men, and pay my fellow-adventurers;and I must pay them with Spanish gold. And whatis more, I cannot, as a loyal subject of the queen’s,go to the Spanish Main with a clear conscience on myown private quarrel, unless I do all the harm thatmy hand finds to do, by day and night, to her enemies,and the enemies of God.”
“What nobler knight-errantry?” said Frank,cheerfully; but Mrs. Leigh shuddered.
“What! Frank too?” she said, halfto herself; but her sons knew what she meant.Amyas’s warlike life, honorable and righteousas she knew it to be, she had borne as a sad necessity:but that Frank as well should become “a manof blood,” was more than her gentle heart couldface at first sight. That one youthful duel ofhis he had carefully concealed from her, knowing herfeeling on such matters. And it seemed too dreadfulto her to associate that gentle spirit with all theferocities and the carnage of a battlefield.“And yet,” said she to herself, “isthis but another of the self-willed idols which I mustrenounce one by one?” And then, catching ata last hope, she answered—
“Frank must at least ask the queen’s leaveto go; and if she permits, how can I gainsay her wisdom?”
And so the conversation dropped, sadly enough.
But now began a fresh perplexity in Frank’ssoul, which amused Amyas at first, when it seemedmerely jest, but nettled him a good deal when he foundit earnest. For Frank looked forward to askingthe queen’s permission for his voyage with themost abject despondency and terror. Two or threedays passed before he could make up his mind to askfor an interview with her; and he spent the time inmaking as much interest with Leicester, Hatton, andSidney, as if he were about to sue for a reprievefrom the scaffold.
So said Amyas, remarking, further, that the queencould not cut his head off for wanting to go to sea.
“But what axe so sharp as her frown?”said Frank in most lugubrious tone.
Amyas began to whistle in a very rude way.
“Ah, my brother, you cannot comprehend the painof parting from her.”
“No, I can’t. I would die for theleast hair of her royal head, God bless it! but Icould live very well from now till Doomsday withoutever setting eyes on the said head.”
“Plato’s Troglodytes regretted not thatsunlight which they had never beheld.”
Amyas, not understanding this recondite conceit, madeno answer to it, and there the matter ended for thetime. But at last Frank obtained his audience;and after a couple of hours’ absence returnedquite pale and exhausted.
“Thank Heaven, it is over! She was veryangry at first—what else could she be?—andupbraided me with having set my love so low. Icould only answer, that my fatal fault was committedbefore the sight of her had taught me what was supremelylovely, and only worthy of admiration. Then sheaccused me of disloyalty in having taken an oath whichbound me to the service of another than her.I confessed my sin with tears, and when she threatenedpunishment, pleaded that the offence had avenged itselfheavily already,—for what worse punishmentthan exile from the sunlight of her presence, intothe outer darkness which reigns where she is not?
Then she was pleased to ask me, how I could dare, asher sworn servant, to desert her side in such dangeroustimes as these; and asked me how I should reconcileit to my conscience, if on my return I found her deadby the assassin’s knife? At which most patheticdemand I could only throw myself at once on my ownknees and her mercy, and so awaited my sentence.Whereon, with that angelic pity which alone makes herawfulness endurable, she turned to Hatton and asked,’What say you, Mouton? Is he humbled sufficiently?’and so dismissed me.”“Heigh-ho!” yawned Amyas;
“If the bridgehad been stronger,
My tale had been longer.”
“Amyas! Amyas!” quoth Frank, solemnly,“you know not what power over the soul has thenative and God-given majesty of royalty (awful enoughin itself) when to it is superadded the wisdom ofthe sage, and therewithal the tenderness of the woman.Had I my will, there should be in every realm nota salique, but an anti-salique law: whereby nokings, but only queens should rule mankind. Thenwould weakness and not power be to man the symbolof divinity; love, and not cunning, would be the arbiterof every cause; and chivalry, not fear, the springof all obedience.”
“Humph! There’s some sense in that,”quoth Amyas. “I’d run a mile fora woman when I would not walk a yard for a man; and—Whois this our mother is bringing in? The handsomestfellow I ever saw in my life!”
Amyas was not far wrong; for Mrs. Leigh’s companionwas none other than Mr. Secretary, Amyas’s SmerwickFort acquaintance; alias Colin Clout, alias Immerito,alias Edmund Spenser. Some half-jesting conversationhad seemingly been passing between the poet and thesaint; for as they came in she said with a smile (whichwas somewhat of a forced one)—“Well,my dear sons, you are sure of immortality, at leaston earth; for Mr. Spenser has been vowing to me togive your adventure a whole canto to itself in his’Faerie Queene’.”
“And you no less, madam,” said Spenser.“What were the story of the Gracchi worth withoutthe figure of Cornelia? If I honor the fruit,I must not forget the stem which bears it. Frank,I congratulate you.”
“Then you know the result of my interview, mother?”
“I know everything, and am content,” saidMrs. Leigh.
“Mrs. Leigh has reason to be content,”said Spenser, “with that which is but her ownlikeness.”
Spare your flattery to an old woman, Mr. Spenser.When, pray, did I” (with a most loving lookat Frank) “refuse knighthood for duty’ssake?”
“Knighthood?” cried Amyas. “Younever told me that, Frank!”
“That may well be, Captain Leigh,” saidSpenser; “but believe me, her majesty (so Hattonassures me) told him this day, no less than that bygoing on this quest he deprived himself of that highestearthly honor, which crowned heads are fain to seekfrom their own subjects.”
Spenser did not exaggerate. Knighthood was thenthe prize of merit only; and one so valuable, thatElizabeth herself said, when asked why she did notbestow a peerage upon some favorite, that having alreadyknighted him, she had nothing better to bestow.It remained for young Essex to begin the degradationof the order in his hapless Irish campaign, and forJames to complete that degradation by his novel methodof raising money by the sale of baronetcies; a neworder of hereditary knighthood which was the laughing-stockof the day, and which (however venerable it may havesince become) reflects anything but honor upon itsfirst possessors.
“I owe you no thanks, Colin,” said Frank,“for having broached my secret: but I havelost nothing after all. There is still an orderof knighthood in which I may win my spurs, even thoughher majesty refuse me the accolade.”
“What, then? you will not take it from a foreignprince?”
Frank smiled.
“Have you never read of that knighthood whichis eternal in the heavens, and of those true cavalierswhom John saw in Patmos, riding on white horses, clothedin fine linen, white and clean, knights-errant in theeverlasting war against the False Prophet and the Beast?Let me but become worthy of their ranks hereafter,what matter whether I be called Sir Frank on earth?”
“My son,” said Mrs. Leigh, “rememberthat they follow One whose vesture is dipped, notin the blood of His enemies, but in His own.”
“I have remembered it for many a day; and remembered,too, that the garments of the knights may need thesame tokens as their captain’s.”
“Oh, Frank! Frank! is not His preciousblood enough to cleanse all sin, without the sacrificeof our own?”
“We may need no more than His blood, mother,and yet He may need ours,” said Frank.
* * * * *
How that conversation ended I know not, nor whetherSpenser fulfilled his purpose of introducing the twobrothers and their mother into his “Faerie Queene.”If so, the manuscripts must have been lost among thosewhich perished (along with Spenser’s baby) inthe sack of Kilcolman by the Irish in 1598. Butwe need hardly regret the loss of them; for the temperof the Leighs and their mother is the same which inspiresevery canto of that noblest of poems; and which inspired,too, hundreds in those noble days, when the chivalryof the Middle Ages was wedded to the free thoughtand enterprise of the new.
* * * * *
So mother and sons returned to Bideford, and set towork. Frank mortgaged a farm; Will Cary did thesame (having some land of his own from his mother).Old Salterne grumbled at any man save himself spendinga penny on the voyage, and forced on the adventurersa good ship of two hundred tons burden, and five hundredpounds toward fitting her out; Mrs. Leigh worked dayand night at clothes and comforts of every kind; Amyas
had nothing to give but his time and his brains:but, as Salterne said, the rest would have been oflittle use without them; and day after day he andthe old merchant were on board the ship, superintendingwith their own eyes the fitting of every rope and nail.Cary went about beating up recruits; and made, withhis jests and his frankness, the best of crimps:while John Brimblecombe, beside himself with joy,toddled about after him from tavern to tavern, andquay to quay, exalted for the time being (as Carytold him) into a second Peter the Hermit; and so fiercelydid he preach a crusade against the Spaniards, throughBideford and Appledore, Clovelly and Ilfracombe, thatAmyas might have had a hundred and fifty loose fellowsin the first fortnight. But he knew better:still smarting from the effects of a similar hastein the Newfoundland adventure, he had determined totake none but picked men; and by dint of labor heobtained them.Only one scapegrace did he take into his crew, namedParracombe; and by that scapegrace hangs a tale.He was an old schoolfellow of his at Bideford, andson of a merchant in that town—one of thoseunlucky members who are “nobody’s enemybut their own”—a handsome, idle,clever fellow, who used his scholarship, of which hehad picked up some smattering, chiefly to justifyhis own escapades, and to string songs together.Having drunk all that he was worth at home, he hadin a penitent fit forsworn liquor, and tormented Amyasinto taking him to sea, where he afterwards made asgood a sailor as any one else, but sorely scandalizedJohn Brimblecombe by all manner of heretical arguments,half Anacreontic, half smacking of the rather loosedoctrines of that “Family of Love” whichtormented the orthodoxy and morality of more thanone Bishop of Exeter. Poor Will Parracombe! hewas born a few centuries too early. Had he butlived now, he might have published a volume or twoof poetry, and then settled down on the staff of anewspaper. Had he even lived thirty years laterthan he did, he might have written frantic tragediesor filthy comedies for the edification of James’sprofligate metropolis, and roistered it in tavernswith Marlowe, to die as Marlowe did, by a footman’ssword in a drunken brawl. But in those sterndays such weak and hysterical spirits had no fair ventfor their “humors,” save in being reconciledto the Church of Rome, and plotting with Jesuits toassassinate the queen, as Parry and Somerville, andmany other madmen, did.
So, at least, some Jesuit or other seems to have thought,shortly after Amyas had agreed to give the spendthrifta berth on board. For one day Amyas, going downto Appledore about his business, was called into thelittle Mariners’ Rest inn, to extract therefrompoor Will Parracombe, who (in spite of his vow) wasdrunk and outrageous, and had vowed the death of thelandlady and all her kin. So Amyas fetched himout by the collar, and walked him home thereby to
Bideford; during which walk Will told him a long andconfused story; how an Egyptian rogue had met himthat morning on the sands by Boathythe, offered totell his fortune, and prophesied to him great wealthand honor, but not from the Queen of England; hadcoaxed him to the Mariners’ Rest, and gambledwith him for liquor, at which it seemed Will alwayswon, and of course drank his winnings on the spot;whereon the Egyptian began asking him all sorts ofquestions about the projected voyage of the Rose—agood many of which, Will confessed, he had answeredbefore he saw the fellow’s drift; after whichthe Egyptian had offered him a vast sum of money todo some desperate villainy; but whether it was tomurder Amyas or the queen, whether to bore a holein the bottom of the good ship Rose or to set theTorridge on fire by art-magic, he was too drunk torecollect exactly. Whereon Amyas treated three-quartersof the story as a tipsy dream, and contented himselfby getting a warrant against the landlady for harboring“Egyptians,” which was then a heavy offence—agipsy disguise being a favorite one with Jesuits andtheir emissaries. She of course denied that anygipsy had been there; and though there were some whothought they had seen such a man come in, none hadseen him go out again. On which Amyas took occasionto ask, what had become of the suspicious Popish ostlerwhom he had seen at the Mariners’ Rest threeyears before; and discovered, to his surprise, thatthe said ostler had vanished from the very day ofDon Guzman’s departure from Bideford. Therewas evidently a mystery somewhere: but nothingcould be proved; the landlady was dismissed with areprimand, and Amyas soon forgot the whole matter,after rating Parracombe soundly. After all, hecould not have told the gipsy (if one existed) anythingimportant; for the special destination of the voyage(as was the custom in those times, for fear of Jesuitsplaying into the hands of Spain) had been carefullykept secret among the adventurers themselves, and,except Yeo and Drew, none of the men had any suspicionthat La Guayra was to be their aim.And Salvation Yeo?
Salvation was almost wild for a few days, at the suddenprospect of going in search of his little maid, andof fighting Spaniards once more before he died.I will not quote the texts out of Isaiah and the Psalmswith which his mouth was filled from morning to night,for fear of seeming irreverent in the eyes of a generationwhich does not believe, as Yeo believed, that fightingthe Spaniards was as really fighting in God’sbattle against evil as were the wars of Joshua or David.But the old man had his practical hint too, and entreatedto be sent back to Plymouth to look for men.
“There’s many a man of the old Pelican,sir, and of Captain Hawkins’s Minion that knowsthe Indies as well as I, and longs to be back again.There’s Drew, sir, that we left behind (and nobetter sailing-master for us in the West-country,and has accounts against the Spaniards, too; for itwas his brother, the Barnstaple man, that was factoraboard of poor Mr. Andrew Barker, and got clapt intothe Inquisition at the Canaries); you promised him,sir, that night he stood by you on board the Raleigh:and if you’ll be as good as your word, he’llbe as good as his; and bring a score more brave fellowswith him.”
So off went Yeo to Plymouth, and returned with Drewand a score of old never-strikes. One look attheir visages, as Yeo proudly ushered them into theShip Tavern, showed Amyas that they were of the metalwhich he wanted, and that, with the four North-Devonmen who had gone round the world with him in the Pelican(who all joined in the first week), he had a reserve-forceon which he could depend in utter need; and that utterneed might come he knew as well as any.
Nor was this all which Yeo had brought; for he hadwith him a letter from Sir Francis Drake, full ofregrets that he had not seen “his dear lad”as he went through Plymouth. “But indeedI was up to Dartmoor, surveying with cross-staff andchain, over my knees in bog for a three weeks or more.For I have a project to bring down a leat of fair waterfrom the hill-tops right into Plymouth town, cuttingoff the heads of Tavy, Meavy, Wallcomb, and West Dart,and thereby purging Plymouth harbor from the siltof the mines whereby it has been choked of late years,and giving pure drink not only to the townsmen, butto the fleets of the queen’s majesty; whichif I do, I shall both make some poor return to Godfor all His unspeakable mercies, and erect unto myselfa monument better than of brass or marble, not merelyhonorable to me, but useful to my countrymen."* WhereonFrank sent Drake a pretty epigram, comparing Drake’sprojected leat to that river of eternal life whereofthe just would drink throughout eternity, and quoting(after the fashion of those days) John vii. 38; whileAmyas took more heed of a practical appendage to thesame letter, which was a list of hints scrawled forhis use by Captain John Hawkins himself, on all seamatters, from the mounting of ordnance to the useof vitriol against the scurvy, in default of orangesand “limmons;” all which stood Amyas ingood stead during the ensuing month, while Frank grewmore and more proud of his brother, and more and morehumble about himself.
* This noble monumentof Drake’s piety and public spirit
still remains in fulluse.
For he watched with astonishment how the simple sailor,without genius, scholarship, or fancy, had gained,by plain honesty, patience, and common sense, a powerover the human heart, and a power over his work, whatsoeverit might be, which Frank could only admire afar off.The men looked up to him as infallible, prided themselveson forestalling his wishes, carried out his slightesthint, worked early and late to win a smile from him;while as for him, no detail escaped him, no drudgerysickened him, no disappointment angered him, till onthe 15th of November, 1583, dropped down from BidefordQuay to Appledore Pool the tall ship Rose, with ahundred men on board (for sailors packed close inthose days), beef, pork, biscuit, and good ale (forale went to sea always then) in abundance, four culverinson her main deck, her poop and forecastle well fittedwith swivels of every size, and her racks so fullof muskets, calivers, long bows, pikes, and swords,that all agreed so well-appointed a ship had neversailed “out over Bar.”
The next day being Sunday, the whole crew receivedthe Communion together at Northam Church, amid a mightycrowd; and then going on board again, hove anchorand sailed out over the Bar before a soft east wind,to the music of sacbut, fife, and drum, with dischargeof all ordnance, great and small, with cheering ofyoung and old from cliff and strand and quay, andwith many a tearful prayer and blessing upon that gallantbark, and all brave hearts on board.
And Mrs. Leigh who had kissed her sons for the lasttime after the Communion at the altar-steps (and whatmore fit place for a mother’s kiss?) went tothe rocky knoll outside the churchyard wall, and watchedthe ship glide out between the yellow denes, and lessenslowly hour by hour into the boundless West, tillher hull sank below the dim horizon, and her whitesails faded away into the gray Atlantic mist, perhapsforever.
And Mrs. Leigh gathered her cloak about her, and bowedher head and worshipped; and then went home to lonelinessand prayer.
CHAPTER XVII
HOW THEY CAME TO BARBADOS, AND FOUND NO MEN THEREIN
“The sun’srim dips; the stars rush out;
At one stride comesthe dark.”
Coleridge.
Land! land! land! Yes, there it was, far awayto the south and west, beside the setting sun, a longblue bar between the crimson sea and golden sky.Land at last, with fresh streams, and cooling fruits,and free room for cramped and scurvy-weakened limbs.And there, too, might be gold, and gems, and all thewealth of Ind. Who knew? Why not? Theold world of fact and prose lay thousands of milesbehind them, and before them and around them was therealm of wonder and fable, of boundless hope and possibility.Sick men crawled up out of their stifling hammocks;strong men fell on their knees and gave God thanks;and all eyes and hands were stretched eagerly towardthe far blue cloud, fading as the sun sank down, yetrising higher and broader as the ship rushed on beforethe rich trade-wind, which whispered lovingly roundbrow and sail, “I am the faithful friend ofthose who dare!” “Blow freshly, freshlieryet, thou good trade-wind, of whom it is written thatHe makes the winds His angels, ministering breathsto the heirs of His salvation. Blow freshlieryet, and save, if not me from death, yet her from worsethan death. Blow on, and land me at her feet,to call the lost lamb home, and die!”
So murmured Frank to himself, as with straining eyeshe gazed upon that first outlier of the New Worldwhich held his all. His cheeks were thin andwasted, and the hectic spot on each glowed crimsonin the crimson light of the setting sun. A fewminutes more, and the rainbows of the West were gone;emerald and topaz, amethyst and ruby, had faded intosilver-gray; and overhead, through the dark sapphiredepths, the Moon and Venus reigned above the sea.
“That should be Barbados, your worship,”said Drew, the master; “unless my reckoningis far out, which, Heaven knows, it has no right tobe, after such a passage, and God be praised.”
“Barbados? I never heard of it.”
“Very like, sir: but Yeo and I were herewith Captain Drake, and I was here after, too, withpoor Captain Barlow; and there is good harborage tothe south and west of it, I remember.”
“And neither Spaniard, cannibal, or other evilbeast,” said Yeo. “A very gardenof the Lord, sir, hid away in the seas, for an inheritanceto those who love Him. I heard Captain Draketalk of planting it, if ever he had a chance.”
“I recollect now,” said Amyas, “sometalk between him and poor Sir Humphrey about an islandhere. Would God he had gone thither instead ofto Newfoundland!”
“Nay, then,” said Yeo, “he is inbliss now with the Lord; and you would not have kepthim from that, sir?”
“He would have waited as willingly as he went,if he could have served his queen thereby. Butwhat say you, my masters? How can we do betterthan to spend a few days here, to get our sick round,before we make the Main, and set to our work?”
All approved the counsel except Frank, who was silent.
“Come, fellow-adventurer,” said Cary,“we must have your voice too.”
“To my impatience, Will,” said he, asidein a low voice, “there is but one place on earth,and I am all day longing for wings to fly thither:but the counsel is right. I approve it.”
So the verdict was announced, and received with ahearty cheer by the crew; and long before morningthey had run along the southern shore of the island,and were feeling their way into the bay where Bridgetownnow stands. All eyes were eagerly fixed on thelow wooded hills which slept in the moonlight, spangledby fireflies, with a million dancing stars; all nostrilsdrank greedily the fragrant air, which swept from theland, laden with the scent of a thousand flowers;all ears welcomed, as a grateful change from the monotonouswhisper and lap of the water, the hum of insects,the snore of the tree-toads, the plaintive notes ofthe shore-fowl, which fill a tropic night with noisylife.
At last she stopped; at last the cable rattled throughthe hawsehole; and then, careless of the chance oflurking Spaniard or Carib, an instinctive cheer burstfrom every throat. Poor fellows! Amyas hadmuch ado to prevent them going on shore at once, darkas it was, by reminding them that it wanted but twohours of day.
“Never were two such long hours,” saidone young lad, fidgeting up and down.
“You never were in the Inquisition,” saidYeo, “or you’d know better how slow timecan run. Stand you still, and give God thanksyou’re where you are.”
“I say, Gunner, be there goold to that island?”
“Never heard of none; and so much the betterfor it,” said Yeo, dryly.
“But, I say, Gunner,” said a poor scurvy-strickencripple, licking his lips, “be there orangesand limmons there?”
“Not of my seeing; but plenty of good fruitdown to the beach, thank the Lord. There comesthe dawn at last.”
Up flushed the rose, up rushed the sun, and the levelrays glittered on the smooth stems of the palm-trees,and threw rainbows across the foam upon the coral-reefs,and gilded lonely uplands far away, where now standsmany a stately country-seat and busy engine-house.Long lines of pelicans went clanging out to sea; thehum of the insects hushed, and a thousand birds burstinto jubilant song; a thin blue mist crept upwardtoward the inner downs, and vanished, leaving themto quiver in the burning glare; the land-breeze, whichhad blown fresh out to sea all night, died away intoglassy calm, and the tropic day was begun.
The sick were lifted over the side, and landed boat-loadafter boat-load on the beach, to stretch themselvesin the shade of the palms; and in half-an-hour thewhole crew were scattered on the shore, except somedozen worthy men, who had volunteered to keep watchand ward on board till noon.
And now the first instinctive cry of nature was forfruit! fruit! fruit! The poor lame wretches crawledfrom place to place plucking greedily the violet grapesof the creeping shore vine, and staining their mouthsand blistering their lips with the prickly pears, inspite of Yeo’s entreaties and warnings againstthe thorns. Some of the healthy began hewingdown cocoa-nut trees to get at the nuts, doing littlethereby but blunt their hatchets; till Yeo and Drew,having mustered half-a-dozen reasonable men, wentoff inland, and returned in an hour laden with thedainties of that primeval orchard,—withacid junipa-apples, luscious guavas, and crowned ananas,queen of all the fruits, which they had found by hundredson the broiling ledges of the low tufa-cliffs; andthen all, sitting on the sandy turf, defiant of galliwaspsand jackspaniards, and all the weapons of the insecthost, partook of the equal banquet, while old blueland-crabs sat in their house-doors and brandishedtheir fists in defiance at the invaders, and solemncranes stood in the water on the shoals with theirheads on one side, and meditated how long it was sincethey had seen bipeds without feathers breaking thesolitude of their isle.
And Frank wandered up and down, silent, but ratherin wonder than in sadness, while great Amyas walkedafter him, his mouth full of junipa-apples, and enactedthe part of showman, with a sort of patronizing air,as one who had seen the wonders already, and was abovebeing astonished at them.
“New, new; everything new!” said Frank,meditatively. “Oh, awful feeling!All things changed around us, even to the tiniest flyand flower; yet we the same, the same forever!”
Amyas, to whom such utterances were altogether sibyllineand unintelligible, answered by:
“Look, Frank, that’s a colibri. You’ve heard of colibris?”
Frank looked at the living gem, which hung, loud humming,over some fantastic bloom, and then dashed away, seeminglyto call its mate, and whirred and danced with it roundand round the flower-starred bushes, flashing freshrainbows at every shifting of the lights.
Frank watched solemnly awhile, and then:
“Qualis Natura formatrix, si talis formata?Oh my God, how fair must be Thy real world, if evenThy phantoms are so fair!”
“Phantoms?” asked Amyas, uneasily.“That’s no ghost, Frank, but a jolly littlehoney-sucker, with a wee wife, and children no biggerthan peas, but yet solid greedy little fellows enough,I’ll warrant.”
“Not phantoms in thy sense, good fellow, butin the sense of those who know the worthlessness ofall below.”
“I’ll tell you what, brother Frank, youare a great deal wiser than me, I know; but I can’tabide to see you turn up your nose as it were at God’sgood earth. See now, God made all these things;and never a man, perhaps, set eyes on them till fiftyyears agone; and yet they were as pretty as they arenow, ever since the making of the world. And whydo you think God could have put them here, then, butto please Himself”—and Amyas tookoff his hat—“with the sight of them?Now, I say, brother Frank, what’s good enoughto please God, is good enough to please you and me.”
“Your rebuke is just, dear old simple-heartedfellow; and God forgive me, if with all my learning,which has brought me no profit, and my longings, whichhave brought me no peace, I presume at moments, sinnerthat I am, to be more dainty than the Lord Himself.He walked in Paradise among the trees of the garden,Amyas; and so will we, and be content with what Hesends. Why should we long for the next world,before we are fit even for this one?”
“And in the meanwhile,” said Amyas, “thisearth’s quite good enough, at least here inBarbados.”
“Do you believe,” asked Frank, tryingto turn his own thoughts, “in those tales ofthe Spaniards, that the Sirens and Tritons are heardsinging in these seas?”
“I can’t tell. There’s morefish in the water than ever came out of it, and morewonders in the world, I’ll warrant, than we everdreamt of; but I was never in these parts before;and in the South Sea, I must say, I never came acrossany, though Yeo says he has heard fair music at nightup in the Gulf, far away from land.”
“The Spaniards report that at certain seasonschoirs of these nymphs assemble in the sea, and withravishing music sing their watery loves. It maybe so. For Nature, which has peopled the landwith rational souls, may not have left the sea altogetherbarren of them; above all, when we remember that theocean is as it were the very fount of all fertility,and its slime (as the most learned hold with Thalesof Miletus) that prima materia out of which all thingswere one by one concocted. Therefore, the ancientsfeigned wisely that Venus, the mother of all livingthings, whereby they designed the plastic force ofnature, was born of the sea-foam, and rising fromthe deep, floated ashore upon the isles of Greece.”
“I don’t know what plastic force is; butI wish I had had the luck to be by when the prettypoppet came up: however, the nearest thing I eversaw to that was maidens swimming alongside of us whenwe were in the South Seas, and would have come aboard,too; but Drake sent them all off again for a lot ofnaughty packs, and I verily believe they were no better.Look at the butterflies, now! Don’t youwish you were a boy again, and not too proud to gocatching them in your cap?”
And so the two wandered on together through the glorioustropic woods, and then returned to the beach to findthe sick already grown cheerful, and many who thatmorning could not stir from their hammocks, pacingup and down, and gaining strength with every step.
“Well done, lads!” cried Amyas, “keepa cheerful mind. We will have the music ashoreafter dinner, for want of mermaids to sing to us, andthose that can dance may.”
And so those four days were spent; and the men, likeschoolboys on a holiday, gave themselves up to simplemerriment, not forgetting, however, to wash the clothes,take in fresh water, and store up a good supply ofsuch fruit as seemed likely to keep; until, tired withfruitless rambles after gold, which they expected tofind in every bush, in spite of Yeo’s warningsthat none had been heard of on the island, they werefain to lounge about, full-grown babies, picking upshells and sea-fans to take home to their sweethearts,smoking agoutis out of the hollow trees, with shoutand laughter, and tormenting every living thing theycould come near, till not a land-crab dare look outof his hole, or an armadillo unroll himself, tillthey were safe out of the bay, and off again to thewestward, unconscious pioneers of all the wealth, andcommerce, and beauty, and science which has in latercenturies made that lovely isle the richest gem ofall the tropic seas.
CHAPTER XVIII
HOW THEY TOOK THE PEARLS AT MARGARITA
P. Henry. Why, what a rascalart thou, then, to praise him so for running!Falstaff. O’ horseback, ye cuckoo!but a-foot, he will not budge a foot. P.Henry. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. Falstaff. I grant ye, upon instinct.
HenryIV. Pt. I.
They had slipped past the southern point of Grenadain the night, and were at last within that fairy ringof islands, on which nature had concentrated all herbeauty, and man all his sin. If Barbados had beeninvested in the eyes of the newcomers with some strangeglory, how much more the seas on which they now entered,which smile in almost perpetual calm, untouched bythe hurricane which roars past them far to northward!Sky, sea, and islands were one vast rainbow; thoughlittle marked, perhaps, by those sturdy practicalsailors, whose main thought was of Spanish gold andpearls; and as little by Amyas, who, accustomed tothe scenery of the tropics, was speculating inwardly
on the possibility of extirpating the Spaniards, andannexing the West Indies to the domains of Queen Elizabeth.And yet even their unpoetic eyes could not beholdwithout awe and excitement lands so famous and yetso new, around which all the wonder, all the pity,and all the greed of the age had concentrated itself.It was an awful thought, and yet inspiriting, thatthey were entering regions all but unknown to Englishmen,where the penalty of failure would be worse than death—thetorments of the Inquisition. Not more than fivetimes before, perhaps, had those mysterious seas beenvisited by English keels; but there were those onboard who knew them well, and too well; who, firstof all British mariners, had attempted under CaptainJohn Hawkins to trade along those very coasts, and,interdicted from the necessaries of life by Spanishjealousy, had, in true English fashion, won their marketsat the sword’s point, and then bought and soldhonestly and peaceably therein. The old marinersof the Pelican and the Minion were questioned all daylong for the names of every isle and cape, every fishand bird; while Frank stood by, listening seriousand silent.A great awe seemed to have possessed his soul; yetnot a sad one: for his face seemed daily to drinkin glory from the glory round him; and murmuring tohimself at whiles, “This is the gate of heaven,”he stood watching all day long, careless of food andrest, as every forward plunge of the ship displayedsome fresh wonder. Islands and capes hung highin air, with their inverted images below them; longsand-hills rolled and weltered in the mirage; andthe yellow flower-beds, and huge thorny cacti likegiant candelabra, which clothed the glaring slopes,twisted, tossed, and flickered, till the whole sceneseemed one blazing phantom-world, in which everythingwas as unstable as it was fantastic, even to the sunitself, distorted into strange oval and pear-shapedfigures by the beds of crimson mist through which hesank to rest. But while Frank wondered, Yeo rejoiced;for to the southward of that setting sun a clusterof tall peaks rose from the sea; and they, unless hisreckonings were wrong, were the mountains of Macanao,at the western end of Margarita, the Isle of Pearls,then famous in all the cities of the Mediterranean,and at the great German fairs, and second only inrichness to that pearl island in the gulf of Panama,which fifteen years before had cost John Oxenham hislife.
The next day saw them running along the north sideof the island, having passed undiscovered (as faras they could see) the castle which the Spaniardshad built at the eastern end for the protection ofthe pearl fisheries.
At last they opened a deep and still bight, woodedto the water’s edge; and lying in the roadsteada caravel, and three boats by her. And at thatsight there was not a man but was on deck at once,and not a mouth but was giving its opinion of whatshould be done. Some were for sailing right intothe roadstead, the breeze blowing fresh toward theshore (as it usually does throughout those islandsin the afternoon). However, seeing the billowsbreak here and there off the bay’s mouth, theythought it better, for fear of rocks, to run by quietly,and then send in the pinnace and the boat. Yeowould have had them show Spanish colors, for fearof alarming the caravel; but Amyas stoutly refused,“counting it,” he said, “a mean thingto tell a lie in that way, unless in extreme danger,or for great ends of state.”
So holding on their course till they were shut outby the next point, they started; Cary in the largestboat with twenty men, and Amyas in the smaller onewith fifteen more; among whom was John Brimblecombe,who must needs come in his cassock and bands, withan old sword of his uncle’s which he prizedmightily.
When they came to the bight’s mouth, they found,as they had expected, coral rocks, and too many ofthem; so that they had to run along the edge of thereef a long way before they could find a passage forthe boats. While they were so doing, and thoseof them who were new to the Indies were admiring throughthe clear element those living flower-beds, and subaqueousgardens of Nereus and Amphitrite, there suddenly appearedbelow what Yeo called “a school of sharks,”some of them nearly as long as the boat, who lookedup at them wistfully enough out of their wicked scowlingeyes.
“Jack,” said Amyas, who sat next to him,“look how that big fellow eyes thee: hehas surely taken a fancy to that plump hide of thine,and thinks thou wouldst eat as tender as any suckingporker.”
Jack turned very pale, but said nothing.
Now, as it befell, just then that very big fellow,seeing a parrot-fish come out of a cleft of the coral,made at him from below, as did two or three more;the poor fish finding no other escape, leaped cleaninto the air, and almost aboard the boat; while justwhere he had come out of the water, three or fourgreat brown shagreened noses clashed together withintwo yards of Jack as he sat, each showing its horriblerows of saw teeth, and then sank sulkily down again,to watch for a fresh bait. At which Jack saidvery softly, “In manus tuas, Domine!” andturning his eyes in board, had no lust to look atsharks any more.
So having got through the reef, in they ran with afair breeze, the caravel not being now a musket-shotoff. Cary laid her aboard before the Spaniardshad time to get to their ordnance; and standing upin the stern-sheets, shouted to them to yield.The captain asked boldly enough, in whose name?“In the name of common sense, ye dogs,”cries Will; “do you not see that you are butfifty strong to our twenty?” Whereon up theside he scrambled, and the captain fired a pistol athim. Cary knocked him over, unwilling to shedneedless blood; on which all the crew yielded, somefalling on their knees, some leaping overboard; andthe prize was taken.
In the meanwhile, Amyas had pulled round under herstern, and boarded the boat which was second fromher, for the nearest was fast alongside, and so asure prize. The Spaniards in her yielded withouta blow, crying “Misericordia;” and thenegroes, leaping overboard, swam ashore like sea-dogs.Meanwhile, the third boat, which was not an oar’slength off, turned to pull away. Whereby befella notable adventure: for John Brimblecombe, castingabout in a valiant mind how he should distinguishhimself that day, must needs catch up a boat-hook,and claw on to her stern, shouting, “Stay, yePapists! Stay, Spanish dogs!”—bywhich, as was to be expected, they being ten to hisone, he was forthwith pulled overboard, and fell allalong on his nose in the sea, leaving the hook fastin her stern.
Where, I know not how, being seized with some panicfear (his lively imagination filling all the sea withthose sharks which he had just seen), he fell a-roaringlike any town-bull, and in his confusion never thoughtto turn and get aboard again, but struck out lustilyafter the Spanish boat, whether in hope of catchinghold of the boat-hook which trailed behind her, orfrom a very madness of valor, no man could divine;but on he swam, his cassock afloat behind him, lookingfor all the world like a great black monk-fish, andhowling and puffing, with his mouth full of salt water,“Stay, ye Spanish dogs! Help, all goodfellows! See you not that I am a dead man?They are nuzzling already at my toes! He hathhold of my leg! My right thigh is bitten cleanoff! Oh that I were preaching in Hartland pulpit!Stay, Spanish dogs! Yield, Papist cowards, leastI make mincemeat of you; and take me aboard!Yield, I say, or my blood be on your heads! Iam no Jonah; if he swallow me, he will never castme up again! it is better to fall into the hands ofman, than into the hands of devils with three rowsof teeth apiece. In manus tuas. Orate proanima—!”
And so forth, in more frantic case than ever was Panurgein that his ever-memorable seasickness; till the English,expecting him every minute to be snapped up by sharks,or brained by the Spaniard’s oars, let fly avolley into the fugitives, on which they all leapedoverboard like their fellows; whereon Jack scrambledinto the boat, and drawing sword with one hand, whilehe wiped the water out of his eyes with the other,began to lay about him like a very lion, cutting theempty air, and crying, “Yield, idolaters!Yield, Spanish dogs!” However, coming to himselfafter a while, and seeing that there was no one onwhom to flesh his maiden steel, he sits down pantingin the sternsheets, and begins stripping off his hose.On which Amyas, thinking surely that the good fellowhad gone mad with some stroke of the sun, or by havingfallen into the sea after being overheated with hisrowing, bade pull alongside, and asked him in heaven’sname what he was doing with his nether tackle.On which Jack, amid such laughter as may be conceived,vowed and swore that his right thigh was bitten cleanthrough, and to the bone; yea, and that he felt hishose full of blood; and so would have swooned awayfor imaginary loss of blood (so strong was the delusionon him) had not his friends, after much arguing ontheir part, and anger on his, persuaded him that hewas whole and sound.
After which they set to work to overhaul their maidenprize, which they found full of hides and salt-pork;and yet not of that alone; for in the captain’scabin, and also in the sternsheets of the boat whichBrimblecombe had so valorously boarded, were certainfrails of leaves packed neatly enough, which beingopened were full of goodly pearls, though somewhatbrown (for the Spaniards used to damage the color intheir haste and greediness, opening the shells by fire,instead of leaving them to decay gradually after theArabian fashion); with which prize, though they couldnot guess its value very exactly, they went off contentenough, after some malicious fellow had set the shipon fire, which, being laden with hides, was no nosegayas it burnt.
Amyas was very angry at this wanton damage, in whichhis model, Drake, had never indulged; but Cary hadhis jest ready. “Ah!” said he, “‘Lutherandevils’ we are, you know; so we are bound tovanish, like other fiends, with an evil savor.”
As soon, however, as Amyas was on board again, herounded his friend Mr. Brimblecombe in the ear, andtold him he had better play the man a little more,roaring less before he was hurt, and keeping his breathto help his strokes, if he wished the crew to listenmuch to his discourses. Frank, hearing this,bade Amyas leave the offender to him, and so beganupon him with—
“Come hither, thou recreant Jack, thou lily-liveredJack, thou hysterical Jack. Tell me now, thouhast read Plato’s Dialogues, and Aristotle’sLogic?”
To which Jack very meekly answered, “Yes.”
“Then I will deal with thee after the mannerof those ancient sages, and ask whether the greatermust not contain the less?”
Jack. Yes, sure.
Frank. And that which is more than a part, containthat part, more than which it is?
Jack. Yes, sure.
Frank. Then tell me, is not a priest more thana layman?
Jack (who was always very loud about the dignity ofthe priesthood, as many of his cloth are, who haveno other dignity whereon to stand) answered very boldly,“Of course.”
Frank. Then a priest containeth a man, and isa man, and something over—viz, his priesthood?
Jack (who saw whither this would lead). I supposeso.
Frank. Then, if a priest show himself no man,he shows himself all the more no priest?
“I’ll tell you what, Master Frank,”says Jack, “you may be right by logic; but sharksaren’t logic, nor don’t understand it neither.”
Frank. Nay but, my recalcitrant Jack, my stiff-neckedJack, is it the part of a man to howl like a pig ina gate, because he thinks that is there which is notthere?
Jack had not a word to say.
Frank. And still more, when if that had beenthere, it had been the duty of a brave man to havekept his mouth shut, if only to keep salt water out,and not add the evil of choking to that of being eaten?
“Ah!” says Jack, “that’s allvery fine; but you know as well as I that it was notthe Spaniards I was afraid of. They were Heaven’shandiwork, and I knew how to deal with them; but asfor those fiends’ spawn of sharks, when I sawthat fellow take the fish alongside, it upset me clean,and there’s an end of it!”
Frank. Oh, Jack, Jack, behold how one sin begetsanother! Just now thou wert but a coward, andnow thou art a Manichee. For thou hast imputedto an evil creator that which was formed only for agood end, namely, sharks, which were made on purposeto devour useless carcasses like thine. Moreover,as a brother of the Rose, thou wert bound by the vowof thy brotherhood to have leaped joyfully down thatshark’s mouth.
Jack. Ay, very likely, if Mistress Rose had beenin his stomach; but I wanted to fight Spaniards justthen, not to be shark-bitten.
Frank. Jack, thy answer savors of self-will.If it is ordained that thou shouldst advance the endsof the Brotherhood by being shark-bitten, or flea-bitten,or bitten by sharpers, to the detriment of thy carnalwealth, or, shortly, to suffer any shame or tormentwhatsoever, even to strappado and scarpines, thouart bound to obey thy destiny, and not, after thatvain Roman conceit, to choose the manner of thine owndeath, which is indeed only another sort of self-murder.We therefore consider thee as a cause of scandal,and a rotten and creaking branch, to be excised bythe spiritual arm, and do hereby excise thee, and cutthee off.
Jack. Nay faith, that’s a little too much,Master Frank. How long have you been Bishop ofExeter?
Frank. Jack, thy wit being blinded, and fullof gross vapors, by reason of the perturbations offear (which, like anger, is a short madness, and raisesin the phantasy vain spectres,—videlicet,of sharks and Spaniards), mistakes our lucidity.For thy Manicheeism, let his lordship of Exeter dealwith it. For thy abominable howling and caterwauling,offensive in a chained cur, but scandalous in a preacherand a brother of the Rose, we do hereby deprive theeof thine office of chaplain to the Brotherhood; andwarn thee, that unless within seven days thou do somedeed equal to the Seven Champions, or Ruggiero andOrlando’s self, thou shalt be deprived of swordand dagger, and allowed henceforth to carry no moreiron about thee than will serve to mend thy pen.
“And now, Jack,” said Amyas, “Iwill give thee a piece of news. No wonder thatyoung men, as the parsons complain so loudly, willnot listen to the Gospel, while it is preached tothem by men on whom they cannot but look down; a setof softhanded fellows who cannot dig, and are ashamedto beg; and, as my brother has it, must needs be parsonsbefore they are men.
“Frank. Ay, and even though we may excusethat in Popish priests and friars, who are vowed notto be men, and get their bread shamefully and rascallyby telling sinners who owe a hundred measures to sitdown quickly and take their bill and write fifty:yet for a priest of the Church of England (whose businessis not merely to smuggle sinful souls up the backstairsinto heaven, but to make men good Christians by makingthem good men, good gentlemen, and good Englishmen)to show the white feather in the hour of need, isto unpreach in one minute all that he had been preachinghis life long.
“I tell thee,” says Amyas, “if Ihad not taken thee for another guess sort of man,I had never let thee have the care of a hundred bravelads’ immortal souls—”
And so on, both of them boarding him at once withtheir heavy shot, larboard and starboard, till hefairly clapped his hands to his ears and ran for it,leaving poor Frank laughing so heartily, that Amyaswas after all glad the thing had happened, for thesake of the smile which it put into his sad and steadfastcountenance.
The next day was Sunday; on which, after divine service(which they could hardly persuade Jack to read, soshamefaced was he; and as for preaching after it,he would not hear of such a thing), Amyas read aloud,according to custom, the articles of their agreement;and then seeing abreast of them a sloping beach witha shoot of clear water running into the sea, agreedthat they should land there, wash the clothes, andagain water the ship; for they had found water somewhatscarce at Barbados. On this party Jack Brimblecombemust needs go, taking with him his sword and a greatarquebuse; for he had dreamed last night (he said)that he was set upon by Spaniards, and was sure thatthe dream would come true; and moreover, that he didnot very much care if they did, or if he ever gotback alive; “for it was better to die than bemade an ape, and a scarecrow, and laughed at by themen, and badgered with Ramus his logic, and Platohis dialectical devilries, to confess himself a Manichee,and, for aught he knew, a turbaned Turk, or HebrewJew,” and so flung into the boat like a man desperate.
So they went ashore, after Amyas had given strictcommands against letting off firearms, for fear ofalarming the Spaniards. There they washed theirclothes, and stretched their legs with great joy, admiringthe beauty of the place, and then began to shoot theseine which they had brought on shore with them.“In which,” says the chronicler, “wecaught many strange fishes, and beside them, a sea-cowfull seven feet long, with limpets and barnacles onher back, as if she had been a stick of drift-timber.This is a fond and foolish beast: and yet piouswithal; for finding a corpse, she watches over itday and night until it decay or be buried. TheIndians call her manati; who carries her young underher arm, and gives it suck like a woman; and beingwounded, she lamenteth aloud with a human voice, andis said at certain seasons to sing very melodiously;which melody, perhaps, having been heard in thoseseas, is that which Mr. Frank reported to be the choirsof the Sirens and Tritons. The which I do notavouch for truth, neither rashly deny, having seenmyself such fertility of Nature’s wonders thatI hold him who denieth aught merely for its strangenessto be a ribald and an ignoramus. Also one ofour men brought in two great black fowls which hehad shot with a crossbow, bodied and headed like acapon, but bigger than any eagle, which the Spaniardscall curassos; which, with that sea-cow, afterwardsmade us good cheer, both roast and sodden, for thecow was very dainty meat, as good as a four-months’calf, and tender and fat withal.”
After that they set to work filling the casks andbarricos, having laid the boat up to the outflow ofthe rivulet. And lucky for them it was, as itfell out, that they were all close together at thatwork, and not abroad skylarking as they had been half-an-hourbefore.
Now John Brimblecombe had gone apart as soon as theylanded, with a shamefaced and doleful countenance;and sitting down under a great tree, plucked a Biblefrom his bosom, and read steadfastly, girded with hisgreat sword, and his arquebuse lying by him. Thistoo was well for him, and for the rest; for they hadnot yet finished their watering, when there was acry that the enemy was on them; and out of the wood,not twenty yards from the good parson, came full fiftyshot, with a multitude of negroes behind them, andan officer in front on horseback, with a great plumeof feathers in his hat, and his sword drawn in hishand.
“Stand, for your lives!” shouted Amyas:and only just in time; for there was ten good minuteslost in running up and down before he could get hismen into some order of battle. But when Jack beheldthe Spaniards, as if he had expected their coming,he plucked a leaf and put it into the page of hisbook for a mark, laid the book down soberly, caughtup his arquebuse, ran like a mad dog right at theSpanish captain, shot him through the body stark dead,and then, flinging the arquebuse at the head of himwho stood next, fell on with his sword like a veryColbrand, breaking in among the arquebuses, and strikingright and left such ugly strokes, that the Spaniards(who thought him a very fiend, or Luther’s selfcome to life to plague them) gave back pell-mell, andshot at him five or six at once with their arquebuses:but whether from fear of him, or of wounding eachother, made so bad play with their pieces, that heonly got one shrewd gall in his thigh, which made himlimp for many a day. But as fast as they gaveback he came on; and the rest by this time ran upin good order, and altogether nearly forty men wellarmed. On which the Spaniards turned, and wentas fast as they had come, while Cary hinted that,“The dogs had had such a taste of the parson,that they had no mind to wait for the clerk and people.”
“Come back, Jack! are you mad?” shoutedAmyas.
But Jack (who had not all this time spoken one word)followed them as fiercely as ever, till, reachinga great blow at one of the arquebusiers, he caughthis foot in a root; on which down he went, and strikinghis head against the ground, knocked out of himselfall the breath he had left (which between fatnessand fighting was not much), and so lay. Amyas,seeing the Spaniards gone, did not care to pursuethem: but picked up Jack, who, staring about,cried, “Glory be! glory be!—How manyhave I killed? How many have I killed?”
“Nineteen, at the least,” quoth Cary,“and seven with one back stroke;” andthen showed Brimblecombe the captain lying dead, andtwo arquebusiers, one of which was the fugitive bywhom he came to his fall, beside three or four morewho were limping away wounded, some of them by theirfellows’ shot.
“There!” said Jack, pausing and blowing,“will you laugh at me any more, Mr. Cary; orsay that I cannot fight, because I am a poor parson’sson?”
Cary took him by the hand, and asked pardon of himfor his scoffing, saying that he had that day playedthe best man of all of them; and Jack, who never boremalice, began laughing in his turn, and—
“Oh, Mr. Cary, we have all known your pleasantways, ever since you used to put drumble-drones intomy desk to Bideford school.” And so theywent to the boats, and pulled off, thanking God (asthey had need to do) for their great deliverance:while all the boats’ crew rejoiced over Jack,who after a while grew very faint (having bled a gooddeal without knowing it), and made as little of hisreal wound as he made much the day before of his imaginaryone.
Frank asked him that evening how he came to show socool and approved a valor in so sudden a mishap.
“Well, my masters,” said Jack, “Idon’t deny that I was very downcast on accountof what you said, and the scandal which I had givento the crew; but as it happened, I was reading thereunder the tree, to fortify my spirits, the historyof the ancient worthies, in St. Paul his eleventhchapter to the Hebrews; and just as I came to that,’out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiantin fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens,’arose the cry of the Spaniards. At which, gentlemen,thinking in myself that I fought in just so good acause as they, and, as I hoped, with like faith, therecame upon me so strange an assurance of victory, thatI verily believed in myself that if there had beena ten thousand of them, I should have taken no hurt.Wherefore,” said Jack, modestly, “thereis no credit due to me, for there was no valor inme whatsoever, but only a certainty of safety; andany coward would fight if he knew that he were tohave all the killing and none of the scratches.”
Which words he next day, being Sunday, repeated inhis sermon which he made on that chapter, with whichall, even Salvation Yeo himself, were well contentand edified, and allowed him to be as godly a preacheras he was (in spite of his simple ways) a valiantand true-hearted comrade.
They brought away the Spanish officer’s sword(a very good blade), and also a great chain of goldwhich he wore about his neck; both of which were allottedto Brimblecombe as his fair prize; but he, acceptingthe sword, steadfastly refused the chain, entreatingAmyas to put it into the common stock; and when Amyasrefused, he cut it into links and distributed it amongthose of the boat’s crew who had succored him,winning thereby much good-will. “And indeed”(says the chronicler), “I never saw in thatworthy man, from the first day of our school-fellowshiptill he was laid in his parish church of Hartland(where he now sleeps in peace), any touch of that sinof covetousness which has in all ages, and in oursno less than others, beset especially (I know not
why) them who minister about the sanctuary. Butthis man, though he was ugly and lowly in person,and in understanding simple, and of breeding but apoor parson’s son, had yet in him a spirit soloving and cheerful, so lifted from base and selfishpurposes to the worship of duty, and to a generosityrather knightly than sacerdotal, that all throughhis life he seemed to think only that it was more blessedto give than to receive. And all that wealthwhich he gained in the wars he dispersed among hissisters and the poor of his parish, living unmarriedtill his death like a true lover and constant mourner(as shall be said in place), and leaving hardly wherewithto bring his body to the grave. At whom if weoften laughed once, we should now rather envy him,desiring to be here what he was, that we may be hereafterwhere he is. Amen.”CHAPTER XIX
WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA
“Great was the crying,the running and riding,
Which at that season was made in the place;
The beacons were fired, as need then required,
To save their great treasure they had littlespace.”
Winningof Cales.
The men would gladly have hawked awhile round Margaritaand Cubagua for another pearl prize. But Amyashaving, as he phrased it, “fleshed his dogs,”was loth to hang about the islands after the alarmhad been given. They ran, therefore, south-westacross the mouth of that great bay which stretchesfrom the Peninsula of Paria to Cape Codera, leavingon their right hand Tortuga, and on their left themeadow-islands of the Piritoos, two long green linesbut a few inches above the tideless sea. Yeoand Drew knew every foot of the way, and had good reasonto know it; for they, the first of all English mariners,had tried to trade along this coast with Hawkins.And now, right ahead, sheer out of the sea from baseto peak, arose higher and higher the mighty range ofthe Caracas mountains; beside which all hills whichmost of the crew had ever seen seemed petty mounds.Frank, of course, knew the Alps; and Amyas the Andes;but Cary’s notions of height were bounded byM’Gillicuddy’s Reeks, and Brimblecombe’sby Exmoor; and the latter, to Cary’s infiniteamusem*nt, spent a whole day holding on by the rigging,and staring upwards with his chin higher than hisnose, till he got a stiff neck. Soon the seabecame rough and chopping, though the breeze was fairand gentle; and ere they were abreast of the Cape,they became aware of that strong eastward currentwhich, during the winter months, so often bafflesthe mariner who wishes to go to the westward.All night long they struggled through the billows,with the huge wall of Cape Codera a thousand feetabove their heads to the left, and beyond it again,bank upon bank of mountain, bathed in the yellow moonlight.
Morning showed them a large ship, which had passedthem during the night upon the opposite course, andwas now a good ten miles to the eastward. Yeowas for going back and taking her. Of the latterhe made a matter of course; and the former was easyenough, for the breeze blowing dead off the land,was a “soldier’s wind, there and back again,”for either ship; but Amyas and Frank were both unwilling.
“Why, Yeo, you said that one day more wouldbring us to La Guayra.”
“All the more reason, sir, for doing the Lord’swork thoroughly, when He has brought us safely sofar on our journey.”
“She can pass well enough, and no loss.”
“Ah, sirs, sirs, she is delivered into yourhands, and you will have to give an account of her.”
“My good Yeo,” said Frank, “I trustwe shall give good account enough of many a tall Spaniardbefore we return: but you know surely that LaGuayra, and the salvation of one whom we believe dwellsthere, was our first object in this adventure.”
Yeo shook his head sadly. “Ah, sirs, alady brought Captain Oxenham to ruin.”
“You do not dare to compare her with this one?”said Frank and Cary, both in a breath.
“God forbid, gentlemen: but no adventurewill prosper, unless there is a single eye to theLord’s work; and that is, as I take it, to cripplethe Spaniard, and exalt her majesty the queen.And I had thought that nothing was more dear thanthat to Captain Leigh’s heart.”
Amyas stood somewhat irresolute. His duty tothe queen bade him follow the Spanish vessel:his duty to his vow, to go on to La Guayra. Itmay seem a far-fetched dilemma. He found it apractical one enough.
However, the counsel of Frank prevailed, and on toLa Guayra he went. He half hoped that the Spaniardwould see and attack them. However, he went onhis way to the eastward; which if he had not done,my story had had a very different ending.
About mid-day a canoe, the first which they had seen,came staggering toward them under a huge three-corneredsail. As it came near, they could see two Indianson board.
“Metal floats in these seas, you see,”quoth Cary. “There’s a fresh marvel,for you, Frank.”
“Expound,” quoth Frank, who was reallyready to swallow any fresh marvel, so many had heseen already.
“Why, how else would those two bronze statuesdare to go to sea in such a co*ckleshell, eh?Have I given you the dor now, master courtier!”
“I am long past dors, Will. But what noblecreatures they are! and how fearlessly they are comingalongside! Can they know that we are English,and the avengers of the Indians?”
“I suspect they just take us for Spaniards,and want to sell their cocoa-nuts. See, the canoeis laden with vegetables.”
“Hail them, Yeo!” said Amyas. “Youtalk the best Spanish, and I want speech of one ofthem.”
Yeo did so; the canoe, without more ado, ran alongside,and lowered her felucca sail, while a splendid Indianscrambled on board like a cat.
He was full six feet high, and as bold and gracefulof bearing as Frank or Amyas’s self. Helooked round for the first moment smilingly, showinghis white teeth; but the next, his countenance changed;and springing to the side, he shouted to his comradein Spanish—
“Treachery! No Spaniard,” and wouldhave leaped overboard, but a dozen strong fellowscaught him ere he could do so.
It required some trouble to master him, so strongwas he, and so slippery his naked limbs; Amyas, meanwhile,alternately entreated the men not to hurt the Indian,and the Indian to be quiet, and no harm should happento him; and so, after five minutes’ confusion,the stranger gave in sulkily.
“Don’t bind him. Let him loose, andmake a ring round him. Now, my man, there’sa dollar for you.”
The Indian’s eyes glistened, and he took thecoin.
“All I want of you is, first, to tell me whatships are in La Guayra, and next, to go thither onboard of me, and show me which is the governor’shouse, and which the custom-house.”
The Indian laid the coin down on the deck, and crossinghimself, looked Amyas in the face.
“No, senor! I am a freeman and a cavalier,a Christian Guayqueria, whose forefathers, first ofall the Indians, swore fealty to the King of Spain,and whom he calls to this day in all his proclamationshis most faithful, loyal, and noble Guayquerias.God forbid, therefore, that I should tell aught tohis enemies, who are my enemies likewise.”
A growl arose from those of the men who understoodhim; and more than one hinted that a cord twined roundthe head, or a match put between the fingers, wouldspeedily extract the required information.
“God forbid!” said Amyas; “a braveand loyal man he is, and as such will I treat him.Tell me, my brave fellow, how do you know us to behis Catholic majesty’s enemies?”
The Indian, with a shrewd smile, pointed to half-a-dozendifferent objects, saying to each, “Not Spanish.”
“Well, and what of that?”
“None but Spaniards and free Guayquerias havea right to sail these seas.”
Amyas laughed.
“Thou art a right valiant bit of copper.Pick up thy dollar, and go thy way in peace.Make room for him, men. We can learn what we wantwithout his help.”
The Indian paused, incredulous and astonished.“Overboard with you!” quoth Amyas.“Don’t you know when you are well off?”
“Most illustrious senor,” began the Indian,in the drawling sententious fashion of his race (whenthey take the trouble to talk at all), “I havebeen deceived. I heard that you heretics roastedand ate all true Catholics (as we Guayquerias are),and that all your padres had tails.”
“Plague on you, sirrah!” squeaked JackBrimblecombe. “Have I a tail? Lookhere!”
“Quien sabe? Who knows?” quoth theIndian through his nose.
“How do you know we are heretics?” saidAmyas.
“Humph! But in repayment for your kindness,I would warn you, illustrious senor, not to go onto La Guayra. There are ships of war there waitingfor you; and moreover, the governor Don Guzman sailedto the eastward only yesterday to look for you; andI wonder much that you did not meet him.”
“To look for us! On the watch for us!”said Cary. “Impossible; lies! Amyas,this is some trick of the rascal’s to frightenus away.”
“Don Guzman came out but yesterday to look forus? Are you sure you spoke truth?”
“As I live, senor, he and another ship, forwhich I took yours.”
Amyas stamped upon the deck: that then was theship which they had passed!
“Fool that I was to have been close to my enemy,and let my opportunity slip! If I had but donemy duty, all would have gone right!”
But it was too late to repine; and after all, theIndian’s story was likely enough to be false.
“Off with you!” said he; and the Indianbounded over the side into his canoe, leaving thewhole crew wondering at the stateliness and courtesyof this bold sea-cavalier.
So Westward-ho they ran, beneath the mighty northernwall, the highest cliff on earth, some seven thousandfeet of rock parted from the sea by a narrow stripof bright green lowland. Here and there a patchof sugar-cane, or a knot of cocoa-nut trees, closeto the water’s edge, reminded them that theywere in the tropics; but above, all was savage, rough,and bare as an Alpine precipice. Sometimes deepclefts allowed the southern sun to pour a blaze oflight down to the sea marge, and gave glimpses farabove of strange and stately trees lining the glens,and of a veil of perpetual mist which shrouded theinner summits; while up and down, between them andthe mountain side, white fleecy clouds hung motionlessin the burning air, increasing the impression of vastnessand of solemn rest, which was already overpowering.
“Within those mountains, three thousand feetabove our heads,” said Drew, the master, “liesSaint Yago de Leon, the great city which the Spaniardsfounded fifteen years agone.”
“Is it a rich place?” asked Cary.
“Very, they say.”
“Is it a strong place?” asked Amyas.
“No forts to it at all, they say. The Spaniardsboast, that Heaven has made such good walls to italready, that man need make none.”
“I don’t know,” quoth Amyas.“Lads, could you climb those hills, do you think?”
“Rather higher than Harty Point, sir: butit depends pretty much on what’s behind them.”
And now the last point is rounded, and they are fullin sight of the spot in quest of which they have sailedfour thousand miles of sea. A low black cliff,crowned by a wall; a battery at either end. Within,a few narrow streets of white houses, running parallelwith the sea, upon a strip of flat, which seemed nottwo hundred yards in breadth; and behind, the mountainwall, covering the whole in deepest shade. Howthat wall was ever ascended to the inland seemed thepuzzle; but Drew, who had been off the place before,pointed out to them a narrow path, which wound upwardsthrough a glen, seemingly sheer perpendicular.That was the road to the capital, if any man daretry it. In spite of the shadow of the mountain,the whole place wore a dusty and glaring look.The breaths of air which came off the land were utterlystifling; and no wonder, for La Guayra, owing to theradiation of that vast fire-brick of heated rock,is one of the hottest spots upon the face of the wholeearth.
Where was the harbor? There was none. Onlyan open roadstead, wherein lay tossing at anchor fivevessels. The two outer ones were small merchantcaravels. Behind them lay two long, low, ugly-lookingcraft, at sight of which Yeo gave a long whew.
“Galleys, as I’m a sinful saint!And what’s that big one inside of them, RobertDrew? She has more than hawseholes in her idolatrousblack sides, I think.”
“We shall open her astern of the galleys inanother minute,” said Amyas. “Lookout, Cary, your eyes are better than mine.”
“Six round portholes on the main deck,”quoth Will.
“And I can see the brass patararoes glitteringon her poop,” quoth
Amyas. “Will, we’re in for it.”
“In for it we are, captain.
“Farewell, farewell,my parents dear.
I never shall see youmore, I fear.
“Let’s go in, nevertheless, and poundthe Don’s ribs, my old lad of Smerwick.Eh? Three to one is very fair odds.”
“Not underneath those fort guns, I beg leaveto say,” quoth Yeo. “If the Philistineswill but come out unto us, we will make them like untoZeba and Zalmunna.”
“Quite true,” said Amyas. “Gameco*cks are game co*cks, but reason’s reason.”
“If the Philistines are not coming out, theyare going to send a messenger instead,” quothCary. “Look out, all thin skulls!”
And as he spoke, a puff of white smoke rolled fromthe eastern fort, and a heavy ball plunged into thewater between it and the ship.
“I don’t altogether like this,”quoth Amyas. “What do they mean by firingon us without warning? And what are these shipsof war doing here? Drew, you told me the armadasnever lay here.”
“No more, I believe, they do, sir, on accountof the anchorage being so bad, as you may see.I’m mortal afeared that rascal’s storywas true, and that the Dons have got wind of our coming.”
“Run up a white flag, at all events. Ifthey do expect us, they must have known some timesince, or how could they have got their craft hither?”
“True, sir. They must have come from SantaMarta, at the least; perhaps from Cartagena.And that would take a month at least going and coming.”
Amyas suddenly recollected Eustace’s threatin the wayside inn. Could he have betrayed theirpurpose? Impossible!
“Let us hold a council of war, at all events,Frank.”
Frank was absorbed in a very different matter.A half-mile to the eastward of the town, two or threehundred feet up the steep mountain side, stood a large,low, white house embosomed in trees and gardens.There was no other house of similar size near; no placefor one. And was not that the royal flag of Spainwhich flaunted before it? That must be the governor’shouse; that must be the abode of the Rose of Torridge!And Frank stood devouring it with wild eyes, till hehad persuaded himself that he could see a woman’sfigure walking upon the terrace in front, and thatthe figure was none other than hers whom he sought.Amyas could hardly tear him away to a council of war,which was a sad, and only not a peevish one.
The three adventurers, with Brimblecombe, Yeo, andDrew, went apart upon the poop; and each looked theother in the face awhile. For what was to bedone? The plans and hopes of months were broughtto naught in an hour.
“It is impossible, you see,” said Amyas,at last, “to surprise the town by land, whilethese ships are here; for if we land our men, we leaveour ship without defence.”
“As impossible as to challenge Don Guzman whilehe is not here,” said Cary.
“I wonder why the ships have not opened on usalready,” said Drew.
“Perhaps they respect our flag of truce,”said Cary. “Why not send in a boat to treatwith them, and to inquire for—
“For her?” interrupted Frank. “Ifwe show that we are aware of her existence, her nameis blasted in the eyes of those jealous Spaniards.”
“And as for respecting our flag of truce, gentlemen,”said Yeo, “if you will take an old man’sadvice, trust them not. They will keep the samefaith with us as they kept with Captain Hawkins atSan Juan d’Ulloa, in that accursed businesswhich was the beginning of all the wars; when we mighthave taken the whole plate-fleet, with two hundredthousand pounds’ worth of gold on board, anddid not, but only asked license to trade like honestmen. And yet, after they had granted us license,and deceived us by fair speech into landing ourselvesand our ordnance, the governor and all the fleet setupon us, five to one, and gave no quarter to any soulwhom he took. No, sir; I expect the only reasonwhy they don’t attack us is, because their crewsare not on board.”
“They will be, soon enough, then,” saidAmyas. “I can see soldiers coming downthe landing-stairs.”
And, in fact, boats full of armed men began to pushoff to the ships.
“We may thank Heaven,” said Drew, “thatwe were not here two hours agone. The sun willbe down before they are ready for sea, and the fellowswill have no stomach to go looking for us by night.”
“So much the worse for us. If they willbut do that, we may give them the slip, and back againto the town, and there try our luck; for I cannotfind it in my heart to leave the place without havingone dash at it.”
Yeo shook his head. “There are plenty moretowns along the coast more worth trying than this,sir: but Heaven’s will be done!”
And as they spoke, the sun plunged into the sea, andall was dark.
At last it was agreed to anchor, and wait till midnight.If the ships of war came out, they were to try torun in past them, and, desperate as the attempt mightbe, attempt their original plan of landing to thewestward of the town, taking it in flank, plunderingthe government storehouses, which they saw close tothe landing-place, and then fighting their way backto their boats, and out of the roadstead. Twohours would suffice if the armada and the galleys werebut once out of the way.
Amyas went forward, called the men together, and toldthem the plan. It was not very cheerfully received:but what else was there to be done!
They ran down about a mile and a half to the westward,and anchored.
The night wore on, and there was no sign of stir amongthe shipping; for though they could not see the vesselsthemselves, yet their lights (easily distinguishedby their relative height from those in the town above)remained motionless; and the men fretted and fumedfor weary hours at thus seeing a rich prize (for ofcourse the town was paved with gold) within arm’sreach, and yet impossible.
Let Amyas and his men have patience. Some shortfive years more, and the great Armada will have comeand gone; and then that avenging storm, of which they,like Oxenham, Hawkins, and Drake, are but the avant-couriers,will burst upon every Spanish port from Corunna toCadiz, from the Canaries to Havana, and La Guayra andSt. Yago de Leon will not escape their share.Captain Amyas Preston and Captain Sommers, the colonistof the Bermudas, or Sommers’ Islands, will land,with a force tiny enough, though larger far than Leigh’s,where Leigh dare not land; and taking the fort ofGuayra, will find, as Leigh found, that their cominghas been expected, and that the Pass of the Venta,three thousand feet above, has been fortified withhuge barricadoes, abattis, and cannon, making thecapital, amid its ring of mountain-walls, impregnable—toall but Englishmen or Zouaves. For up that seventhousand feet of precipice, which rises stair on stairbehind the town, those fierce adventurers will climbhand over hand, through rain and fog, while men liedown, and beg their officers to kill them, for nofarther can they go. Yet farther they will go,hewing a path with their swords through woods of wildplantain, and rhododendron thickets, over (so it seems,however incredible) the very saddle of the Silla,*down upon the astonished “Mantuanos” ofSt. Jago, driving all before them; and having burntthe city in default of ransom, will return triumphantby the right road, and pass along the coast, the mastersof the deep.
* Humboldt says that there is a pathfrom Caravellada to St. Jago, between the peaks,used by smugglers. This is probably the“unknowen way of the Indians,” which Prestonused.
I know not whether any men still live who count theirdescent from those two valiant captains; but if suchthere be, let them be sure that the history of theEnglish navy tells no more Titanic victory over natureand man than that now forgotten raid of Amyas Prestonand his comrade, in the year of grace 1595.
But though a venture on the town was impossible, yetthere was another venture which Frank was unwillingto let slip. A light which now shone brightlyin one of the windows of the governor’s housewas the lodestar to which all his thoughts were turned;and as he sat in the cabin with Amyas, Cary, and Jack,he opened his heart to them.
“And are we, then,” asked he, mournfully,“to go without doing the very thing for whichwe came?”
All were silent awhile. At last John Brimblecombespoke.
“Show me the way to do it, Mr. Frank, and Iwill go.”
“My dearest man,” said Amyas, “whatwould you have? Any attempt to see her, evenif she be here, would be all but certain death.”
“And what if it were? What if it were,my brother Amyas? Listen to me. I have longceased to shrink from Death; but till I came into thesemagic climes, I never knew the beauty of his face.”
“Of death?” said Cary. “I shouldhave said, of life. God forgive me! but man mightwish to live forever, if he had such a world as thiswherein to live.”
“And do you forget, Cary, that the more fairthis passing world of time, by so much the more fairis that eternal world, whereof all here is but a shadowand a dream; by so much the more fair is He beforewhose throne the four mystic beasts, the substantialideas of Nature and her powers, stand day and night,crying, ’Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts,Thou hast made all things, and for Thy pleasure theyare and were created!’ My friends, if He beso prodigal of His own glory as to have decked theselonely shores, all but unknown since the foundationof the world, with splendors beyond all our dreams,what must be the glory of His face itself! Ihave done with vain shadows. It is better to departand to be with Him, where shall be neither desirenor anger, self-deception nor pretence, but the eternalfulness of reality and truth. One thing I haveto do before I die, for God has laid it on me.Let that be done to-night, and then, farewell!”
“Frank! Frank! remember our mother!”
“I do remember her. I have talked overthese things with her many a time; and where I wouldfain be, she would fain be also. She sent me outwith my virgin honor, as the Spartan mother did herboy with the shield, saying, ‘Come back eitherwith this, or upon this;’ and one or the otherI must do, if I would meet her either in this lifeor in the next. But in the meanwhile do not mistakeme; my life is God’s, and I promise not to castit away rashly.”
“What would you do, then?”
“Go up to that house, Amyas, and speak withher, if Heaven gives me an opportunity, as Heaven,I feel assured, will give.”
“And do you call that no rashness?”
“Is any duty rashness? Is it rash to standamid the flying bullets, if your queen has sent you?Is it more rash to go to seek Christ’s lostlamb, if God and your own oath hath sent you?John Brimblecombe answered that question for us longago.”
“If you go, I go with you!” said all threeat once.
“No. Amyas, you owe a duty to our motherand to your ship. Cary, you are heir to greatestates, and are bound thereby to your country andto your tenants. John Brimblecombe—”
“Ay!” squeaked Jack. “And whathave you to say, Mr. Frank, against my going?—I,who have neither ship nor estates—except,I suppose, that I am not worthy to travel in suchgood company?”
“Think of your old parents, John, and all yoursisters.”
“I thought of them before I started, sir, asMr. Cary knows, and you know too. I came hereto keep my vow, and I am not going to turn renegadeat the very foot of the cross.”
“Some one must go with you, Frank,” saidAmyas; “if it were only to bring back the boat’screw in case—” and he faltered.
“In case I fall,” replied Frank, witha smile. “I will finish your sentence foryou, lad; I am not afraid of it, though you may befor me. Yet some one, I fear, must go. Unhappyme! that I cannot risk my own worthless life withoutrisking your more precious lives!”
“Not so, Mr. Frank! Your oath is our oath,and your duty ours!” said John. “Iwill tell you what we will do, gentlemen all.We three will draw cuts for the honor of going withhim.”
“Lots?” said Amyas. “I don’tlike leaving such grave matters to chance, friendJohn.”
“Chance, sir? When you have used all yourown wit, and find it fail you, then what is drawinglots but taking the matter out of your own weak hands,and laying it in God’s strong hands?”
“Right, John!” said Frank. “Sodid the apostles choose their successor, and so didholy men of old decide controversies too subtle forthem; and we will not be ashamed to follow their example.For my part, I have often said to Sidney and to Spenser,when we have babbled together of Utopian governmentsin days which are now dreams to me, that I would haveall officers of state chosen by lot out of the wisestand most fit; so making sure that they should be calledby God, and not by man alone. Gentlemen, do youagree to Sir John’s advice?”
They agreed, seeing no better counsel, and John putthree slips of paper into Frank’s hand, withthe simple old apostolic prayer—
“Show which of us three Thou hast chosen.”
The lot fell upon Amyas Leigh.
Frank shuddered, and clasped his hands over his face.
“Well,” said Cary, “I have ill-luckto-night: but Frank goes at least in good company.”
“Ah, that it had been I!” said Jack; “thoughI suppose I was too poor a body to have such an honorfall on me. And yet it is hard for flesh andblood; hard indeed to have come all this way, and notto see her after all!”
“Jack,” said Frank, “you are keptto do better work than this, doubt not. But ifthe lot had fallen on you—ay, if it hadfallen on a three years’ child, I would havegone up as cheerfully with that child to lead me,as I do now with this my brother! Amyas, can wehave a boat, and a crew? It is near midnightalready.”
Amyas went on deck, and asked for six volunteers.Whosoever would come, Amyas would double out of hisown purse any prize-money which might fall to thatman’s share.
One of the old Pelican’s crew, Simon Evans ofClovelly, stepped out at once.
“Why six only, captain? Give the word,and any and all of us will go up with you, sack thehouse, and bring off the treasure and the lady, beforetwo hours are out.”
“No, no, my brave lads! As for treasure,if there be any, it is sure to have been put all safeinto the forts, or hidden in the mountains; and asfor the lady, God forbid that we should force her astep without her own will.”
The honest sailor did not quite understand this punctilio:but—
“Well, captain,” quoth he, “as youlike; but no man shall say that you asked for a volunteer,were it to jump down a shark’s throat, but whatyou had me first of all the crew.”
After this sort of temper had been exhibited, threeor four more came forward—Yeo was veryanxious to go, but Amyas forbade him.
“I’ll volunteer, sir, without reward,for this or anything; though” (added he in alower tone) “I would to Heaven that the thoughthad never entered your head.”
“And so would I have volunteered,” saidSimon Evans, “if it were the ship’s quarrel,or the queen’s; but being it’s a privatematter of the captain’s, and I’ve a wifeand children at home, why, I take no shame to myselffor asking money for my life.”
So the crew was made up; but ere they pushed off,Amyas called Cary aside—
“If I perish, Will—”
“Don’t talk of such things, dear old lad.”
“I must. Then you are captain. Donothing without Yeo and Drew. But if they approve,go right north away for San Domingo and Cuba, and trythe ports; they can have no news of us there, andthere is booty without end. Tell my mother thatI died like a gentleman; and mind—mind,dear lad, to keep your temper with the men, let thepoor fellows grumble as they may. Mind but that,and fear God, and all will go well.”
The tears were glistening in Cary’s eyes ashe pressed Amyas’s hand, and watched the twobrothers down over the side upon their desperate errand.
They reached the pebble beach. There seemed nodifficulty about finding the path to the house—sobright was the moon, and so careful a survey of theplace had Frank taken. Leaving the men with theboat (Amyas had taken care that they should be wellarmed), they started up the beach, with their swordsonly. Frank assured Amyas that they would finda path leading from the beach up to the house, andhe was not mistaken. They found it easily, forit was made of white shell sand; and following it,struck into a “tunal,” or belt of tallthorny cactuses. Through this the path woundin zigzags up a steep rocky slope, and ended at awicket-gate. They tried it, and found it open.
“She may expect us,” whispered Frank.
“Impossible!”
“Why not? She must have seen our ship;and if, as seems, the townsfolk know who we are, howmuch more must she! Yes, doubt it not, she stilllongs to hear news of her own land, and some secretsympathy will draw her down towards the sea to-night.See! the light is in the window still!”
“But if not,” said Amyas, who had no suchexpectation, “what is your plan?”
“I have none.”
“None?”
“I have imagined twenty different ones in thelast hour; but all are equally uncertain, impossible.I have ceased to struggle—I go where Iam called, love’s willing victim. If Heavenaccept the sacrifice, it will provide the altar andthe knife.”
Aymas was at his wits’ end. Judging ofhis brother by himself, he had taken for granted thatFrank had some well-concocted scheme for gaining admittanceto the Rose; and as the wiles of love were altogetherout of his province, he had followed in full faithsuch a sans-appel as he held Frank to be. Butnow he almost doubted of his brother’s sanity,though Frank’s manner was perfectly collectedand his voice firm. Amyas, honest fellow, hadno understanding of that intense devotion, which somany in those days (not content with looking on itas a lofty virtue, and yet one to be duly kept inits place by other duties) prided themselves on pamperinginto the most fantastic and self-willed excesses.
Beautiful folly! the death-song of which two greatgeniuses were composing at that very moment, eachaccording to his light. For, while Spenser wasembalming in immortal verse all that it contained ofnoble and Christian elements, Cervantes sat, perhaps,in his dungeon, writing with his left hand Don Quixote,saddest of books, in spite of all its wit; the storyof a pure and noble soul, who mistakes this actuallife for that ideal one which he fancies (and notso wrongly either) eternal in the heavens: andfinding instead of a battlefield for heroes in God’scause, nothing but frivolity, heartlessness, and godlessness,becomes a laughing-stock,—and dies.One of the saddest books, I say again, which man canread.
Amyas hardly dare trust himself to speak, for fearof saying too much; but he could not help saying—
“You are going to certain death, Frank.”
“Did I not entreat,” answered he, veryquietly, “to go alone?”
Amyas had half a mind to compel him to return:but he feared Frank’s obstinacy; and feared,too, the shame of returning on board without havingdone anything; so they went up through the wicket-gate,along a smooth turf walk, into what seemed a pleasure-garden,formed by the hand of man, or rather of woman.For by the light, not only of the moon, but of theinnumerable fireflies, which flitted to and fro acrossthe sward like fiery imps sent to light the brotherson their way, they could see that the bushes on eitherside, and the trees above their heads, were deckedwith flowers of such strangeness and beauty, that,as Frank once said of Barbados, “even the gardensof Wilton were a desert in comparison.”All around were orange and lemon trees (probably theonly addition which man had made to Nature’sprodigality), the fruit of which, in that strangecolored light of the fireflies, flashed in their eyeslike balls of burnished gold and emerald; while greatwhite tassels swinging from every tree in the breezewhich swept down the glade, tossed in their facesa fragrant snow of blossoms, and glittering dropsof perfumed dew.
“What a paradise!” said Amyas to Frank,“with the serpent in it, as of old. Look!”
And as he spoke, there dropped slowly down from abough, right before them, what seemed a living chainof gold, ruby, and sapphire. Both stopped, andanother glance showed the small head and bright eyesof a snake, hissing and glaring full in their faces.
“See!” said Frank. “And hecomes, as of old, in the likeness of an angel of light.Do not strike it. There are worse devils to befought with to-night than that poor beast.”And stepping aside, they passed the snake safely,and arrived in front of the house.
It was, as I have said, a long low house, with balconiesalong the upper story, and the under part mostly opento the wind. The light was still burning in thewindow.
“Whither now?” said Amyas, in a tone ofdesperate resignation.
“Thither! Where else on earth?” andFrank pointed to the light, trembling from head tofoot, and pushed on.
“For Heaven’s sake! Look at the negroeson the barbecue!”
It was indeed time to stop; for on the barbecue, orterrace of white plaster, which ran all round thefront, lay sleeping full twenty black figures.
“What will you do now? You must step overthem to gain an entrance.”
“Wait here, and I will go up gently towardsthe window. She may see me. She will seeme as I step into the moonlight. At least I knowan air by which she will recognize me, if I do buthum a stave.”
“Why, you do not even know that that light ishers!—Down, for your life!”
And Amyas dragged him down into the bushes on hisleft hand; for one of the negroes, wakening suddenlywith a cry, had sat up, and began crossing himselffour or five times, in fear of “Duppy,”and mumbling various charms, ayes, or what not.
The light above was extinguished instantly.
“Did you see her?” whispered Frank.
“No.”
“I did—the shadow of the face, andthe neck! Can I be mistaken?” And then,covering his face with his hands, he murmured to himself,“Misery! misery! So near and yet impossible?”
“Would it be the less impossible were you faceto face? Let us go back. We cannot go upwithout detection, even if our going were of use.Come back, for God’s sake, ere all is lost!If you have seen her, as you say, you know at leastthat she is alive, and safe in his house—”
“As his mistress? or as his wife? Do Iknow that yet, Amyas, and can I depart until I know?”There was a few minutes’ silence, and then Amyas,making one last attempt to awaken Frank to the absurdityof the whole thing, and to laugh him, if possible,out of it, as argument had no effect—
“My dear fellow, I am very hungry and sleepy;and this bush is very prickly; and my boots are fullof ants—”
“So are mine.—Look!” and Frankcaught Amyas’s arm, and clenched it tight.
For round the farther corner of the house a dark cloakedfigure stole gently, turning a look now and then uponthe sleeping negroes, and came on right toward them.
“Did I not tell you she would come?” whisperedFrank, in a triumphant tone.
Amyas was quite bewildered; and to his mind the apparitionseemed magical, and Frank prophetic; for as the figurecame nearer, incredulous as he tried to be, therewas no denying that the shape and the walk were exactlythose of her, to find whom they had crossed the Atlantic.True, the figure was somewhat taller; but then, “shemust be grown since I saw her,” thought Amyas;and his heart for the moment beat as fiercely as Frank’s.
But what was that behind her? Her shadow againstthe white wall of the house. Not so. Anotherfigure, cloaked likewise, but taller far, was followingon her steps. It was a man’s. Theycould see that he wore a broad sombrero. It couldnot be Don Guzman, for he was at sea. Who then?Here was a mystery; perhaps a tragedy. And bothbrothers held their breaths, while Amyas felt whetherhis sword was loose in the sheath.
The Rose (if indeed it was she) was within ten yardsof them, when she perceived that she was followed.She gave a little shriek. The cavalier sprangforward, lifted his hat courteously, and joined her,bowing low. The moonlight was full upon his face.
“It is Eustace, our cousin! How came hehere, in the name of all the fiends?”
“Eustace! Then that is she, after all!”said Frank, forgetting everything else in her.
And now flashed across Amyas all that had passed betweenhim and Eustace in the moorland inn, and Parracombe’sstory, too, of the suspicious gipsy. Eustacehad been beforehand with them, and warned Don Guzman!All was explained now: but how had he got hither?
“The devil, his master, sent him hither on abroomstick, I suppose: or what matter how?Here he is; and here we are, worse luck!” And,setting his teeth, Amyas awaited the end.
The two came on, talking earnestly, and walking ata slow pace, so that the brothers could hear everyword.
“What shall we do now?” said Frank.“We have no right to be eavesdroppers.”
“But we must be, right or none.”And Amyas held him down firmly by the arm.
“But whither are you going, then, my dear madam?”they heard Eustace say in a wheedling tone. “Canyou wonder if such strange conduct should cause atleast sorrow to your admirable and faithful husband?”
“Husband!” whispered Frank faintly toAmyas. “Thank God, thank God! I amcontent. Let us go.”
But to go was impossible; for, as fate would haveit, the two had stopped just opposite them.
“The inestimable Senor Don Guzman—”began Eustace again.
“What do you mean by praising him to me in thisfulsome way, sir? Do you suppose that I do notknow his virtues better than you?”
“If you do, madam” (this was spoken ina harder tone), “it were wise for you to trythem less severely, than by wandering down towardsthe beach on the very night that you know his mostdeadly enemies are lying in wait to slay him, plunderhis house, and most probably to carry you off fromhim.”
“Carry me off? I will die first!”
“Who can prove that to him? Appearancesare at least against you.”
“My love to him, and his trust for me, sir!”
“His trust? Have you forgotten, madam,what passed last week, and why he sailed yesterday?”
The only answer was a burst of tears. Eustacestood watching her with a terrible eye; but they couldsee his face writhing in the moonlight.
“Oh!” sobbed she at last. “Andif I have been imprudent, was it not natural to wishto look once more upon an English ship? Are younot English as well as I? Have you no longingrecollections of the dear old land at home?”
Eustace was silent; but his face worked more fiercelythan ever.
“How can he ever know it?”
“Why should he not know it?”
“Ah!” she burst out passionately, “whynot, indeed, while you are here? You, sir, thetempter, you the eavesdropper, you the sunderer ofloving hearts! You, serpent, who found our homea paradise, and see it now a hell!”
“Do you dare to accuse me thus, madam, withouta shadow of evidence?”
“Dare? I dare anything, for I know all!I have watched you, sir, and I have borne with youtoo long.”
“Me, madam, whose only sin towards you, as youshould know by now, is to have loved you too well?Rose! Rose! have you not blighted my life forme—broken my heart? And how have Irepaid you? How but by sacrificing myself toseek you over land and sea, that I might complete yourconversion to the bosom of that Church where a VirginMother stands stretching forth soft arms to embraceher wandering daughter, and cries to you all day long,’Come unto me, ye that are weary and heavy laden,and I will give you rest!’ And this is my reward!”
“Depart with your Virgin Mother, sir, and temptme no more! You have asked me what I dare; andI dare this, upon my own ground, and in my own garden,I, Donna Rosa de Soto, to bid you leave this placenow and forever, after having insulted me by talkingof your love, and tempted me to give up that faithwhich my husband promised me he would respect andprotect. Go, sir!”
The brothers listened breathless with surprise asmuch as with rage. Love and conscience, and perhaps,too, the pride of her lofty alliance, had convertedthe once gentle and dreamy Rose into a very Roxana;but it was only the impulse of a moment. Thewords had hardly passed her lips, when, terrifiedat what she had said, she burst into a fresh floodof tears; while Eustace answered calmly:
“I go, madam: but how know you that I maynot have orders, and that, after your last strangespeech, my conscience may compel me to obey thoseorders, to take you with me?”
“Me? with you?”
“My heart has bled for you, madam, for manya year. It longs now that it had bled itselfto death, and never known the last worst agony oftelling you—”
And drawing close to her he whispered in her ear—what,the brothers heard not—but her answer wasa shriek which rang through the woods, and sent thenight-birds fluttering up from every bough above theirheads.
“By Heaven!” said Amyas, “I canstand this no longer. Cut that devil’sthroat I must—”
“She is lost if his dead body is found by her.”
“We are lost if we stay here, then,” saidAmyas; “for those negroes will hurry down ather cry, and then found we must be.”
“Are you mad, madam, to betray yourself by yourown cries? The negroes will be here in a moment.I give you one last chance for life, then:”and Eustace shouted in Spanish at the top of his voice,“Help, help, servants! Your mistress isbeing carried off by bandits!”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Let your woman’s wit supply the rest:and forget not him who thus saves you from disgrace.”
Whether the brothers heard the last words or not,I know not; but taking for granted that Eustace haddiscovered them, they sprang to their feet at once,determined to make one last appeal, and then to selltheir lives as dearly as they could.
Eustace started back at the unexpected apparition;but a second glance showed him Amyas’s mightybulk; and he spoke calmly—
“You see, madam, I did not call without need.Welcome, good cousins. My charity, as you perceive,has found means to outstrip your craft; while thefair lady, as was but natural, has been true to herassignation!”
“Liar!” cried Frank. “She neverknew of our being—”
“Credat Judaeus!” answered Eustace; but,as he spoke, Amyas burst through the bushes at him.There was no time to be lost; and ere the giant coulddisentangle himself from the boughs and shrubs, Eustacehad slipped off his long cloak, thrown it over Amyas’shead, and ran up the alley shouting for help.
Mad with rage, Amyas gave chase: but in two minutesmore Eustace was safe among the ranks of the negroes,who came shouting and jabbering down the path.
He rushed back. Frank was just ending some wildappeal to Rose—
“Your conscience! your religion!—”
“No, never! I can face the chance of death,but not the loss of him. Go! for God’ssake, leave me!”
“You are lost, then,—and I have ruinedyou!”
“Come off, now or never,” cried Amyas,clutching him by the arm, and dragging him away likea child.
“You forgive me?” cried he.
“Forgive you?” and she burst into tearsagain.
Frank burst into tears also.
“Let me go back, and die with her—Amyas!—myoath!—my honor!” and he struggledto turn back.
Amyas looked back too, and saw her standing calmly,with her hands folded across her breast, awaitingEustace and the servants; and he half turned to goback also. Both saw how fearfully appearanceshad put her into Eustace’s power. Had henot a right to suspect that they were there by herappointment; that she was going to escape with them?And would not Eustace use his power? The thoughtof the Inquisition crossed their minds. “Wasthat the threat which Eustace had whispered?”asked he of Frank.
“It was,” groaned Frank, in answer.
For the first and last time in his life, Amyas Leighstood irresolute.
“Back, and stab her to the heart first!”said Frank, struggling to escape from him.
Oh, if Amyas were but alone, and Frank safe home inEngland! To charge the whole mob, kill her, killEustace, and then cut his way back again to the ship,or die,—what matter? as he must die someday,—sword in hand! But Frank!—andthen flashed before his eyes his mother’s hopelessface; then rang in his ears his mother’s lastbequest to him of that frail treasure. Let Rose,let honor, let the whole world perish, he must saveFrank. See! the negroes were up with her now—pasther—away for life! and once more he draggedhis brother down the hill, and through the wicket,only just in time; for the whole gang of negroes werewithin ten yards of them in full pursuit.
“Frank,” said he, sharply, “if youever hope to see your mother again, rouse yourself,man, and fight!” And, without waiting for ananswer, he turned, and charged up-hill upon his pursuers,who saw the long bright blade, and fled instantly.
Again he hurried Frank down the hill; the path woundin zigzags, and he feared that the negroes would comestraight over the cliff, and so cut off his retreat:but the prickly cactuses were too much for them, andthey were forced to follow by the path, while the brothers(Frank having somewhat regained his senses) turnedevery now and then to menace them: but once onthe rocky path, stones began to fly fast; small onesfortunately, and wide and wild for want of light—butwhen they reached the pebble-beach? Both weretoo proud to run; but, if ever Amyas prayed in hislife, he prayed for the last twenty yards before hereached the water-mark.
“Now, Frank! down to the boat as hard as youcan run, while I keep the curs back.”
“Amyas! what do you take me for? My madnessbrought you hither: your devotion shall not bringme back without you.”
“Together, then!”
And putting Frank’s arm through his, they hurrieddown, shouting to their men.
The boat was not fifty yards off: but fast travellingover the pebbles was impossible, and long ere halfthe distance was crossed, the negroes were on thebeach, and the storm burst. A volley of greatquartz pebbles whistled round their heads.
“Come on, Frank! for life’s sake!Men, to the rescue! Ah! what was that?”
The dull crash of a pebble against Frank’s fairhead! Drooping like Hyacinthus beneath the blowof the quoit, he sank on Amyas’s arm. Thegiant threw him over his shoulder, and plunged blindlyon,—himself struck again and again.
“Fire, men! Give it the black villains!”
The arquebuses crackled from the boat in front.What were those dull thuds which answered from behind?Echoes? No. Over his head the caliver-ballswent screeching. The governors’ guard haveturned out, followed them to the beach, fixed theircalivers, and are firing over the negroes’ heads,as the savages rush down upon the hapless brothers.
If, as all say, there are moments which are hours,how many hours was Amyas Leigh in reaching that boat’sbow? Alas! the negroes are there as soon as he,and the guard, having left their calivers, are closebehind them, sword in hand. Amyas is up to hisknees in water—battered with stones—blindedwith blood. The boat is swaying off and on againstthe steep pebble-bank: he clutches at it—misses—fallsheadlong—rises half-choked with water:but Frank is still in his arms. Another heavyblow—a confused roar of shouts, shots, curses—aconfused mass of negroes and English, foam and pebbles—andhe recollects no more.
* * * * *
He is lying in the stern-sheets of the boat; stiff,weak, half blind with blood. He looks up; themoon is still bright overhead: but they are awayfrom the shore now, for the wave-crests are dancingwhite before the land-breeze, high above the boat’sside. The boat seems strangely empty. Twomen are pulling instead of six! And what is thislying heavy across his chest? He pushes, andis answered by a groan. He puts his hand downto rise, and is answered by another groan.
“What’s this?”
“All that are left of us,” says SimonEvans of Clovelly.
“All?” The bottom of the boat seemed pavedwith human bodies. “Oh God! oh God!”moans Amyas, trying to rise. “And where—whereis Frank? Frank!”
“Mr. Frank!” cries Evans. There isno answer.
“Dead?” shrieks Amyas. “Lookfor him, for God’s sake, look!” and strugglingfrom under his living load, he peers into each paleand bleeding face.
“Where is he? Why don’t you speak,forward there?”
“Because we have naught to say, sir,”answers Evans, almost surlily.
Frank was not there.
“Put the boat about! To the shore!”roars Amyas.
“Look over the gunwale, and judge for yourself,sir!”
The waves are leaping fierce and high before a furiousland-breeze. Return is impossible.
“Cowards! villains! traitors! hounds! to haveleft him behind.”
“Listen you to me, Captain Amyas Leigh,”says Simon Evans, resting on his oar; “and hangme for mutiny, if you will, when we’re aboard,if we ever get there. Isn’t it enough tobring us out to death (as you knew yourself, sir,for you’re prudent enough) to please that pooryoung gentleman’s fancy about a wench; but youmust call coward an honest man that have saved yourlife this night, and not a one of us but has his woundto show?”
Amyas was silent; the rebuke was just.
“I tell you, sir, if we’ve hove a stoneout of this boat since we got off, we’ve hovetwo hundredweight, and, if the Lord had not foughtfor us, she’d have been beat to noggin-stavesthere on the beach.”
“How did I come here, then?”
“Tom Hart dragged you in out of five feet water,and then thrust the boat off, and had his brains beatout for reward. All were knocked down but ustwo. So help me God, we thought that you had hoveMr. Frank on board just as you were knocked down,and saw William Frost drag him in.”
But William Frost was lying senseless in the bottomof the boat. There was no explanation. Afterall, none was needed.
“And I have three wounds from stones, and thisman behind me as many more, beside a shot throughhis shoulder. Now, sir, be we cowards?”
“You have done your duty,” said Amyas,and sank down in the boat, and cried as if his heartwould break; and then sprang up, and, wounded as hewas, took the oar from Evans’s hands. Withweary work they made the ship, but so exhausted thatanother boat had to be lowered to get them alongside.
The alarm being now given, it was hardly safe to remainwhere they were; and after a stormy and sad argument,it was agreed to weigh anchor and stand off and ontill morning; for Amyas refused to leave the spot tillhe was compelled, though he had no hope (how couldhe have?) that Frank might still be alive. Andperhaps it was well for them, as will appear in thenext chapter, that morning did not find them at anchorclose to the town.
However that may be, so ended that fatal venture ofmistaken chivalry.
CHAPTER XX
SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS
“Full seven longhours in all men’s sight
This fightendured sore,
Until our men so feeblegrew,
That theycould fight no more.
And then upon dead horses
Full savorlythey fed,
And drank the puddlewater,
They couldno better get.
“When they hadfed so freely
They kneeledon the ground,
And gave God thanksdevoutly for
The favorthey had found;
Then beating up theircolors,
The fightthey did renew;
And turning to the Spaniards,
A thousandmore they slew.”
The BraveLord Willoughby. 1586.
When the sun leaped up the next morning, and the tropiclight flashed suddenly into the tropic day, Amyaswas pacing the deck, with dishevelled hair and tornclothes, his eyes red with rage and weeping, his heartfull—how can I describe it? Pictureit to yourselves, picture it to yourselves, you whohave ever lost a brother; and you who have not, thankGod that you know nothing of his agony. Full ofimpossible projects, he strode and staggered up anddown, as the ship thrashed close-hauled through therolling seas. He would go back and burn the villa.He would take Guayra, and have the life of every manin it in return for his brother’s. “Wecan do it, lads!” he shouted. “IfDrake took Nombre de Dios, we can take La Guayra.”And every voice shouted, “Yes.”
“We will have it, Amyas, and have Frank too,yet,” cried Cary; but Amyas shook his head.He knew, and knew not why he knew, that all the portsin New Spain would never restore to him that one belovedface.
“Yes, he shall be well avenged. And lookthere! There is the first crop of our vengeance.And he pointed toward the shore, where between themand the now distant peaks of the Silla, three sailsappeared, not five miles to windward.
“There are the Spanish bloodhounds on our heels,the same ships which we saw yesterday off Guayra.Back, lads, and welcome them, if they were a dozen.”
There was a murmur of applause from all around; andif any young heart sank for a moment at the prospectof fighting three ships at once, it was awed intosilence by the cheer which rose from all the oldermen, and by Salvation Yeo’s stentorian voice.
“If there were a dozen, the Lord is with us,who has said, ’One of you shall chase a thousand.’Clear away, lads, and see the glory of the Lord thisday.”
“Amen!” cried Cary; and the ship was keptstill closer to the wind.
Amyas had revived at the sight of battle. Heno longer felt his wounds, or his great sorrow; evenFrank’s last angel’s look grew dimmer everymoment as he bustled about the deck; and ere a quarterof an hour had passed, his voice cried firmly andcheerfully as of old—
“Now, my masters, let us serve God, and thento breakfast, and after that clear for action.”
Jack Brimblecombe read the daily prayers, and theprayers before a fight at sea, and his honest voicetrembled, as, in the Prayer for all Conditions ofMen (in spite of Amyas’s despair), he added,“and especially for our dear brother Mr. FrancisLeigh, perhaps captive among the idolaters;”and so they rose.
“Now, then,” said Amyas, “to breakfast.A Frenchman fights best fasting, a Dutchman drunk,an Englishman full, and a Spaniard when the devil isin him, and that’s always.”
“And good beef and the good cause are a matchfor the devil,” said Cary. “Comedown, captain; you must eat too.”
Amyas shook his head, took the tiller from the steersman,and bade him go below and fill himself. WillCary went down, and returned in five minutes, witha plate of bread and beef, and a great jack of ale,coaxed them down Amyas’s throat, as a nurse doeswith a child, and then scuttled below again with tearshopping down his face.
Amyas stood still steering. His face was grownseven years older in the last night. A terribleset calm was on him. Woe to the man who cameacross him that day!
“There are three of them, you see, my masters,”said he, as the crew came on deck again. “Abig ship forward, and two galleys astern of her.The big ship may keep; she is a race ship, and if wecan but recover the wind of her, we will see whetherour height is not a match for her length. Wemust give her the slip, and take the galleys first.”
“I thank the Lord,” said Yeo, “whohas given so wise a heart to so young a general; avery David and Daniel, saving his presence, lads; andif any dare not follow him, let him be as the menof Meroz and of Succoth. Amen! Silas Staveley,smite me that boy over the head, the young monkey;why is he not down at the powder-room door?”
And Yeo went about his gunnery, as one who knew howto do it, and had the most terrible mind to do itthoroughly, and the most terrible faith that it wasGod’s work.
So all fell to; and though there was comparativelylittle to be done, the ship having been kept as faras could be in fighting order all night, yet therewas “clearing of decks, lacing of nettings, makingof bulwarks, fitting of waist-cloths, arming of tops,tallowing of pikes, slinging of yards, doubling ofsheets and tacks,” enough to satisfy even thepedantical soul of Richard Hawkins himself. Amyastook charge of the poop, Cary of the forecastle, andYeo, as gunner, of the main-deck, while Drew, as master,settled himself in the waist; and all was ready, andmore than ready, before the great ship was within twomiles of them.
And now while the mastiffs of England and the bloodhoundsof Spain are nearing and nearing over the rollingsurges, thirsting for each other’s blood, letus spend a few minutes at least in looking at themboth, and considering the causes which in those daysenabled the English to face and conquer armamentsimmensely superior in size and number of ships, andto boast that in the whole Spanish war but one queen’sship, the Revenge, and (if I recollect right) butone private man-of-war, Sir Richard Hawkins’sDainty, had ever struck their colors to the enemy.
What was it which enabled Sir Richard Grenville’sRevenge, in his last fearful fight off the Azores,to endure, for twelve hours before she struck, theattack of eight Spanish armadas, of which two (threetimes her own burden) sank at her side; and afterall her masts were gone, and she had been boardedthree times without success, to defy to the last thewhole fleet of fifty-four sail, which lay around her,waiting for her to sink, “like dogs around thedying forest king”?
What enabled young Richard Hawkins’s Dainty,though half her guns were useless through the carelessnessor treachery of the gunner, to maintain for threedays a running fight with two Spaniards of equal sizewith her, double the weight of metal, and ten timesthe number of men?
What enabled Sir George Cary’s illustrious ship,the Content, to fight, single-handed, from seven inthe morning till eleven at night, with four greatarmadas and two galleys, though her heaviest gun wasbut one nine-pounder, and for many hours she had butthirteen men fit for service?
What enabled, in the very year of which I write, thosetwo “valiant Turkey Merchantmen of London, theMerchant Royal and the Tobie,” with their threesmall consorts, to cripple, off Pantellaria in theMediterranean, the whole fleet of Spanish galleys sentto intercept them, and return triumphant through theStraits of Gibraltar?
And lastly, what in the fight of 1588, whereof morehereafter, enabled the English fleet to capture, destroy,and scatter that Great Armada, with the loss (butnot the capture) of one pinnace, and one gentlemanof note?
There were more causes than one: the first seemsto have lain in the build of the English ships; thesecond in their superior gunnery and weight of metal;the third (without which the first would have beenuseless) in the hearts of the English men.
The English ship was much shorter than the Spanish;and this (with the rig of those days) gave them anease in manoeuvring, which utterly confounded theirSpanish foes. “The English ships in thefight of 1588,” says Camden, “chargedthe enemy with marvellous agility, and having dischargedtheir broadsides, flew forth presently into the deep,and levelled their shot directly, without missing,at those great ships of the Spaniards, which werealtogether heavy and unwieldy.” Moreover,the Spanish fashion, in the West Indies at least,though not in the ships of the Great Armada, was,for the sake of carrying merchandise, to build theirmen-of-war flush-decked, or as it was called “race”(razes), which left those on deck exposed and open;while the English fashion was to heighten the shipas much as possible at stem and stern, both by thesweep of her lines, and also by stockades ("close fightsand cage-works”) on the poop and forecastle,thus giving to the men a shelter, which was furtherincreased by strong bulkheads ("cobridgeheads”)across the main-deck below, dividing the ship thusinto a number of separate forts, fitted with swivels("bases, fowlers, and murderers”) and loopholedfor musketry and arrows.
But the great source of superiority was, after all,in the men themselves. The English sailor wasthen, as now, a quite amphibious and all-cunning animal,capable of turning his hand to everything, from needleworkand carpentry to gunnery or hand-to-hand blows; andhe was, moreover, one of a nation, every citizen ofwhich was not merely permitted to carry arms, butcompelled by law to practise from childhood the useof the bow, and accustomed to consider sword-playand quarter-staff as a necessary part and parcel ofeducation, and the pastime of every leisure hour.The “fiercest nation upon earth,” as theywere then called, and the freest also, each man ofthem fought for himself with the self-help and self-respectof a Yankee ranger, and once bidden to do his work,was trusted to carry it out by his own wit as besthe could. In one word, he was a free man.
The English officers, too, as now, lived on termsof sympathy with their men unknown to the Spaniards,who raised between the commander and the commandedabsurd barriers of rank and blood, which forbade tohis pride any labor but that of fighting. TheEnglish officers, on the other hand, brought up tothe same athletic sports, the same martial exercises,as their men, were not ashamed to care for them, to
win their friendship, even on emergency to consulttheir judgment; and used their rank, not to differfrom their men, but to outvie them; not merely to commandand be obeyed, but, like Homer’s heroes, orthe old Norse Vikings, to lead and be followed.Drake touched the true mainspring of English successwhen he once (in his voyage round the world) indignantlyrebuked some coxcomb gentlemen-adventurers with—“Ishould like to see the gentleman that will refuseto set his hand to a rope. I must have the gentlemento hale and draw with the mariners.” Butthose were days in which her majesty’s servicewas as little overridden by absurd rules of seniority,as by that etiquette which is at once the counterfeitand the ruin of true discipline. Under Elizabethand her ministers, a brave and a shrewd man was certainof promotion, let his rank or his age be what theymight; the true honor of knighthood covered once andfor all any lowliness of birth; and the merchant service(in which all the best sea-captains, even those ofnoble blood, were more or less engaged) was then anursery, not only for seamen, but for warriors, indays when Spanish and Portuguese traders (wheneverthey had a chance) got rid of English competitionby salvos of cannon-shot.Hence, as I have said, that strong fellow-feelingbetween officers and men; and hence mutinies (as SirRichard Hawkins tells us) were all but unknown inthe English ships, while in the Spanish they brokeout on every slight occasion. For the Spaniards,by some suicidal pedantry, had allowed their navyto be crippled by the same despotism, etiquette, andofficial routine, by which the whole nation was graduallyfrozen to death in the course of the next centuryor two; forgetting that, fifty years before, Cortez,Pizarro, and the early Conquistadores of America hadachieved their miraculous triumphs on the exactly oppositemethod by that very fellow-feeling between commanderand commanded by which the English were now conqueringthem in their turn.
Their navy was organized on a plan complete enough;but on one which was, as the event proved, utterlyfatal to their prowess and unanimity, and which madeeven their courage and honor useless against the assaultsof free men. “They do, in their armadasat sea, divide themselves into three bodies; to wit,soldiers, mariners, and gunners. The soldiersand officers watch and ward as if on shore; and thisis the only duty they undergo, except cleaning theirarms, wherein they are not over curious. Thegunners are exempted from all labor and care, exceptabout the artillery; and these are either Almaines,Flemings, or strangers; for the Spaniards are butindifferently practised in this art. The marinersare but as slaves to the rest, to moil and to toilday and night; and those but few and bad, and notsuffered to sleep or harbor under the decks.For in fair or foul weather, in storms, sun, or rain,they must pass void of covert or succor.”
This is the account of one who was long prisoner onboard their ships; let it explain itself, while Ireturn to my tale. For the great ship is nowwithin two musket-shots of the Rose, with the goldenflag of Spain floating at her poop; and her trumpetsare shouting defiance up the breeze, from a dozenbrazen throats, which two or three answer lustilyfrom the Rose, from whose poop flies the flag of England,and from her fore the arms of Leigh and Cary sideby side, and over them the ship and bridge of thegood town of Bideford. And then Amyas calls:
“Now, silence trumpets, waits, play up!‘Fortune my foe!’ and God and the Queenbe with us!”
Whereon (laugh not, reader, for it was the fashionof those musical as well as valiant days) up rosethat noble old favorite of good Queen Bess, from cornetand sackbut, fife and drum; while Parson Jack, whohad taken his stand with the musicians on the poop,worked away lustily at his violin, and like Volkerof the Nibelungen Lied.
“Well played, Jack; thy elbow flies like a lamb’stail,” said Amyas, forcing a jest.
“It shall fly to a better fiddle-bow presently,sir, an I have the luck—”
“Steady, helm!” said Amyas. “Whatis he after now?”
The Spaniard, who had been coming upon them rightdown the wind under a press of sail, took in his lightcanvas.
“He don’t know what to make of our waitingfor him so bold,” said the helmsman.
“He does though, and means to fight us,”cried another. “See, he is hauling up thefoot of his mainsail, but he wants to keep the windof us.”
“Let him try, then,” quoth Amyas.“Keep her closer still. Let no one firetill we are about. Man the starboard guns; tostarboard, and wait, all small arm men. Passthe order down to the gunner, and bid all fire high,and take the rigging.”
Bang went one of the Spaniard’s bow guns, andthe shot went wide. Then another and another,while the men fidgeted about, looking at the primingof their muskets, and loosened their arrows in thesheaf.
“Lie down, men, and sing a psalm. WhenI want you, I’ll call you. Closer still,if you can, helmsman, and we will try a short shipagainst a long one. We can sail two points nearerthe wind than he.”
As Amyas had calculated, the Spaniard would gladlyenough have stood across the Rose’s bows, butknowing the English readiness, dare not for fear ofbeing raked; so her only plan, if she did not intendto shoot past her foe down to leeward, was to puther head close to the wind, and wait for her on thesame tack.
Amyas laughed to himself. “Hold on yetawhile. More ways of killing a cat than chokingher with cream. Drew, there, are your men ready?”
“Ay, ay, sir!” and on they went, closingfast with the Spaniard, till within a pistol-shot.
“Ready about!” and about she went likean eel, and ran upon the opposite tack right underthe Spaniard’s stern. The Spaniard, astoundedat the quickness of the manoeuvre, hesitated a moment,and then tried to get about also, as his only chance;but it was too late, and while his lumbering lengthwas still hanging in the wind’s eye, Amyas’sbowsprit had all but scraped his quarter, and theRose passed slowly across his stern at ten yards’distance.
“Now, then!” roared Amyas. “Fire,and with a will! Have at her, archers: haveat her, muskets all!” and in an instant a stormof bar and chain-shot, round and canister, swept theproud Don from stem to stern, while through the whitecloud of smoke the musket-balls, and the still deadliercloth-yard arrows, whistled and rushed upon their venomouserrand. Down went the steersman, and every soulwho manned the poop. Down went the mizzen topmast,in went the stern-windows and quarter-galleries; andas the smoke cleared away, the gorgeous painting ofthe Madre Dolorosa, with her heart full of seven swords,which, in a gilded frame, bedizened the Spanish stern,was shivered in splinters; while, most glorious ofall, the golden flag of Spain, which the last momentflaunted above their heads, hung trailing in the water.The ship, her tiller shot away, and her helmsman killed,staggered helplessly a moment, and then fell up intothe wind.
“Well done, men of Devon!” shouted Amyas,as cheers rent the welkin.
“She has struck,” cried some, as the deafeninghurrahs died away.
“Not a bit,” said Amyas. “Holdon, helmsman, and leave her to patch her tackle whilewe settle the galleys.”
On they shot merrily, and long ere the armada couldget herself to rights again, were two good miles towindward, with the galleys sweeping down fast uponthem.
And two venomous-looking craft they were, as theyshot through the short chopping sea upon some fortyoars apiece, stretching their long sword-fish snoutsover the water, as if snuffing for their prey.Behind this long snout, a strong square forecastlewas crammed with soldiers, and the muzzles of cannongrinned out through portholes, not only in the sidesof the forecastle, but forward in the line of the galley’scourse, thus enabling her to keep up a continual fireon a ship right ahead.
The long low waist was packed full of the slaves,some five or six to each oar, and down the centre,between the two banks, the English could see the slave-driverswalking up and down a long gangway, whip in hand.A raised quarter-deck at the stern held more soldiers,the sunlight flashing merrily upon their armor andtheir gun-barrels; as they neared, the English couldhear plainly the cracks of the whips, and the yellsas of wild beasts which answered them; the roll andrattle of the oars, and the loud “Ha!”of the slaves which accompanied every stroke, and theoaths and curses of the drivers; while a sickeningmusky smell, as of a pack of kennelled hounds, camedown the wind from off those dens of misery.No wonder if many a young heart shuddered as it faced,for the first time, the horrible reality of thosefloating hells, the cruelties whereof had rung sooften in English ears, from the stories of their owncountrymen, who had passed them, fought them, and nowand then passed years of misery on board of them.Who knew but what there might be English among thosesun-browned half-naked masses of panting wretches?
“Must we fire upon the slaves?” askedmore than one, as the thought crossed him.
Amyas sighed.
“Spare them all you can, in God’s name;but if they try to run us down, rake them we must,and God forgive us.”
The two galleys came on abreast of each other, someforty yards apart. To outmanoeuvre their oarsas he had done the ship’s sails, Amyas knewwas impossible. To run from them was to be caughtbetween them and the ship.
He made up his mind, as usual, to the desperate game.
“Lay her head up in the wind, helmsman, andwe will wait for them.”
They were now within musket-shot, and opened firefrom their bow-guns; but, owing to the chopping sea,their aim was wild. Amyas, as usual, withheldhis fire.
The men stood at quarters with compressed lips, notknowing what was to come next. Amyas, toweringmotionless on the quarter-deck, gave his orders calmlyand decisively. The men saw that he trusted himself,and trusted him accordingly.
The Spaniards, seeing him wait for them, gave a shoutof joy—was the Englishman mad? Andthe two galleys converged rapidly, intending to strikehim full, one on each bow.
They were within forty yards—another minute,and the shock would come. The Englishman’shelm went up, his yards creaked round, and gatheringway, he plunged upon the larboard galley.
“A dozen gold nobles to him who brings downthe steersman!” shouted Cary, who had his cue.
And a flight of arrows from the forecastle rattledupon the galley’s quarter-deck.
Hit or not hit, the steersman lost his nerve, andshrank from the coming shock. The galley’shelm went up to port, and her beak slid all but harmlessalong Amyas’s bow; a long dull grind, and thenloud crack on crack, as the Rose sawed slowly throughthe bank of oars from stem to stern, hurling the wretchedslaves in heaps upon each other; and ere her mateon the other side could swing round, to strike himin his new position, Amyas’s whole broadside,great and small, had been poured into her at pistol-shot,answered by a yell which rent their ears and hearts.
“Spare the slaves! Fire at the soldiers!”cried Amyas; but the work was too hot for much discrimination;for the larboard galley, crippled but not undaunted,swung round across his stern, and hooked herself venomouslyon to him.
It was a move more brave than wise; for it preventedthe other galley from returning to the attack withoutexposing herself a second time to the English broadside;and a desperate attempt of the Spaniards to boardat once through the stern-ports and up the quarterwas met with such a demurrer of shot and steel, thatthey found themselves in three minutes again uponthe galley’s poop, accompanied, to their intensedisgust, by Amyas Leigh and twenty English swords.
Five minutes’ hard cutting, hand to hand, andthe poop was clear. The soldiers in the forecastlehad been able to give them no assistance, open asthey lay to the arrows and musketry from the Rose’slofty stern. Amyas rushed along the central gangway,shouting in Spanish, “Freedom to the slaves!death to the masters!” clambered into the forecastle,followed close by his swarm of wasps, and set themso good an example how to use their stings, that inthree minutes more there was not a Spaniard on boardwho was not dead or dying.
“Let the slaves free!” shouted he.“Throw us a hammer down, men. Hark! there’san English voice!”
There is indeed. From amid the wreck of brokenoars and writhing limbs, a voice is shrieking in broadestDevon to the master, who is looking over the side.
“Oh, Robert Drew! Robert Drew! Comedown, and take me out of hell!”
“Who be you, in the name of the Lord!”
“Don’t you mind William Prust, that CaptainHawkins left behind in the Honduras, years and yearsagone? There’s nine of us aboard, if yourshot hasn’t put ’em out of their misery.Come down, if you’ve a Christian heart, comedown!”
Utterly forgetful of all discipline, Drew leaps downhammer in hand, and the two old comrades rush intoeach other’s arms.
Why make a long story of what took but five minutesto do? The nine men (luckily none of them wounded)are freed, and helped on board, to be hugged and kissedby old comrades and young kinsmen; while the remainingslaves, furnished with a couple of hammers, are toldto free themselves and help the English. Thewretches answer by a shout; and Amyas, once more safeon board again, dashes after the other galley, whichhas been hovering out of reach of his guns: butthere is no need to trouble himself about her; sickenedwith what she has got, she is struggling right upwind, leaning over to one side, and seemingly readyto sink.
“Are there any English on board of her?”asks Amyas, loath to lose the chance of freeing acountryman.
“Never a one, sir, thank God.”
So they set to work to repair damages; while the liberatedslaves, having shifted some of the galley’soars, pull away after their comrade; and that withsuch a will, that in ten minutes they have caught herup, and careless of the Spaniard’s fire, boardedher en masse, with yells as of a thousand wolves.There will be fearful vengeance taken on those tyrants,unless they play the man this day.
And in the meanwhile half the crew are clothing, feeding,questioning, caressing those nine poor fellows thussnatched from living death; and Yeo, hearing the news,has rushed up on deck to welcome his old comrades,and—
“Is Michael Heard, my cousin, here among you?”
Yes, Michael Heard is there, white-headed rather frommisery than age; and the embracings and questioningsbegin afresh.
“Where is my wife, Salvation Yeo?”
“With the Lord.”
“Amen!” says the old man, with a shortshudder. “I thought so much; and my twoboys?”
“With the Lord.”
The old man catches Yeo by the arm.
“How, then?” It is Yeo’s turn toshudder now.
“Killed in Panama, fighting the Spaniards; sailingwith Mr. Oxenham; and ’twas I led ’eminto it. May God and you forgive me!”
“They couldn’t die better, cousin Yeo.Where’s my girl Grace?”
“Died in childbed.”
“Any childer?”
“No.”
The old man covers his face with his hands for a while.
“Well, I’ve been alone with the Lord thesefifteen years, so I must not whine at being alonea while longer—’t won’t be long.”
“Put this coat on your back, uncle,” sayssome one.
“No; no coats for me. Naked came I intothe world, and naked I go out of it this day, if Ihave a chance. You’m better to go to yourwork, lads, or the big one will have the wind of youyet.”
“So she will,” said Amyas, who has overheard;but so great is the curiosity on all hands, that hehas some trouble in getting the men to quarters again;indeed, they only go on condition of parting amongthemselves with them the new-comers, each to tell hissad and strange story. How after Captain Hawkins,constrained by famine, had put them ashore, they wanderedin misery till the Spaniards took them; how, insteadof hanging them (as they at first intended), the Donsfed and clothed them, and allotted them as servantsto various gentlemen about Mexico, where they throve,turned their hands (like true sailors) to all mannerof trades, and made much money, and some of them weremarried, even to women of wealth; so that all wentwell, until the fatal year 1574, when, “muchagainst the minds of many of the Spaniards themselves,that cruel and bloody Inquisition was established forthe first time in the Indies;” and how fromthat moment their lives were one long tragedy; howthey were all imprisoned for a year and a half, notfor proselytizing, but simply for not believing intransubstantiation; racked again and again, and atlast adjudged to receive publicly, on Good Friday,1575, some three hundred, some one hundred stripes,and to serve in the galleys for six or ten years each;while, as the crowning atrocity of the Moloch sacrifice,three of them were burnt alive in the market-placeof Mexico; a story no less hideous than true, the detailswhereof whoso list may read in Hakluyt’s thirdvolume, as told by Philip Miles, one of that haplesscrew; as well as the adventures of Job Hortop, a messmateof his, who, after being sent to Spain, and seeingtwo more of his companions burnt alive at Seville,was sentenced to row in the galleys ten years, andafter that to go to the “everlasting prisonremediless;” from which doom, after twenty-threeyears of slavery, he was delivered by the galleonDudley, and came safely home to Redriff.
The fate of Hortop and his comrades was, of course,still unknown to the rescued men; but the historyeven of their party was not likely to improve thegood feeling of the crew toward the Spanish ship whichwas two miles to leeward of them, and which must befought with, or fled from, before a quarter of anhour was past. So, kneeling down upon the deck,as many a brave crew in those days did in like case,they “gave God thanks devoutly for the favorthey had found;” and then with one accord, atJack’s leading, sang one and all the Ninety-fourthPsalm:*
“Oh, Lord, thoudost revenge all wrong;
Vengeancebelongs to thee,” etc.
* The crew of the Tobie, cast awayon the Barbary coast a few years after, “beganwith heavy hearts to sing the twelfth Psalm,‘Help, Lord, for good and godly men,’ etc.Howbeit, ere we had finished four verses, thewaves of the sea had stopped the breaths of most.”
And then again to quarters; for half the day’swork, or more than half, still remained to be done;and hardly were the decks cleared afresh, and thedamage repaired as best it could be, when she cameranging up to leeward, as closehauled as she could.
She was, as I said, a long flush-decked ship of fullfive hundred tons, more than double the size, in fact,of the Rose, though not so lofty in proportion; andmany a bold heart beat loud, and no shame to them,as she began firing away merrily, determined, as allwell knew, to wipe out in English blood the disgraceof her late foil.
“Never mind, my merry masters,” said Amyas,“she has quantity and we quality.”
“That’s true,” said one, “forone honest man is worth two rogues.”
“And one culverin three of their footy littleordnance,” said another. “So whenyou will, captain, and have at her.”
“Let her come abreast of us, and don’tburn powder. We have the wind, and can do whatwe like with her. Serve the men out a horn ofale all round, steward, and all take your time.”
So they waited for five minutes more, and then setto work quietly, after the fashion of English mastiffs,though, like those mastiffs, they waxed right madbefore three rounds were fired, and the white splinters(sight beloved) began to crackle and fly.
Amyas, having, as he had said, the wind, and beingable to go nearer it than the Spaniard, kept his placeat easy point-blank range for his two eighteen-pounderculverins, which Yeo and his mate worked with terribleeffect.
“We are lacking her through and through everyshot,” said he. “Leave the smallordnance alone yet awhile, and we shall sink her withoutthem.”
“Whing, whing,” went the Spaniard’sshot, like so many humming-tops, through the riggingfar above their heads; for the ill-constructed portsof those days prevented the guns from hulling an enemywho was to windward, unless close alongside.
“Blow, jolly breeze,” cried one, “andlay the Don over all thou canst.—What themurrain is gone, aloft there?”
Alas! a crack, a flap, a rattle; and blank dismay!An unlucky shot had cut the foremast (already wounded)in two, and all forward was a mass of dangling wreck.
“Forward, and cut away the wreck!” saidAmyas, unmoved. “Small arm men, be ready.He will be aboard of us in five minutes!”
It was too true. The Rose, unmanageable fromthe loss of her head-sail, lay at the mercy of theSpaniard; and the archers and musqueteers had hardlytime to range themselves to leeward, when the MadreDolorosa’s chains were grinding against theRose’s, and grapples tossed on board from stemto stern.
“Don’t cut them loose!” roared Amyas.“Let them stay and see the fun! Now, dogsof Devon, show your teeth, and hurrah for God and thequeen!”
And then began a fight most fierce and fell:the Spaniards, according to their fashion, attemptingto board, the English, amid fierce shouts of “Godand the queen!” “God and St. George forEngland!” sweeping them back by showers of arrowsand musquet balls, thrusting them down with pikes,hurling grenades and stink-pots from the tops; whilethe swivels on both sides poured their grape, andbar, and chain, and the great main-deck guns, thunderingmuzzle to muzzle, made both ships quiver and recoil,as they smashed the round shot through and througheach other.
So they roared and flashed, fast clenched to eachother in that devil’s wedlock, under a cloudof smoke beneath the cloudless tropic sky; while allaround, the dolphins gambolled, and the flying-fishshot on from swell to swell, and the rainbow-huedjellies opened and shut their cups of living crystalto the sun, as merrily as if man had never fallen,and hell had never broken loose on earth.
So it raged for an hour or more, till all arms wereweary, and all tongues clove to the mouth. Andsick men, rotting with scurvy, scrambled up on deck,and fought with the strength of madness; and tinypowder-boys, handing up cartridges from the hold, laughedand cheered as the shots ran past their ears; andold Salvation Yeo, a text upon his lips, and a furyin his heart as of Joshua or Elijah in old time, workedon, calm and grim, but with the energy of a boy atplay. And now and then an opening in the smokeshowed the Spanish captain, in his suit of black steelarmor, standing cool and proud, guiding and pointing,careless of the iron hail, but too lofty a gentlemanto soil his glove with aught but a knightly sword-hilt:while Amyas and Will, after the fashion of the Englishgentlemen, had stripped themselves nearly as bareas their own sailors, and were cheering, thrusting,hewing, and hauling, here, there, and everywhere,like any common mariner, and filling them with a spiritof self-respect, fellow-feeling, and personal daring,which the discipline of the Spaniards, more perfectmechanically, but cold and tyrannous, and crushingspiritually, never could bestow. The black-plumedsenor was obeyed; but the golden-locked Amyas was followed,and would have been followed through the jaws of hell.
The Spaniards, ere five minutes had passed, poureden masse into the Rose’s waist, but only totheir destruction. Between the poop and forecastle(as was then the fashion) the upper-deck beams wereleft open and unplanked, with the exception of a narrowgangway on either side; and off that fatal ledge theboarders, thrust on by those behind, fell headlongbetween the beams to the main-deck below, to be slaughteredhelpless in that pit of destruction, by the doublefire from the bulkheads fore and aft; while the fewwho kept their footing on the gangway, after vainattempts to force the stockades on poop and forecastle,leaped overboard again amid a shower of shot and arrows.The fire of the English was as steady as it was quick;and though three-fourths of the crew had never smeltpowder before, they proved well the truth of the oldchronicler’s saying (since proved again moregloriously than ever, at Alma, Balaklava, and Inkerman),that “the English never fight better than intheir first battle.”
Thrice the Spaniards clambered on board, and thricesurged back before that deadly hail. The deckson both sides were very shambles; and Jack Brimblecombe,who had fought as long as his conscience would allowhim, found, when he turned to a more clerical occupation,enough to do in carrying poor wretches to the surgeon,without giving that spiritual consolation which helonged to give, and they to receive. At last therewas a lull in that wild storm. No shot was heardfrom the Spaniard’s upper-deck.
Amyas leaped into the mizzen rigging, and looked throughthe smoke. Dead men he could descry through theblinding veil, rolled in heaps, laid flat; dead menand dying: but no man upon his feet. Thelast volley had swept the deck clear; one by one haddropped below to escape that fiery shower: andalone at the helm, grinding his teeth with rage, hismustachios curling up to his very eyes, stood the Spanishcaptain.
Now was the moment for a counter-stroke. Amyasshouted for the boarders, and in two minutes morehe was over the side, and clutching at the Spaniard’smizzen rigging.
What was this? The distance between him and theenemy’s side was widening. Was she sheeringoff? Yes—and rising too, growing bodilyhigher every moment, as if by magic. Amyas lookedup in astonishment and saw what it was. The Spaniardwas heeling fast over to leeward away from him.Her masts were all sloping forward, swifter and swifter—theend was come, then!
“Back! in God’s name back, men! Sheis sinking by the head!” And with much ado somewere dragged back, some leaped back—allbut old Michael Heard.
With hair and beard floating in the wind, the bronzednaked figure, like some weird old Indian fakir, stillclimbed on steadfastly up the mizzen-chains of theSpaniard, hatchet in hand.
“Come back, Michael! Leap while you may!”shouted a dozen voices. Michael turned—
“And what should I come back for, then, to gohome where no one knoweth me? I’ll dielike an Englishman this day, or I’ll know therason why!” and turning, he sprang in over thebulwarks, as the huge ship rolled up more and more,like a dying whale, exposing all her long black hulkalmost down to the keel, and one of her lower-deckguns, as if in defiance, exploded upright into theair, hurling the ball to the very heavens.
In an instant it was answered from the Rose by a columnof smoke, and the eighteen-pound ball crashed throughthe bottom of the defenceless Spaniard.
“Who fired? Shame to fire on a sinkingship!”
“Gunner Yeo, sir,” shouted a voice upfrom the main-deck. “He’s like amadman down here.”
“Tell him if he fires again, I’ll puthim in irons, if he were my own brother. Cutaway the grapples aloft, men. Don’t yousee how she drags us over? Cut away, or we shallsink with her.”
They cut away, and the Rose, released from the strain,shook her feathers on the wave-crest like a freedsea-gull, while all men held their breaths.
Suddenly the glorious creature righted herself, androse again, as if in noble shame, for one last strugglewith her doom. Her bows were deep in the water,but her after-deck still dry. Righted: butonly for a moment, long enough to let her crew comepouring wildly up on deck, with cries and prayers,and rush aft to the poop, where, under the flag ofSpain, stood the tall captain, his left hand on thestandard-staff, his sword pointed in his right.
“Back, men!” they heard him cry, “anddie like valiant mariners.”
Some of them ran to the bulwarks, and shouted “Mercy!We surrender!” and the English broke into acheer and called to them to run her alongside.
“Silence!” shouted Amyas. “Itake no surrender from mutineers. Senor,”cried he to the captain, springing into the riggingand taking off his hat, “for the love of Godand these men, strike! and surrender a buena querra.”
The Spaniard lifted his hat and bowed courteously,and answered, “Impossible, senor. No querrais good which stains my honor.”
“God have mercy on you, then!”
“Amen!” said the Spaniard, crossing himself.
She gave one awful lounge forward, and dived underthe coming swell, hurling her crew into the eddies.Nothing but the point of her poop remained, and therestood the stern and steadfast Don, cap-a-pie in hisglistening black armor, immovable as a man of iron,while over him the flag, which claimed the empireof both worlds, flaunted its gold aloft and upwardsin the glare of the tropic noon.
“He shall not carry that flag to the devil withhim; I will have it yet, if I die for it!” saidWill Cary, and rushed to the side to leap overboard,but Amyas stopped him.
“Let him die as he has lived, with honor.”
A wild figure sprang out of the mass of sailors whostruggled and shrieked amid the foam, and rushed upwardat the Spaniard. It was Michael Heard. TheDon, who stood above him, plunged his sword into theold man’s body: but the hatchet gleamed,nevertheless: down went the blade through headpieceand through head; and as Heard sprang onward, bleeding,but alive, the steel-clad corpse rattled down the deckinto the surge. Two more strokes, struck withthe fury of a dying man, and the standard-staff washewn through. Old Michael collected all his strength,hurled the flag far from the sinking ship, and thenstood erect one moment and shouted, “God saveQueen Bess!” and the English answered with a“Hurrah!” which rent the welkin.
Another moment and the gulf had swallowed his victim,and the poop, and him; and nothing remained of theMadre Dolorosa but a few floating spars and strugglingwretches, while a great awe fell upon all men, anda solemn silence, broken only by the cry
“Of some strongswimmer in his agony.”
And then, suddenly collecting themselves, as men awakenedfrom a dream, half-a-dozen desperate gallants, recklessof sharks and eddies, leaped overboard, swam towardsthe flag, and towed it alongside in triumph.
“Ah!” said Salvation Yeo, as he helpedthe trophy up over the side; “ah! it was notfor nothing that we found poor Michael! He wasalways a good comrade—nigh as good a oneas William Penberthy of Marazion, whom the Lord grantI meet in bliss! And now, then, my masters, shallwe inshore again and burn La Guayra?”
“Art thou never glutted with Spanish blood,thou old wolf?” asked Will Cary.
“Never, sir,” answered Yeo.
“To St. Jago be it,” said Amyas, “ifwe can get there; but—God help us!”
And he looked round sadly enough; while no one neededthat he should finish his sentence, or explain his“but.”
The foremast was gone, the main-yard sprung, the rigginghanging in elf-locks, the hull shot through and throughin twenty places, the deck strewn with the bodiesof nine good men, beside sixteen wounded down below;while the pitiless sun, right above their heads, poureddown a flood of fire upon a sea of glass.
And it would have been well if faintness and wearinesshad been all that was the matter; but now that theexcitement was over, the collapse came; and the mensat down listlessly and sulkily by twos and threesupon the deck, starting and wincing when they heardsome poor fellow below cry out under the surgeon’sknife; or murmuring to each other that all was lost.Drew tried in vain to rouse them, telling them thatall depended on rigging a jury-mast forward as soonas possible. They answered only by growls; andat last broke into open reproaches. Even WillCary’s volatile nature, which had kept him upduring the fight, gave way, when Yeo and the carpentercame aft, and told Amyas in a low voice—
“We are hit somewhere forward, below the water-line,sir. She leaks a terrible deal, and the Lordwill not vouchsafe to us to lay our hands on the place,for all our searching.”
“What are we to do now, Amyas, in the devil’sname?” asked Cary, peevishly.
“What are we to do, in God’s name, rather,”answered Amyas, in a low voice. “Will,Will, what did God make you a gentleman for, but toknow better than those poor fickle fellows forward,who blow hot and cold at every change of weather!”
“I wish you’d come forward and speak tothem, sir,” said Yeo, who had overheard thelast words, “or we shall get naught done.”
Amyas went forward instantly.
“Now then, my brave lads, what’s the matterhere, that you are all sitting on your tails likemonkeys?”
“Ugh!” grunts one. “Don’tyou think our day’s work has been long enoughyet, captain?”
“You don’t want us to go in to La Guayraagain, sir? There are enough of us thrown awayalready, I reckon, about that wench there.”
“Best sit here, and sink quietly. There’sno getting home again, that’s plain.”
“Why were we brought out here to be killed?”
“For shame, men!” cries Yeo; “you’reno better than a set of stiff-necked Hebrew Jews,murmuring against Moses the very minute after theLord has delivered you from the Egyptians.”
Now I do not wish to set Amyas up as a perfect man;for he had his faults, like every one else; nor asbetter, thank God, than many and many a brave andvirtuous captain in her majesty’s service atthis very day: but certainly he behaved admirablyunder that trial. Drake had trained him, as hetrained many another excellent officer, to be as stoutin discipline, and as dogged of purpose, as he himselfwas: but he had trained him also to feel withand for his men, to make allowances for them, andto keep his temper with them, as he did this day.True, he had seen Drake in a rage; he had seen himhang one man for a mutiny (and that man his dearestfriend), and threaten to hang thirty more; but Amyasremembered well that that explosion took place whenhaving, as Drake said publicly himself, “takenin hand that I know not in the world how to go throughwith; it passeth my capacity; it hath even bereavedme of my wits to think of it,” . . . and having“now set together by the ears three mighty princes,her majesty and the kings of Spain and Portugal,”he found his whole voyage ready to come to naught,“by mutinies and discords, controversy betweenthe sailors and gentlemen, and stomaching betweenthe gentlemen and sailors.” “But,my masters” (quoth the self-trained hero, andAmyas never forgot his words), “I must haveit left; for I must have the gentlemen to haul anddraw with the mariner, and the mariner with the gentlemen.I would like to know him that would refuse to sethis hand to a rope!”
And now Amyas’s conscience smote him (and hissimple and pious soul took the loss of his brotheras God’s verdict on his conduct), because hehad set his own private affection, even his own privaterevenge, before the safety of his ship’s company,and the good of his country.
“Ah,” said he to himself, as he listenedto his men’s reproaches, “if I had beenthinking, like a loyal soldier, of serving my queen,and crippling the Spaniard, I should have taken thatgreat bark three days ago, and in it the very manI sought!”
So “choking down his old man,” as Yeoused to say, he made answer cheerfully—
“Pooh! pooh! brave lads! For shame, forshame! You were lions half-an-hour ago; you arenot surely turned sheep already! Why, but yesterdayevening you were grumbling because I would not runin and fight those three ships under the batteriesof La Guayra, and now you think it too much to havefought them fairly out at sea? What has happenedbut the chances of war, which might have happened anywhere?Nothing venture, nothing win; and nobody goes bird-nestingwithout a fall at times. If any one wants tobe safe in this life, he’d best stay at homeand keep his bed; though even there, who knows butthe roof might fall through on him?”
“Ah, it’s all very well for you, captain,”said some grumbling younker, with a vague notion thatAmyas must be better off than he, because he was agentleman. Amyas’s blood rose.
“Yes, sirrah! it is very well for me, as longas God is with me: but He is with every man inthis ship, I would have you to know, as much as Heis with me. Do you fancy that I have nothing tolose? I who have adventured in this voyage allI am worth, and more; who, if I fail, must returnto beggary and scorn? And if I have ventured rashly,sinfully, if you will, the lives of any of you inmy own private quarrel, am I not punished? HaveI not lost—?”
His voice trembled and stopped there, but he recoveredhimself in a moment.
“Pish! I can’t stand here chattering.Carpenter! an axe! and help me to cast these sparsloose. Get out of my way, there! lumbering thescuppers up like so many moulting fowls! Here,all old friends, lend a hand! Pelican’smen, stand by your captain! Did we sail roundthe world for nothing?”
This last appeal struck home, and up leaped half-a-dozenof the old Pelicans, and set to work at his side manfullyto rig the jury-mast.
“Come along!” cried Cary to the malcontents;“we’re raw longshore fellows, but we won’tbe outdone by any old sea-dog of them all.”And setting to work himself, he was soon followedby one and another, till order and work went on wellenough.
“And where are we going, when the mast’sup?” shouted some saucy hand from behind.
“Where you daren’t follow us alone byyourself, so you had better keep us company,”replied Yeo.
“I’ll tell you where we are going, lads,”said Amyas, rising from his work. “Likeit or leave it as you will, I have no secrets frommy crew. We are going inshore there to find aharbor, and careen the ship.”
There was a start and a murmur.
“Inshore? Into the Spaniards’ mouths?”
“All in the Inquisition in a week’s time.”
“Better stay here, and be drowned.”
“You’re right in that last,” shoutsCary. “That’s the right death forblind puppies. Look you! I don’t knowin the least where we are, and I hardly know stemfrom stern aboard ship; and the captain may be rightor wrong—that’s nothing to me; butthis I know, that I am a soldier, and will obey orders;and where he goes, I go; and whosoever hinders me mustwalk up my sword to do it.”
Amyas pressed Cary’s hand, and then—
“And here’s my broadside next, men.I’ll go nowhere, and do nothing without theadvice of Salvation Yeo and Robert Drew; and if anyman in the ship knows better than these two, let himup, and we’ll give him a hearing. Eh, Pelicans?”
There was a grunt of approbation from the Pelicans;and Amyas returned to the charge.
“We have five shot between wind and water, andone somewhere below. Can we face a gale of windin that state, or can we not?”
Silence.
“Can we get home with a leak in our bottom?”
Silence.
“Then what can we do but run inshore, and takeour chance? Speak! It’s a coward’strick to do nothing because what we must do is notpleasant. Will you be like children, that wouldsooner die than take nasty physic, or will you not?”
Silence still.
“Come along now! Here’s the windagain round with the sun, and up to the north-west.In with her!”
Sulkily enough, but unable to deny the necessity,the men set to work, and the vessel’s head wasput toward the land; but when she began to slip throughthe water, the leak increased so fast, that they werekept hard at work at the pumps for the rest of theafternoon.
The current had by this time brought them abreastof the bay of Higuerote; and, luckily for them, safeout of the short heavy swell which it causes roundCape Codera. Looking inland, they had now to thesouth-west that noble headland, backed by the CaracasMountains, range on range, up to the Silla and theNeguater; while, right ahead of them to the south,the shore sank suddenly into a low line of mangrove-wood,backed by primaeval forest. As they ran inward,all eyes were strained greedily to find some openingin the mangrove belt; but none was to be seen forsome time. The lead was kept going; and everyfresh heave announced shallower water.
“We shall have very shoal work off those mangroves,Yeo,” said Amyas; “I doubt whether weshall do aught now, unless we find a river’smouth.”
“If the Lord thinks a river good for us, sir,He’ll show us one.” So on they went,keeping a south-east course, and at last an openingin the mangrove belt was hailed with a cheer fromthe older hands, though the majority shrugged theirshoulders, as men going open-eyed to destruction.
Off the mouth they sent in Drew and Cary with a boat,and watched anxiously for an hour. The boat returnedwith a good report of two fathoms of water over thebar, impenetrable forests for two miles up, the riversixty yards broad, and no sign of man. The river’sbanks were soft and sloping mud, fit for careening.
“Safe quarters, sir,” said Yeo, privately,“as far as Spaniards go. I hope in Godit may be as safe from calentures and fevers.”
“Beggars must not be choosers,” said Amyas.So in they went.
They towed the ship up about half-a-mile to a pointwhere she could not be seen from the seaward; andthere moored her to the mangrove-stems. Amyasordered a boat out, and went up the river himself toreconnoitre. He rowed some three miles, tillthe river narrowed suddenly, and was all but coveredin by the interlacing boughs of mighty trees.There was no sign that man had been there since themaking of the world.
He dropped down the stream again, thoughtfully andsadly. How many years ago was it that he passedthis river’s mouth? Three days. Andyet how much had passed in them! Don Guzman foundand lost—Rose found and lost—agreat victory gained, and yet lost—perhapshis ship lost—above all, his brother lost.
Lost! O God, how should he find his brother?
Some strange bird out of the woods made mournful answer—“Never,never, never!”
How should he face his mother?
“Never, never, never!” wailed the birdagain; and Amyas smiled bitterly, and said “Never!”likewise.
The night mist began to steam and wreathe upon thefoul beer-colored stream. The loathy floor ofliquid mud lay bare beneath the mangrove forest.Upon the endless web of interarching roots great purplecrabs were crawling up and down. They would havesupped with pleasure upon Amyas’s corpse; perhapsthey might sup on him after all; for a heavy sickeninggraveyard smell made his heart sink within him, andhis stomach heave; and his weary body, and more wearysoul, gave themselves up helplessly to the depressinginfluence of that doleful place. The black bankof dingy leathern leaves above his head, the endlesslabyrinth of stems and withes (for every bough hadlowered its own living cord, to take fresh hold ofthe foul soil below); the web of roots, which stretchedaway inland till it was lost in the shades of evening—allseemed one horrid complicated trap for him and his;and even where, here and there, he passed the mouthof a lagoon, there was no opening, no relief—nothingbut the dark ring of mangroves, and here and therean isolated group of large and small, parents and children,breeding and spreading, as if in hideous haste to chokeout air and sky. Wailing sadly, sad-colored mangrove-hensran off across the mud into the dreary dark.The hoarse night-raven, hid among the roots, startledthe voyagers with a sudden shout, and then all wasagain silent as a grave. The loathly alligators,lounging in the slime, lifted their horny eyelidslazily, and leered upon him as he passed with stupidsavageness. Lines of tall herons stood dimlyin the growing gloom, like white fantastic ghosts,watching the passage of the doomed boat. All wasfoul, sullen, weird as witches’ dream.If Amyas had seen a crew of skeletons glide down thestream behind him, with Satan standing at the helm,he would have scarcely been surprised. What fittercraft could haunt that Stygian flood?
That night every man of the boat’s crew, saveAmyas, was down with raging fever; before ten thenext morning, five more men were taken, and otherssickening fast.
CHAPTER XXI
HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION UNDER THE TREE AT HIGUEROTE
“Follow thee? Follow thee? Wha wad na follow thee? Langhast
thou looed and trustedus fairly.”
Amyas would have certainly taken the yellow fever,but for one reason, which he himself gave to Cary.He had no time to be sick while his men were sick;a valid and sufficient reason (as many a noble soulin the Crimea has known too well), as long as theexcitement of work is present, but too apt to failthe hero, and to let him sink into the pit which hehas so often over-leapt, the moment that his work isdone.
He called a council of war, or rather a sanitary commission,the next morning; for he was fairly at his wits’end. The men were panic-stricken, ready to mutiny:Amyas told them that he could not see any possiblegood which could accrue to them by killing him, or—(forthere were two sides to every question)—beingkilled by him; and then went below to consult.The doctor talked mere science, or nonscience, abouthumors, complexions, and animal spirits. JackBrimblecombe, mere pulpit, about its being the visitationof God. Cary, mere despair, though he jestedover it with a smile. Yeo, mere stoic fatalism,though he quoted Scripture to back the same.Drew, the master, had nothing to say. His “businesswas to sail the ship, and not to cure calentures.”
Whereon Amyas clutched his locks, according to custom;and at last broke forth—“Doctor!a fig for your humors and complexions! Can youcure a man’s humors, or change his complexion?Can an Ethiopian change his skin, or a leopard hisspots? Don’t shove off your ignorance onGod, sir. I ask you what’s the reason ofthis sickness, and you don’t know. JackBrimblecombe, don’t talk to me about God’svisitation; this looks much more like the devil’svisitation, to my mind. We are doing God’swork, Sir John, and He is not likely to hinder us.So down with the devil, say I. Cary, laughing killedthe cat, but it won’t cure a Christian.Yeo, when an angel tells me that it’s God’swill that we should all die like dogs in a ditch,I’ll call this God’s will; but not before.Drew, you say your business is to sail the ship; thensail her out of this infernal poison-trap this verymorning, if you can, which you can’t. Themischief’s in the air, and nowhere else.I felt it run through me coming down last night, andsmelt it like any sewer: and if it was not inthe air, why was my boat’s crew taken first,tell me that?”
There was no answer.
“Then I’ll tell you why they were takenfirst: because the mist, when we came throughit, only rose five or six feet above the stream, andwe were in it, while you on board were above it.And those that were taken on board this morning, everyone of them, slept on the main-deck, and every oneof them, too, was in fear of the fever, whereby I judgetwo things,—Keep as high as you can, andfear nothing but God, and we’re all safe yet.”
“But the fog was up to our round-tops at sunrisethis morning,” said Cary.
“I know it: but we who were on the half-deckwere not in it so long as those below, and that mayhave made the difference, let alone our having freeair. Beside, I suspect the heat in the eveningdraws the poison out more, and that when it gets coldtoward morning, the venom of it goes off somehow.”
How it went off Amyas could not tell (right in hisfacts as he was), for nobody on earth knew I suppose,at that day; and it was not till nearly two centuriesof fatal experience that the settlers in America discoveredthe simple laws of these epidemics which now everychild knows, or ought to know. But common sensewas on his side; and Yeo rose and spoke—
“As I have said before, many a time, the Lordhas sent us a very young Daniel for judge. Iremember now to have heard the Spaniards say, howthese calentures lay always in the low ground, andnever came more than a few hundred feet above thesea.”
“Let us go up those few hundred feet, then.”
Every man looked at Amyas, and then at his neighbor.
“Gentlemen, ’Look the devil straight inthe face, if you would hit him in the right place.’We cannot get the ship to sea as she is; and if wecould, we cannot go home empty-handed; and we surelycannot stay here to die of fever.—We mustleave the ship and go inland.”
“Inland?” answered every voice but Yeo’s.
“Up those hundred feet which Yeo talks of.Up to the mountains; stockade a camp, and get oursick and provisions thither.”
“And what next?”
“And when we are recruited, march over the mountains,and surprise St. Jago de Leon.”
Cary swore a great oath. “Amyas! you area daring fellow!”
“Not a bit. It’s the plain path ofprudence.”
“So it is, sir,” said old Yeo, “andI follow you in it.”
“And so do I,” squeaked Jack Brimblecombe.
“Nay, then, Jack, thou shalt not outrun me.So I say yes too,” quoth Cary.
“Mr. Drew?”
“At your service, sir, to live or die.I know naught about stockading; but Sir Francis wouldhave given the same counsel, I verily believe, ifhe had been in your place.”
“Then tell the men that we start in an hour’stime. Win over the Pelicans, Yeo and Drew; andthe rest must follow, like sheep over a hedge.”
The Pelicans, and the liberated galley-slaves, joinedthe project at once; but the rest gave Amyas a stormyhour. The great question was, where were thehills? In that dense mangrove thicket they couldnot see fifty yards before them.
“The hills are not three miles to the south-westof you at this moment,” said Amyas. “Imarked every shoulder of them as we ran in.”
“I suppose you meant to take us there?”
The question set a light to a train—andangry suspicions were blazing up one after another,but Amyas silenced them with a countermine.
“Fools! if I had not wit enow to look aheada little farther than you do, where would you be?Are you mad as well as reckless, to rise against yourown captain because he has two strings to his bow?Go my way, I say, or, as I live, I’ll blow upthe ship and every soul on board, and save you thepain of rotting here by inches.”
The men knew that Amyas never said what he did notintend to do; not that Amyas intended to do this,because he knew that the threat would be enough.So they, agreed to go; and were reassured by seeingthat the old Pelican’s men turned to the workheartily and cheerfully.
There is no use keeping the reader for five or sixweary hours, under a broiling (or rather stewing)sun, stumbling over mangrove roots, hewing his waythrough thorny thickets, dragging sick men and provisionsup mountain steeps, amid disappointment, fatigue,murmurs, curses, snakes, mosquitoes, false alarmsof Spaniards, and every misery, save cold, which fleshis heir to. Suffice it that by sunset that eveningthey had gained a level spot, a full thousand feetabove the sea, backed by an inaccessible cliff whichformed the upper shoulder of a mighty mountain, defendedbelow by steep wooded slopes, and needing but the fellingof a few trees to make it impregnable.
Amyas settled the sick under the arched roots of anenormous cottonwood tree, and made a second journeyto the ship, to bring up hammocks and blankets forthem; while Yeo’s wisdom and courage were ofinestimable value. He, as pioneer, had foundthe little brook up which they forced their way; hehad encouraged them to climb the cliffs over whichit fell, arguing rightly that on its course they weresure to find some ground fit for encampment withinthe reach of water; he had supported Amyas, when againand again the weary crew entreated to be dragged nofarther, and had gone back again a dozen times to cheerthem upward; while Cary, who brought up the rear,bullied and cheered on the stragglers who sat downand refused to move, drove back at the sword’spoint more than one who was beating a retreat, carriedtheir burdens for them, sang them songs on the halt;in all things approving himself the gallant and hopefulsoul which he had always been: till Amyas, besidehimself with joy at finding that the two men on whomhe had counted most were utterly worthy of his trust,went so far as to whisper to them both, in confidence,that very night—
“Cortez burnt his ships when he landed.Why should not we?”
Yeo leapt upright; and then sat down again, and whispered—
“Do you say that, captain? ’Tis fromabove, then, that’s certain; for it’sbeen hanging on my mind too all day.”
“There’s no hurry,” quoth Amyas;“we must clear her out first, you know,”while Cary sat silent and musing. Amyas had evidentlymore schemes in his head than he chose to tell.
The men were too tired that evening to do much, butere the sun rose next morning Amyas had them hardat work fortifying their position. It was, asI said, strong enough by nature; for though it wascommanded by high cliffs on three sides, yet therewas no chance of an enemy coming over the enormousmountain-range behind them, and still less chancethat, if he came, he would discover them through thedense mass of trees which crowned the cliff, and clothedthe hills for a thousand feet above. The attack,if it took place, would come from below; and againstthat Amyas guarded by felling the smaller trees, andlaying them with their boughs outward over the crestof the slope, thus forming an abatis (as every onewho has shot in thick cover knows to his cost) warrantedto bring up in two steps, horse, dog, or man.The trunks were sawn into logs, laid lengthwise, andsteadied by stakes and mould; and three or four hours’hard work finished a stockade which would defy anythingbut artillery. The work done, Amyas scrambledup into the boughs of the enormous ceiba-tree, andthere sat inspecting his own handiwork, looking outfar and wide over the forest-covered plains and theblue sea beyond, and thinking, in his simple straightforwardway, of what was to be done next.
To stay there long was impossible; to avenge himselfupon La Guayra was impossible; to go until he hadfound out whether Frank was alive or dead seemed atfirst equally impossible. But were Brimblecombe,Cary, and those eighty men to be sacrificed a secondtime to his private interest? Amyas wept withrage, and then wept again with earnest, honest prayer,before he could make up his mind. But he madeit up. There were a hundred chances to one thatFrank was dead; and if not, he was equally past theirhelp; for he was—Amyas knew that too well—bythis time in the hands of the Inquisition. Whocould lift him from that pit? Not Amyas, at least!And crying aloud in his agony, “God help him!for I cannot!” Amyas made up his mind to move.But whither? Many an hour he thought and thoughtalone, there in his airy nest; and at last he wentdown, calm and cheerful, and drew Cary and Yeo aside.They could not, he said, refit the ship without dyingof fever during the process; an assertion which neitherof his hearers was bold enough to deny. Evenif they refitted her, they would be pretty certainto have to fight the Spaniards again; for it was impossibleto doubt the Indian’s story, that they had beenforewarned of the Rose’s coming, or to doubt,either, that Eustace had been the traitor.
“Let us try St. Jago, then; sack it, come downon La Guayra in the rear, take a ship there, and soget home.”
“Nay, Will. If they have strengthened themselvesagainst us at La Guayra, where they had little tolose, surely they have done so at St. Jago, wherethey have much. I hear the town is large, thoughnew; and besides, how can we get over these mountainswithout a guide?”
“Or with one?” said Cary, with a sigh,looking up at the vast walls of wood and rock whichrose range on range for miles. “But it isstrange to find you, at least, throwing cold wateron a daring plot.”
“What if I had a still more daring one?Did you ever hear of the golden city of Manoa?”
Yeo laughed a grim but joyful laugh. “Ihave, sir; and so have the old hands from the Pelicanand the Jesus of Lubec, I doubt not.”
“So much the better;” and Amyas beganto tell Cary all which he had learned from the Spaniard,while Yeo capped every word thereof with rumors andtraditions of his own gathering. Cary sat halfa*ghast as the huge phantasmagoria unfolded itselfbefore his dazzled eyes; and at last—
“So that was why you wanted to burn the ship!Well, after all, nobody needs me at home, and oneless at table won’t be missed. So you wantto play Cortez, eh?”
“We shall never need to play Cortez (who wasnot such a bad fellow after all, Will), because weshall have no such cannibal fiends’ tyranny torid the earth of, as he had. And I trust we shallfear God enough not to play Pizarro.”
So the conversation dropped for the time, but noneof them forgot it.
In that mountain-nook the party spent some ten daysand more. Several of the sick men died, somefrom the fever superadded to their wounds; some, probably,from having been bled by the surgeon; the others mendedsteadily, by the help of certain herbs which Yeo administered,much to the disgust of the doctor, who, of course,wanted to bleed the poor fellows all round, and wasall but mutinous when Amyas stayed his hand.In the meanwhile, by dint of daily trips to the ship,provisions were plentiful enough,—besidethe raccoons, monkeys, and other small animals, whichYeo and the veterans of Hawkins’s crew knew howto catch, and the fruit and vegetables; above all,the delicious mountain cabbage of the Areca palm,and the fresh milk of the cow-tree, which they broughtin daily, paying well thereby for the hospitality theyreceived.
All day long a careful watch was kept among the branchesof the mighty ceiba-tree. And what a tree thatwas! The hugest English oak would have seemeda stunted bush beside it. Borne up on roots, orrather walls, of twisted board, some twelve feet high,between which the whole crew, their ammunitions, andprovisions, were housed roomily, rose the enormoustrunk full forty feet in girth, towering like sometall lighthouse, smooth for a hundred feet, then crownedwith boughs, each of which was a stately tree, whosetopmost twigs were full two hundred and fifty feetfrom the ground. And yet it was easy for the sailorsto ascend; so many natural ropes had kind Nature loweredfor their use, in the smooth lianes which hung tothe very earth, often without a knot or leaf.Once in the tree, you were within a new world, suspendedbetween heaven and earth, and as Cary said, no wonder
if, like Jack when he climbed the magic bean-stalk,you had found a castle, a giant, and a few acres ofwell-stocked park, packed away somewhere amid thatlabyrinth of timber. Flower-gardens at leastwere there in plenty; for every limb was covered withpendent cactuses, gorgeous orchises, and wild pines;and while one-half the tree was clothed in rich foliage,the other half, utterly leafless, bore on every twigbrilliant yellow flowers, around which humming-birdswhirred all day long. Parrots peeped in and outof every cranny, while, within the airy woodland,brilliant lizards basked like living gems upon thebark, gaudy finches flitted and chirruped, butterfliesof every size and color hovered over the topmost twigs,innumerable insects hummed from morn till eve; andwhen the sun went down, tree-toads came out to snoreand croak till dawn. There was more life roundthat one tree than in a whole square mile of Englishsoil.And Amyas, as he lounged among the branches, feltat moments as if he would be content to stay thereforever, and feed his eyes and ears with all its wonders—andthen started sighing from his dream, as he recollectedthat a few days must bring the foe upon them, and forcehim to decide upon some scheme at which the bravestheart might falter without shame. So there hesat (for he often took the scout’s place himself),looking out over the fantastic tropic forest at hisfeet, and the flat mangrove-swamps below, and thewhite sheet of foam-flecked blue; and yet no sailappeared; and the men, as their fear of fever subsided,began to ask when they would go down and refit theship, and Amyas put them off as best he could, tillone noon he saw slipping along the shore from thewestward, a large ship under easy sail, and recognizedin her, or thought he did so, the ship which they hadpassed upon their way.
If it was she, she must have run past them to La Guayrain the night, and have now returned, perhaps, to searchfor them along the coast.
She crept along slowly. He was in hopes thatshe might pass the river’s mouth: but no.She lay-to close to the shore; and, after a while,Amyas saw two boats pull in from her, and vanish behindthe mangroves.
Sliding down a liane, he told what he had seen.The men, tired of inactivity, received the news witha shout of joy, and set to work to make all readyfor their guests. Four brass swivels, which theyhad brought up, were mounted, fixed in logs, so asto command the path; the musketeers and archers clusteredround them with their tackle ready, and half-a-dozengood marksmen volunteered into the cotton-tree withtheir arquebuses, as a post whence “a man mighthave very pretty shooting.” Prayers followedas a matter of course, and dinner as a matter of coursealso; but two weary hours passed before there was anysign of the Spaniards.
Presently a wreath of white smoke curled up from theswamp, and then the report of a caliver. Then,amid the growls of the English, the Spanish flag ranup above the trees, and floated—horribleto behold—at the mast-head of the Rose.They were signalling the ship for more hands; and,in effect, a third boat soon pushed off and vanishedinto the forest.
Another hour, during which the men had thoroughlylost their temper, but not their hearts, by waiting;and talked so loud, and strode up and down so wildly,that Amyas had to warn them that there was no needto betray themselves; that the Spaniards might notfind them after all; that they might pass the stockadeclose without seeing it; that, unless they hit offthe track at once, they would probably return to theirship for the present; and exacted a promise from themthat they would be perfectly silent till he gave theword to fire.
Which wise commands had scarcely passed his lips,when, in the path below, glanced the headpiece ofa Spanish soldier, and then another and another.
“Fools!” whispered Amyas to Cary; “theyare coming up in single file, rushing on their owndeath. Lie close, men!”
The path was so narrow that two could seldom comeup abreast, and so steep that the enemy had much adoto struggle and stumble upwards. The men seemedhalf unwilling to proceed, and hung back more thanonce; but Amyas could hear an authoritative voicebehind, and presently there emerged to the front,sword in hand, a figure at which Amyas and Cary bothstarted.
“Is it he?”
“Surely I know those legs among a thousand,though they are in armor.”
“It is my turn for him, now, Cary, remember!Silence, silence, men!”
The Spaniards seemed to feel that they were leadinga forlorn hope. Don Guzman (for there was littledoubt that it was he) had much ado to get them onat all.
“The fellows have heard how gently we handledthe Guayra squadron,” whispers Cary, “andhave no wish to become fellow-martyrs with the captainof the Madre Dolorosa.”
At last the Spaniards get up the steep slope to withinforty yards of the stockade, and pause, suspectinga trap, and puzzled by the complete silence.Amyas leaps on the top of it, a white flag in his hand;but his heart beats so fiercely at the sight of thathated figure, that he can hardly get out the words—
“Don Guzman, the quarrel is between you andme, not between your men and mine. I would havesent in a challenge to you at La Guayra, but you wereaway; I challenge you now to single combat.”
“Lutheran dog, I have a halter for you, butno sword! As you served us at Smerwick, we willserve you now. Pirate and ravisher, you and yoursshall share Oxenham’s fate, as you have copiedhis crimes, and learn what it is to set foot unbiddenon the dominions of the king of Spain.”
“The devil take you and the king of Spain together!”shouts Amyas, laughing loudly. “This groundbelongs to him no more than it does to me, but tothe Queen Elizabeth, in whose name I have taken aslawful possession of it as you ever did of Caracas.Fire, men! and God defend the right!”
Both parties obeyed the order; Amyas dropped downbehind the stockade in time to let a caliver bulletwhistle over his head; and the Spaniards recoiledas the narrow face of the stockade burst into one blazeof musketry and swivels, raking their long array fromfront to rear.
The front ranks fell over each other in heaps; therear ones turned and ran; overtaken, nevertheless,by the English bullets and arrows, which tumbled themheadlong down the steep path.
“Out, men, and charge them. See! the Donis running like the rest!” And scrambling overthe abattis, Amyas and about thirty followed them fast;for he had hope of learning from some prisoner hisbrother’s fate.
Amyas was unjust in his last words. Don Guzman,as if by miracle, had been only slightly wounded;and seeing his men run, had rushed back and triedto rally them, but was borne away by the fugitives.
However, the Spaniards were out of sight among thethick bushes before the English could overtake them;and Amyas, afraid lest they should rally and surroundhis small party, withdrew sorely against his will,and found in the pathway fourteen Spaniards, but alldead. For one of the wounded, with more couragethan wisdom, had fired on the English as he lay; andAmyas’s men, whose blood was maddened both bytheir desperate situation, and the frightful storiesof the rescued galley-slaves, had killed them allbefore their captain could stop them.
“Are you mad?” cries Amyas, as he strikesup one fellow’s sword. “Will youkill an Indian?”
And he drags out of the bushes an Indian lad of sixteen,who, slightly wounded, is crawling away like a coppersnake along the ground.
“The black vermin has sent an arrow throughmy leg; and poisoned too, most like.”
“God grant not: but an Indian is worthhis weight in gold to us now,” said Amyas, tuckinghis prize under his arm like a bundle. The lad,as soon as he saw there was no escape, resigned himselfto his fate with true Indian stoicism, was broughtin, and treated kindly enough, but refused to eat.For which, after much questioning, he gave as a reason,that he would make them kill him at once; for fat himthey should not; and gradually gave them to understandthat the English always (so at least the Spaniardssaid) fatted and ate their prisoners like the Caribs;and till he saw them go out and bury the bodies ofthe Spaniards, nothing would persuade him that thecorpses were not to be cooked for supper.
However, kind words, kind looks, and the present ofthat inestimable treasure—a knife, broughthim to reason; and he told Amyas that he belongedto a Spaniard who had an “encomienda” ofIndians some fifteen miles to the south-west; thathe had fled from his master, and lived by huntingfor some months past; and having seen the ship whereshe lay moored, and boarded her in hope of plunder,had been surprised therein by the Spaniards, and forcedby threats to go with them as a guide in their searchfor the English. But now came a part of his storywhich filled the soul of Amyas with delight.He was an Indian of the Llanos, or great savannahswhich lay to the southward beyond the mountains, andhad actually been upon the Orinoco. He had been
stolen as a boy by some Spaniards, who had gone down(as was the fashion of the Jesuits even as late as1790) for the pious purpose of converting the savagesby the simple process of catching, baptizing, andmaking servants of those whom they could carry off,and murdering those who resisted their gentle methodof salvation. Did he know the way back again?Who could ask such a question of an Indian? Andthe lad’s black eyes flashed fire, as Amyasoffered him liberty and iron enough for a dozen Indians,if he would lead them through the passes of the mountains,and southward to the mighty river, where lay theirgolden hopes. Hernando de Serpa, Amyas knew,had tried the same course, which was supposed to beabout one hundred and twenty leagues, and failed,being overthrown utterly by the Wikiri Indians; butAmyas knew enough of the Spaniards’ brutal methodof treating those Indians, to be pretty sure that theyhad brought that catastrophe upon themselves, andthat he might avoid it well enough by that commonjustice and mercy toward the savages which he had learnedfrom his incomparable tutor, Francis Drake.Now was the time to speak; and, assembling his menaround him, Amyas opened his whole heart, simply andmanfully. This was their only hope of safety.Some of them had murmured that they should perish likeJohn Oxenham’s crew. This plan was ratherthe only way to avoid perishing like them. DonGuzman would certainly return to seek them; and notonly he, but land-forces from St. Jago. Evenif the stockade was not forced, they would be soonstarved out; why not move at once, ere the Spaniardscould return, and begin a blockade? As for takingSt. Jago, it was impossible. The treasure wouldall be safely hidden, and the town well prepared tomeet them. If they wanted gold and glory, theymust seek it elsewhere. Neither was there anyuse in marching along the coast, and trying the ports:ships could outstrip them, and the country was alreadywarned. There was but this one chance; and onit Amyas, the first and last time in his life, waxedeloquent, and set forth the glory of the enterprise,the service to the queen, the salvation of heathens,and the certainty that, if successful, they shouldwin honor and wealth and everlasting fame, beyondthat of Cortez or Pizarro, till the men, sulky atfirst, warmed every moment; and one old Pelican brokeout with—
“Yes, sir! we didn’t go round the worldwith you for naught; and watched your works and ways,which was always those of a gentleman, as you are—whospoke a word for a poor fellow when he was in a scrape,and saw all you ought to see, and naught that youought not. And we’ll follow you, sir, allalone to ourselves; and let those that know you worsefollow after when they’re come to their rightmind.”
Man after man capped this brave speech; the minority,who, if they liked little to go, liked still lessto be left behind, gave in their consent perforce;and, to make a long story short, Amyas conquered, andthe plan was accepted.
“This,” said Amyas, “is indeed theproudest day of my life! I have lost one brother,but I have gained fourscore. God do so to me andmore also, if I do not deal with you according tothe trust which you have put in me this day!”
We, I suppose, are to believe that we have a rightto laugh at Amyas’s scheme as frantic and chimerical.It is easy to amuse ourselves with the premises, afterthe conclusion has been found for us. We know,now, that he was mistaken: but we have not discoveredhis mistake for ourselves, and have no right to plumeourselves on other men’s discoveries. Hadwe lived in Amyas’s days, we should have belongedeither to the many wise men who believed as he did,or to the many foolish men, who not only sneered atthe story of Manoa, but at a hundred other stories,which we now know to be true. Columbus was laughedat: but he found a new world, nevertheless.Cortez was laughed at: but he found Mexico.Pizarro: but he found Peru. I ask any fairreader of those two charming books, Mr. Prescott’sConquest of Mexico and his Conquest of Peru, whetherthe true wonders in them described do not outdo allthe false wonders of Manoa.
But what reason was there to think them false?One quarter, perhaps, of America had been explored,and yet in that quarter two empires had been alreadyfound, in a state of mechanical, military, and agriculturalcivilization superior, in many things, to any nationof Europe. Was it not most rational to supposethat in the remaining three-quarters similar empiresexisted? If a second Mexico had been discoveredin the mountains of Parima, and a second Peru in thoseof Brazil, what right would any man have had to wonder?As for the gold legends, nothing was told of Manoawhich had not been seen in Peru and Mexico by the bodilyeyes of men then living. Why should not the rocksof Guiana have been as full of the precious metals(we do not know yet that they are not) as the rocksof Peru and Mexico were known to be? Even thedetails of the story, its standing on a lake, forinstance, bore a probability with them. Mexicoactually stood in the centre of a lake—whyshould not Manoa? The Peruvian worship centredround a sacred lake—why not that of Manoa?Pizarro and Cortez, again, were led on to their desperateenterprises by the sight of small quantities of goldamong savages, who told them of a civilized gold-countrynear at hand; and they found that those savages spoketruth. Why was the unanimous report of the Caribtribes of the Orinoco to be disbelieved, when theytold a similar tale? Sir Richard Schomburgk’sadmirable preface to Raleigh’s Guiana proves,surely, that the Indians themselves were deceived,as well as deceivers. It was known, again, thatvast quantities of the Peruvian treasure had beenconcealed by the priests, and that members of the Incafamily had fled across the Andes, and held out againstthe Spaniards. Barely fifty years had elapsedsince then;—what more probable than that
this remnant of the Peruvian dynasty and treasurestill existed? Even the story of the Amazons,though it may serve Hume as a point for his ungenerousand untruthful attempt to make Raleigh out eitherfool or villain, has come from Spaniards, who hadwith their own eyes seen the Indian women fightingby their husbands’ sides, and from Indians, whoasserted the existence of an Amazonian tribe.What right had Amyas, or any man, to disbelieve thestory? The existence of the Amazons in ancientAsia, and of their intercourse with Alexander theGreat, was then an accredited part of history, whichit would have been gratuitous impertinence to deny.And what if some stories connected these warlike womenwith the Emperor of Manoa, and the capital itself?This generation ought surely to be the last to laughat such a story, at least as long as the Amazonianguards of the King of Dahomey continue to outvie themen in that relentless ferocity, with which they havesubdued every neighboring tribe, save the Christiansof Abbeokuta. In this case, as in a hundred more,fact not only outdoes, but justifies imagination; andAmyas spoke common sense when he said to his men thatday—“Let fools laugh and stay at home. Wisem*n dare and win. Saul went to look for his father’sasses, and found a kingdom; and Columbus, my men,was called a madman for only going to seek China, andnever knew, they say, until his dying day, that hehad found a whole new world instead of it. FindManoa? God only, who made all things, knows whatwe may find beside!”
So underneath that giant ceiba-tree, those valiantmen, reduced by battle and sickness to some eighty,swore a great oath, and kept that oath like men.To search for the golden city for two full years tocome, whatever might befall; to stand to each otherfor weal or woe; to obey their officers to the death;to murmur privately against no man, but bring allcomplaints to a council of war; to use no profane oaths,but serve God daily with prayer; to take by violencefrom no man, save from their natural enemies the Spaniards;to be civil and merciful to all savages, and chasteand courteous to all women; to bring all booty andall food into the common stock, and observe to theutmost their faith with the adventurers who had fittedout the ship; and finally, to march at sunrise thenext morning toward the south, trusting in God to betheir guide.
“It is a great oath, and a hard one,”said Brimblecombe; “but God will give us strengthto keep it.” And they knelt all togetherand received the Holy Communion, and then rose topack provisions and ammunition, and lay down againto sleep and to dream that they were sailing homeup Torridge stream—as Cavendish, returningfrom round the world, did actually sail home up Thamesbut five years afterwards—“with marinersand soldiers clothed in silk, with sails of damask,and topsails of cloth of gold, and the richest prizewhich ever was brought at one time unto English shores.”
* * * * *
The Cross stands upright in the southern sky.It is the middle of the night. Cary and Yeo glidesilently up the hill and into the camp, and whisperto Amyas that they have done the deed. The sleepersare awakened, and the train sets forth.
Upward and southward ever: but whither, who cantell? They hardly think of the whither; but golike sleep-walkers, shaken out of one land of dreams,only to find themselves in another and stranger one.All around is fantastic and unearthly; now each manstarts as he sees the figures of his fellows, clothedfrom head to foot in golden filigree; looks up, andsees the yellow moonlight through the fronds of thehuge tree-ferns overhead, as through a cloud of glitteringlace. Now they are hewing their way through athicket of enormous flags; now through bamboos fortyfeet high; now they are stumbling over boulders, waist-deepin cushions of club-moss; now they are strugglingthrough shrubberies of heaths and rhododendrons, andwoolly incense-trees, where every leaf, as they brushpast, dashes some fresh scent into their faces, and
“The winds, withmusky wing,
About the cedarn alleysfling
Nard and cassia’sbalmy smells.”
Now they open upon some craggy brow, from whence theycan see far below an ocean of soft cloud, whose silverbillows, girdled by the mountain sides, hide the lowlandfrom their sight.
And from beneath the cloud strange voices rise; thescreams of thousand night-birds, and wild howls, whichthey used at first to fancy were the cries of ravenousbeasts, till they found them to proceed from nothingfiercer than an ape. But what is that deeper note,like a series of muffled explosions,—arquebusesfired within some subterranean cavern,—theheavy pulse of which rolls up through the depths ofthe unseen forest? They hear it now for the firsttime, but they will hear it many a time again; andthe Indian lad is hushed, and cowers close to them,and then takes heart, as he looks upon their swordsand arquebuses; for that is the roar of the jaguar,“seeking his meat from God.”
But what is that glare away to the northward?The yellow moon is ringed with gay rainbows; but thatlight is far too red to be the reflection of any beamsof hers. Now through the cloud rises a columnof black and lurid smoke; the fog clears away rightand left around it, and shows beneath, a mighty fire.
The men look at each other with questioning eyes,each half suspecting, and yet not daring to confesstheir own suspicions; and Amyas whispers to Yeo—
“You took care to flood the powder?”
“Ay, ay, sir, and to unload the ordnance too.No use in making a noise to tell the Spaniards ourwhereabouts.”
Yes; that glare rises from the good ship Rose.Amyas, like Cortez of old, has burnt his ship, andretreat is now impossible. Forward into the unknownabyss of the New World, and God be with them as theygo!
The Indian knows a cunning path: it winds alongthe highest ridges of the mountains; but the travellingis far more open and easy.
They have passed the head of a valley which leadsdown to St. Jago. Beneath that long shining riverof mist, which ends at the foot of the great Silla,lies (so says the Indian lad) the rich capital ofVenezuela; and beyond, the gold-mines of Los Tequesand Baruta, which first attracted the founder Diegode Losada; and many a longing eye is turned towardsit as they pass the saddle at the valley head; butthe attempt is hopeless, they turn again to the left,and so down towards the rancho, taking care (so theprudent Amyas had commanded) to break down, aftercrossing, the frail rope bridge which spans each torrentand ravine.
They are at the rancho long before daybreak, and havesecured there, not only fourteen mules, but eightor nine Indians stolen from off the Llanos, like theirguide, who are glad enough to escape from their tyrantsby taking service with them. And now southwardand away, with lightened shoulders and hearts; forthey are all but safe from pursuit. The brokenbridges prevent the news of their raid reaching St.Jago until nightfall; and in the meanwhile, Don Guzmanreturns to the river mouth the next day to find theship a blackened wreck, and the camp empty; followstheir trail over the hills till he is stopped by abroken bridge; surmounts that difficulty, and meetsa second; his men are worn out with heat, and a littleafraid of stumbling on the heretic desperadoes, andhe returns by land to St. Jago; and when he arrivesthere, has news from home which gives him other thingsto think of than following those mad Englishmen, whohave vanished into the wilderness. “Whatneed, after all, to follow them?” asked the Spaniardsof each other. “Blinded by the devil, whomthey serve, they rush on in search of certain death,as many a larger company has before them, and theywill find it, and will trouble La Guayra no more forever.”“Lutheran dogs and enemies of God,” saidDon Guzman to his soldiers, “they will leavetheir bones to whiten on the Llanos, as may everyheretic who sets foot on Spanish soil!”
Will they do so, Don Guzman? Or wilt thou andAmyas meet again upon a mightier battlefield, to learna lesson which neither of you yet has learned?
CHAPTER XXII
THE INQUISITION IN THE INDIES
My next chapter is perhaps too sad; it shall be atleast as short as I can make it; but it was needfulto be written, that readers may judge fairly for themselveswhat sort of enemies the English nation had to facein those stern days.
Three weeks have passed, and the scene is shiftedto a long, low range of cells in a dark corridor inthe city of Cartagena. The door of one is open;and within stand two cloaked figures, one of whom weknow. It is Eustace Leigh. The other isa familiar of the Holy Office.
He holds in his hand a lamp, from which the lightfalls on a bed of straw, and on the sleeping figureof a man. The high white brow, the pale and delicatefeatures—them too we know, for they arethose of Frank. Saved half-dead from the furyof the savage negroes, he has been reserved for themore delicate cruelty of civilized and Christian men.He underwent the question but this afternoon; and nowEustace, his betrayer, is come to persuade him—orto entrap him? Eustace himself hardly knows whetherof the two.
And yet he would give his life to save his cousin.
His life? He has long since ceased to care forthat. He has done what he has done, because itis his duty; and now he is to do his duty once more,and wake the sleeper, and argue, coax, threaten himinto recantation while “his heart is still tenderfrom the torture,” so Eustace’s employersphrase it.
And yet how calmly he is sleeping! Is it buta freak of the lamplight, or is there a smile uponhis lips? Eustace takes the lamp and bends overhim to see; and as he bends he hears Frank whisperingin his dreams his mother’s name, and a namehigher and holier still.
Eustace cannot find the heart to wake him.
“Let him rest,” whispers he to his companion.“After all, I fear my words will be of littleuse.”
“I fear so too, sir. Never did I beholda more obdurate heretic. He did not scruple toscoff openly at their holinesses.”
“Ah!” said Eustace; “great is thepravity of the human heart, and the power of Satan!Let us go for the present.”
“Where is she?”
“The elder sorceress, or the younger?”
“The younger—the—”
“The Senora de Soto? Ah, poor thing!One could be sorry for her, were she not a heretic.”And the man eyed Eustace keenly, and then quietlyadded, “She is at present with the notary; tothe benefit of her soul, I trust—”
Eustace half stopped, shuddering. He could hardlycollect himself enough to gasp out an “Amen!”
“Within there,” said the man, pointingcarelessly to a door as they went down the corridor.“We can listen a moment, if you like; but don’tbetray me, senor.”
Eustace knows well enough that the fellow is probablyon the watch to betray him, if he shows any signsof compunction; at least to report faithfully to hissuperiors the slightest expression of sympathy witha heretic; but a horrible curiosity prevails over fear,and he pauses close to the fatal door. His faceis all of a flame, his knees knock together, his earsare ringing, his heart bursting through his ribs, ashe supports himself against the wall, hiding his convulsedface as well as he can from his companion.
A man’s voice is plainly audible within; low,but distinct. The notary is trying that old chargeof witchcraft, which the Inquisitors, whether to justifythemselves to their own consciences, or to whiten theirvillainy somewhat in the eyes of the mob, so oftenbrought against their victims. And then Eustace’sheart sinks within him as he hears a woman’svoice reply, sharpened by indignation and agony—
“Witchcraft against Don Guzman? What needof that, oh God! what need?”
“You deny it then, senora? we are sorry foryou; but—”
A confused choking murmur from the victim, mingledwith words which might mean anything or nothing.
“She has confessed!” whispered Eustace;“saints, I thank you!—she—”
A wail which rings through Eustace’s ears, andbrain, and heart! He would have torn at the doorto open it; but his companion forces him away.Another, and another wail, while the wretched man hurriesoff, stopping his ears in vain against those piercingcries, which follow him, like avenging angels, throughthe dreadful vaults.
He escaped into the fragrant open air, and the goldentropic moonlight, and a garden which might have servedas a model for Eden; but man’s hell followedinto God’s heaven, and still those wails seemedto ring through his ears.
“Oh, misery, misery, misery!” murmuredhe to himself through grinding teeth; “and Ihave brought her to this! I have had to bringher to it! What else could I? Who dare blameme? And yet what devilish sin can I have committed,that requires to be punished thus? Was there noone to be found but me? No one? And yetit may save her soul. It may bring her to repentance!”
“It may, indeed; for she is delicate, and cannotendure much. You ought to know as well as I,senor, the merciful disposition of the Holy Office.”
“I know it, I know it,” interrupted poorEustace, trembling now for himself. “Allin love—all in love.—A paternalchastisem*nt—”
“And the proofs of heresy are patent, besidethe strong suspicion of enchantment, and the knowncharacter of the elder sorceress. You yourself,you must remember, senor, told us that she had beena notorious witch in England, before the senora broughther hither as her attendant.”
“Of course she was; of course. Yes; therewas no other course open. And though the fleshmay be weak, sir, in my case, yet none can have provedbetter to the Holy Office how willing is the spirit!”
And so Eustace departed; and ere another sun had set,he had gone to the principal of the Jesuits; toldhim his whole heart, or as much of it, poor wretch,as he dare tell to himself; and entreated to be allowedto finish his novitiate, and enter the order, on theunderstanding that he was to be sent at once backto Europe, or anywhere else; “Otherwise,”as he said frankly, “he should go mad, even ifhe were not mad already.” The Jesuit, whowas a kindly man enough, went to the Holy Office, andsettled all with the Inquisitors, recounting to them,to set him above all suspicion, Eustace’s pastvaliant services to the Church. His testimonywas no longer needed; he left Cartagena for Nombrethat very night, and sailed the next week I know notwhither.
I say, I know not whither. Eustace Leigh vanisheshenceforth from these pages. He may have endedas General of his Order. He may have worn outhis years in some tropic forest, “conqueringthe souls” (including, of course, the bodies)of Indians; he may have gone back to his old workin England, and been the very Ballard who was hangedand quartered three years afterwards for his sharein Babington’s villainous conspiracy: Iknow not. This book is a history of men,—ofmen’s virtues and sins, victories and defeats;and Eustace is a man no longer: he is become athing, a tool, a Jesuit; which goes only where it issent, and does good or evil indifferently as it isbid; which, by an act of moral suicide, has lost itssoul, in the hope of saving it; without a will, aconscience, a responsibility (as it fancies), to Godor man, but only to “The Society.”In a word, Eustace, as he says himself, is “dead.”Twice dead, I fear. Let the dead bury their dead.We have no more concern with Eustace Leigh.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE BANKS OF THE META
“Mymariners,
Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, andthought with
me—Death closes all: butsomething ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods!”
TENNYSON’SUlysses.
Nearly three years are past and gone since that littleband had knelt at evensong beneath the giant treeof Guayra—years of seeming blank, throughwhich they are to be tracked only by scattered notesand mis-spelt names. Through untrodden hillsand forests, over a space of some eight hundred milesin length by four hundred in breadth, they had beenseeking for the Golden City, and they had sought invain. They had sought it along the wooded banksof the Orinoco, and beyond the roaring foam-worldof Maypures, and on the upper waters of the mightyAmazon. They had gone up the streams even intoPeru itself, and had trodden the cinchona groves ofLoxa, ignorant, as all the world was then, of theirhealing virtues. They had seen the virgin snowsof Chimborazo towering white above the thundercloud,and the giant cone of Cotopaxi blackening in its sullenwrath, before the fiery streams rolled down its sides.Foiled in their search at the back of the Andes, theyhad turned eastward once more, and plunged from thealpine cliffs into “the green and misty oceanof the Montana.” Slowly and painfully theyhad worked their way northward again, along the easternfoot of the inland Cordillera, and now they were bivouacking,as it seems, upon one of the many feeders of the Meta,which flow down from the Suma Paz into the forest-coveredplains. There they sat, their watch-fires glitteringon the stream, beneath the shadow of enormous trees,Amyas and Cary, Brimblecombe, Yeo, and the Indianlad, who has followed them in all their wanderings,alive and well: but as far as ever from Manoa,and its fairy lake, and golden palaces, and all thewonders of the Indian’s tale. Again andagain in their wanderings they had heard faint rumorsof its existence, and started off in some fresh direction,to meet only a fresh disappointment, and hope deferred,which maketh sick the heart.
There they sit at last—four-and-forty menout of the eighty-four who left the tree of Guayra:—whereare the rest?
“Their bones arescatter’d far and wide,
By mount, by stream,and sea.”
Drew, the master, lies on the banks of the Rio Negro,and five brave fellows by him, slain in fight by thepoisoned arrows of the Indians, in a vain attemptto penetrate the mountain-gorges of the Parima.Two more lie amid the valleys of the Andes, frozento death by the fierce slaty hail which sweeps downfrom the condor’s eyrie; four more were drownedat one of the rapids of the Orinoco; five or six morewounded men are left behind at another rapid amongfriendly Indians, to be recovered when they can be:perhaps never. Fever, snakes, jaguars, alligators,cannibal fish, electric eels, have thinned their ranksmonth by month, and of their march through the primevalwilderness no track remains, except those lonely graves.
And there the survivors sit, beside the silent stream,beneath the tropic moon; sun-dried and lean, but strongand bold as ever, with the quiet fire of English courageburning undimmed in every eye, and the genial smileof English mirth fresh on every lip; making a jestof danger and a sport of toil, as cheerily as whenthey sailed over the bar of Bideford, in days whichseem to belong to some antenatal life. Theirbeards have grown down upon their breasts; their longhair is knotted on their heads, like women’s,to keep off the burning sunshine; their leggings areof the skin of the delicate Guazu-puti deer; theirshirts are patched with Indian cotton web; the spoilsof jaguar, puma, and ape hang from their shoulders.Their ammunition is long since spent, their muskets,spoilt by the perpetual vapor-bath of the steamingwoods, are left behind as useless in a cave by somecataract of the Orinoco: but their swords arebright and terrible as ever; and they carry bows ofa strength which no Indian arm can bend, and arrowspointed with the remnants of their armor; many ofthem, too, are armed with the pocuna or blowgun ofthe Indians—more deadly, because more silent,than the firearms which they have left behind them.So they have wandered, and so they will wander still,the lords of the forest and its beasts; terrible toall hostile Indians, but kindly, just, and generousto all who will deal faithfully with them; and manya smooth-chinned Carib and Ature, Solimo and Guahiba,recounts with wonder and admiration the righteousnessof the bearded heroes, who proclaimed themselves thedeadly foes of the faithless and murderous Spaniard,and spoke to them of the great and good queen beyondthe seas, who would send her warriors to deliver andavenge the oppressed Indian.
The men are sleeping among the trees, some on theground, and some in grass-hammocks slung between thestems. All is silent, save the heavy plunge ofthe tapir in the river, as he tears up the water-weedsfor his night’s repast. Sometimes, indeed,the jaguar, as he climbs from one tree-top to anotherafter his prey, wakens the monkeys clustered on theboughs, and they again arouse the birds, and ten minutesof unearthly roars, howls, shrieks, and cacklingsmake the forest ring as if all pandemonium had brokeloose; but that soon dies away again; and, even whileit lasts, it is too common a matter to awaken the sleepers,much less to interrupt the council of war which isgoing on beside the watch-fire, between the threeadventurers and the faithful Yeo. A hundred timeshave they held such a council, and in vain; and, foraught they know, this one will be as fruitless asthose which have gone before it. Nevertheless,it is a more solemn one than usual; for the two yearsduring which they had agreed to search for Manoa arelong past, and some new place must be determined on,unless they intend to spend the rest of their livesin that green wilderness.
“Well,” says Will Cary, taking his cigarout of his mouth, “at least we have got somethingout of those last Indians. It is a comfort tohave a puff at tobacco once more, after three weeks’fasting.”
“For me,” said Jack Brimblecombe, “Heavenforgive me! but when I get the magical leaf betweenmy teeth again, I feel tempted to sit as still as achimney, and smoke till my dying day, without stirringhand or foot.”
“Then I shall forbid you tobacco, Master Parson,”said Amyas; “for we must be up and away againto-morrow. We have been idling here three mortaldays, and nothing done.”
“Shall we ever do anything? I think thegold of Manoa is like the gold which lies where therainbow touches the ground, always a field beyondyou.”
Amyas was silent awhile, and so were the rest.There was no denying that their hopes were all butgone. In the immense circuit which they had made,they had met with nothing but disappointment.
“There is but one more chance,” said heat length, “and that is, the mountains to theeast of the Orinoco, where we failed the first time.The Incas may have moved on to them when they escaped.”
“Why not?” said Cary; “they wouldso put all the forests, beside the Llanos and half-a-dozengreat rivers, between them and those dogs of Spaniards.”
“Shall we try it once more?” said Amyas.“This river ought to run into the Orinoco; andonce there, we are again at the very foot of the mountains.What say you, Yeo?”
“I cannot but mind, your worship, that whenwe came up the Orinoco, the Indians told us terriblestories of those mountains, how far they stretched,and how difficult they were to cross, by reason ofthe cliffs aloft, and the thick forests in the valleys.And have we not lost five good men there already?”
“What care we? No forests can be thickerthan those we have bored through already; why, ifone had had but a tail, like a monkey, for an extrawarp, one might have gone a hundred miles on end alongthe tree-tops, and found it far pleasanter walkingthan tripping in withes, and being eaten up with creepingthings, from morn till night.”
“But remember, too,” said Jack, “howthey told us to beware of the Amazons.”
“What, Jack, afraid of a parcel of women?”
“Why not?” said Jack, “I wouldn’trun from a man, as you know; but a woman—it’snot natural, like. They must be witches or devils.See how the Caribs feared them. And there weremen there without necks, and with their eyes in theirbreasts, they said. Now how could a Christiantackle such customers as them?”
“He couldn’t cut off their heads, that’scertain; but, I suppose, a poke in the ribs will doas much for them as for their neighbors.”
“Well,” said Jack, “if I fight,let me fight honest flesh and blood, that’sall, and none of these outlandish monsters. Howdo you know but that they are invulnerable by art-magic?”
“How do you know that they are? And asfor the Amazons,” said Cary, “woman’swoman, all the world over. I’ll bet thatyou may wheedle them round with a compliment or two,just as if they were so many burghers’ wives.Pity I have not a court-suit and a Spanish hat.I would have taken an orange in one hand and a handkerchiefin the other, gone all alone to them as ambassador,and been in a week as great with Queen Blackfacealindaas ever Raleigh is at Whitehall.”
“Gentlemen!” said Yeo, “where yougo, I go; and not only I, but every man of us, I doubtnot; but we have lost now half our company, and spentour ammunition, so we are no better men, were it notfor our swords, than these naked heathens round us.Now it was, as you all know, by the wonder and noiseof their ordnance (let alone their horses, which isa break-neck beast I put no faith in) that both Cortezand Pizarro, those imps of Satan, made their goldenconquests, with which if we could have astounded thepeople of Manoa—”
“Having first found the said people,”laughed Amyas. “It is like the old fable.Every craftsman thinks his own trade the one pillarof the commonweal.”
“Well! your worship,” quoth Yeo, “itmay be that being a gunner I overprize guns.But it don’t need slate and pencil to do thissum—Are forty men without shot as goodas eighty with?”
“Thou art right, old fellow, right enough, andI was only jesting for very sorrow, and must needslaugh about it lest I weep about it. Our chanceis over, I believe, though I dare not confess as muchto the men.”
“Sir,” said Yeo, “I have a feelingon me that the Lord’s hand is against us inthis matter. Whether He means to keep this wealthfor worthier men than us, or whether it is His willto hide this great city in the secret place of Hispresence from the strife of tongues, and so to sparethem from sinful man’s covetousness, and Englandfrom that sin and luxury which I have seen gold begetamong the Spaniards, I know not, sir; for who knoweththe counsels of the Lord? But I have long hada voice within which saith, ’Salvation Yeo,thou shalt never behold the Golden City which is onearth, where heathens worship sun and moon and thehosts of heaven; be content, therefore, to see thatGolden City which is above, where is neither sun normoon, but the Lord God and the Lamb are the lightthereof.”
There was a simple majesty about old Yeo when he brokeforth in utterances like these, which made his comrades,and even Amyas and Cary, look on him as Mussulmanslook on madmen, as possessed of mysterious knowledgeand flashes of inspiration; and Brimblecombe, whosepious soul looked up to the old hero with a reverencewhich had overcome all his Churchman’s prejudicesagainst Anabaptists, answered gently,—
“Amen! amen! my masters all: and it hasbeen on my mind, too, this long time, that there isa providence against our going east; for see how thistwo years past, whenever we have pushed eastward, wehave fallen into trouble, and lost good men; and wheneverwe went Westward-ho, we have prospered; and do prosperto this day.”
“And what is more, gentlemen,” said Yeo,“if, as Scripture says, dreams are from theLord, I verily believe mine last night came from Him;for as I lay by the fire, sirs, I heard my littlemaid’s voice calling of me, as plain as everI heard in my life; and the very same words, sirs,which she learned from me and my good comrade WilliamPenberthy to say, ‘Westward-ho! jolly marinersall!’ a bit of an ungodly song, my masters,which we sang in our wild days; but she stood and calledit as plain as ever mortal ears heard, and calledagain till I answered, ’Coming! my maid, coming!’and after that the dear chuck called no more—Godgrant I find her yet!—and so I woke.”
Cary had long since given up laughing at Yeo aboutthe “little maid;” and Amyas answered,—
“So let it be, Yeo, if the rest agree:but what shall we do to the westward?”
“Do?” said Cary; “there’splenty to do; for there’s plenty of gold, andplenty of Spaniards, too, they say, on the other sideof these mountains: so that our swords will notrust for lack of adventures, my gay knights-errantall.”
So they chatted on; and before night was half througha plan was matured, desperate enough—butwhat cared those brave hearts for that? Theywould cross the Cordillera to Santa Fe de Bogota, ofthe wealth whereof both Yeo and Amyas had often heardin the Pacific: try to seize either the townor some convoy of gold going from it; make for thenearest river (there was said to be a large one whichran northward thence), build canoes, and try to reachthe Northern Sea once more; and then, if Heaven prosperedthem, they might seize a Spanish ship, and make theirway home to England, not, indeed, with the wealth ofManoa, but with a fair booty of Spanish gold.This was their new dream. It was a wild one:but hardly more wild than the one which Drake had fulfilled,and not as wild as the one which Oxenham might havefulfilled, but for his own fatal folly.
Amyas sat watching late that night, sad of heart.To give up the cherished dream of years was hard;to face his mother, harder still: but it mustbe done, for the men’s sake. So the newplan was proposed next day, and accepted joyfully.They would go up to the mountains and rest awhile;if possible, bring up the wounded whom they had leftbehind; and then, try a new venture, with new hopes,perhaps new dangers; they were inured to the latter.
They started next morning cheerfully enough, and forthree hours or more paddled easily up the glassy andwindless reaches, between two green flower-bespangledwalls of forest, gay with innumerable birds and insects;while down from the branches which overhung the streamlong trailers hung to the water’s edge, andseemed admiring in the clear mirror the images oftheir own gorgeous flowers. River, trees, flowers,birds, insects,—it was all a fairy-land:but it was a colossal one; and yet the voyagers tooklittle note of it. It was now to them an everydayoccurrence, to see trees full two hundred feet highone mass of yellow or purple blossom to the highesttwigs, and every branch and stem one hanging gardenof crimson and orange orchids or vanillas. Commonto them were all the fantastic and enormous shapeswith which Nature bedecks her robes beneath the fiercesuns and fattening rains of the tropic forest.Common were forms and colors of bird, and fish, andbutterfly, more strange and bright than ever opium-eaterdreamed. The long processions of monkeys, whokept pace with them along the tree-tops, and proclaimedtheir wonder in every imaginable whistle, and grunt,and howl, had ceased to move their laughter, as muchas the roar of the jaguar and the rustle of the boahad ceased to move their fear; and when a brilliantgreen and rose-colored fish, flat-bodied like a bream,flab-finned like a salmon, and saw-toothed like ashark, leapt clean on board of the canoe to escapethe rush of the huge alligator (whose loathsome snout,ere he could stop, actually rattled against the canoewithin a foot of Jack Brimblecombe’s hand),Jack, instead of turning pale, as he had done at thesharks upon a certain memorable occasion, coolly pickedup the fish, and said, “He’s four poundweight! If you can catch ‘pirai’ forus like that, old fellow, just keep in our wake, andwe’ll give you the cleanings for wages.”
Yes. The mind of man is not so “infinite,”in the vulgar sense of that word, as people fancy;and however greedy the appetite for wonder may be,while it remains unsatisfied in everyday European life,it is as easily satiated as any other appetite, andthen leaves the senses of its possessor as dull asthose of a city gourmand after a lord mayor’sfeast. Only the highest minds—our Humboldts,and Bonplands, and Schomburgks (and they only whenquickened to an almost unhealthy activity by civilization)—cango on long appreciating where Nature is insatiable,imperious, maddening, in her demands on our admiration.The very power of observing wears out under the rushof ever new objects; and the dizzy spectator is fainat last to shut the eyes of his soul, and take refuge(as West Indian Spaniards do) in tobacco and stupidity.The man, too, who has not only eyes but utterance,—whatshall he do where all words fail him? Superlativesare but inarticulate, after all, and give no pictureseven of size any more than do numbers of feet andyards: and yet what else can we do, but heap superlativeon superlative, and cry, “Wonderful, wonderful!”and after that, “wonderful, past all whooping”?What Humboldt’s self cannot paint, we will nottry to daub. The voyagers were in a South Americanforest, readers. Fill up the meaning of thosewords, each as your knowledge enables you, for I cannotdo it for you.
Certainly those adventurers could not. The absenceof any attempt at word-painting, even of admirationat the glorious things which they saw, is most remarkablein all early voyagers, both Spanish and English.The only two exceptions which I recollect are Columbus—(butthen all was new, and he was bound to tell what hehad seen)—and Raleigh; the two most giftedmen, perhaps, with the exception of Humboldt, who everset foot in tropical America; but even they dare nothingbut a few feeble hints in passing. Their soulshad been dazzled and stunned by a great glory.Coming out of our European Nature into that tropicone, they had felt like Plato’s men, bred inthe twilight cavern, and then suddenly turned roundto the broad blaze of day; they had seen things awfuland unspeakable: why talk of them, except tosay with the Turks, “God is great!”
So it was with these men. Among the higher-heartedof them, the grandeur and the glory around had attunedtheir spirits to itself, and kept up in them a lofty,heroical, reverent frame of mind; but they knew aslittle about the trees and animals in an “artistic”or “critical” point of view, as in a scientificone. This tree the Indians called one unpronounceablename, and it made good bows; that, some other name,and it made good canoes; of that, you could eat thefruit; that produced the caoutchouc gum, useful fora hundred matters; that was what the Indians (andthey likewise) used to poison their arrows with; fromthe ashes of those palm-nuts you could make good salt;that tree, again, was full of good milk if you bored
the stem: they drank it, and gave God thanks,and were not astonished. God was great:but that they had discovered long before they cameinto the tropics. Noble old child-hearted heroes,with just romance and superstition enough about themto keep them from that prurient hysterical wonderand enthusiasm, which is simply, one often fears,a product of our scepticism! We do not trust enoughin God, we do not really believe His power enough,to be ready, as they were, as every one ought to beon a God-made earth, for anything and everything beingpossible; and then, when a wonder is discovered, wego into ecstasies and shrieks over it, and take toourselves credit for being susceptible of so loftya feeling, true index, forsooth, of a refined and cultivatedmind.They paddled onward hour after hour, sheltering themselvesas best they could under the shadow of the southernbank, while on their right hand the full sun-glarelay upon the enormous wall of mimosas, figs, and laurels,which formed the northern forest, broken by the slendershafts of bamboo tufts, and decked with a thousandgaudy parasites; bank upon bank of gorgeous bloompiled upward to the sky, till where its outline cutthe blue, flowers and leaves, too lofty to be distinguishedby the eye, formed a broken rainbow of all hues quiveringin the ascending streams of azure mist, until theyseemed to melt and mingle with the very heavens.
And as the sun rose higher and higher, a great stillnessfell upon the forest. The jaguars and the monkeyshad hidden themselves in the darkest depths of thewoods. The birds’ notes died out one byone; the very butterflies ceased their flitting overthe tree-tops, and slept with outspread wings uponthe glossy leaves, undistinguishable from the flowersaround them. Now and then a colibri whirred downwardtoward the water, hummed for a moment around somependent flower, and then the living gem was lost inthe deep blackness of the inner wood, among tree-trunksas huge and dark as the pillars of some Hindoo shrine;or a parrot swung and screamed at them from an overhangingbough; or a thirsty monkey slid lazily down a lianato the surface of the stream, dipped up the waterin his tiny hand, and started chattering back, ashis eyes met those of some foul alligator peering upwardthrough the clear depths below. In shaded nooksbeneath the boughs, the capybaras, rabbits as largeas sheep, went paddling sleepily round and round,thrusting up their unwieldy heads among the bloomsof the blue water-lilies; while black and purple water-hensran up and down upon the rafts of floating leaves.The shining snout of a freshwater dolphin rose slowlyto the surface; a jet of spray whirred up; a rainbowhung upon it for a moment; and the black snout sanklazily again. Here and there, too, upon someshallow pebbly shore, scarlet flamingoes stood dreamingknee-deep, on one leg; crested cranes pranced up anddown, admiring their own finery; and ibises and egrets
dipped their bills under water in search of prey:but before noon even those had slipped away, and therereigned a stillness which might be heard—sucha stillness (to compare small things with great) asbroods beneath the rich shadows of Amyas’s ownDevon woods, or among the lonely sweeps of Exmoor,when the heather is in flower—a stillnessin which, as Humboldt says, “If beyond the silencewe listen for the faintest undertones, we detect astifled, continuous hum of insects, which crowd theair close to the earth; a confused swarming murmurwhich hangs round every bush, in the cracked barkof trees, in the soil undermined by lizards, millepedes,and bees; a voice proclaiming to us that all Naturebreathes, that under a thousand different forms lifeswarms in the gaping and dusty earth, as much as inthe bosom of the waters, and the air which breathesaround.”At last a soft and distant murmur, increasing graduallyto a heavy roar, announced that they were nearingsome cataract; till turning a point, where the deepalluvial soil rose into a low cliff fringed with delicateferns, they came full in sight of a scene at whichall paused: not with astonishment, but with somethingvery like disgust.
“Rapids again!” grumbled one. “Ithought we had had enough of them on the Orinoco.”
“We shall have to get out, and draw the canoesoverland, I suppose. Three hours will be lost,and in the very hottest of the day, too.”
“There’s worse behind; don’t yousee the spray behind the palms?”
“Stop grumbling, my masters, and don’tcry out before you are hurt. Paddle right upto the largest of those islands, and let us look aboutus.”
In front of them was a snow-white bar of raging foam,some ten feet high, along which were ranged threeor four islands of black rock. Each was crestedwith a knot of lofty palms, whose green tops stoodout clear against the bright sky, while the lowerhalf of their stems loomed hazy through a luminousveil of rainbowed mist. The banks right and leftof the fall were so densely fringed with a low hedgeof shrubs, that landing seemed all but impossible;and their Indian guide, suddenly looking round himand whispering, bade them beware of savages; and pointedto a canoe which lay swinging in the eddies under thelargest island, moored apparently to the root of sometree.
“Silence all!” cried Amyas, “andpaddle up thither and seize the canoe. If therebe an Indian on the island, we will have speech ofhim: but mind and treat him friendly; and onyour lives, neither strike nor shoot, even if he offersto fight.”
So, choosing a line of smooth backwater just in thewake of the island, they drove their canoes up bymain force, and fastened them safely by the side ofthe Indian’s, while Amyas, always the foremost,sprang boldly on shore, whispering to the Indian boyto follow him.
Once on the island, Amyas felt sure enough, that ifits wild tenant had not seen them approach, he certainlyhad not heard them, so deafening was the noise whichfilled his brain, and seemed to make the very leavesupon the bushes quiver, and the solid stone beneathhis feet to reel and ring. For two hundred yardsand more above the fall nothing met his eye but onewhite waste of raging foam, with here and there a transversedyke of rock, which hurled columns of spray and surgesof beaded water high into the air,—strangelycontrasting with the still and silent cliffs of greenleaves which walled the river right and left, and morestrangely still with the knots of enormous palms uponthe islets, which reared their polished shafts a hundredfeet into the air, straight and upright as masts,while their broad plumes and golden-clustered fruitslept in the sunshine far aloft, the image of the stateliestrepose amid the wildest wrath of Nature.
He looked round anxiously for the expected Indian;but he was nowhere to be seen; and, in the meanwhile,as he stept cautiously along the island, which wassome fifty yards in length and breadth, his senses,accustomed as they were to such sights, could nothelp dwelling on the exquisite beauty of the scene;on the garden of gay flowers, of every imaginableform and hue, which fringed every boulder at his feet,peeping out amid delicate fern-fans and luxuriantcushions of moss; on the chequered shade of the palms,and the cool air, which wafted down from the cataractsabove the scents of a thousand flowers. Graduallyhis ear became accustomed to the roar, and, aboveits mighty undertone, he could hear the whisper ofthe wind among the shrubs, and the hum of myriad insects;while the rock manakin, with its saffron plumage, flittedbefore him from stone to stone, calling cheerily, andseeming to lead him on. Suddenly, scramblingover the rocky flower-beds to the other side of theisle, he came upon a little shady beach, which, beneatha bank of stone some six feet high, fringed the edgeof a perfectly still and glassy bay. Ten yardsfarther, the cataract fell sheer in thunder:but a high fern-fringed rock turned its force awayfrom that quiet nook. In it the water swung slowlyround and round in glassy dark-green rings, amongwhich dimpled a hundred gaudy fish, waiting for everyfly and worm which spun and quivered on the eddy.Here, if anywhere, was the place to find the ownerof the canoe. He leapt down upon the pebbles;and as he did so, a figure rose from behind a neighboringrock, and met him face to face.
It was an Indian girl; and yet, when he looked again,—wasit an Indian girl? Amyas had seen hundreds ofthose delicate dark-skinned daughters of the forest,but never such a one as this. Her stature wastaller, her limbs were fuller and more rounded; hercomplexion, though tanned by light, was fairer byfar than his own sunburnt face; her hair, crownedwith a garland of white flowers, was not lank, and
straight, and black, like an Indian’s, but ofa rich, glossy brown, and curling richly and crisplyfrom her very temples to her knees. Her forehead,though low, was upright and ample; her nose was straightand small; her lips, the lips of a European; her wholeface of the highest and richest type of Spanish beauty;a collar of gold mingled with green beads hung roundher neck, and golden bracelets were on her wrists.All the strange and dim legends of white Indians,and of nations of a higher race than Carib, or Arrowak,or Solimo, which Amyas had ever heard, rose up in hismemory. She must be the daughter of some greatcacique, perhaps of the lost Incas themselves—whynot? And full of simple wonder, he gazed uponthat fairy vision, while she, unabashed in her freeinnocence, gazed fearlessly in return, as Eve mighthave done in Paradise, upon the mighty stature, andthe strange garments, and above all, on the bushybeard and flowing yellow locks of the Englishman.He spoke first, in some Indian tongue, gently andsmilingly, and made a half-step forward; but quickas light she caught up from the ground a bow, andheld it fiercely toward him, fitted with the long arrow,with which, as he could see, she had been strikingfish, for a line of twisted grass hung from its barbedhead. Amyas stopped, laid down his own bow andsword, and made another step in advance, smiling still,and making all Indian signs of amity: but thearrow was still pointed straight at his breast, andhe knew the mettle and strength of the forest nymphswell enough to stand still and call for the Indianboy; too proud to retreat, but in the uncomfortableexpectation of feeling every moment the shaft quiveringbetween his ribs.
The boy, who had been peering from above, leaped downto them in a moment; and began, as the safest method,grovelling on his nose upon the pebbles, while hetried two or three dialects; one of which at last sheseemed to understand, and answered in a tone of evidentsuspicion and anger.
“What does she say?”
“That you are a Spaniard and a robber, becauseyou have a beard.”
“Tell her that we are no Spaniards, but thatwe hate them; and are come across the great watersto help the Indians to kill them.”
The boy translated his speech. The nymph answeredby a contemptuous shake of the head.
“Tell her, that if she will send her tribe tous, we will do them no harm. We are going overthe mountains to fight the Spaniards, and we wantthem to show us the way.”
The boy had no sooner spoken, than, nimble as a deer,the nymph had sprung up the rocks, and darted betweenthe palm-stems to her canoe. Suddenly she caughtsight of the English boat, and stopped with a cry offear and rage.
“Let her pass!” shouted Amyas, who hadfollowed her close. “Push your boat off,and let her pass. Boy, tell her to go on; theywill not come near her.”
But she hesitated still, and with arrow drawn to thehead, faced first on the boat’s crew, and thenon Amyas, till the Englishmen had shoved off fulltwenty yards.
Then, leaping into her tiny piragua, she darted intothe wildest whirl of the eddies, shooting along withvigorous strokes, while the English trembled as theysaw the frail bark spinning and leaping amid the muzzlesof the alligators, and the huge dog-toothed trout:but with the swiftness of an arrow she reached thenorthern bank, drove her canoe among the bushes, andleaping from it, darted through some narrow openingin the bush, and vanished like a dream.
“What fair virago have you unearthed?”cried Cary, as they toiled up again to the landing-place.
“Beshrew me,” quoth Jack, “but weare in the very land of the nymphs, and I shall expectto see Diana herself next, with the moon on her forehead.”
“Take care, then, where you wander hereabouts,Sir John: lest you end as Actaeon did, by turninginto a stag, and being eaten by a jaguar.”
“Actaeon was eaten by his own hounds, Mr. Cary,so the parallel don’t hold. But surelyshe was a very wonder of beauty!”
Why was it that Amyas did not like this harmless talk?There had come over him the strangest new feeling;as if that fair vision was his property, and the menhad no right to talk about her, no right to have evenseen her. And he spoke quite surlily as he said—
“You may leave the women to themselves, my masters;you’ll have to deal with the men ere long:so get your canoes up on the rock, and keep good watch.”
“Hillo!” shouted one in a few minutes,“here’s fresh fish enough to feed us allround. I suppose that young cat-a-mountain leftit behind her in her hurry. I wish she had lefther golden chains and ouches into the bargain.”
“Well,” said another, “we’lltake it as fair payment, for having made us drop downthe current again to let her ladyship pass.”
“Leave that fish alone,” said Amyas; “itis none of yours.”
“Why, sir!” quoth the finder in a toneof sulky deprecation.
“If we are to make good friends with the heathens,we had better not begin by stealing their goods.There are plenty more fish in the river; go and catchthem, and let the Indians have their own.”
The men were accustomed enough to strict and sternjustice in their dealings with the savages: butthey could not help looking slyly at each other, andhinting, when out of sight, that the captain seemedin a mighty fuss about his new acquaintance.
However, they were expert by this time in all theIndian’s fishing methods; and so abundant wasthe animal life which swarmed around every rock, thatin an hour fish enough lay on the beach to feed themall; whose forms and colors, names and families, Imust leave the reader to guess from the wondrous pagesof Sir Richard Schomburgk, for I know too little ofthem to speak without the fear of making mistakes.
A full hour passed before they saw anything more oftheir Indian neighbors; and then from under the bushesshot out a canoe, on which all eyes were fixed inexpectation.
Amyas, who expected to find there some remnant ofa higher race, was disappointed enough at seeing onboard only the usual half-dozen of low-browed, dirtyOrsons, painted red with arnotto: but a gray-headedelder at the stern seemed, by his feathers and goldornaments, to be some man of note in the little woodlandcommunity.
The canoe came close up to the island; Amyas saw thatthey were unarmed, and, laying down his weapons, advancedalone to the bank, making all signs of amity.They were returned with interest by the old man, andAmyas’s next care was to bring forward the fishwhich the fair nymph had left behind, and, throughthe medium of the Indian lad, to give the cacique(for so he seemed to be) to understand that he wishedto render every one his own. This offer was received,as Amyas expected, with great applause, and the canoecame alongside; but the crew still seemed afraid toland. Amyas bade his men throw the fish one byone into the boat; and then proclaimed by the boy’smouth, as was his custom with all Indians, that heand his were enemies of the Spaniards, and on theirway to make war against them,—and that allwhich they desired was a peaceable and safe passagethrough the dominions of the mighty potentate andrenowned warrior whom they beheld before them; forAmyas argued rightly enough, that even if the oldfellow aft was not the cacique, he would be none theless pleased at being mistaken for him.
Whereon the ancient worthy, rising in the canoe, pointedto heaven, earth, and the things under, and commenceda long sermon, in tone, manner, and articulation,very like one of those which the great black-beardedapes were in the habit of preaching every evening whenthey could get together a congregation of little monkeysto listen, to the great scandal of Jack, who wouldhave it that some evil spirit set them on to mimichim; which sermon, being partly interpreted by theIndian lad, seemed to signify, that the valor and justiceof the white men had already reached the ears of thespeaker, and that he was sent to welcome them intothose regions by the Daughter of the Sun.
“The Daughter of the Sun!” quoth Amyas;“then we have found the lost Incas after all.”
“We have found something,” said Cary;“I only hope it may not be a mare’s nest,like many another of our finding.”
“Or an adder’s,” said Yeo.“We must beware of treachery.”
“We must beware of no such thing,” saidAmyas, pretty sharply. “Have I not toldyou fifty times, that if they see that we trust them,they will trust us, and if they see that we suspectthem, they will suspect us? And when two partiesare watching to see who strikes the first blow, theyare sure to come to fisticuffs from mere dirty fearof each other.”
Amyas spoke truth; for almost every atrocity againstsavages which had been committed by the Spaniards,and which was in later and worse times committed bythe English, was wont to be excused in that same basefear of treachery. Amyas’s plan, like thatof Drake, and Cook, and all great English voyagers,had been all along to inspire at once awe and confidence,by a frank and fearless carriage; and he was not disappointedhere. He bade the men step boldly into their canoes,and follow the old Indian whither he would. Thesimple children of the forest bowed themselves reverentlybefore the mighty strangers, and then led them smilinglyacross the stream, and through a narrow passage inthe covert, to a hidden lagoon, on the banks of whichstood, not Manoa, but a tiny Indian village.
CHAPTER XXIV
HOW AMYAS WAS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL
“Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
Towar with evil? Is there any peace
In always climbing upthe climbing wave?
Allthings have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence; ripen, fall,and cease:
Giveus long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.”
Tennyson.
Humboldt has somewhere a curious passage; in which,looking on some wretched group of Indians, squattingstupidly round their fires, besmeared with greaseand paint, and devouring ants and clay, he somewhatnaively remarks, that were it not for science, whichteaches us that such is the crude material of humanity,and this the state from which we all have risen, heshould have been tempted rather to look upon thosehapless beings as the last degraded remnants of somefallen and dying race. One wishes that the greattraveller had been bold enough to yield to that temptation,which his own reason and common sense presented tohim as the real explanation of the sad sight, insteadof following the dogmas of a so-called science, whichhas not a fact whereon to base its wild notion, andmust ignore a thousand facts in asserting it.His own good sense, it seems, coincided instinctivelywith the Bible doctrine, that man in a state of natureis a fallen being, doomed to death—a viewwhich may be a sad one, but still one more honorableto poor humanity than the theory, that we all beganas some sort of two-handed apes. It is surelymore hopeful to believe that those poor Otomacs orGuahibas were not what they ought to be, than to believethat they were. It is certainly more complimentaryto them to think that they had been somewhat noblerand more prudent in centuries gone by, than that theywere such blockheads as to have dragged on, the sonafter the father, for all the thousands of years whichhave elapsed since man was made, without having hadwit enough to discover any better food than ants andclay.
Our voyagers, however, like those of their time, troubledtheir heads with no such questions. Taking theBible story as they found it, they agreed with Humboldt’sreason, and not with his science; or, to speak correctly,agreed with Humboldt’s self, and not with theshallow anthropologic theories which happened to bein vogue fifty years ago; and their new hosts werein their eyes immortal souls like themselves, “captivatedby the devil at his will,” lost there in thepathless forests, likely to be lost hereafter.
And certainly facts seemed to bear out their old-fashionedtheories; although these Indians had sunk by no meansso low as the Guahibas whom they had met upon thelower waters of the same river.
They beheld, on landing, a scattered village of palm-leafsheds, under which, as usual, the hammocks were slungfrom tree to tree. Here and there, in openingsin the forest, patches of cassava and indigo appeared;and there was a look of neatness and comfort aboutthe little settlement superior to the average.
But now for the signs of the evil spirit. Certainlyit was no good spirit who had inspired them with theart of music; or else (as Cary said) Apollo and Mercury(if they ever visited America) had played their forefathersa shabby trick, and put them off with very poor instruments,and still poorer taste. For on either side ofthe landing-place were arranged four or five stoutfellows, each with a tall drum, or long earthen trumpet,swelling out in the course of its length into severalhollow balls from which arose, the moment the strangersset foot on shore, so deafening a cacophony of howls,and groans, and thumps, as fully to justify Yeo’sremark, “They are calling upon their devil, sir.”To which Cary answered, with some show of reason, that“they were the less likely to be disappointed,for none but Sir Urian would ever come to listen tosuch a noise.”
“And you mark, sirs,” said Yeo, “there’ssome feast or sacrifice toward. I’m notoverconfident of them yet.”
“Nonsense!” said Amyas, “we couldkill every soul of them in half-an-hour, and theyknow that as well as we.”
But some great demonstration was plainly toward; forthe children of the forest were arrayed in two lines,right and left of the open space, the men in front,and the women behind; and all bedizened, to the bestof their power, with arnotto, indigo, and feathers.
Next, with a hideous yell, leapt into the centre ofthe space a personage who certainly could not havecomplained if any one had taken him for the devil,for he had dressed himself up carefully for that veryintent, in a jaguar-skin with a long tail, grinningteeth, a pair of horns, a plume of black and yellowfeathers, and a huge rattle.
“Here’s the Piache, the rascal,”says Amyas.
“Ay,” says Yeo, “in Satan’slivery, and I’ve no doubt his works are according,trust him for it.”
“Don’t be frightened, Jack,” saysCary, backing up Brimblecombe from behind. “It’syour business to tackle him, you know. At himboldly, and he’ll run.”
Whereat all the men laughed; and the Piache, who hadintended to produce a very solemn impression, hungfire a little. However, being accustomed to gethis bread by his impudence, he soon recovered himself,advanced, smote one of the musicians over the headwith his rattle to procure silence; and then begana harangue, to which Amyas listened patiently, cigarin mouth.
“What’s it all about, boy?”
“He wants to know whether you have seen Amalivacaon the other shore of the great water?”
Amyas was accustomed to this inquiry after the mythiccivilizer of the forest Indians, who, after carvingthe mysterious sculptures which appear upon so manyinland cliffs of that region, returned again whencehe came, beyond the ocean. He answered, as usual,by setting forth the praises of Queen Elizabeth.
To which the Piache replied, that she must be oneof Amalivaca’s seven daughters, some of whomhe took back with him, while he broke the legs ofthe rest to prevent their running away, and left themto people the forests.
To which Amyas replied, that his queen’s legswere certainly not broken; for she was a very modelof grace and activity, and the best dancer in allher dominions; but that it was more important to himto know whether the tribe would give them cassavabread, and let them stay peaceably on that island,to rest a while before they went on to fight the clothedmen (the Spaniards), on the other side of the mountains.
On which the Piache, after capering and turning headover heels with much howling, beckoned Amyas and hisparty to follow him; they did so, seeing that theIndians were all unarmed, and evidently in the highestgood humor.
The Piache went toward the door of a carefully closedhut, and crawling up to it on all-fours in most abjectfashion, began whining to some one within.
“Ask what he is about, boy.”
The lad asked the old cacique, who had accompaniedthem, and received for answer, that he was consultingthe Daughter of the Sun.
“Here is our mare’s nest at last,”quoth Cary, as the Piache from whines rose to screamsand gesticulations, and then to violent convulsions,foaming at the mouth, and rolling of the eyeballs,till he suddenly sank exhausted, and lay for dead.
“As good as a stage play.”
“The devil has played his part,” saysJack; “and now by the rules of all plays Viceshould come on.”
“And a very fair Vice it will be, I suspect;a right sweet Iniquity, my Jack! Listen.”
And from the interior of the hut rose a low sweetsong, at which all the simple Indians bowed theirheads in reverence; and the English were hushed inastonishment; for the voice was not shrill or guttural,like that of an Indian, but round, clear, and rich,like a European’s; and as it swelled and roselouder and louder, showed a compass and power whichwould have been extraordinary anywhere (and many a
man of the party, as was usual in musical old England,was a good judge enough of such a matter, and couldhold his part right well in glee, and catch, and roundelay,and psalm). And as it leaped, and ran, and sankagain, and rose once more to fall once more, all butinarticulate, yet perfect in melody, like the voiceof bird on bough, the wild wanderers were rapt innew delight, and did not wonder at the Indians as theybowed their heads, and welcomed the notes as messengersfrom some higher world. At last one triumphantburst, so shrill that all ears rang again, and thendead silence. The Piache, suddenly restored tolife, jumped upright, and recommenced preaching atAmyas.“Tell the howling villain to make short workof it, lad! His tune won’t do after thatlast one.”
The lad, grinning, informed Amyas that the Piachesignified their acceptance as friends by the Daughterof the Sun; that her friends were theirs, and herfoes theirs. Whereon the Indians set up a screamof delight, and Amyas, rolling another tobacco leafup in another strip of plantain, answered,—
“Then let her give us some cassava,” andlighted a fresh cigar.
Whereon the door of the hut opened, and the Indiansprostrated themselves to the earth, as there cameforth the same fair apparition which they had encounteredupon the island, but decked now in feather-robes,and plumes of every imaginable hue.
Slowly and stately, as one accustomed to command,she walked up to Amyas, glancing proudly round onher prostrate adorers, and pointing with gracefularms to the trees, the gardens, and the huts, gavehim to understand by signs (so expressive were herlooks, that no words were needed) that all was athis service; after which, taking his hand, she liftedit gently to her forehead.
At that sign of submission a shout of rapture rosefrom the crowd; and as the mysterious maiden retiredagain to her hut, they pressed round the English,caressing and admiring, pointing with equal surpriseto their swords, to their Indian bows and blow-guns,and to the trophies of wild beasts with which theywere clothed; while women hastened off to bring fruit,and flowers, and cassava, and (to Amyas’s greatanxiety) calabashes of intoxicating drink; and, tomake a long story short, the English sat down beneaththe trees, and feasted merrily, while the drums andtrumpets made hideous music, and lithe young girlsand lads danced uncouth dances, which so scandalizedboth Brimblecombe and Yeo, that they persuaded Amyasto beat an early retreat. He was willing enoughto get back to the island while the men were stillsober; so there were many leave-takings and promisesof return on the morrow, and the party paddled backto their island-fortress, racking their wits as towho or what the mysterious maid could be.
Amyas, however, had settled in his mind that she wasone of the lost Inca race; perhaps a descendant ofthat very fair girl, wife of the Inca Manco, whomPizarro, forty years before, had, merely to torturethe fugitive king’s heart, as his body was safefrom the tyrant’s reach, stripped, scourged,and shot to death with arrows, uncomplaining to thelast.
They all assembled for the evening service (hardlya day had passed since they left England on whichthey had not done the same); and after it was over,they must needs sing a Psalm, and then a catch or two,ere they went to sleep; and till the moon was highin heaven, twenty mellow voices rang out above theroar of the cataract, in many a good old tune.Once or twice they thought they heard an echo to theirsong: but they took no note of it, till Cary,who had gone apart for a few minutes, returned, andwhispered Amyas away.
“The sweet Iniquity is mimicking us, lad.”
They went to the brink of the river; and there (fortheir ears were by this time dead to the noise ofthe torrent) they could hear plainly the same voicewhich had so surprised them in the hut, repeating,clear and true, snatches of the airs which they hadsung. Strange and solemn enough was the effectof the men’s deep voices on the island, answeredout of the dark forest by those sweet treble notes;and the two young men stood a long while listeningand looking out across the eddies, which swirled downgolden in the moonlight: but they could see nothingbeyond save the black wall of trees. After a whilethe voice ceased, and the two returned to dream ofIncas and nightingales.
They visited the village again next day; and everyday for a week or more: but the maiden appearedbut rarely, and when she did, kept her distance ashaughtily as a queen.
Amyas, of course, as soon as he could converse somewhatbetter with his new friends, was not long before hequestioned the cacique about her. But the oldman made an owl’s face at her name, and intimatedby mysterious shakes of the head, that she was a verystrange personage, and the less said about her thebetter. She was “a child of the Sun,”and that was enough.
“Tell him, boy,” quoth Cary, “thatwe are the children of the Sun by his first wife;and have orders from him to inquire how the Indianshave behaved to our step-sister, for he cannot seeall their tricks down here, the trees are so thick.So let him tell us, or all the cassava plants shallbe blighted.”
“Will, Will, don’t play with lying!”said Amyas: but the threat was enough for thecacique, and taking them in his canoe a full mile downthe stream, as if in fear that the wonderful maidenshould overhear him, he told them, in a sort of rhythmicchant, how, many moons ago (he could not tell howmany), his tribe was a mighty nation, and dwelt inPapamene, till the Spaniards drove them forth.And how, as they wandered northward, far away uponthe mountain spurs beneath the flaming cone of Cotopaxi,they had found this fair creature wandering in theforest, about the bigness of a seven years’child. Wondering at her white skin and her delicatebeauty, the simple Indians worshipped her as a god,and led her home with them. And when they foundthat she was human like themselves, their wonder scarcely
lessened. How could so tender a being have sustainedlife in those forests, and escaped the jaguar and thesnake? She must be under some Divine protection:she must be a daughter of the Sun, one of that mightyInca race, the news of whose fearful fall had reachedeven those lonely wildernesses; who had, many of them,haunted for years as exiles the eastern slopes of theAndes, about the Ucalayi and the Maranon; who would,as all Indians knew, rise again some day to power,when bearded white men should come across the seasto restore them to their ancient throne.So, as the girl grew up among them, she was tendedwith royal honors, by command of the conjuror of thetribe, that so her forefather the Sun might be propitiousto them, and the Incas might show favor to the poorruined Omaguas, in the day of their coming glory.And as she grew, she had become, it seemed, somewhatof a prophetess among them, as well as an object offetish-worship; for she was more prudent in council,valiant in war, and cunning in the chase, than allthe elders of the tribe; and those strange and sweetsongs of hers, which had so surprised the white men,were full of mysterious wisdom about the birds, andthe animals, and the flowers, and the rivers, whichthe Sun and the Good Spirit taught her from above.So she had lived among them, unmarried still, notonly because she despised the addresses of all Indianyouths, but because the conjuror had declared it tobe profane in them to mingle with the race of theSun, and had assigned her a cabin near his own, whereshe was served in state, and gave some sort of oracularresponses, as they had seen, to the questions whichhe put to her.
Such was the cacique’s tale; on which Cary remarked,probably not unjustly, that he “dared to saythe conjuror made a very good thing of it:”but Amyas was silent, full of dreams, if not aboutManoa, still about the remnant of the Inca race.What if they were still to be found about the southernsources of the Amazon? He must have been verynear them already, in that case. It was vexatious;but at least he might be sure that they had formedno great kingdom in that direction, or he should haveheard of it long ago. Perhaps they had moved latelyfrom thence eastward, to escape some fresh encroachmentof the Spaniards; and this girl had been left behindin their flight. And then he recollected, witha sigh, how hopeless was any further search with hisdiminished band. At least, he might learn somethingof the truth from the maiden herself. It mightbe useful to him in some future attempt; for he hadnot yet given up Manoa. If he but got safe home,there was many a gallant gentleman (and Raleigh cameat once into his mind) who would join him in a freshsearch for the Golden City of Guiana; not by the upperwaters, but by the mouth of the Orinoco.
So they paddled back, while the simple cacique entreatedthem to tell the Sun, in their daily prayers, howwell the wild people had treated his descendant; andbesought them not to take her away with them, lestthe Sun should forget the poor Omaguas, and ripen theirmanioc and their fruit no more.
Amyas had no wish to stay where he was longer thanwas absolutely necessary to bring up the sick menfrom the Orinoco; but this, he well knew, would bea journey probably of some months, and attended withmuch danger.
Cary volunteered at once, however, to undertake theadventure, if half-a-dozen men would join him, andthe Indians would send a few young men to help inworking the canoe: but this latter item was notan easy one to obtain; for the tribe with whom theynow were, stood in some fear of the fierce and brutalGuahibas, through whose country they must pass; andevery Indian tribe, as Amyas knew well enough, lookson each tribe of different language to itself as naturalenemies, hateful, and made only to be destroyed wherevermet. This strange fact, too, Amyas and his partyattributed to delusion of the devil, the divider andaccuser; and I am of opinion that they were perfectlyright: only let Amyas take care that while heis discovering the devil in the Indians, he does notgive place to him in himself, and that in more waysthan one. But of that more hereafter.
Whether, however, it was pride or shyness which keptthe maiden aloof, she conquered it after a while;perhaps through mere woman’s curiosity; andperhaps, too, from mere longing for amusem*nt in aplace so unspeakably stupid as the forest. Shegave the English to understand, however, that thoughthey all might be very important personages, noneof them was to be her companion but Amyas. Andere a month was past, she was often hunting with himfar and wide in the neighboring forest, with a trainof chosen nymphs, whom she had persuaded to followher example and spurn the dusky suitors around.This fashion, not uncommon, perhaps, among the Indiantribes, where women are continually escaping to theforest from the tyranny of the men, and often, perhaps,forming temporary communities, was to the Englisha plain proof that they were near the land of thefamous Amazons, of whom they had heard so often fromthe Indians; while Amyas had no doubt that, as a descendantof the Incas, the maiden preserved the tradition ofthe Virgins of the Sun, and of the austere monasticrule of the Peruvian superstition. Had not thatvaliant German, George of Spires, and Jeronimo Ortaltoo, fifty years before, found convents of the Sunupon these very upper waters?
So a harmless friendship sprang up between Amyas andthe girl, which soon turned to good account.For she no sooner heard that he needed a crew of Indians,than she consulted the Piache, assembled the tribe,and having retired to her hut, commenced a song, which(unless the Piache lied) was a command to furnishyoung men for Cary’s expedition, under penaltyof the sovereign displeasure of an evil spirit withan unpronounceable name—an argument whichsucceeded on the spot, and the canoe departed on itsperilous errand.
John Brimblecombe had great doubts whether a venturethus started by direct help and patronage of the fiendwould succeed; and Amyas himself, disliking the humbug,told Ayacanora that it would be better to have toldthe tribe that it was a good deed, and pleasing tothe Good Spirit.
“Ah!” said she, naively enough, “theyknow better than that. The Good Spirit is bigand lazy; and he smiles, and takes no trouble:but the little bad spirit, he is so busy—here,and there, and everywhere,” and she waved herpretty hands up and down; “he is the useful oneto have for a friend!” Which sentiment the Piachemuch approved, as became his occupation; and oncetold Brimblecombe pretty sharply, that he was a meddlesomefellow for telling the Indians that the Good Spiritcared for them; “for,” quoth he, “ifthey begin to ask the Good Spirit for what they want,who will bring me cassava and coca for keeping thebad spirit quiet?” This argument, however forciblethe devil’s priests in all ages have felt itto be, did not stop Jack’s preaching (and verygood and righteous preaching it was, moreover), andmuch less the morning and evening service in the islandcamp. This last, the Indians, attracted by thesinging, attended in such numbers, that the Piachefound his occupation gone, and vowed to put an endto Jack’s Gospel with a poisoned arrow.
Which plan he (blinded by his master, Satan, so Jackphrased it) took into his head to impart to Ayacanora,as the partner of his tithes and offerings; and wasexceedingly astonished to receive in answer a box onthe ear, and a storm of abuse. After which, Ayacanorawent to Amyas, and telling him all, proposed thatthe Piache should be thrown to the alligators, andJack installed in his place; declaring that whatsoeverthe bearded men said must be true, and whosoever plottedagainst them should die the death.
Jack, however, magnanimously forgave his foe, andpreached on, of course with fresh zeal; but not, alas!with much success. For the conjuror, though hismain treasure was gone over to the camp of the enemy,had a reserve in a certain holy trumpet, which washidden mysteriously in a cave on the neighboring hills,not to be looked on by woman under pain of death;and it was well known, and had been known for generations,that unless that trumpet, after fastings, flagellations,and other solemn rites, was blown by night throughoutthe woods, the palm-trees would bear no fruit; yea,so great was the fame of that trumpet, that neighboringtribes sent at the proper season to hire it and theblower thereof, by payment of much precious trumpery,that so they might be sharers in its fertilizing powers.
So the Piache announced one day in public, that inconsequence of the impiety of the Omaguas, he shouldretire to a neighboring tribe, of more religious turnof mind; and taking with him the precious instrument,leave their palms to blight, and themselves to theevil spirit.
Dire was the wailing, and dire the wrath throughoutthe village. Jack’s words were allowedto be good words; but what was the Gospel in comparisonof the trumpet? The rascal saw his advantage,and began a fierce harangue against the heretic strangers.As he maddened, his hearers maddened; the savage nature,capricious as a child’s, flashed out in wildsuspicion. Women yelled, men scowled, and ranhastily to their huts for bows and blow-guns.The case was grown critical. There were not morethan a dozen men with Amyas at the time, and they hadonly their swords, while the Indian men might musternearly a hundred. Amyas forbade his men eitherto draw or to retreat; but poisoned arrows were weaponsbefore which the boldest might well quail; and morethan one cheek grew pale, which had seldom been palebefore.
“It is God’s quarrel, sirs all,”said Jack Brimblecombe; “let Him defend theright.”
As he spoke, from Ayacanora’s hut arose hermagic song, and quivered aloft among the green heightsof the forest.
The mob stood spell-bound, still growling fiercely,but not daring to move. Another moment, and shehad rushed out, like a very Diana, into the centreof the ring, bow in hand, and arrow on the string.
The fallen “children of wrath” had foundtheir match in her; for her beautiful face was convulsedwith fury. Almost foaming in her passion, sheburst forth with bitter revilings; she pointed withadmiration to the English, and then with fiercestcontempt to the Indians; and at last, with fiercegestures, seemed to cast off the very dust of herfeet against them, and springing to Amyas’s side,placed herself in the forefront of the English battle.
The whole scene was so sudden, that Amyas had hardlydiscovered whether she came as friend or foe, beforeher bow was raised. He had just time to strikeup her hand, when the arrow flew past the ear of theoffending Piache, and stuck quivering in a tree.
“Let me kill the wretch!” said she, stampingwith rage; but Amyas held her arm firmly.
“Fools!” cried she to the tribe, whiletears of anger rolled down her cheeks. “Choosebetween me and your trumpet! I am a daughter ofthe Sun; I am white; I am a companion for Englishmen!But you! your mothers were Guahibas, and ate mud;and your fathers—they were howling apes!Let them sing to you! I shall go to the whitemen, and never sing you to sleep any more; and whenthe little evil spirit misses my voice, he will comeand tumble you out of your hammocks, and make you dreamof ghosts every night, till you grow as thin as blow-guns,and as stupid as aye-ayes!"*
* Two-toed sloths.
This terrible counter-threat, in spite of the slightbathos involved, had its effect; for it appealed tothat dread of the sleep world which is common to allsavages: but the conjuror was ready to outbidthe prophetess, and had begun a fresh oration, whenAmyas turned the tide of war. Bursting into ahuge laugh at the whole matter, he took the conjurorby his shoulders, sent him with one crafty kick half-a-dozenyards off upon his nose; and then, walking out of theranks, shook hands round with all his Indian acquaintances.
Whereon, like grown-up babies, they all burst outlaughing too, shook hands with all the English, andthen with each other; being, after all, as glad asany bishops to prorogue the convocation, and let unpleasantquestions stand over till the next session. ThePiache relented, like a prudent man; Ayacanora returnedto her hut to sulk; and Amyas to his island, to longfor Cary’s return, for he felt himself on dangerousground.
At last Will returned, safe and sound, and as merryas ever, not having lost a man (though he had hada smart brush with the Guahibas). He broughtback three of the wounded men, now pretty nigh cured;the other two, who had lost a leg apiece, had refusedto come. They had Indian wives; more than theycould eat; and tobacco without end: and if itwere not for the gnats (of which Cary said that therewere more mosquitoes than there was air), they shouldbe the happiest men alive. Amyas could hardlyblame the poor fellows; for the chance of their gettinghome through the forest with one leg each was verysmall, and, after all, they were making the best ofa bad matter. And a very bad matter it seemedto him, to be left in a heathen land; and a still worsematter, when he overheard some of the men talkingabout their comrades’ lonely fate, as if, afterall, they were not so much to be pitied. He saidnothing about it then, for he made a rule never totake notice of any facts which he got at by eavesdropping,however unintentional; but he longed that one of themwould say as much to him, and he would “givethem a piece of his mind.” And a piece ofhis mind he had to give within the week; for whilehe was on a hunting party, two of his men were missing,and were not heard of for some days; at the end ofwhich time the old cacique come to tell him that hebelieved they had taken to the forest, each with anIndian girl.
Amyas was very wroth at the news. First, becauseit had never happened before: he could say withhonest pride, as Raleigh did afterwards when he returnedfrom his Guiana voyage, that no Indian woman had everbeen the worse for any man of his. He had preachedon this point month after month, and practised whathe preached; and now his pride was sorely hurt.
Moreover, he dreaded offence to the Indians themselves:but on this score the cacique soon comforted him,telling him that the girls, as far as he could find,had gone off of their own free will; intimating thathe thought it somewhat an honor to the tribe that theyhad found favor in the eyes of the bearded men; andmoreover, that late wars had so thinned the ranksof their men, that they were glad enough to find husbandsfor their maidens, and had been driven of late yearsto kill many of their female infants. This sadstory, common perhaps to every American tribe, andone of the chief causes of their extermination, reassuredAmyas somewhat: but he could not stomach eitherthe loss of his men, or their breach of discipline;
and look for them he would. Did any one knowwhere they were? If the tribe knew, they did notcare to tell: but Ayacanora, the moment she foundout his wishes, vanished into the forest, and returnedin two days, saying that she had found the fugitives;but she would not show him where they were, unlesshe promised not to kill them. He, of course,had no mind for so rigorous a method: he bothneeded the men, and he had no malice against them,—forthe one, Ebsworthy, was a plain, honest, happy-go-luckysailor, and as good a hand as there was in the crew;and the other was that same ne’er-do-weel WillParracombe, his old schoolfellow, who had been temptedby the gipsy-Jesuit at Appledore, and resisting thatbait, had made a very fair seaman.So forth Amyas went, with Ayacanora as a guide, somefive miles upward along the forest slopes, till thegirl whispered, “There they are;” andAmyas, pushing himself gently through a thicket ofbamboo, beheld a scene which, in spite of his wrath,kept him silent, and perhaps softened, for a minute.
On the farther side of a little lawn, the stream leaptthrough a chasm beneath overarching vines, sprinklingeternal freshness upon all around, and then sank foaminginto a clear rock-basin, a bath for Dian’s self.On its farther side, the crag rose some twenty feetin height, bank upon bank of feathered ferns and cushionedmoss, over the rich green beds of which drooped athousand orchids, scarlet, white, and orange, and madethe still pool gorgeous with the reflection of theirgorgeousness. At its more quiet outfall, it washalf-hidden in huge fantastic leaves and tall floweringstems; but near the waterfall the grassy bank slopeddown toward the stream, and there, on palm-leaves strewedupon the turf, beneath the shadow of the crags, laythe two men whom Amyas sought, and whom, now he hadfound them, he had hardly heart to wake from theirdelicious dream.
For what a nest it was which they had found! the airwas heavy with the scent of flowers, and quiveringwith the murmur of the stream, the humming of thecolibris and insects, the cheerful song of birds, thegentle cooing of a hundred doves; while now and then,from far away, the musical wail of the sloth, or thedeep toll of the bell-bird, came softly to the ear.What was not there which eye or ear could need?And what which palate could need either? Foron the rock above, some strange tree, leaning forward,dropped every now and then a luscious apple upon thegrass below, and huge wild plantains bent beneath theirload of fruit.
There, on the stream bank, lay the two renegades fromcivilized life. They had cast away their clothes,and painted themselves, like the Indians, with arnottoand indigo. One lay lazily picking up the fruitwhich fell close to his side; the other sat, his backagainst a cushion of soft moss, his hands folded languidlyupon his lap, giving himself up to the soft influenceof the narcotic coca-juice, with half-shut dreamyeyes fixed on the everlasting sparkle of the waterfall—
“While beauty,born of murmuring sound,
Did pass into his face.”
Somewhat apart crouched their two dusky brides, crownedwith fragrant flowers, but working busily, like truewomen, for the lords whom they delighted to honor.One sat plaiting palm fibres into a basket; the otherwas boring the stem of a huge milk-tree, which roselike some mighty column on the right hand of the lawn,its broad canopy of leaves unseen through the denseunderwood of laurel and bamboo, and betokened onlyby the rustle far aloft, and by the mellow shade inwhich it bathed the whole delicious scene.
Amyas stood silent for awhile, partly from noble shameat seeing two Christian men thus fallen of their ownself-will; partly because—and he couldnot but confess that—a solemn calm broodedabove that glorious place, to break through whichseemed sacrilege even while he felt it a duty.Such, he thought, was Paradise of old; such our firstparents’ bridal bower! Ah! if man had notfallen, he too might have dwelt forever in such ahome—with whom? He started, and shakingoff the spell, advanced sword in hand.
The women saw him, and springing to their feet, caughtup their long pocunas, and leapt like deer each infront of her beloved. There they stood, the deadlytubes pressed to their lips, eyeing him like tigresseswho protect their young, while every slender limb quivered,not with terror, but with rage.
Amyas paused, half in admiration, half in prudence;for one rash step was death. But rushing throughthe canes, Ayacanora sprang to the front, and shriekedto them in Indian. At the sight of the prophetessthe women wavered, and Amyas, putting on as gentlea face as he could, stepped forward, assuring themin his best Indian that he would harm no one.
“Ebsworthy! Parracombe! Are you grownsuch savages already, that you have forgotten yourcaptain? Stand up, men, and salute!”
Ebsworthy sprang to his feet, obeyed mechanically,and then slipped behind his bride again, as if inshame. The dreamer turned his head languidly,raised his hand to his forehead, and then returnedto his contemplation.
Amyas rested the point of his sword on the ground,and his hands upon the hilt, and looked sadly andsolemnly upon the pair. Ebsworthy broke the silence,half reproachfully, half trying to bluster away thecoming storm.
“Well, noble captain, so you’ve huntedout us poor fellows; and want to drag us back againin a halter, I suppose?”
“I came to look for Christians, and I find heathens;for men, and I find swine. I shall leave theheathens to their wilderness, and the swine to theirtrough. Parracombe!”
“He’s too happy to answer you, sir.And why not? What do you want of us? Ourtwo years vow is out, and we are free men now.”
“Free to become like the beasts that perish?You are the queen’s servants still, and in hername I charge you—
“Free to be happy,” interrupted the man.“With the best of wives, the best of food, awarmer bed than a duke’s, and a finer gardenthan an emperor’s. As for clothes, whythe plague should a man wear them where he don’tneed them? As for gold, what’s the use ofit where Heaven sends everything ready-made to yourhands? Hearken, Captain Leigh. You’vebeen a good captain to me, and I’ll repay youwith a bit of sound advice. Give up your gold-hunting,and toiling and moiling after honor and glory, andcopy us. Take that fair maid behind you thereto wife; pitch here with us; and see if you are nothappier in one day than ever you were in all yourlife before.”
“You are drunk, sirrah! William Parracombe!Will you speak to me, or shall I heave you into thestream to sober you?”
“Who calls William Parracombe?” answereda sleepy voice.
“I, fool!—your captain.”
“I am not William Parracombe. He is deadlong ago of hunger, and labor, and heavy sorrow, andwill never see Bideford town any more. He isturned into an Indian now; and he is to sleep, sleep,sleep for a hundred years, till he gets his strengthagain, poor fellow—”
“Awake, then, thou that sleepest, and arisefrom the dead, and Christ shall give thee light!A christened Englishman, and living thus the lifeof a beast?”
“Christ shall give thee light?” answeredthe same unnatural abstracted voice. “Yes;so the parsons say. And they say too, that Heis Lord of heaven and earth. I should have thoughtHis light was as near us here as anywhere, and nearertoo, by the look of the place. Look round!”said he, waving a lazy hand, “and see the worksof God, and the place of Paradise, whither poor wearysouls go home and rest, after their masters in thewicked world have used them up, with labor and sorrow,and made them wade knee-deep in blood—I’mtired of blood, and tired of gold. I’llmarch no more; I’ll fight no more; I’llhunger no more after vanity and vexation of spirit.What shall I get by it? Maybe I shall leave mybones in the wilderness. I can but do that here.Maybe I shall get home with a few pezos, to die anold cripple in some stinking hovel, that a monkeywould scorn to lodge in here. You may go on; it’llpay you. You may be a rich man, and a knight,and live in a fine house, and drink good wine, andgo to Court, and torment your soul with trying toget more, when you’ve got too much already; plottingand planning to scramble upon your neighbor’sshoulders, as they all did—Sir Richard,and Mr. Raleigh, and Chichester, and poor dear oldSir Warham, and all of them that I used to watch whenI lived before. They were no happier than I wasthen; I’ll warrant they are no happier now.Go your ways, captain; climb to glory upon some otherbacks than ours, and leave us here in peace, alonewith God and God’s woods, and the good wivesthat God has given us, to play a little like schoolchildren. It’s long since I’ve had
play-hours; and now I’ll be a little child oncemore, with the flowers, and the singing birds, andthe silver fishes in the stream, that are at peace,and think no harm, and want neither clothes, nor money,nor knighthood, nor peerage, but just take what comes;and their heavenly Father feedeth them, and Solomonin all his glory was not arrayed like one of these—andwill He not much more feed us, that are of more valuethan many sparrows?”“And will you live here, shut out from all Christianordinances?”
“Christian ordinances? Adam and Eve hadno parsons in Paradise. The Lord was their priest,and the Lord was their shepherd, and He’ll beours too. But go your ways, sir, and send upSir John Brimblecombe, and let him marry us here Churchfashion (though we have sworn troth to each otherbefore God already), and let him give us the Holy Sacramentonce and for all, and then read the funeral serviceover us, and go his ways, and count us for dead, sir—fordead we are to the wicked worthless world we cameout of three years ago. And when the Lord choosesto call us, the little birds will cover us with leaves,as they did the babies in the wood, and fresher flowerswill grow out of our graves, sir, than out of yoursin that bare Northam churchyard there beyond the weary,weary, weary sea.”
His voice died away to a murmur, and his head sankon his breast.
Amyas stood spell-bound. The effect of the narcoticwas all but miraculous in his eyes. The sustainedeloquence, the novel richness of diction in one seeminglydrowned in sensual sloth, were, in his eyes, the possessionof some evil spirit. And yet he could not answerthe Evil One. His English heart, full of thedivine instinct of duty and public spirit, told himthat it must be a lie: but how to prove it a lie?And he stood for full ten minutes searching for ananswer, which seemed to fly farther and farther offthe more he sought for it.
His eye glanced upon Ayacanora. The two girlswere whispering to her smilingly. He saw oneof them glance a look toward him, and then say something,which raised a beautiful blush in the maiden’sface. With a playful blow at the speaker, sheturned away. Amyas knew instinctively that theywere giving her the same advice as Ebsworthy had givento him. Oh, how beautiful she was! Mightnot the renegades have some reason on their side afterall.
He shuddered at the thought: but he could notshake it off. It glided in like some gaudy snake,and wreathed its coils round all his heart and brain.He drew back to the other side of the lawn, and thoughtand thought—
Should he ever get home? If he did, might henot get home a beggar? Beggar or rich, he wouldstill have to face his mother, to go through thatmeeting, to tell that tale, perhaps, to hear thosereproaches, the forecast of which had weighed on himlike a dark thunder-cloud for two weary years; towipe out which by some desperate deed of glory he hadwandered the wilderness, and wandered in vain.
Could he not settle here? He need not be a savage,he and his might Christianize, civilize, teach equallaw, mercy in war, chivalry to women; found a communitywhich might be hereafter as strong a barrier againstthe encroachments of the Spaniard, as Manoa itselfwould have been. Who knew the wealth of the surroundingforests? Even if there were no gold, there wereboundless vegetable treasures. What might he notexport down the rivers? This might be the nucleusof a great commercial settlement—
And yet, was even that worth while? To settlehere only to torment his soul with fresh schemes,fresh ambitions; not to rest, but only to change onelabor for another? Was not your dreamer right?Did they not all need rest? What if they eachsat down among the flowers, beside an Indian bride?They might live like Christians, while they lived likethe birds of heaven.—
What a dead silence! He looked up and round;the birds had ceased to chirp; the parroquets werehiding behind the leaves; the monkeys were clusteredmotionless upon the highest twigs; only out of thefar depths of the forest, the campanero gave its solemntoll, once, twice, thrice, like a great death-knellrolling down from far cathedral towers. Was itan omen? He looked up hastily at Ayacanora.She was watching him earnestly. Heavens! wasshe waiting for his decision? Both dropped theireyes. The decision was not to come from them.
A rustle! a roar! a shriek! and Amyas lifted his eyesin time to see a huge dark bar shoot from the cragabove the dreamer’s head, among the group ofgirls.
A dull crash, as the group flew asunder; and in themidst, upon the ground, the tawny limbs of one werewrithing beneath the fangs of a black jaguar, therarest and most terrible of the forest kings.Of one? But of which? Was it Ayacanora?And sword in hand, Amyas rushed madly forward; beforehe reached the spot those tortured limbs were still.
It was not Ayacanora, for with a shriek which rangthrough the woods, the wretched dreamer, wakened thusat last, sprang up and felt for his sword. Fool!he had left it in his hammock! Screaming the nameof his dead bride, he rushed on the jaguar, as itcrouched above its prey, and seizing its head withteeth and nails, worried it, in the ferocity of hismadness, like a mastiff-dog.
The brute wrenched its head from his grasp, and raisedits dreadful paw. Another moment and the husband’scorpse would have lain by the wife’s.
But high in air gleamed Amyas’s blade; downwith all the weight of his huge body and strong arm,fell that most trusty steel; the head of the jaguardropped grinning on its victim’s corpse;
“And all stoodstill, who saw him fall,
While men might counta score.”
“O Lord Jesus,” said Amyas to himself,“Thou hast answered the devil for me! Andthis is the selfish rest for which I would have barteredthe rest which comes by working where Thou hast putme!”
They bore away the lithe corpse into the forest, andburied it under soft moss and virgin mould; and sothe fair clay was transfigured into fairer flowers,and the poor, gentle, untaught spirit returned to Godwho gave it.
And then Amyas went sadly and silently back again,and Parracombe walked after him, like one who walksin sleep.
Ebsworthy, sobered by the shock, entreated to cometoo: but Amyas forbade him gently,—
“No, lad, you are forgiven. God forbidthat I should judge you or any man! Sir Johnshall come up and marry you; and then, if it stillbe your will to stay, the Lord forgive you, if yoube wrong; in the meanwhile, we will leave with youall that we can spare. Stay here and pray to Godto make you, and me too, wiser men.”
And so Amyas departed. He had come out sternand proud; but he came back again like a little child.
Three days after Parracombe was dead. Once incamp he seemed unable to eat or move, and having receivedabsolution and communion from good Sir John, fadedaway without disease or pain, “babbling of greenfields,” and murmuring the name of his lostIndian bride.
Amyas, too, sought ghostly council of Sir John, andtold him all which had passed through his mind.
“It was indeed a temptation of Diabolus,”said that simple sage; “for he is by his veryname the divider who sets man against man, and temptsone to care only for oneself, and forget kin and country,and duty and queen. But you have resisted him,Captain Leigh, like a true-born Englishman, as youalways are, and he has fled from you. But thatis no reason why we should not flee from him too;and so I think the sooner we are out of this place,and at work again, the better for all our souls.”
To which Amyas most devoutly said, “Amen!”If Ayacanora were the daughter of ten thousand Incas,he must get out of her way as soon as possible.
The next day he announced his intention to march oncemore, and to his delight found the men ready enoughto move towards the Spanish settlements. Onething they needed: gunpowder for their muskets.But that they must make as they went along; that is,if they could get the materials. Charcoal theycould procure, enough to set the world on fire; butnitre they had not yet seen; perhaps they should findit among the hills: while as for sulphur, anybrave man could get that where there were volcanoes.Who had not heard how one of Cortez’ Spaniards,in like need, was lowered in a basket down the smokingcrater of Popocatepetl, till he had gathered sulphurenough to conquer an empire? And what a Spaniardcould do an Englishman could do, or they would knowthe reason why. And if they found none—whyclothyard arrows had done Englishmen’s workmany a time already, and they could do it again, notto mention those same blow-guns and their arrows ofcurare poison, which, though they might be uselessagainst Spaniards’ armor, were far more valuablethan muskets for procuring food, from the simple factof their silence.
One thing remained; to invite their Indian friendsto join them. And that was done in due form thenext day.
Ayacanora was consulted, of course, and by the Piache,too, who was glad enough to be rid of the rival preacher,and his unpleasantly good news that men need not worshipthe devil, because there was a good God above them.The maiden sang most melodious assent; the whole tribeechoed it; and all went smoothly enough till the oldcacique observed that before starting a compact shouldbe made between the allies as to their share of thebooty.
Nothing could be more reasonable; and Amyas askedhim to name his terms.
“You take the gold, and we will take the prisoners.”
“And what will you do with them?” askedAmyas, who recollected poor John Oxenham’s haplesscompact made in like case.
“Eat them,” quoth the cacique, innocentlyenough.
Amyas whistled.
“Humph!” said Cary. “The oldproverb comes true—’the more the merrier:but the fewer the better fare.’ I thinkwe will do without our red friends for this time.”
Ayacanora, who had been preaching war like a veryBoadicea, was much vexed.
“Do you too want to dine off roast Spaniards?”asked Amyas.
She shook her head, and denied the imputation withmuch disgust.
Amyas was relieved; he had shrunk from joining thethought of so fair a creature, however degraded, withthe horrors of cannibalism.
But the cacique was a man of business, and held outstanchly.
“Is it fair?” he asked. “Thewhite man loves gold, and he gets it. The poorIndian, what use is gold to him? He only wantssomething to eat, and he must eat his enemies.What else will pay him for going so far through theforests hungry and thirsty? You will get all,and the Omaguas will get nothing.”
The argument was unanswerable; and the next day theystarted without the Indians, while John Brimblecombeheaved many an honest sigh at leaving them to darkness,the devil, and the holy trumpet.
And Ayacanora?
When their departure was determined, she shut herselfup in her hut, and appeared no more. Great wasthe weeping, howling, and leave-taking on the partof the simple Indians, and loud the entreaties to comeagain, bring them a message from Amalivaca’sdaughter beyond the seas, and help them to recovertheir lost land of Papamene; but Ayacanora took nopart in them; and Amyas left her, wondering at herabsence, but joyful and light-hearted at having escapedthe rocks of the Sirens, and being at work once more.
CHAPTER XXV
HOW THEY TOOK THE GOLD-TRAIN
“God will relent, and quit theeall thy debt,
Who ever more approves, and more accepts
Him who imploring mercy sues for life,
Than who self-rigorous chooses death as due,
Which argues over-just, and self-displeased
For self-offence, more than for God offended.”
SamsonAgonistes.
A fortnight or more has passed in severe toil, butnot more severe than they have endured many a timebefore. Bidding farewell once and forever tothe green ocean of the eastern plains, they have crossedthe Cordillera; they have taken a longing glance atthe city of Santa Fe, lying in the midst of rich gardenson its lofty mountain plateau, and have seen, as wasto be expected, that it was far too large a place forany attempt of theirs. But they have not altogetherthrown away their time. Their Indian lad hasdiscovered that a gold-train is going down from SantaFe toward the Magdalena; and they are waiting for itbeside the miserable rut which serves for a road,encamped in a forest of oaks which would make themalmost fancy themselves back again in Europe, wereit not for the tree-ferns which form the undergrowth;and were it not, too, for the deep gorges openingat their very feet; in which, while their brows areswept by the cool breezes of a temperate zone, theycan see far below, dim through their everlasting vapor-bathof rank hot steam, the mighty forms and gorgeous colorsof the tropic forest.
They have pitched their camp among the tree-ferns,above a spot where the path winds along a steep hill-side,with a sheer cliff below of many a hundred feet.There was a road there once, perhaps, when Cundinamarcawas a civilized and cultivated kingdom; but all whichSpanish misrule has left of it are a few steps slippingfrom their places at the bottom of a narrow ditchof mud. It has gone the way of the aqueducts,and bridges, and post-houses, the gardens and thellama-flocks of that strange empire. In the madsearch for gold, every art of civilization has fallento decay, save architecture alone; and that survivesonly in the splendid cathedrals which have risen uponthe ruins of the temples of the Sun, in honor of amilder Pantheon; if, indeed, that can be called amilder one which demands (as we have seen already)human sacrifices, unknown to the gentle nature-worshipof the Incas.
And now, the rapid tropic vegetation has reclaimedits old domains, and Amyas and his crew are as utterlyalone, within a few miles of an important Spanishsettlement, as they would be in the solitudes of theOrinoco or the Amazon.
In the meanwhile, all their attempts to find sulphurand nitre have been unavailing; and they have beenforced to depend after all (much to Yeo’s disgust)upon their swords and arrows. Be it so: Draketook Nombre de Dios and the gold-train there withno better weapons; and they may do as much.
So, having blocked up the road above by felling alarge tree across it, they sit there among the flowerschewing coca, in default of food and drink, and meditatingamong themselves the cause of a mysterious roar, whichhas been heard nightly in their wake ever since theyleft the banks of the Meta. Jaguar it is not,nor monkey: it is unlike any sound they know;and why should it follow them? However, they arein the land of wonders; and, moreover, the gold trainis far more important than any noise.
At last, up from beneath there was a sharp crack anda loud cry. The crack was neither the snappingof a branch, nor the tapping of a woodpecker; thecry was neither the scream of the parrot, nor the howlof the monkey.
“That was a whip’s crack,” saidYeo, “and a woman’s wail. They areclose here, lads!”
“A woman’s? Do they drive women intheir gangs?” asked Amyas.
“Why not, the brutes? There they are, sir.Did you see their basnets glitter?”
“Men!” said Amyas, in a low voice, “Itrust you all not to shoot till I do. Then givethem one arrow, out swords, and at them! Passthe word along.”
Up they came, slowly, and all hearts beat loud attheir coming.
First, about twenty soldiers, only one-half of whomwere on foot; the other half being borne, incredibleas it may seem, each in a chair on the back of a singleIndian, while those who marched had consigned theirheaviest armor and their arquebuses into the handsof attendant slaves, who were each pricked on at willby the pike of the soldier behind them.
“The men are mad to let their ordnance out oftheir hands.”
“Oh, sir, an Indian will pray to an arquebusnot to shoot him; he sure their artillery is safeenough,” said Yeo.
“Look at the proud villains,” whisperedanother, “to make dumb beasts of human creatureslike that!”
“Ten shot,” counted the business-likeAmyas, “and ten pikes; Will can tackle themup above.”
Last of this troop came some inferior officer, alsoin his chair, who, as he went slowly up the hill,with his face turned toward the gang which followed,drew every other second the cigar from his lips, toinspirit them with those pious ejacul*tions to thevarious objects of his worship, divine, human, anatomic,wooden and textile, which earned for the pious Spaniardsof the sixteenth century the uncharitable imputationof being at once the most fetish-ridden idolaters andthe most abominable swearers of all Europeans.
“The blasphemous dog!” said Yeo, fumblingat his bow-string, as if he longed to send an arrowthrough him. But Amyas had hardly laid his fingeron the impatient veteran’s arm, when anotherprocession followed, which made them forget all else.
A sad and hideous sight it was: yet one too commoneven then in those remoter districts, where the humaneedicts were disregarded which the prayers of Dominicanfriars (to their everlasting honor be it spoken) hadwrung from the Spanish sovereigns, and which the legislationof that most wise, virtuous, and heroic Inquisitor(paradoxical as the words may seem), Pedro de la Gasca,had carried into effect in Peru,—futileand tardy alleviations of cruelties and miseries unexampledin the history of Christendom, or perhaps on earth,save in the conquests of Sennacherib and Zingis Khan.But on the frontiers, where negroes were importedto endure the toil which was found fatal to the Indian,
and all Indian tribes convicted (or suspected) ofcannibalism were hunted down for the salvation oftheir souls and the enslavement of their bodies, suchscenes as these were still too common; and, indeed,if we are to judge from Humboldt’s impartialaccount, were not very much amended even at the closeof the last century, in those much-boasted Jesuit missionsin which (as many of them as existed anywhere but onpaper) military tyranny was superadded to monastic,and the Gospel preached with fire and sword, almostas shamelessly as by the first Conquistadores.A line of Indians, Negroes, and Zambos, naked, emaciated,scarred with whips and fetters, and chained togetherby their left wrists, toiled upwards, panting andperspiring under the burden of a basket held up bya strap which passed across their foreheads. Yeo’ssneer was but too just; there were not only old menand youths among them, but women; slender young girls,mothers with children, running at their knee; and,at the sight, a low murmur of indignation rose fromthe ambushed Englishmen, worthy of the free and righteoushearts of those days, when Raleigh could appeal toman and God, on the ground of a common humanity, inbehalf of the outraged heathens of the New World; whenEnglishmen still knew that man was man, and that theinstinct of freedom was the righteous voice of God;ere the hapless seventeenth century had brutalizedthem also, by bestowing on them, amid a hundred otherbad legacies, the fatal gift of negro-slaves.
But the first forty, so Amyas counted, bore on theirbacks a burden which made all, perhaps, but him andYeo, forget even the wretches who bore it. Eachbasket contained a square package of carefully cordedhide; the look whereof friend Amyas knew full well.
“What’s in they, captain?”
“Gold!” And at that magic word all eyeswere strained greedily forward, and such a rustlefollowed, that Amyas, in the very face of detection,had to whisper—
“Be men, be men, or you will spoil all yet!”
The last twenty, or so, of the Indians bore largerbaskets, but more lightly freighted, seemingly withmanioc, and maize-bread, and other food for the party;and after them came, with their bearers and attendants,just twenty soldiers more, followed by the officerin charge, who smiled away in his chair, and twirledtwo huge mustachios, thinking of nothing less thanof the English arrows which were itching to be awayand through his ribs. The ambush was complete;the only question how and when to begin?
Amyas had a shrinking, which all will understand,from drawing bow in cool blood on men so utterly unsuspiciousand defenceless, even though in the very act of devilishcruelty—for devilish cruelty it was, asthree or four drivers armed with whips lingered upand down the slowly staggering file of Indians, andavenged every moment’s lagging, even every stumble,by a blow of the cruel manati-hide, which cracked likea pistol-shot against the naked limbs of the silentand uncomplaining victim.
Suddenly the casus belli, as usually happens, aroseof its own accord.
The last but one of the chained line was an old gray-headedman, followed by a slender graceful girl of some eighteenyears old, and Amyas’s heart yearned over themas they came up. Just as they passed, the foremostof the file had rounded the corner above; there wasa bustle, and a voice shouted, “Halt, senors!there is a tree across the path!”
“A tree across the path?” bellowed theofficer, with a variety of passionate addresses tothe Mother of Heaven, the fiends of hell, Saint Jagoof Compostella, and various other personages; whilethe line of trembling Indians, told to halt above,and driven on by blows below, surged up and down uponthe ruinous steps of the Indian road, until the poorold man fell grovelling on his face.
The officer leaped down, and hurried upward to seewhat had happened. Of course, he came acrossthe old man.
“Sin peccado concebida! Grandfather ofBeelzebub, is this a place to lie worshipping yourfiends?” and he pricked the prostrate wretchwith the point of his sword.
The old man tried to rise: but the weight onhis head was too much for him; he fell again, andlay motionless.
The driver applied the manati-hide across his loins,once, twice, with fearful force; but even that specificwas useless.
“Gastado, Senor Capitan,” said he, witha shrug. “Used up. He has been failingthese three months!”
“What does the intendant mean by sending meout with worn-out cattle like these? Forwardthere!” shouted he. “Clear away thetree, senors, and I’ll soon clear the chain.Hold it up, Pedrillo!”
The driver held up the chain, which was fastened tothe old man’s wrist. The officer steppedback, and flourished round his head a Toledo blade,whose beauty made Amyas break the Tenth Commandmenton the spot.
The man was a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered, high-bredman; and Amyas thought that he was going to displaythe strength of his arm, and the temper of his blade,in severing the chain at one stroke.
Even he was not prepared for the recondite fanciesof a Spanish adventurer, worthy son or nephew of thosefirst conquerors, who used to try the keenness oftheir swords upon the living bodies of Indians, andregale themselves at meals with the odor of roastingcaciques.
The blade gleamed in the air, once, twice, and fell:not on the chain, but on the wrist which it fettered.There was a shriek—a crimson flash—andthe chain and its prisoner were parted indeed.
One moment more, and Amyas’s arrow would havebeen through the throat of the murderer, who paused,regarding his workmanship with a satisfied smile;but vengeance was not to come from him.
Quick and fierce as a tiger-cat, the girl sprang onthe ruffian, and with the intense strength of passion,clasped him in her arms, and leaped with him fromthe narrow ledge into the abyss below.
There was a rush, a shout; all faces were bent overthe precipice. The girl hung by her chained wrist:the officer was gone. There was a moment’sawful silence; and then Amyas heard his body crashingthrough the tree-tops far below.
“Haul her up! Hew her in pieces! Burnthe witch!” and the driver, seizing the chain,pulled at it with all his might, while all springingfrom their chairs, stooped over the brink.
Now was the time for Amyas! Heaven had deliveredthem into his hands. Swift and sure, at ten yardsoff, his arrow rushed through the body of the driver,and then, with a roar as of the leaping lion, he spranglike an avenging angel into the midst of the astonishedruffians.
His first thought was for the girl. In a moment,by sheer strength, he had jerked her safely up intothe road; while the Spaniards recoiled right and left,fancying him for the moment some mountain giant orsupernatural foe. His hurrah undeceived them inan instant, and a cry of “English! Lutherandogs!” arose, but arose too late. The menof Devon had followed their captain’s lead:a storm of arrows left five Spaniards dead, and adozen more wounded, and down leapt Salvation Yeo, hiswhite hair streaming behind him, with twenty goodswords more, and the work of death began.
The Spaniards fought like lions; but they had no timeto fix their arquebuses on the crutches; no room,in that narrow path, to use their pikes. TheEnglish had the wall of them; and to have the wallthere, was to have the foe’s life at their mercy.Five desperate minutes, and not a living Spaniardstood upon those steps; and certainly no living onelay in the green abyss below. Two only, who werebehind the rest, happening to be in full armor, escapedwithout mortal wound, and fled down the hill again.
“After them! Michael Evans and Simon Heard;and catch them, if they run a league.”
The two long and lean Clovelly men, active as deerfrom forest training, ran two feet for the Spaniard’sone; and in ten minutes returned, having done theirwork; while Amyas and his men hurried past the Indians,to help Cary and the party forward, where shouts andmusket shots announced a sharp affray.
Their arrival settled the matter. All the Spaniardsfell but three or four, who scrambled down the cranniesof the cliff.
“Let not one of them escape! Slay themas Israel slew Amalek!” cried Yeo, as he bentover; and ere the wretches could reach a place ofshelter, an arrow was quivering in each body, as itrolled lifeless down the rocks.
“Now then! Loose the Indians!”
They found armorers tools on one of the dead bodies,and it was done.
“We are your friends,” said Amyas.“All we ask is, that you shall help us to carrythis gold down to the Magdalena, and then you are free.”
Some few of the younger grovelled at his knees, andkissed his feet, hailing him as the child of the Sun:but the most part kept a stolid indifference, andwhen freed from their fetters, sat quietly down wherethey stood, staring into vacancy. The iron hadentered too deeply into their soul. They seemedpast hope, enjoyment, even understanding.
But the young girl, who was last of all in the line,as soon as she was loosed, sprang to her father’sbody, speaking no word, lifted it in her thin arms,laid it across her knees, kissed the fallen lips, strokedthe furrowed cheeks, murmured inarticulate sounds likethe cooing of a woodland dove, of which none knewthe meaning but she, and he who heard not, for hissoul had long since fled. Suddenly the truth flashedon her; silent as ever, she drew one long heavingbreath, and rose erect, the body in her arms.
Another moment, and she had leaped into the abyss.
They watched her dark and slender limbs, twined closelyround the old man’s corpse, turn over, and over,and over, till a crash among the leaves, and a screamamong the birds, told that she had reached the trees;and the green roof hid her from their view.
“Brave lass!” shouted a sailor.
“The Lord forgive her!” said Yeo.“But, your worship, we must have these rascals’ordnance.”
“And their clothes too, Yeo, if we wish to getdown the Magdalena unchallenged. Now listen,my masters all! We have won, by God’s goodgrace, gold enough to serve us the rest of our lives,and that without losing a single man; and may yetwin more, if we be wise, and He thinks good.But oh, my friends, remember Mr. Oxenham and his crew;and do not make God’s gift our ruin, by faithlessness,or greediness, or any mutinous haste.”
“You shall find none in us!” cried severalmen. “We know your worship. We cantrust our general.”
“Thank God!” said Amyas. “Nowthen, it will be no shame or sin to make the Indianscarry it, saving the women, whom God forbid we shouldburden. But we must pass through the very heartof the Spanish settlements, and by the town of SaintMartha itself. So the clothes and weapons ofthese Spaniards we must have, let it cost us what laborit may. How many lie in the road?”
“Thirteen here, and about ten up above,”said Cary.
“Then there are near twenty missing. Whowill volunteer to go down over cliff, and bring upthe spoil of them?”
“I, and I, and I;” and a dozen steppedout, as they did always when Amyas wanted anythingdone; for the simple reason, that they knew that hemeant to help at the doing of it himself.
“Very well, then, follow me. Sir John,take the Indian lad for your interpreter, and tryand comfort the souls of these poor heathens.Tell them that they shall all be free.”
“Why, who is that comes up the road?”
All eyes were turned in the direction of which hespoke. And, wonder of wonders! up came none otherthan Ayacanora herself, blow-gun in hand, bow on back,and bedecked in all her feather garments, which lastwere rather the worse for a fortnight’s woodlandtravel.
All stood mute with astonishment, as, seeing Amyas,she uttered a cry of joy, quickened her pace intoa run, and at last fell panting and exhausted at hisfeet.
“I have found you!” she said; “youran away from me, but you could not escape me!”And she fawned round Amyas, like a dog who has foundhis master, and then sat down on the bank, and burstinto wild sobs.
“God help us!” said Amyas, clutching hishair, as he looked down upon the beautiful weeper.“What am I to do with her, over and above allthese poor heathens?”
But there was no time to be lost, and over the cliffhe scrambled; while the girl, seeing that the mainbody of the English remained, sat down on a pointof rock to watch him.
After half-an-hour’s hard work, the weapons,clothes, and armor of the fallen Spaniards were hauledup the cliff, and distributed in bundles among themen; the rest of the corpses were thrown over the precipice,and they started again upon their road toward the Magdalena,while Yeo snorted like a war-horse who smells thebattle, at the delight of once more handling powderand ball.
“We can face the world now, sir! Why notgo back and try Santa Fe, after all?”
But Amyas thought that enough was as good as a feast,and they held on downwards, while the slaves followed,without a sign of gratitude, but meekly obedient totheir new masters, and testifying now and then by asign or a grunt, their surprise at not being beaten,or made to carry their captors. Some, however,caught sight of the little calabashes of coca whichthe English carried. That woke them from theirtorpor, and they began coaxing abjectly (and not invain) for a taste of that miraculous herb, which wouldnot only make food unnecessary, and enable their pantinglungs to endure that keen mountain air, but would ridthem, for awhile at least, of the fallen Indian’smost unpitying foe, the malady of thought.
As the cavalcade turned the corner of the mountain,they paused for one last look at the scene of thatfearful triumph. Lines of vultures were alreadystreaming out of infinite space, as if created suddenlyfor the occasion. A few hours and there wouldbe no trace of that fierce fray, but a few white bonesamid untrodden beds of flowers.
And now Amyas had time to ask Ayacanora the meaningof this her strange appearance. He wished heranywhere but where she was: but now that shewas here, what heart could be so hard as not to takepity on the poor wild thing? And Amyas as hespoke to her had, perhaps, a tenderness in his tone,from very fear of hurting her, which he had never usedbefore. Passionately she told him how she hadfollowed on their track day and night, and had everyevening made sounds, as loud as she dared, in hopesof their hearing her, and either waiting for her, orcoming back to see what caused the noise.
Amyas now recollected the strange roaring which hadfollowed them.
“Noises? What did you make them with?”
Ayacanora lifted her finger with an air of most self-satisfiedmystery, and then drew cautiously from under her feathercloak an object at which Amyas had hard work to keephis countenance.
“Look!” whispered she, as if half afraidthat the thing itself should hear her. “Ihave it—the holy trumpet!”
There it was verily, that mysterious bone of contention;a handsome earthen tube some two feet long, neatlyglazed, and painted with quaint grecques and figuresof animals; a relic evidently of some civilizationnow extinct.
Brimblecombe rubbed his little fat hands. “Bravemaid! you have cheated Satan this time,” quothhe; while Yeo advised that the “idolatrous relic”should be forthwith “hove over cliff.”
“Let be,” said Amyas. “Whatis the meaning of this, Ayacanora? And why haveyou followed us?”
She told a long story, from which Amyas picked up,as far as he could understand her, that that trumpethad been for years the torment of her life; the onething in the tribe superior to her; the one thing whichshe was not allowed to see, because, forsooth, shewas a woman. So she determined to show them thata woman was as good as a man; and hence her hatredof marriage, and her Amazonian exploits. But stillthe Piache would not show her that trumpet, or tellher where it was; and as for going to seek it, evenshe feared the superstitious wrath of the tribe atsuch a profanation. But the day after the Englishwent, the Piache chose to express his joy at theirdeparture; whereon, as was to be expected, a freshexplosion between master and pupil, which ended, sheconfessed, in her burning the old rogue’s hutover his head, from which he escaped with loss ofall his conjuring-tackle, and fled raging into thewoods, vowing that he would carry off the trumpet tothe neighboring tribe. Whereon, by a sudden impulse,the young lady took plenty of coca, her weapons, andher feathers, started on his trail, and ran him toearth just as he was unveiling the precious mystery.At which sight (she confessed) she was horribly afraid,and half inclined to run; but, gathering courage fromthe thought that the white men used to laugh at thewhole matter, she rushed upon the hapless conjuror,and bore off her prize in triumph; and there it was!
“I hope you have not killed him?” saidAmyas.
“I did beat him a little; but I thought youwould not let me kill him.”
Amyas was half amused with her confession of his authorityover her; but she went on—
“And then I dare not go back to the Indians;so I was forced to come after you.”
“And is that, then, your only reason for comingafter us?” asked stupid Amyas.
He had touched some secret chord—thoughwhat it was he was too busy to inquire. The girldrew herself up proudly, blushing scarlet, and said:
“You never tell lies. Do you think thatI would tell lies?”
On which she fell to the rear, and followed them steadfastly,speaking to no one, but evidently determined to followthem to the world’s end.
They soon left the highroad; and for several daysheld on downwards, hewing their path slowly and painfullythrough the thick underwood. On the evening ofthe fourth day, they had reached the margin of a river,at a point where it seemed broad and still enough fornavigation. For those three days they had notseen a trace of human beings, and the spot seemedlonely enough for them to encamp without fear of discovery,and begin the making of their canoes. They beganto spread themselves along the stream, in search ofthe soft-wooded trees proper for their purpose; buthardly had their search begun, when, in the midst ofa dense thicket, they came upon a sight which filledthem with astonishment. Beneath a honeycombedcliff, which supported one enormous cotton-tree, wasa spot of some thirty yards square sloping down tothe stream, planted in rows with magnificent banana-plants,full twelve feet high, and bearing among their hugewaxy leaves clusters of ripening fruit; while, undertheir mellow shade, yams and cassava plants were flourishingluxuriantly, the whole being surrounded by a hedgeof orange and scarlet flowers. There it lay,streaked with long shadows from the setting sun, whilea cool southern air rustled in the cotton-tree, andflapped to and fro the great banana-leaves; a tinyparadise of art and care. But where was its inhabitant?
Aroused by the noise of their approach, a figure issuedfrom a cave in the rocks, and, after gazing at themfor a moment, came down the garden towards them.He was a tall and stately old man, whose snow-whitebeard and hair covered his chest and shoulders, whilehis lower limbs were wrapt in Indian-web. Slowlyand solemnly he approached, a staff in one hand, astring of beads in the other, the living likeness ofsome old Hebrew prophet, or anchorite of ancient legend.He bowed courteously to Amyas (who of course returnedhis salute), and was in act to speak, when his eyefell upon the Indians, who were laying down their burdensin a heap under the trees. His mild countenanceassumed instantly an expression of the acutest sorrowand displeasure; and, striking his hands together,he spoke in Spanish:
“Alas! miserable me! Alas! unhappy senors!Do my old eyes deceive me, and is it one of thoseevil visions of the past which haunt my dreams bynight; or has the accursed thirst of gold, the ruinof my race, penetrated even into this my solitude?Oh, senors, senors, know you not that you bear withyou your own poison, your own familiar fiend, theroot of every evil? And is it not enough for you,senors, to load yourselves with the wedge of Achan,and partake his doom, but you must make these haplessheathens the victims of your greed and cruelty, andforestall for them on earth those torments which mayawait their unbaptized souls hereafter?”
“We have preserved, and not enslaved these Indians,ancient senor,” said Amyas, proudly; “andto-morrow will see them as free as the birds overour heads.”
“Free? Then you cannot be countrymen ofmine! But pardon an old man, my son, if he hasspoken too hastily in the bitterness of his own experience.But who and whence are you? And why are you bringinginto this lonely wilderness that gold—forI know too well the shape of those accursed packets,which would God that I had never seen!”
“What we are, reverend sir, matters little,as long as we behave to you as the young should tothe old. As for our gold, it will be a curse ora blessing to us, I conceive, just as we use it wellor ill; and so is a man’s head, or his hand,or any other thing; but that is no reason for cuttingoff his limbs for fear of doing harm with them; neitheris it for throwing away those packages, which, byyour leave, we shall deposit in one of these caves.We must be your neighbors, I fear, for a day or two;but I can promise you, that your garden shall be respected,on condition that you do not inform any human soulof our being here.”
“God forbid, senor, that I should try to increasethe number of my visitors, much less to bring hitherstrife and blood, of which I have seen too much already.As you have come in peace, in peace depart. Leaveme alone with God and my penitence, and may the Lordhave mercy on you!”
And he was about to withdraw, when, recollecting himself,he turned suddenly to Amyas again—
“Pardon me, senor, if, after forty years ofutter solitude, I shrink at first from the conversationof human beings, and forget, in the habitual shynessof a recluse, the duties of a hospitable gentlemanof Spain. My garden, and all which it produces,is at your service. Only let me entreat thatthese poor Indians shall have their share; for heathensthough they be, Christ died for them; and I cannotbut cherish in my soul some secret hope that He didnot die in vain.”
“God forbid!” said Brimblecombe.“They are no worse than we, for aught I see,whatsoever their fathers may have been; and they havefared no worse than we since they have been with us,nor will, I promise you.”
The good fellow did not tell that he had been starvinghimself for the last three days to cram the childrenwith his own rations; and that the sailors, and evenAmyas, had been going out of their way every fiveminutes, to get fruit for their new pets.
A camp was soon formed; and that evening the old hermitasked Amyas, Cary, and Brimblecombe to come up intohis cavern.
They went; and after the accustomed compliments hadpassed, sat down on mats upon the ground, while theold man stood, leaning against a slab of stone surmountedby a rude wooden cross, which evidently served himas a place of prayer. He seemed restless andanxious, as if he waited for them to begin the conversation;while they, in their turn, waited for him. Atlast, when courtesy would not allow him to be silentany longer, he began with a faltering voice:
“You may be equally surprised, senors, at mypresence in such a spot, and at my asking you to becomemy guests even for one evening, while I have no betterhospitality to offer you.”
“It is superfluous, senor, to offer us foodin your own habitation when you have already put allthat you possess at our command.”
“True, senors: and my motive for invitingyou was, perhaps, somewhat of a selfish one.I am possessed by a longing to unburthen my heart ofa tale which I never yet told to man, and which Ifear can give to you nothing but pain; and yet I willentreat you, of your courtesy, to hear of that whichyou cannot amend, simply in mercy to a man who feelsthat he must confess to some one, or die as miserableas he has lived. And I believe my confidencewill not be misplaced, when it is bestowed upon you.I have been a cavalier, even as you are; and, strangeas it may seem, that which I have to tell I wouldsooner impart to the ears of a soldier than of a priest;because it will then sink into souls which can atleast sympathize, though they cannot absolve.And you, cavaliers, I perceive to be noble, from yourvery looks; to be valiant, by your mere presence inthis hostile land; and to be gentle, courteous, andprudent, by your conduct this day to me and to yourcaptives. Will you, then, hear an old man’stale? I am, as you see, full of words; for speech,from long disuse, is difficult to me, and I fear atevery sentence lest my stiffened tongue should playthe traitor to my worn-out brain: but if my requestseems impertinent, you have only to bid me talk asa host should, of matters which concern his guests,and not himself.”
The three young men, equally surprised and interestedby this exordium, could only entreat their host to“use their ears as those of his slaves,”on which, after fresh apologies, he began:
“Know, then, victorious cavaliers, that I, whomyou now see here as a poor hermit, was formerly oneof the foremost of that terrible band who went withPizarro to the conquest of Peru. Eighty yearsold am I this day, unless the calendar which I havecarved upon yonder tree deceives me; and twenty yearsold was I when I sailed with that fierce man fromPanama, to do that deed with which all earth, and heaven,and hell itself, I fear, has rung. How we endured,suffered, and triumphed; how, mad with success, andglutted with blood, we turned our swords against eachother, I need not tell to you. For what gentlemanof Europe knows not our glory and our shame?”
His hearers bowed assent.
“Yes; you have heard of our prowess: forglorious we were awhile, in the sight of God and man.But I will not speak of our glory, for it is tarnished;nor of our wealth, for it was our poison; nor of thesins of my comrades, for they have expiated them;but of my own sins, senors, which are more in numberthan the hairs of my head, and a burden too greatto bear. Miserere Domine!”
And smiting on his breast, the old warrior went on:
“As I said, we were mad with blood; and nonemore mad than I. Surely it is no fable that men arepossessed, even in this latter age, by devils.Why else did I rejoice in slaying? Why else wasI, the son of a noble and truthful cavalier of Castile,among the foremost to urge upon my general the murderof the Inca? Why did I rejoice over his dyingagonies? Why, when Don Ferdinando de Soto returned,and upbraided us with our villainy, did I, insteadof confessing the sin which that noble cavalier setbefore us, withstand him to his face, ay, and wouldhave drawn the sword on him, but that he refused tofight a liar, as he said that I was?”
“Then Don de Soto was against the murder?So his own grandson told me. But I had heardof him only as a tyrant and a butcher.”
“Senor, he was compact of good and evil, asare other men: he has paid dearly for his sin;let us hope that he has been paid in turn for hisrighteousness.”
John Brimblecombe shook his head at this doctrine,but did not speak.
“So you know his grandson? I trust he isa noble cavalier?”
Amyas was silent; the old gentleman saw that he hadtouched some sore point, and continued:
“And why, again, senors, did I after that daygive myself up to cruelty as to a sport; yea, thoughtthat I did God service by destroying the creatureswhom He had made; I who now dare not destroy a gnat,lest I harm a being more righteous than myself?Was I mad? If I was, how then was I all thatwhile as prudent as I am this day? But I am nothere to argue, senors, but to confess. In a word,there was no deed of blood done for the next few yearsin which I had not my share, if it were but withinmy reach. When Challcuchima was burned, I wasconsenting; when that fair girl, the wife of IncaManco, was tortured to death, I smiled at the agoniesat which she too smiled, and taunted on the soldiers,to try if I could wring one groan from her beforeshe died. You know what followed, the pillage,the violence, the indignities offered to the virginsof the Sun. Senors, I will not pollute your chasteears with what was done. But, senors, I had abrother.”
And the old man paused awhile.
“A brother—whether better or worsethan me, God knows, before whom he has appeared erenow. At least he did not, as I did, end as a rebelto his king! There was a maiden in one of thoseconvents, senors, more beautiful than day: and(I blush to tell it) the two brothers of whom I spokequarrelled for the possession of her. They struckeach other, senors! Who struck first I know not;but swords were drawn, and—The cavaliersround parted them, crying shame. And one of thosetwo brothers—the one who speaks to younow—crying, ’If I cannot have her,no man shall!’ turned the sword which was aimedat his brother, against that hapless maiden—and—hearme out, senors, before you flee from my presence asfrom that of a monster!—stabbed her to theheart. And as she died—one momentmore, senors, that I may confess all!—shelooked up in my face with a smile as of heaven, andthanked me for having rid her once and for all fromChristians and their villainy.”
The old man paused.
“God forgive you, senor!” said Jack Brimblecombe,softly.
“You do not, then, turn from me, do not curseme? Then I will try you farther still, senors.I will know from human lips, whether man can do suchdeeds as I have done, and yet be pitied by his kind;that so I may have some hope, that where man has mercy,God may have mercy also. Do you think that Irepented at those awful words? Nothing less, senorsall. No more than I did when De Soto (on whosesoul God have mercy) called me—me, a liar!I knew myself a sinner; and for that very reason Iwas determined to sin. I would go on, that I mightprove myself right to myself, by showing that I couldgo on, and not be struck dead from heaven. Outof mere pride, senors, and self-will, I would fillup the cup of my iniquity; and I filled it.
“You know, doubtless, senors, how, after thedeath of old Almagro, his son’s party conspiredagainst Pizarro. Now my brother remained faithfulto his old commander; and for that very reason, ifyou will believe it, did I join the opposite party,and gave myself up, body and soul, to do Almagro’swork. It was enough for me, that the brother whohad struck me thought a man right, for me to thinkthat man a devil. What Almagro’s work was,you know. He slew Pizarro, murdered him, senors,like a dog, or rather, like an old lion.”
“He deserved his doom,” said Amyas.
“Let God judge him, senor, not we; and leastof all of us I, who drew the first blood, and perhapsthe last, that day. I, senors, it was who treacherouslystabbed Francisco de Chanes on the staircase, and soopened the door which else had foiled us all; and I—ButI am speaking to men of honor, not to butchers.Suffice it that the old man died like a lion, andthat we pulled him down, young as we were, like curs.
“Well, I followed Almagro’s fortunes.I helped to slay Alvarado. Call that my thirdmurder, if you will, for if he was traitor to a traitor,I was traitor to a true man. Then to the war;you know how Vaca de Castro was sent from Spain tobring order and justice where was naught but chaos,and the dance of all devils. We met him on thehills of Chupas. Peter of Candia, the Venetianvillain, pointed our guns false, and Almagro stabbedhim to the heart. We charged with our lances,man against man, horse against horse. All fightsI ever fought” (and the old man’s eyesflashed out the ancient fire) “were child’splay to that day. Our lances shivered like reeds,and we fell on with battle-axe and mace. Noneasked for quarter, and none gave it; friend to friend,cousin to cousin—no, nor brother, O God!to brother. We were the better armed: butnumbers were on their side. Fat Carbajal chargedour cannon like an elephant, and took them; but Holguinwas shot down. I was with Almagro, and we sweptall before us, inch by inch, but surely, till the nightfell. Then Vaca de Castro, the licentiate, the
clerk, the schoolman, the man of books, came downon us with his reserve like a whirlwind. Oh!cavaliers, did not God fight against us, when He letus, the men of iron, us, the heroes of Cuzco and Vilcaconga,be foiled by a scholar in a black gown, with a penbehind his ear? We were beaten. Some ran;some did not run, senors; and I did not. Geronimode Alvarado shouted to me, ‘We slew Pizarro!We killed the tyrant!’ and we rushed upon theconqueror’s lances, to die like cavaliers.There was a gallant gentleman in front of me.His lance struck me in the crest, and bore me overmy horse’s croup: but mine, senors, struckhim full in the vizor. We both went to the groundtogether, and the battle galloped over us.“I know not how long I lay, for I was stunned:but after awhile I lifted myself. My lance wasstill clenched in my hand, broken but not parted.The point of it was in my foeman’s brain.I crawled to him, weary and wounded, and saw thathe was a noble cavalier. He lay on his back, hisarms spread wide. I knew that he was dead:but there came over me the strangest longing to seethat dead man’s face. Perhaps I knew him.At least I could set my foot upon it, and say, ’Vanquishedas I am, there lies a foe!’ I caught hold ofthe rivets, and tore his helmet off. The moonshone bright, senors, as bright as she shines now—theglaring, ghastly, tell-tale moon, which shows manall the sins which he tries to hide; and by that moonlight,senors, I beheld the dead man’s face. Andit was the face of my brother!
* * * * *
“Did you ever guess, most noble cavaliers, whatCain’s curse might be like? Look on me,and know!
“I tore off my armor and fled, as Cain fled—northwardever, till I should reach a land where the name ofSpaniard, yea, and the name of Christian, which theSpaniard has caused to be blasphemed from east towest, should never come. I sank fainting, andwaked beneath this rock, this tree, forty-four yearsago, and I have never left them since, save once,to obtain seeds from Indians, who knew not that I wasa Spanish Conquistador. And may God have mercyon my soul!”
The old man ceased; and his young hearers, deeplyaffected by his tale, sat silent for a few minutes.Then John Brimblecombe spoke:
“You are old, sir, and I am young; and perhapsit is not my place to counsel you. Moreover,sir, in spite of this strange dress of mine, I amneither more nor less than an English priest; and Isuppose you will not be willing to listen to a heretic.”
“I have seen Catholics, senor, commit too manyabominations even with the name of God upon theirlips, to shrink from a heretic if he speak wiselyand well. At least, you are a man; and after all,my heart yearns more and more, the longer I sit amongyou, for the speech of beings of my own race.Say what you will, in God’s name!”
“I hold, sir,” said Jack, modestly, “accordingto holy Scripture, that whosoever repents from hisheart, as God knows you seem to have done, is forgiventhere and then; and though his sins be as scarlet,they shall be white as snow, for the sake of Him whodied for all.”
“Amen! Amen!” said the old man, lookinglovingly at his little crucifix. “I hopeand pray—His name is Love. I know itnow; who better? But, sir, even if He have forgivenme, how can I forgive myself? In honor, sir, Imust be just, and sternly just, to myself, even ifGod be indulgent; as He has been to me, who has leftme here in peace for forty years, instead of givingme a prey to the first puma or jaguar which howlsround me every night. He has given me time towork out my own salvation; but have I done it?That doubt maddens me at whiles. When I look uponthat crucifix, I float on boundless hope: butif I take my eyes from it for a moment, faith fails,and all is blank, and dark, and dreadful, till thedevil whispers me to plunge into yon stream, and onceand for ever wake to certainty, even though it bein hell.”
What was Jack to answer? He himself knew notat first. More was wanted than the mere repetitionof free pardon.
“Heretic as I am, sir, you will not believeme when I tell you, as a priest, that God acceptsyour penitence.”
“My heart tells me so already, at moments.But how know I that it does not lie?”
“Senor,” said Jack, “the best wayto punish oneself for doing ill, seems to me to goand do good; and the best way to find out whether Godmeans you well, is to find out whether He will helpyou to do well. If you have wronged Indians intime past, see whether you cannot right them now.If you can, you are safe. For the Lord will notsend the devil’s servants to do His work.”
The old man held down his head.
“Right the Indians? Alas! what is done,is done!”
“Not altogether, senor,” said Amyas, “aslong as an Indian remains alive in New Granada.”
“Senor, shall I confess my weakness? Avoice within me has bid me a hundred times go forthand labor, for those oppressed wretches, but I darenot obey. I dare not look them in the face.I should fancy that they knew my story; that the verybirds upon the trees would reveal my crime, and bidthem turn from me with horror.”
“Senor,” said Amyas, “these arebut the sick fancies of a noble spirit, feeding onitself in solitude. You have but to try to conquer.”
“And look now,” said Jack, “if youdare not go forth to help the Indians, see now howGod has brought the Indians to your own door.Oh, excellent sir—”
“Call me not excellent,” said the oldman, smiting his breast.
“I do, and shall, sir, while I see in you anexcellent repentance, an excellent humility, and anexcellent justice,” said Jack. “Butoh, sir, look upon these forty souls, whom we mustleave behind, like sheep which have no shepherd.Could you not teach them to fear God and to love eachother, to live like rational men, perhaps to die likeChristians? They would obey you as a dog obeyshis master. You might be their king, their father,yea, their pope, if you would.”
“You do not speak like a Lutheran.”
“I am not a Lutheran, but an Englishman:but, Protestant as I am, God knows, I had sooner seethese poor souls of your creed, than of none.”
“But I am no priest.”
“When they are ready,” said Jack, “theLord will send a priest. If you begin the goodwork, you may trust to Him to finish it.”
“God help me!” said the old warrior.
The talk lasted long into the night, but Amyas wasup long before daybreak, felling the trees; and ashe and Cary walked back to breakfast, the first thingwhich they saw was the old man in his garden withfour or five Indian children round him, talking smilinglyto them.
“The old man’s heart is sound still,”said Will. “No man is lost who still isfond of little children.”
“Ah, senors!” said the hermit as theycame up, “you see that I have begun alreadyto act upon your advice.”
“And you have begun at the right end,”quoth Amyas; “if you win the children, you winthe mothers.”
“And if you win the mothers,” quoth Will,“the poor fathers must needs obey their wives,and follow in the wake.”
The old man only sighed. “The prattle ofthese little ones softens my hard heart, senors, witha new pleasure; but it saddens me, when I recollectthat there may be children of mine now in the world—childrenwho have never known a father’s love—neverknown aught but a master’s threats—”
“God has taken care of these little ones.Trust that He has taken care of yours.”
That day Amyas assembled the Indians, and told themthat they must obey the hermit as their king, andsettle there as best they could: for if theybroke up and wandered away, nothing was left for thembut to fall one by one into the hands of the Spaniards.They heard him with their usual melancholy and stupidacquiescence, and went and came as they were bid,like animated machines; but the negroes were of a differenttemper; and four or five stout fellows gave Amyasto understand that they had been warriors in theirown country, and that warriors they would be still;and nothing should keep them from Spaniard-hunting.Amyas saw that the presence of these desperadoes inthe new colony would both endanger the authority ofthe hermit, and bring the Spaniards down upon it ina few weeks; so, making a virtue of necessity, he askedthem whether they would go Spaniard-hunting with him.
This was just what the bold Coromantees wished for;they grinned and shouted their delight at servingunder so great a warrior, and then set to work mostgallantly, getting through more in the day than anyten Indians, and indeed than any two Englishmen.
So went on several days, during which the trees werefelled, and the process of digging them out began;while Ayacanora, silent and moody, wandered into thewoods all day with her blow-gun, and brought homeat evening a load of parrots, monkeys, and curassows;two or three old hands were sent out to hunt likewise;so that, what with the game and the fish of the river,which seemed inexhaustible, and the fruit of the neighboringpalm-trees, there was no lack of food in the camp.But what to do with Ayacanora weighed heavily on themind of Amyas. He opened his heart on the matterto the old hermit, and asked him whether he wouldtake charge of her. The latter smiled, and shookhis head at the notion. “If your reportof her be true, I may as well take in hand to tamea jaguar.” However, he promised to try;and one evening, as they were all standing togetherbefore the mouth of the cave, Ayacanora came up smilingwith the fruit of her day’s sport; and Amyas,thinking this a fit opportunity, began a carefullyprepared harangue to her, which he intended to bealtogether soothing, and even pathetic,—tothe effect that the maiden, having no parents, wasto look upon this good old man as her father; thathe would instruct her in the white man’s religion(at which promise Yeo, as a good Protestant, winceda good deal), and teach her how to be happy and good,and so forth; and that, in fine, she was to remainthere with the hermit.
She heard him quietly, her great dark eyes openingwider and wider, her bosom swelling, her stature seemingto grow taller every moment, as she clenched her weaponsfirmly in both her hands. Beautiful as she alwayswas, she had never looked so beautiful before; andas Amyas spoke of parting with her, it was like throwingaway a lovely toy; but it must be done, for her sake,for his, perhaps for that of all the crew.
The last words had hardly passed his lips, when, witha shriek of mingled scorn, rage, and fear, she dashedthrough the astonished group.
“Stop her!” were Amyas’s first words;but his next were, “Let her go!” for,springing like a deer through the little garden andover the flower-fence, she turned, menacing with herblow-gun the sailors, who had already started in herpursuit.
“Let her alone, for Heaven’s sake!”shouted Amyas, who, he scarce knew why, shrank fromthe thought of seeing those graceful limbs strugglingin the seamen’s grasp.
She turned again, and in another minute her gaudyplumes had vanished among the dark forest stems, asswiftly as if she had been a passing bird.
All stood thunderstruck at this unexpected end tothe conference. At last Aymas spoke:
“There’s no use in standing here idle,gentlemen. Staring after her won’t bringher back. After all, I’m glad she’sgone.”
But the tone of his voice belied his words. Nowhe had lost her, he wanted her back; and perhaps everyone present, except he, guessed why.
But Ayacanora did not return; and ten days more wenton in continual toil at the canoes without any newsof her from the hunters. Amyas, by the by, hadstrictly bidden these last not to follow the girl,not even to speak to her, if they came across herin their wanderings. He was shrewd enough toguess that the only way to cure her sulkiness was tooutsulk her; but there was no sign of her presencein any direction; and the canoes being finished atlast, the gold, and such provisions as they couldcollect, were placed on board, and one evening theparty prepared for their fresh voyage. They determinedto travel as much as possible by night, for fear ofdiscovery, especially in the neighborhood of the fewSpanish settlements which were then scattered alongthe banks of the main stream. These, however,the negroes knew, so that there was no fear of comingon them unawares; and as for falling asleep in theirnight journeys, “Nobody,” the negroessaid, “ever slept on the Magdalena; the mosquitoestook too good care of that.” Which factAmyas and his crew verified afterwards as thoroughlyas wretched men could do.
The sun had sunk; the night had all but fallen; themen were all on board; Amyas in command of one canoe,Cary of the other. The Indians were grouped onthe bank, watching the party with their listless stare,and with them the young guide, who preferred remainingamong the Indians, and was made supremely happy bythe present of Spanish sword and an English axe; while,in the midst, the old hermit, with tears in his eyes,prayed God’s blessing on them.
“I owe to you, noble cavaliers, new peace, newlabor, I may say, new life. May God be with you,and teach you to use your gold and your swords betterthan I used mine.”
The adventurers waved their hands to him.
“Give way, men,” cried Amyas; and as hespoke the paddles dashed into the water, to a rightEnglish hurrah! which sent the birds fluttering fromtheir roosts, and was answered by the yell of a hundredmonkeys, and the distant roar of the jaguar.
About twenty yards below, a wooded rock, some tenfeet high, hung over the stream. The river wasnot there more than fifteen yards broad; deep nearthe rock, shallow on the farther side; and Amyas’scanoe led the way, within ten feet of the stone.
As he passed, a dark figure leapt from the busheson the edge, and plunged heavily into the water closeto the boat. All started. A jaguar?No; he would not have missed so short a spring.What, then? A human being?
A head rose panting to the surface, and with a fewstrong strokes the swimmer had clutched the gunwale.It was Ayacanora!
“Go back!” shouted Amyas. “Goback, girl!”
She uttered the same wild cry with which she had fledinto the forest.
“I will die, then!” and she threw up herarms. Another moment, and she had sunk.
To see her perish before his eyes! who could bearthat? Her hands alone were above the surface.Amyas caught convulsively at her in the darkness,and seized her wrist.
A yell rose from the negroes: a roar from thecrew as from a cage of lions. There was a rushand a swirl along the surface of the stream; and “Caiman!caiman!” shouted twenty voices.
Now, or never, for the strong arm! “Tolarboard, men, or over we go!” cried Amyas,and with one huge heave he lifted the slender bodyupon the gunwale. Her lower limbs were stillin the water, when, within arm’s length, roseabove the stream a huge muzzle. The lower jawlay flat, the upper reached as high as Amyas’shead. He could see the long fangs gleam whitein the moonshine; he could see for one moment fulldown the monstrous depths of that great gape, whichwould have crushed a buffalo. Three inches, andno more, from that soft side, the snout surged up—
There was the gleam of an axe from above, a sharpringing blow, and the jaws came together with a clashwhich rang from bank to bank. He had missed her!Swerving beneath the blow, his snout had passed beneathher body, and smashed up against the side of the canoe,as the striker, overbalanced, fell headlong overboardupon the monster’s back.
“Who is it?”
“Yeo!” shouted a dozen.
Man and beast went down together, and where they sank,the moonlight shone on a great swirling eddy, whileall held their breaths, and Ayacanora cowered downinto the bottom of the canoe, her proud spirit utterlybroken, for the first time, by the terror of that greatneed, and by a bitter loss. For in the struggle,the holy trumpet, companion of all her wanderings,had fallen from her bosom; and her fond hope of bringingmagic prosperity to her English friends had sunk withit to the bottom of the stream.
None heeded her; not even Amyas, round whose kneesshe clung, fawning like a spaniel dog: for wherewas Yeo?
Another swirl; a shout from the canoe abreast of them,and Yeo rose, having dived clean under his own boat,and risen between the two.
“Safe as yet, lads! Heave me a line, orhe’ll have me after all.”
But ere the brute reappeared, the old man was safeon board.
“The Lord has stood by me,” panted he,as he shot the water from his ears. “Wewent down together: I knew the Indian trick, andbeing uppermost, had my thumbs in his eyes beforehe could turn: but he carried me down to thevery mud. My breath was nigh gone, so I left go,and struck up: but my toes tingled as I rose again,I’ll warrant. There the beggar is, lookingfor me, I declare!”
And, true enough, there was the huge brute swimmingslowly round and round, in search of his lost victim.It was too dark to put an arrow into his eye; so theypaddled on, while Ayacanora crouched silently at Amyas’sfeet.
“Yeo!” asked he, in a low voice, “whatshall we do with her?”
“Why ask me, sir?” said the old man, ashe had a very good right to ask.
“Because, when one don’t know oneself,one had best inquire of one’s elders. Besides,you saved her life at the risk of your own, and havea right to a voice in the matter, if any one has,old friend.”
“Then, my dear young captain, if the Lord putsa precious soul under your care, don’t you refuseto bear the burden He lays on you.”
Amyas was silent awhile; while Ayacanora, who wasevidently utterly exhausted by the night’s adventure,and probably by long wanderings, watchings, and weepingswhich had gone before it, sank with her head againsthis knee, fell fast asleep, and breathed as gentlyas a child.
At last he rose in the canoe, and called Cary alongside.
“Listen to me, gentlemen, and sailors all.You know that we have a maiden on board here, by nochoice of our own. Whether she will be a blessingto us, God alone can tell: but she may turn tothe greatest curse which has befallen us ever sincewe came out over Bar three years ago. Promiseme one thing, or I put her ashore the next beach, andthat is, that you will treat her as if she were yourown sister; and make an agreement here and now, thatif the maid comes to harm among us, the man that isguilty shall hang for it by the neck till he’sdead, even though he be I, Captain Leigh, who speakto you. I’ll hang you, as I am a Christian;and I give you free leave to hang me.”
“A very fair bargain,” quoth Cary, “andI for one will see it kept to. Lads, we’lltwine a double strong halter for the captain as wego down along.”
“I am not jesting, Will.”
“I know it, good old lad,” said Cary,stretching out his own hand to him across the waterthrough the darkness, and giving him a hearty shake.“I know it; and listen, men! So help meGod! but I’ll be the first to back the Captainin being as good as his word, as I trust he never willneed to be.”
“Amen!” said Brimblecombe. “Amen!”said Yeo; and many an honest voice joined in thathonest compact, and kept it too, like men.
CHAPTER XXVI
HOW THEY TOOK THE GREAT GALLEON
“When captains courageous, whomdeath could not daunt,
Did march to the siege of the city of Gaunt,
They muster’d their soldiers by two andby three,
But the foremost in battle was Mary Ambree.
When brave Sir John Major was slain in her sight,
Who was her true lover, her joy and delight,
Because he was murther’d most treacherouslie,
Then vow’d to avenge him fair Mary Ambree.”
OldBallad, A. D. 1584.
One more glance at the golden tropic sea, and thegolden tropic evenings, by the shore of New Granada,in the golden Spanish Main.
The bay of Santa Marta is rippling before the land-breezeone sheet of living flame. The mighty forestsare sparkling with myriad fireflies. The lazymist which lounges round the inner hills shines goldenin the sunset rays; and, nineteen thousand feet aloft,the mighty peak of Horqueta cleaves the abyss of air,rose-red against the dark-blue vault of heaven.The rosy cone fades to a dull leaden hue; but only
for awhile. The stars flash out one by one, andVenus, like another moon, tinges the eastern snowswith gold, and sheds across the bay a long yellowline of rippling light. Everywhere is glory andrichness. What wonder if the earth in that enchantedland be as rich to her inmost depths as she is uponthe surface? The heaven, the hills, the sea, areone sparkling garland of jewels—what wonderif the soil be jewelled also? if every watercourseand bank of earth be spangled with emeralds and rubies,with grains of gold and feathered wreaths of nativesilver?So thought, in a poetic mood, the Bishop of Cartagena,as he sat in the state cabin of that great galleon,The City of the True Cross, and looked pensively outof the window towards the shore. The good manwas in a state of holy calm. His stout figurerested on one easy-chair, his stout ankles on another,beside a table spread with oranges and limes, guavasand pine-apples, and all the fruits of Ind.
An Indian girl, bedizened with scarfs and gold chains,kept off the flies with a fan of feathers; and byhim, in a pail of ice from the Horqueta (the giftof some pious Spanish lady, who had “spent”an Indian or two in bringing down the precious offering),stood more than one flask of virtuous wine of Alicant.But he was not so selfish, good man, as to enjoy eitherice or wine alone; Don Pedro, colonel of the soldierson board, Don Alverez, intendant of his Catholic majesty’scustoms at Santa Marta, and Don Paul, captain of marinersin The City of the True Cross, had, by his especialrequest, come to his assistance that evening, andwith two friars, who sat at the lower end of the table,were doing their best to prevent the good man fromtaking too bitterly to heart the present unsatisfactorystate of his cathedral town, which had just been sackedand burnt by an old friend of ours, Sir Francis Drake.
“We have been great sufferers, senors,—ah,great sufferers,” snuffled the bishop, quotingScripture, after the fashion of the day, glibly enough,but often much too irreverently for me to repeat, soboldly were his texts travestied, and so freely interlardedby grumblings at Tita and the mosquitoes. “Greatsufferers, truly; but there shall be a remnant,—ah,a remnant like the shaking of the olive tree and thegleaning grapes when the vintage is done.—Ah!Gold? Yes, I trust Our Lady’s mercies arenot shut up, nor her arms shortened.—Look,senors!”—and he pointed majesticallyout of the window. “It looks gold! it smellsof gold, as I may say, by a poetical license.Yea, the very waves, as they ripple past us, singof gold, gold, gold!”
“It is a great privilege,” said the intendant,“to have comfort so gracefully administeredat once by a churchman and a scholar.”
“A poet, too,” said Don Pedro. “Youhave no notion what sweet sonnets—”
“Hush, Don Pedro—hush! If I,a mateless bird, have spent an idle hour in teachinglovers how to sing, why, what of that? I am achurchman, senors; but I am a man and I can feel,senors; I can sympathize; I can palliate; I can excuse.Who knows better than I how much human nature lurksin us fallen sons of Adam? Tita!”
“Um?” said the trembling girl, with atrue Indian grunt.
“Fill his excellency the intendant’s glass.Does much more treasure come down, illustrious senor?May the poor of Mary hope for a few more crumbs fromtheir Mistress’s table?”
“Not a pezo, I fear. The big white cowup there”—and he pointed to the Horqueta—“hasbeen milked dry for this year.”
“Ah!” And he looked up at the magnificentsnow peak. “Only good to cool wine with,eh? and as safe for the time being as Solomon’sbirds.”
“Solomon’s birds? Explain your reconditeallusion, my lord.”
“Enlighten us, your excellency, enlighten us.”
“Ah! thereby hangs a tale. You know theholy birds who run up and down on the Prado at Sevilleamong the ladies’ pretty feet,—eh?with hooked noses and cinnamon crests? Of course.Hoopoes—Upupa, as the classics have it.Well, senors, once on a time, the story goes, thesehoopoes all had golden crowns on their heads; and,senors, they took the consequences—eh?But it befell on a day that all the birds and beastscame to do homage at the court of his most Catholicmajesty King Solomon, and among them came these samehoopoes; and they had a little request to make, thepoor rogues. And what do you think it was?Why, that King Solomon would pray for them that theymight wear any sort of crowns but these same goldenones; for—listen, Tita, and see the snareof riches—mankind so hunted, and shot, andtrapped, and snared them, for the sake of these samegolden crowns, that life was a burden to bear.So Solomon prayed, and instead of golden crowns, theyall received crowns of feathers; and ever since, senors,they live as merrily as crickets in an oven, and alsohave the honor of bearing the name of his most Catholicmajesty King Solomon. Tita! fill the senor commandant’sglass. Fray Gerundio, what are you whisperingabout down there, sir?”
Fray Gerundio had merely commented to his brotheron the bishop’s story of Solomon’s birdswith an—
“O si sic omnia!—would that all goldwould turn to feathers in like wise!”
“Then, friend,” replied the other, a Dominican,like Gerundio, but of a darker and sterner complexion,“corrupt human nature would within a week discoversome fresh bauble, for which to kill and be killedin vain.”
“What is that, Fray Gerundio?” asked thebishop again.
“I merely remarked, that it were well for theworld if all mankind were to put up the same prayeras the hoopoes.”
“World, sir? What do you know about theworld? Convert your Indians, sir, if you please,and leave affairs of state to your superiors.You will excuse him, senors” (turning to theDons, and speaking in a lower tone). “Avery worthy and pious man, but a poor peasant’sson; and beside—you understand. Alittle wrong here; too much fasting and watching,I fear, good man.” And the bishop touchedhis forehead knowingly, to signify that Fray Gerundio’swits were in an unsatisfactory state.
The Fray heard and saw with a quiet smile. Hewas one of those excellent men whom the crueltiesof his countrymen had stirred up (as the darkness,by mere contrast, makes the light more bright), asthey did Las Casas, Gasca, and many another noblename which is written in the book of life, to deedsof love and pious daring worthy of any creed or age.True Protestants, they protested, even before kings,against the evil which lay nearest them, the sin whichreally beset them; true liberals, they did not disdainto call the dark-skinned heathen their brothers; andasserted in terms which astonish us, when we recollectthe age in which they were spoken, the inherent freedomof every being who wore the flesh and blood whichtheir Lord wore; true martyrs, they bore witness ofChrist, and received too often the rewards of such,in slander and contempt. Such an one was FrayGerundio; a poor, mean, clumsy-tongued peasant’sson, who never could put three sentences together,save when he waxed eloquent, crucifix in hand, amidsome group of Indians or negroes. He was accustomedto such rebuffs as the bishop’s; he took themfor what they were worth, and sipped his wine in silence;while the talk went on.
“They say,” observed the commandant, “thata very small Plate-fleet will go to Spain this year.”
“What else?” says the intendant.“What have we to send, in the name of all saints,since these accursed English Lutherans have swept usout clean?”
“And if we had anything to send,” saysthe sea-captain, “what have we to send it in?That fiend incarnate, Drake—”
“Ah!” said his holiness; “sparemy ears! Don Pedro, you will oblige my weaknessby not mentioning that man;—his name isTartarean, unfit for polite lips. Draco—adragon—serpent—the emblem ofDiabolus himself—ah! And the guardianof the golden apples of the West, who would fain devourour new Hercules, his most Catholic majesty. DeceivedEve, too, with one of those same apples—avery evil name, senors—a Tartarean name,—Tita!”
“Um!”
“Fill my glass.”
“Nay,” cried the colonel, with a greatoath, “this English fellow is of another breedof serpent from that, I warrant.”
“Your reason, senor; your reason?”
“Because this one would have seen Eve at thebottom of the sea, before he let her, or any one buthimself, taste aught which looked like gold.”
“Ah, ah!—very good! But—welaugh, valiant senors, while the Church weeps.Alas for my sheep!”
“And alas for their sheepfold! It willbe four years before we can get Cartagena rebuiltagain. And as for the blockhouse, when we shallget that rebuilt, Heaven only knows, while his majestygoes on draining the Indies for his English Armada.The town is as naked now as an Indian’s back.”
“Baptista Antonio, the surveyor, has sent homeby me a relation to the king, setting forth our defencelessstate. But to read a relation and to act on itare two co*cks of very different hackles, bishop, asall statesmen know. Heaven grant we may haveorders by the next fleet to fortify, or we shall beat the mercy of every English pirate!”
“Ah, that blockhouse!” sighed the bishop.“That was indeed a villainous trick. Ahundred and ten thousand ducats for the ransom of thetown! After having burned and plundered the one-half—andhaving made me dine with them too, ah! and sit betweenthe—the serpent, and his lieutenant-general—anddrunk my health in my own private wine—winethat I had from Xeres nine years ago, senors and offered,the shameless heretics, to take me to England, ifI would turn Lutheran, and find me a wife, and makean honest man of me—ah! and then to demandfresh ransom for the priory and the fort—perfidious!”
“Well,” said the colonel, “theyhad the law of us, the cunning rascals, for we forgotto mention anything but the town, in the agreement.Who would have dreamed of such a fetch as that?”
“So I told my good friend the prior, when hecame to me to borrow the thousand crowns. Itwas Heaven’s will. Unexpected like the thunderbolt,and to be borne as such. Every man must bear hisown burden. How could I lend him aught?”
“Your holiness’s money had been all carriedoff by them before,” said the intendant, whoknew, and none better, the exact contrary.
“Just so—all my scanty savings! desolatein my lone old age. Ah, senors, had we not hadwarning of the coming of these wretches from my dearfriend the Marquess of Santa Cruz, whom I rememberdaily in my prayers, we had been like to them whogo down quick into the pit. I too might havesaved a trifle, had I been minded: but in thinkingtoo much of others, I forgot myself, alas!”
“Warning or none, we had no right to be beatenby such a handful,” said the sea-captain; “anda shame it is, and a shame it will be, for many aday to come.”
“Do you mean to cast any slur, sir, upon thecourage and conduct of his Catholic majesty’ssoldiers?” asked the colonel.
“I?—No; but we were foully beaten,and that behind our barricades too, and there’sthe plain truth.”
“Beaten, sir! Do you apply such a termto the fortunes of war? What more could our governorhave done? Had we not the ways filled with poisonedcaltrops, guarded by Indian archers, barred with buttsfull of earth, raked with culverins and arquebuses?What familiar spirit had we, sir, to tell us thatthese villains would come along the sea-beach, andnot by the high-road, like Christian men?”
“Ah!” said the bishop, “it was byintuition diabolic, I doubt not, that they took thatway. Satanas must need help those who serve him;and for my part, I can only attribute (I would thecaptain here had piety enough to do so) the misfortunewhich occurred to art-magic. I believe thesem*n to have been possessed by all fiends whatsoever.”
“Well, your holiness,” said the colonel,“there may have been devilry in it; how elsewould men have dared to run right into the mouths ofour cannon, fire their shot against our very noses,and tumble harmless over those huge butts of earth?”
“Doubtless by force of the fiends which ragedwith them,” interposed the bishop.
“And then, with their blasphemous cries, leapupon us with sword and pike? I myself saw thatLieutenant-General Carlisle hew down with one strokethat noble young gentleman the ensign-bearer, yourexcellency’s sister’s son’s nephew,though he was armed cap-a-pie. Was not art-magichere? And that most furious and blaspheming LutheranCaptain Young, I saw how he caught our general bythe head, after the illustrious Don Alonzo had givenhim a grievous wound, threw him to the earth, and sotook him. Was not art-magic here?”
“Well, I say,” said the captain, “ifyou are looking for art-magic, what say you to theirmarching through the flank fire of our galleys, witheleven pieces of ordnance, and two hundred shot playingon them, as if it had been a mosquito swarm?Some said my men fired too high: but that wasthe English rascals’ doing, for they got downon the tide beach. But, senor commandant, thoughSatan may have taught them that trick, was it he thattaught them to carry pikes a foot longer than yours?”
“Ah, well,” said the bishop, “sackedare we; and San Domingo, as I hear, in worse casethan we are; and St. Augustine in Florida likewise;and all that is left for a poor priest like me isto return to Spain, and see whether the pious clemencyof his majesty, and of the universal Father, may notbe willing to grant some small relief or bounty tothe poor of Mary—perhaps—(forwho knows?) to translate to a sphere of more peacefullabor one who is now old, senors, and weary with manytoils—Tita! fill our glasses. I havesaved somewhat—as you may have done, senors,from the general wreck; and for the flock, when I amno more, illustrious senors, Heaven’s merciesare infinite; new cities will rise from the ashesof the old, new mines pour forth their treasures intothe sanctified laps of the faithful, and new Indiansflock toward the life-giving standard of the Cross,to put on the easy yoke and light burden of the Church,and—”
“And where shall I be then? Ah, where?Fain would I rest, and fain depart. Tita! slingmy hammock. Senors, you will excuse age and infirmities.Fray Gerundio, go to bed!”
And the Dons rose to depart, while the bishop wenton maundering,—
“Farewell! Life is short. Ah! we shallmeet in heaven at last. And there are reallyno more pearls?”
“Not a frail; nor gold either,” said theintendant.
“Ah, well! Better a dinner of herbs wherelove is, than—Tita!”
“My breviary—ah! Man’sgratitude is short-lived, I had hoped—Youhave seen nothing of the Senora Bovadilla?”
“No.”
“Ah! she promised:—but no matter—alittle trifle as a keepsake—a gold cross,or an emerald ring, or what not—I forget.And what have I to do with worldly wealth!—Ah!Tita! bring me the casket.”
And when his guests were gone, the old man began mumblingprayers out of his breviary, and fingering over jewelsand gold, with the dull greedy eyes of covetous oldage.
“Ah!—it may buy the red hat yet!—OmniaRomae venalia! Put it by, Tita, and do not lookat it too much, child. Enter not into temptation.The love of money is the root of all evil; and Heaven,in love for the Indian, has made him poor in thisworld, that he may be rich in faith. Ah!—Ugh!—So!”
And the old miser clambered into his hammock.Tita drew the mosquito net over him, wrapt anotherround her own head, and slept, or seemed to sleep;for she coiled herself up upon the floor, and masterand slave soon snored a merry bass to the treble ofthe mosquitoes.
It was long past midnight, and the moon was down.The sentinels, who had tramped and challenged overheadtill they thought their officers were sound asleep,had slipped out of the unwholesome rays of the planetto seek that health and peace which they consideredtheir right, and slept as soundly as the bishop’sself.
Two long lines glided out from behind the isolatedrocks of the Morro Grande, which bounded the bay somefive hundred yards astern of the galleon. Theywere almost invisible on the glittering surface ofthe water, being perfectly white; and, had a sentinelbeen looking out, he could only have descried themby the phosphorescent flashes along their sides.
Now the bishop had awoke, and turned himself overuneasily; for the wine was dying out within him, andhis shoulders had slipped down, and his heels up,and his head ached! so he sat upright in his hammock,looked out upon the bay, and called Tita.
“Put another pillow under my head, child!What is that? a fish?”
Tita looked. She did not think it was a fish:but she did not choose to say so; for it might haveproduced an argument, and she had her reasons fornot keeping his holiness awake.
The bishop looked again; settled that it must be awhite whale, or shark, or other monster of the deep;crossed himself, prayed for a safe voyage, and snoredonce more.
Presently the cabin-door opened gently, and the headof the senor intendant appeared.
Tita sat up; and then began crawling like a snakealong the floor, among the chairs and tables, by thelight of the cabin lamp.
“Is he asleep?”
“Yes: but the casket is under his head.”
“Curse him! How shall we take it?”
“I brought him a fresh pillow half-an-hour ago;I hung his hammock wrong on purpose that he mightwant one. I thought to slip the box away as Idid it; but the old ox nursed it in both hands allthe while.”
“What shall we do, in the name of all the fiends?She sails to-morrow morning, and then all is lost.”
Tita showed her white teeth, and touched the daggerwhich hung by the intendant’s side.
“I dare not!” said the rascal, with ashudder.
“I dare!” said she. “He whiptmy mother, because she would not give me up to himto be taught in his schools, when she went to the mines.And she went to the mines, and died there in threemonths. I saw her go, with a chain round herneck; but she never came back again. Yes; I darekill him! I will kill him! I will!”
The senor felt his mind much relieved. He hadno wish, of course, to commit the murder himself;for he was a good Catholic, and feared the devil.But Tita was an Indian, and her being lost did notmatter so much. Indians’ souls were cheap,like their bodies. So he answered, “Butwe shall be discovered!”
“I will leap out of the window with the casket,and swim ashore. They will never suspect you,and they will fancy I am drowned.”
“The sharks may seize you, Tita. You hadbetter give me the casket.”
Tita smiled. “You would not like to losethat, eh? though you care little about losing me.And yet you told me that you loved me!”
“And I do love you, Tita! light of my eyes!life of my heart! I swear, by all the saints,I love you. I will marry you, I swear I will—Iwill swear on the crucifix, if you like!”
“Swear, then, or I do not give you the casket,”said she, holding out the little crucifix round herneck, and devouring him with the wild eyes of passionateunreasoning tropic love.
He swore, trembling, and deadly pale.
“Give me your dagger.”
“No, not mine. It may be found. Ishall be suspected. What if my sheath were seento be empty?”
“Your knife will do. His throat is softenough.”
And she glided stealthily as a cat toward the hammock,while her cowardly companion stood shivering at theother end of the cabin, and turned his back to her,that he might not see the deed.
He stood waiting, one minute—two—five?Was it an hour, rather? A cold sweat bathed hislimbs; the blood beat so fiercely within his temples,that his head rang again. Was that a death-belltolling? No; it was the pulses of his brain.Impossible, surely, a death-bell. Whence couldit come?
There was a struggle—ah! she was aboutit now; a stifled cry—Ah! he had dreadedthat most of all, to hear the old man cry. Wouldthere be much blood? He hoped not. Anotherstruggle, and Tita’s voice, apparently muffled,called for help.
“I cannot help you. Mother of Mercies!I dare not help you!” hissed he. “She-devil!you have begun it, and you must finish it yourself!”
A heavy arm from behind clasped his throat. Thebishop had broken loose from her and seized him!Or was it his ghost? or a fiend come to drag him downto the pit? And forgetting all but mere wild terror,he opened his lips for a scream, which would havewakened every soul on board. But a handkerchiefwas thrust into his mouth and in another minute hefound himself bound hand and foot, and laid upon thetable by a gigantic enemy. The cabin was fullof armed men, two of whom were lashing up the bishopin his hammock; two more had seized Tita; and morewere clambering up into the stern-gallery beyond,wild figures, with bright blades and armor gleamingin the starlight.
“Now, Will,” whispered the giant who hadseized him, “forward and clap the fore-hatcheson; and shout Fire! with all your might. Girl!murderess! your life is in my hands. Tell me wherethe commander sleeps, and I pardon you.”
Tita looked up at the huge speaker, and obeyed insilence. The intendant heard him enter the colonel’scabin, and then a short scuffle, and silence for amoment.
But only for a moment; for already the alarm had beengiven, and mad confusion reigned through every deck.Amyas (for it was none other) had already gained thepoop; the sentinels were gagged and bound; and everyhalf-naked wretch who came trembling up on deck inhis shirt by the main hatchway, calling one, “Fire!”another, “Wreck!” and another, “Treason!”was hurled into the scuppers, and there secured.
“Lower away that boat!” shouted Amyasin Spanish to his first batch of prisoners.
The men, unarmed and naked, could but obey.
“Now then, jump in. Here, hand them tothe gangway as they come up.”
It was done; and as each appeared he was kicked tothe scuppers, and bundled down over the side.
“She’s full. Cast loose now and offwith you. If you try to board again we’llsink you.”
“Fire! fire!” shouted Cary, forward.“Up the main hatchway for your lives!”
The ruse succeeded utterly; and before half-an-hourwas over, all the ship’s boats which could belowered were filled with Spaniards in their shirts,getting ashore as best they could.
“Here is a new sort of camisado,” quothCary. “The last Spanish one I saw was atthe sortie from Smerwick: but this is somewhatmore prosperous than that.”
“Get the main and foresail up, Will!”said Amyas, “cut the cable; and we will plumethe quarry as we fly.”
“Spoken like a good falconer. Heaven grantthat this big woodco*ck may carry a good trail inside!”
“I’ll warrant her for that,” saidJack Brimblecombe. “She floats so low.”
“Much of your build, too, Jack. By theby, where is the commander?”
Alas! Don Pedro, forgotten in the bustle, hadbeen lying on the deck in his shirt, helplessly bound,exhausting that part of his vocabulary which relatedto the unseen world. Which most discourteous actseemed at first likely to be somewhat heavily avengedon Amyas; for as he spoke, a couple of caliver-shots,fired from under the poop, passed “ping”“ping” by his ears, and Cary clapped hishand to his side.
“Hurt, Will?”
“A pinch, old lad—Look out, or weare ‘allen verloren’ after all, as theFlemings say.”
And as he spoke, a rush forward on the poop drovetwo of their best men down the ladder into the waist,where Amyas stood.
“Killed?” asked he, as he picked one up,who had fallen head over heels.
“Sound as a bell, sir: but they Gentileshas got hold of the firearms, and set the captainfree.”
And rubbing the back of his head for a minute, hejumped up the ladder again, shouting—
“Have at ye, idolatrous pagans! Have atye, Satan’s spawn!”
Amyas jumped up after him, shouting to all hands tofollow; for there was no time to be lost.
Out of the windows of the poop, which looked on themain-deck, a galling fire had been opened, and hecould not afford to lose men; for, as far as he knew,the Spaniards left on board might still far outnumberthe English; so up he sprang on the poop, followedby a dozen men, and there began a very heavy fightbetween two parties of valiant warriors, who easilyknew each other apart by the peculiar fashion of theirarmor. For the Spaniards fought in their shirts,and in no other garments: but the English inall other manner of garments, tag, rag, and bobtail;and yet had never a shirt between them.
The rest of the English made a rush, of course, toget upon the poop, seeing that the Spaniards couldnot shoot them through the deck; but the fire fromthe windows was so hot, that although they dodged behindmasts, spars, and every possible shelter, one or twodropped; and Jack Brimblecombe and Yeo took on themselvesto call a retreat, and with about a dozen men, gotback, and held a council of war.
What was to be done? Their arquebuses were oflittle use; for the Spaniards were behind a strongbulkhead. There were cannon: but where waspowder or shot? The boats, encouraged by the clamoron deck, were paddling alongside again. Yeo rushedround and round, probing every gun with his sword.
“Here’s a patararo loaded! Now fora match, lads.”
Luckily one of the English had kept his match alightduring the scuffle.
“Thanks be! Help me to unship the gun—themast’s in the way here.”
The patararo, or brass swivel, was unshipped.
“Steady, lads, and keep it level, or you’llshake out the priming. Ship it here; turn outthat one, and heave it into that boat, if they comealongside. Steady now—so! Rummageabout, and find me a bolt or two, a marlin-spike,anything. Quick, or the captain will be over-masteredyet.”
Missiles were found—odds and ends—andcrammed into the swivel up to the muzzle: and,in another minute, its “cargo of notions”was crashing into the poop-windows, silencing thefire from thence effectually enough for the time.
“Now, then, a rush forward, and right in alongthe deck!” shouted Yeo; and the whole partycharged through the cabin-doors, which their shothad burst open, and hewed their way from room to room.
In the meanwhile, the Spaniards above had fought fiercely:but, in spite of superior numbers, they had graduallygiven back before the “demoniacal possessionof those blasphemous heretics, who fought, not likemen, but like furies from the pit.” Andby the time that Brimblecombe and Yeo shouted fromthe stern-gallery below that the quarter-deck waswon, few on either side but had their shrewd scratchto show.
“Yield, senor!” shouted Amyas to the commander,who had been fighting like a lion, back to back withthe captain of mariners.
“Never! You have bound me, and insultedme! Your blood or mine must wipe out the stain!”
And he rushed on Amyas. There was a few moments’heavy fence between them; and then Amyas cut rightat his head. But as he raised his arm, the Spaniard’sblade slipped along his ribs, and snapped against thepoint of his shoulder-blade. An inch more to theleft, and it would have been through his heart.The blow fell, nevertheless, and the commandant fellwith it, stunned by the flat of the sword, but notwounded; for Amyas’s hand had turned, as hewinced from his wound. But the sea-captain, seeingAmyas stagger, sprang at him, and, seizing him bythe wrist, ere he could raise his sword again, shortenedhis weapon to run him through. Amyas made a graspat his wrist in return, but, between his faintnessand the darkness, missed it.—Another moment,and all would have been over!
A bright blade flashed close past Amyas’s ear;the sea-captain’s grasp loosened, and he droppeda corpse; while over him, like an angry lioness aboveher prey, stood Ayacanora, her long hair floating inthe wind, her dagger raised aloft, as she looked round,challenging all and every one to approach.
“Are you hurt?” panted she.
“A scratch, child.—What do you dohere? Go back, go back.”
Ayacanora slipped back like a scolded child, and vanishedin the darkness.
The battle was over. The Spaniards, seeing theircommanders fall, laid down their arms, and cried forquarter. It was given; the poor fellows weretied together, two and two, and seated in a row onthe deck; the commandant, sorely bruised, yieldedhimself perforce; and the galleon was taken.
Amyas hurried forward to get the sails set. Ashe went down the poop-ladder, there was some one sittingon the lowest step.
“Who is here—wounded?”
“I am not wounded,” said a woman’svoice, low, and stifled with sobs.
It was Ayacanora. She rose, and let him pass.He saw that her face was bright with tears; but hehurried on, nevertheless.
“Perhaps I did speak a little hastily to her,considering she saved my life; but what a brimstoneit is! Mary Ambree in a dark skin! Now then,lads! Get the Santa Fe gold up out of the canoes,and then we will put her head to the north-east, andaway for Old England. Mr. Brimblecombe! don’tsay that Eastward-ho don’t bring luck this time.”
It was impossible, till morning dawned, either toget matters into any order, or to overhaul the prizethey had taken; and many of the men were so much exhaustedthat they fell fast asleep on the deck ere the surgeonhad time to dress their wounds. However, Amyascontrived, when once the ship was leaping merrily,close-hauled against a fresh land-breeze, to counthis little flock, and found out of the forty-four butsix seriously wounded, and none killed. However,their working numbers were now reduced to thirty-eight,beside the four negroes, a scanty crew enough to takehome such a ship to England.
After awhile, up came Jack Brimblecombe on deck, abottle in his hand.
“Lads, a prize!”
“Well, we know that already.”
“Nay, but—look hither, and laid inice, too, as I live, the luxurious dogs! ButI had to fight for it, I had. For when I wentdown into the state cabin, after I had seen to thewounded; whom should I find loose but that Indianlass, who had just unbound the fellow you caught—”
“Ah! those two, I believe, were going to murderthe old man in the hammock, if we had not come inthe nick of time. What have you done with them?”
“Why, the Spaniard ran when he saw me, and gotinto a cabin; but the woman, instead of running, cameat me with a knife, and chased me round the tablelike a very cat-a-mountain. So I ducked underthe old man’s hammock, and out into the gallery;and when I thought the coast was clear, back againI came, and stumbled over this. So I just pickedit up, and ran on deck with my tail between my legs,for I expected verily to have the black woman’sknife between my ribs out of some dark corner.”
“Well done, Jack! Let’s have thewine, nevertheless, and then down to set a guard onthe cabin doors for fear of plundering.”
“Better go down, and see that nothing is thrownoverboard by Spaniards. As for plundering, Iwill settle that.”
And Amyas walked forward among the men.
“Muster the men, boatswain, and count them.”
“All here, sir, but the six poor fellows whoare laid forward.”
“Now, my men,” said Amyas, “forthree years you and I have wandered on the face ofthe earth, seeking our fortune, and we have found itat last, thanks be to God! Now, what was ourpromise and vow which we made to God beneath the treeof Guayra, if He should grant us good fortune, andbring us home again with a prize? Was it not,that the dead should share with the living; and thatevery man’s portion, if he fell, should go tohis widow or his orphans, or if he had none, to hisparents?”
“It was, sir,” said Yeo, “and Itrust that the Lord will give these men grace to keeptheir vow. They have seen enough of His providencesby this time to fear Him.”
“I doubt them not; but I remind them of it.The Lord has put into our hands a rich prize; andwhat with the gold which we have already, we are wellpaid for all our labors. Let us thank Him withfervent hearts as soon as the sun rises; and in themeanwhile, remember all, that whosoever plunders onhis private account, robs not the adventurers merely,but the orphan and the widow, which is to rob God;and makes himself partaker of Achan’s curse,who hid the wedge of gold, and brought down God’sanger on the whole army of Israel. For me, lestyou should think me covetous, I could claim my brother’sshare; but I hereby give it up freely into the commonstock, for the use of the whole ship’s crew,who have stood by me through weal and woe, as men neverstood before, as I believe, by any captain. So,now to prayers, lads, and then to eat our breakfast.”
So, to the Spaniards’ surprise (who most ofthem believed that the English were atheists), toprayers they went.
After which Brimblecombe contrived to inspire theblack cook and the Portuguese steward with such energythat, by seven o’clock, the latter worthy appearedon deck, and, with profound reverences, announced to“The most excellent and heroical Senor AdelantadoCaptain Englishman,” that breakfast was readyin the state-cabin.
“You will do us the honor of accompanying usas our guest, sir, or our host, if you prefer thetitle,” said Amyas to the commandant, who stoodby.
“Pardon, senor: but honor forbids me toeat with one who has offered to me the indelible insultof bonds.”
“Oh!” said Amyas, taking off his hat,“then pray accept on the spot my humble apologiesfor all which has passed, and my assurances that theindignities which you have unfortunately endured, wereowing altogether to the necessities of war, and notto any wish to hurt the feelings of so valiant a soldierand gentleman.”
“It is enough, senor,” said the commandant,bowing and shrugging his shoulders—for,indeed, he too was very hungry; while Cary whisperedto Amyas—
“You will make a courtier, yet, old lad.”
“I am not in jesting humor, Will: my mindsadly misgives me that we shall hear black news, andhave, perhaps, to do a black deed yet, on board here.Senor, I follow you.”
So they went down, and found the bishop, who was bythis time unbound, seated in a corner of the cabin,his hands fallen on his knees, his eyes staring onvacancy, while the two priests stood as close againstthe wall as they could squeeze themselves, keepingup a ceaseless mutter of prayers.
“Your holiness will breakfast with us, of course;and these two frocked gentlemen likewise. I seeno reason for refusing them all hospitality, as yet.”
There was a marked emphasis on the last two words,which made both monks wince.
“Our chaplain will attend to you, gentlemen.His lordship the bishop will do me the honor of sittingnext to me.”
The bishop seemed to revive slowly as he snuffed thesavory steam; and at last, rising mechanically, subsidedinto the chair which Amyas offered him on his left,while the commandant sat on his right.
“A little of this kid, my lord? No—ah—Friday,I recollect. Some of that turtle-fin, then.Will, serve his lordship; pass the cassava-bread up,Jack! Senor commandant! a glass of wine?You need it after your valiant toils. To thehealth of all brave soldiers—and a toastfrom your own Spanish proverb, ‘To-day to me,tomorrow to thee!’”
“I drink it, brave senor. Your courtesyshows you the worthy countryman of General Drake,and his brave lieutenant.”
“Drake! Did you know him, senor?”asked all the Englishmen at once.
“Too well, too well—” and hewould have continued; but the bishop burst out—
“Ah, senor commandant! that name again!Have you no mercy? To sit between another pairof—, and my own wine, too! Ugh, ugh!”
The old gentleman, whose mouth had been full of turtlethe whole time, burst into a violent fit of coughing,and was only saved from apoplexy by Cary’s pattinghim on the back.
“Ugh, ugh! The tender mercies of the wickedare cruel, and their precious balms. Ah, senorlieutenant Englishman! May I ask you to passthose limes?—Ah! what is turtle withoutlime?—Even as a fat old man without money!Nudus intravi, nudus exeo—ah!”
“But what of Drake?”
“Do you not know, sir, that he and his fleet,only last year, swept the whole of this coast, andtook, with shame I confess it, Cartagena, San Domingo,St. Augustine, and—I see you are too courteous,senors, to express before me what you have a rightto feel. But whence come you, sir? Fromthe skies, or the depth of the sea?”
“Art-magic, art-magic!” moaned the bishop.
“Your holiness! It is scarcely prudentto speak thus here,” said the commandant, whowas nevertheless much of the same opinion.
“Why, you said so yourself, last night, senor,about the taking of Cartagena.”
The commandant blushed, and stammered out somewhat—“Thatit was excusable in him, if he had said, in jest,that so prodigious and curious a valor had not sprungfrom mortal source.”
“No more it did, senor,” said Jack Brimblecombe,stoutly: “but from Him who taught our ‘handsto war, and our fingers to fight.’”
The commandant bowed stiffly. “You willexcuse me, sir preacher: but I am a Catholic,and hold the cause of my king to be alone the causeof Heaven. But, senor captain, how came you thither,if I may ask? That you needed no art-magic afteryou came on board, I, alas! can testify but too well:but what spirit—whether good or evil, Iask not—brought you on board, and whence?Where is your ship? I thought that all Drake’ssquadron had left six months ago.”
“Our ship, senor, has lain this three yearsrotting on the coast near Cape Codera.”
“Ah! we heard of that bold adventure—butwe thought you all lost in the interior.”
“You did? Can you tell me, then, wherethe senor governor of La Guayra may be now?”
“The Senor Don Guzman de Soto,” said thecommandant, in a somewhat constrained tone, “issaid to be at present in Spain, having thrown up hisoffice in consequence of domestic matters, of whichI have not the honor of knowing anything.”
Amyas longed to ask more: but he knew that thewell-bred Spaniard would tell him nothing which concernedanother man’s wife; and went on.
“What befell us after, I tell you frankly.”
And Amyas told his story, from the landing at Guayrato the passage down the Magdalena. The commandantlifted up his hands.
“Were it not forbidden to me, as a Catholic,most invincible senor, I should say that the Divineprotection has indeed—”
“Ah,” said one of the friars, “thatyou could be brought, senors, to render thanks foryour miraculous preservation to her to whom alone itis due, Mary, the fount of mercies!”
“We have done well enough without her as yet,”said Amyas, bluntly.
“The Lord raised up Nebuchadnezzar of old topunish the sins of the Jewish Church; and He has raisedup these men to punish ours!” said Fray Gerundio.
“But Nebuchadnezzar fell, and so may they,”growled the other to himself. Jack overheardhim.
“I say, my lord bishop,” called he fromthe other end of the table. “It is ourEnglish custom to let our guests be as rude as theylike; but perhaps your lordship will hint to thesetwo friars, that if they wish to keep whole skins,they will keep civil tongues.”
“Be silent, asses! mules!” shouted thebishop, whose spirits were improving over the wine,“who are you, that you cannot eat dirt as wellas your betters?”
“Well spoken, my lord. Here’s thehealth of our saintly and venerable guest,”said Cary: while the commandant whispered to Amyas,“Fat old tyrant! I hope you have foundhis money—for I am sure he has some onboard, and I should be loath that you lost the advantageof it.”
“I shall have to say a few words to you aboutthat money this morning, commandant: by the by,they had better be said now. My lord bishop, doyou know that had we not taken this ship when we did,you had lost not merely money, as you have now, butlife itself?”
“Money? I had none to lose! Life?—whatdo you mean?” asked the bishop, turning verypale.
“This, sir. That it ill befits one to lie,whose throat has been saved from the assassin’sknife but four hours since. When we entered thestern-gallery, we found two persons, now on board thisship, in the very act, sir, and article, of cuttingyour sinful throat, that they might rob you of thecasket which lay beneath your pillow. A momentmore, and you were dead. We seized and boundthem, and so saved your life. Is that plain,sir?”
The bishop looked steadfastly and stupidly into Amyas’sface, heaved a deep sigh, and gradually sank backin his chair, dropping the glass from his hand.
“He is in a fit! Call in the surgeon!Run!” and up jumped kind-hearted Jack, and broughtin the surgeon of the galleon.
“Is this possible, senor?” asked the commandant.
“It is true. Door, there! Evans! goand bring in that rascal whom we left bound in hiscabin!”
Evans went, and the commandant continued—
“But the stern-gallery? How, in the nameof all witches and miracles, came your valor thither?”
“Simply enough, and owing neither to witch normiracle. The night before last we passed themouth of the bay in our two canoes, which we had lashedtogether after the fashion I had seen in the Moluccas,to keep them afloat in the surf. We had scrapedthe canoes bright the day before, and rubbed themwith white clay, that they might be invisible at night;and so we got safely to the Morro Grande, passing withinhalf a mile of your ship.”
“Oh! my scoundrels of sentinels!”
“We landed at the back of the Morro, and laythere all day, being purposed to do that which, withyour pardon, we have done. We took our sailsof Indian cloth, whitened them likewise with clay whichwe had brought with us from the river (expecting tofind a Spanish ship as we went along the coast, anddetermined to attempt her, or die with honor), andlaid them over us on the canoes, paddling from underneaththem. So that, had your sentinels been awake,they would have hardly made us out, till we were closeon board. We had provided ourselves, insteadof ladders, with bamboos rigged with cross-pieces,and a hook of strong wood at the top of each; theyhang at your stern-gallery now. And the restof the tale I need not tell you.”
The commandant rose in his courtly Spanish way,—
“Your admirable story, senor, proves to me howtruly your nation, while it has yet, and I trust willever have, to dispute the palm of valor with our own,is famed throughout the world for ingenuity, and fordaring beyond that of mortal man. You have succeeded,valiant captain, because you have deserved to succeed;and it is no shame to me to succumb to enemies whohave united the cunning of the serpent with the valorof the lion. Senor, I feel as proud of becomingyour guest as I should have been proud, under a happierstar, of becoming your host.”
“You are, like your nation, only too generous,senor. But what noise is that outside? Cary,go and see.”
But ere Cary could reach the door, it was opened;and Evans presented himself with a terrified face.
“Here’s villainy, sir! The Don’smurdered, and cold; the Indian lass fled; and as wesearched the ship for her, we found an Englishwoman,as I’m a sinful man!—and a shockingsight she is to see!”
“An Englishwoman?” cried all three, springingforward.
“Bring her in!” said Amyas, turning verypale; and as he spoke, Yeo and another led into thecabin a figure scarcely human.
An elderly woman, dressed in the yellow “SanBenito” of the Inquisition, with ragged graylocks hanging about a countenance distorted by sufferingand shrunk by famine. Painfully, as one unaccustomedto the light, she peered and blinked round her.Her fallen lip gave her a half-idiotic expression;and yet there was an uneasy twinkle in the eye, asof boundless terror and suspicion. She liftedup her fettered wrist to shade her face; and as shedid so, disclosed a line of fearful scars upon herskinny arm.
“Look there, sirs!” said Yeo, pointingto them with a stern smile. “Here’ssome of these Popish gentry’s handiwork.I know well enough how those marks came;” andhe pointed to the similar scars on his own wrist.
The commandant, as well as the Englishmen, recoiledwith horror.
“Holy Virgin! what wretch is this on board myship? Bishop, is this the prisoner whom you senton board?”
The bishop, who had been slowly recovering his senses,looked at her a moment; and then thrusting his chairback, crossed himself, and almost screamed, “Malefica!Malefica! Who brought her here? Turn heraway, gentlemen; turn her eye away; she will bewitch,fascinate”—and he began mutteringprayers.
Amyas seized him by the shoulder, and shook him onto his legs.
“Swine! who is this? Wake up, coward, andtell me, or I will cut you piecemeal!”
But ere the bishop could answer, the woman uttereda wild shriek, and pointing to the taller of the twomonks, cowered behind Yeo.
“He here?” cried she, in broken Spanish.“Take me away! I will tell you no more.I have told you all, and lies enough beside. Oh!why is he come again? Did they not say that Ishould have no more torments?”
The monk turned pale: but like a wild beast atbay, glared firmly round on the whole company; andthen, fixing his dark eyes full on the woman, he badeher be silent so sternly, that she shrank down likea beaten hound.
“Silence, dog!” said Will Cary, whoseblood was up, and followed his words with a blow onthe monk’s mouth, which silenced him effectually.
“Don’t be afraid, good woman, but speakEnglish. We are all English here, and Protestantstoo. Tell us what they have done for you.”
“Another trap! another trap!” cried she,in a strong Devonshire accent. “You beno English! You want to make me lie again, andthen torment me. Oh! wretched, wretched thatI am!” cried she, bursting into tears. “Whomshould I trust? Not myself: no, nor God;for I have denied Him! O Lord! O Lord!”
Amyas stood silent with fear and horror; some instincttold him that he was on the point of hearing newsfor which he feared to ask. But Jack spoke—
“My dear soul! my dear soul! don’t yoube afraid; and the Lord will stand by you, if youwill but tell the truth. We are all Englishmen,and men of Devon, as you seem to be by your speech;and this ship is ours; and the pope himself sha’n’ttouch you.”
“Devon?” she said doubtingly; “Devon!Whence, then?”
“Bideford men. This is Mr. Will Cary, toClovelly. If you are a Devon woman, you’veheard tell of the Carys, to be sure.”
The woman made a rush forward, and threw her fetteredarms round Will’s neck,—
“Oh, Mr. Cary, my dear life! Mr. Cary!and so you be! Oh, dear soul alive! but you’reburnt so brown, and I be ’most blind with misery.Oh, who ever sent you here, my dear Mr. Will, then,to save a poor wretch from the pit?”
“Who on earth are you?”
“Lucy Passmore, the white witch to Welcombe.Don’t you mind Lucy Passmore, as charmed yourwarts for you when you was a boy?”
“Lucy Passmore!” almost shrieked all threefriends. “She that went off with—”
“Yes! she that sold her own soul, and persuadedthat dear saint to sell hers; she that did the devil’swork, and has taken the devil’s wages;—afterthis fashion!” and she held up her scarred wristswildly.
“Where is Dona de—Rose Salterne?”shouted Will and Jack.
“Where is my brother Frank?” shouted Amyas.
“Dead, dead, dead!”
“I knew it,” said Amyas, sitting downagain calmly.
“How did she die?”
“The Inquisition—he!” pointingto the monk. “Ask him—he betrayedher to her death. And ask him!” pointingto the bishop; “he sat by her and saw her die.”
“Woman, you rave!” said the bishop, gettingup with a terrified air, and moving as far as possiblefrom Amyas.
“How did my brother die, Lucy?” askedAmyas, still calmly.
“Who be you, sir?”
A gleam of hope flashed across Amyas—shehad not answered his question.
“I am Amyas Leigh of Burrough. Do you knowaught of my brother Frank, who was lost at La Guayra?”
“Mr. Amyas! Heaven forgive me that I didnot know the bigness of you. Your brother, sir,died like a gentleman as he was.”
“But how?” gasped Amyas.
“Burned with her, sir!”
“Is this true, sir?” said Amyas, turningto the bishop, with a very quiet voice.
“I, sir?” stammered he, in panting haste.“I had nothing to do—I was compelledin my office of bishop to be an unwilling spectator—thesecular arm, sir; I could not interfere with that—anymore than I can with the Holy Office. I do notbelong to it—ask that gentleman—sir!Saints and angels, sir! what are you going to do?”shrieked he, as Amyas laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder,and began to lead him towards the door.
“Hang you!” said Amyas. “IfI had been a Spaniard and a priest like yourself,I should have burnt you alive.”
“Hang me?” shrieked the wretched old Balaam;and burst into abject howls for mercy.
“Take the dark monk, Yeo, and hang him too.Lucy Passmore, do you know that fellow also?”
“No, sir,” said Lucy.
“Lucky for you, Fray Gerundio,” said WillCary; while the good friar hid his face in his hands,and burst into tears. Lucky it was for him, indeed;for he had been a pitying spectator of the tragedy.“Ah!” thought he, “if life in thismad and sinful world be a reward, perhaps this escapeis vouchsafed to me for having pleaded the cause ofthe poor Indian!”
But the bishop shrieked on.
“Oh! not yet. An hour, only an hour!I am not fit to die.”
“That is no concern of mine,” said Amyas.“I only know that you are not fit to live.”
“Let us at least make our peace with God,”said the dark monk.
“Hound! if your saints can really smuggle youup the back-stairs to heaven, they will do it withoutfive minutes’ more coaxing and flattering.”
Fray Gerundio and the condemned man alike stoppedtheir ears at the blasphemy.
“Oh, Fray Gerundio!” screamed the bishop,“pray for me. I have treated you like abeast. Oh, Fray, Fray!”
“Oh, my lord! my lord!” said the goodman, as with tears streaming down his face he followedhis shrieking and struggling diocesan up the stairs,“who am I? Ask no pardon of me. Askpardon of God for all your sins against the poor innocentsavages, when you saw your harmless sheep butcheredyear after year, and yet never lifted up your voiceto save the flock which God had committed to you.Oh, confess that, my lord! confess it ere it be toolate!”
“I will confess all about the Indians, and thegold, and Tita too, Fray; peccavi, peccavi—onlyfive minutes, senors, five little minutes’ grace,while I confess to the good Fray!”—andhe grovelled on the deck.
“I will have no such mummery where I command,”said Amyas, sternly. “I will be no accomplicein cheating Satan of his due.”
“If you will confess,” said Brimblecombe,whose heart was melting fast, “confess to theLord, and He will forgive you. Even at the lastmoment mercy is open. Is it not, Fray Gerundio?”
“It is, senor; it is, my lord,” said Gerundio;but the bishop only clasped his hands over his head.
“Then I am undone! All my money is stolen!Not a farthing left to buy masses for my poor soul!And no absolution, no viaticum, nor anything!I die like a dog and am damned!”
“Clear away that running rigging!” saidAmyas, while the dark Dominican stood perfectly collected,with something of a smile of pity at the miserablebishop. A man accustomed to cruelty, and firmin his fanaticism, he was as ready to endure sufferingas to inflict it; repeating to himself the necessaryprayers, he called Fray Gerundio to witness that hedied, however unworthy, a martyr, in charity with allmen, and in the communion of the Holy Catholic Church;and then, as he fitted the cord to his own neck, gaveFray Gerundio various petty commissions about hissister and her children, and a little vineyard faraway upon the sunny slopes of Castile; and so died,with a “Domine, in manus tuas,” like avaliant man of Spain.
Amyas stood long in solemn silence, watching the twocorpses dangling above his head. At last he drewa long breath, as if a load was taken off his heart.
Suddenly he looked round to his men, who were watchingeagerly to know what he would have done next.
“Hearken to me, my masters all, and may Godhearken too, and do so to me, and more also, if, aslong as I have eyes to see a Spaniard, and hands tohew him down, I do any other thing than hunt down thataccursed nation day and night, and avenge all theinnocent blood which has been shed by them since theday in which King Ferdinand drove out the Moors!”
“Amen!” said Salvation Yeo. “Ineed not to swear that oath, for I have sworn it longago, and kept it. Will your honor have us killthe rest of the idolaters?”
“God forbid!” said Cary. “Youwould not do that, Amyas?”
“No; we will spare them. God has shownus a great mercy this day, and we must be mercifulin it. We will land them at Cabo Velo. Buthenceforth till I die no quarter to a Spaniard.”
“Amen!” said Yeo.
Amyas’s whole countenance had changed in thelast half-hour. He seemed to have grown yearsolder. His brow was wrinkled, his lip compressed,his eyes full of a terrible stony calm, as of one whohad formed a great and dreadful purpose, and yet forthat very reason could afford to be quiet under theburden of it, even cheerful; and when he returned tothe cabin he bowed courteously to the commandant,begged pardon of him for having played the host soill, and entreated him to finish his breakfast.
“But, senor—is it possible?Is his holiness dead?”
“He is hanged and dead, senor. I wouldhave hanged, could I have caught them, every livingthing which was present at my brother’s death,even to the very flies upon the wall. No morewords, senor; your conscience tells you that I amjust.”
“Senor,” said the commandant—“oneword—I trust there are no listeners—noneof my crew, I mean; but I must exculpate myself inyour eyes.”
“Walk out, then, into the gallery with me.”
“To tell you the truth, senor—I trustin Heaven no one overhears.—You are just.This Inquisition is the curse of us, the weight whichis crushing out the very life of Spain. No mandares speak. No man dares trust his neighbor,no, not his child, or the wife of his bosom. Itavails nothing to be a good Catholic, as I trust Iam,” and he crossed himself, “when anyvillain whom you may offend, any unnatural son orwife who wishes to be rid of you, has but to hint heresyagainst you, and you vanish into the Holy Office—andthen God have mercy on you, for man has none.Noble ladies of my family, sir, have vanished thither,carried off by night, we know not why; we dare notask why. To expostulate, even to inquire, wouldhave been to share their fate. There is one now,senor—Heaven alone knows whether she isalive or dead!—It was nine years since,and we have never heard; and we shall never hear.”
And the commandant’s face worked frightfully.
“She was my sister, senor!”
“Heavens! sir, and have you not avenged her?”
“On churchmen, senor, and I a Catholic?To be burned at the stake in this life, and afterthat to all eternity beside? Even a Spaniarddare not face that. Beside, sir, the mob likethis Inquisition, and an Auto-da-fe is even bettersport to them than a bull-fight. They would bethe first to tear a man in pieces who dare touch anInquisitor. Sir, may all the saints in heavenobtain me forgiveness for my blasphemy, but when Isaw you just now fearing those churchmen no more thanyou feared me, I longed, sinner that I am, to be aheretic like you.”
“It will not take long to make a brave and wisegentleman who has suffered such things as you have,a heretic, as you call it—a free Christianman, as we call it.”
“Tempt me not, sir!” said the poor man,crossing himself fervently. “Let us sayno more. Obedience is my duty; and for the restthe Church must decide, according to her infallibleauthority—for I am a good Catholic, senor,the best of Catholics, though a great sinner.—Itrust no one has overheard us!”
Amyas left him with a smile of pity, and went to lookfor Lucy Passmore, whom the sailors were nursing andfeeding, while Ayacanora watched them with a puzzledface.
“I will talk to you when you are better, Lucy,”said he, taking her hand. “Now you musteat and drink, and forget all among us lads of Devon.”
“Oh, dear blessed sir, and you will send SirJohn to pray with me? For I turned, sir, I turned:but I could not help it—I could not abearthe torments: but she bore them, sweet angel—andmore than I did. Oh, dear me!”
“Lucy, I am not fit now to hear more. Youshall tell me all to-morrow;” and he turnedaway.
“Why do you take her hand?” said Ayacanora,half-scornfully. “She is old, and ugly,and dirty.”
“She is an Englishwoman, child, and a martyr,poor thing; and I would nurse her as I would my ownmother.”
“Why don’t you make me an Englishwoman,and a martyr? I could learn how to do anythingthat that old hag could do!”
“Instead of calling her names, go and tend her;that would be much fitter work for a woman than fightingamong men.”
Ayacanora darted from him, thrust the sailors aside,and took possession of Lucy Passmore.
“Where shall I put her?” asked she ofAmyas, without looking up.
“In the best cabin; and let her be served likea queen, lads.”
“No one shall touch her but me;” and takingup the withered frame in her arms, as if it were adoll, Ayacanora walked off with her in triumph, tellingthe men to go and mind the ship.
“The girl is mad,” said one.
“Mad or not, she has an eye to our captain,”said another.
“And where’s the man that would behaveto the poor wild thing as he does?”
“Sir Francis Drake would, from whom he got hislesson. Do you mind his putting the negro lassashore after he found out about—”
“Hush! Bygones be bygones, and those thatdid it are in their graves long ago. But it wastoo hard of him on the poor thing.”
“If he had not got rid of her, there would havebeen more throats than one cut about the lass, that’sall I know,” said another; “and so therewould have been about this one before now, if the captainwasn’t a born angel out of heaven, and the lieutenantno less.”
“Well, I suppose we may get a whet by now.I wonder if these Dons have any beer aboard.”
“Naught but grape vinegar, which fools callwine, I’ll warrant.”
“There was better than vinegar on the tablein there just now.”
“Ah,” said one grumbler of true Englishbreed, “but that’s not for poor fellowslike we.”
“Don’t lie, Tom Evans; you never weregiven that way yet, and I don’t think the tradewill suit a good fellow like you.”
The whole party stared; for the speaker of these wordswas none other than Amyas himself, who had rejoinedthem, a bottle in each hand.
“No, Tom Evans. It has been share and sharealike for three years, and bravely you have all heldup, and share alike it shall be now, and here’sthe handsel of it. We’ll serve out the goodwine fairly all round as long as it lasts, and thentake to the bad: but mind you don’t getdrunk, my sons, for we are much too short of handsto have any stout fellows lying about the scuppers.”
But what was the story of the intendant’s beingmurdered? Brimblecombe had seen him run intoa neighboring cabin; and when the door of it was opened,there was the culprit, but dead and cold, with a deepknife-wound in his side. Who could have done thedeed? It must have been Tita, whom Brimblecombehad seen loose, and trying to free her lover.
The ship was searched from stem to stern: butno Tita. The mystery was never explained.That she had leapt overboard, and tried to swim ashore,none doubted: but whether she had reached it,who could tell? One thing was strange; that notonly had she carried off no treasure with her, butthat the gold ornaments which she had worn the nightbefore, lay together in a heap on the table, closeby the murdered man. Had she wished to rid herselfof everything which had belonged to her tyrants?
The commandant heard the whole story thoughtfully.
“Wretched man!” said he, “and hehas a wife and children in Seville.”
“A wife and children?” said Amyas; “andI heard him promise marriage to the Indian girl.”
That was the only hint which gave a reason for hisdeath. What if, in the terror of discovery andcapture, the scoundrel had dropped any self-condemningwords about his marriage, any prayer for those whomhe had left behind, and the Indian had overheard them?It might be so; at least sin had brought its own punishment.
And so that wild night and day subsided. Theprisoners were kindly used enough; for the Englishman,free from any petty love of tormenting, knows no meanbetween killing a foe outright, and treating him asa brother; and when, two days afterwards, they weresent ashore in the canoes off Cabo Velo, captivesand captors shook hands all round; and Amyas, afterreturning the commandant his sword, and presentinghim with a case of the bishop’s wine, bowedhim courteously over the side.
“I trust that you will pay us another visit,valiant senor capitan,” said the Spaniard, bowingand smiling.
“I should most gladly accept your invitation,illustrious senor commandant; but as I have vowedhenceforth, whenever I shall meet a Spaniard, neitherto give nor take quarter, I trust that our paths toglory may lie in different directions.”
The commandant shrugged his shoulders; the ship wasput again before the wind, and as the shores of theMain faded lower and dimmer behind her, a mighty cheerbroke from all on board; and for once the cry fromevery mouth was Eastward-ho!
Scrap by scrap, as weakness and confusion of intellectpermitted her, Lucy Passmore told her story.It was a simple one after all, and Amyas might almosthave guessed it for himself. Rose had not yieldedto the Spaniard without a struggle. He had visitedher two or three times at Lucy’s house (howhe found out Lucy’s existence she herself couldnever tell, unless from the Jesuits) before she agreedto go with him. He had gained Lucy to his sideby huge promises of Indian gold; and, in fine, theyhad gone to Lundy, where the lovers were married bya priest, who was none other, Lucy would swear, thanthe shorter and stouter of the two who had carriedoff her husband and his boat—in a word,Father Parsons.
Amyas gnashed his teeth at the thought that he hadhad Parsons in his power at Brenttor down, and lethim go. It was a fresh proof to him that Heaven’svengeance was upon him for letting one of its enemiesescape. Though what good to Rose or Frank thehanging of Parsons would have been, I, for my part,cannot see.
But when had Eustace been at Lundy? Lucy couldthrow no light on that matter. It was evidentlysome by-thread in the huge spider’s web of Jesuitintrigue, which was, perhaps, not worth knowing afterall.
They sailed from Lundy in a Portugal ship, were atLisbon a few days (during which Rose and Lucy remainedon board), and then away for the West Indies; whileall went merry as a marriage bell. “Sir,he would have kissed the dust off her dear feet, tillthat evil eye of Mr. Eustace’s came, no oneknew how or whence.” And, from that time,all went wrong. Eustace got power over Don Guzman,whether by threatening that the marriage should bedissolved, whether by working on his superstitiousscruples about leaving his wife still a heretic, orwhether (and this last Lucy much suspected) by insinuationsthat her heart was still at home in England, and thatshe was longing for Amyas and his ship to come andtake her home again; the house soon became a den ofmisery, and Eustace the presiding evil genius.Don Guzman had even commanded him to leave it—andhe went; but, somehow, within a week he was thereagain, in greater favor than ever. Then came preparationsto meet the English, and high words about it betweenDon Guzman and Rose; till a few days before Amyas’sarrival, the Don had dashed out of the house in afury, saying openly that she preferred these Lutherandogs to him, and that he would have their hearts’blood first, and hers after.
The rest was soon told. Amyas knew but too muchof it already. The very morning after he hadgone up to the villa, Lucy and her mistress were taken(they knew not by whom) down to the quay, in the nameof the Holy Office, and shipped off to Cartagena.
There they were examined, and confronted on a chargeof witchcraft, which the wretched Lucy could not welldeny. She was tortured to make her inculpateRose; and what she said, or did not say, under thetorture, the poor wretch could never tell. Sherecanted, and became a Romanist; Rose remained firm.Three weeks afterwards, they were brought out to anAuto-da-fe; and there, for the first time, Lucy sawFrank walking, dressed in a San Benito, in that ghastlyprocession. Lucy was adjudged to receive publiclytwo hundred stripes, and to be sent to “TheHoly House” at Seville to perpetual prison.Frank and Rose, with a renegade Jew, and a negro whohad been convicted of practising “Obi,”were sentenced to death as impenitent, and deliveredover to the secular arm, with prayers that there mightbe no shedding of blood. In compliance with whichrequest, the Jew and the negro were burnt at one stake,Frank and Rose at another. She thought they didnot feel it more than twenty minutes. They wereboth very bold and steadfast, and held each other’shand (that she would swear to) to the very last.
And so ended Lucy Passmore’s story. Andif Amyas Leigh, after he had heard it, vowed afreshto give no quarter to Spaniards wherever he shouldfind them, who can wonder, even if they blame?
CHAPTER XXVII
HOW SALVATION YEO FOUND HIS LITTLE MAID AGAIN
“All preciousthings, discover’d late,
Tothem who seek them issue forth;
For love in sequel workswith fate,
Anddraws the veil from hidden worth.”
The SleepingBeauty.
And so Ayacanora took up her abode in Lucy’scabin, as a regularly accredited member of the crew.
But a most troublesome member; for now began in herthat perilous crisis which seems to endanger the bodiesand souls of all savages and savage tribes, when theyfirst mingle with the white man; that crisis which,a few years afterwards, began to hasten the exterminationof the North American tribes; and had it not beenfor the admirable good sense and constancy of Amyas,Ayacanora might have ended even more miserably thandid the far-famed Pocahontas, daughter of the Virginianking; who, after having been received at Court bythe old pedant James the First, with the honors ofa sister sovereign, and having become the reputedancestress of more than one ancient Virginian family,ended her days in wretchedness in some Wapping garret.
For the mind of the savage, crushed by the sight ofthe white man’s superior skill, and wealth,and wisdom, loses at first its self-respect; whilehis body, pampered with easily obtained luxuries, insteadof having to win the necessaries of life by heavy toil,loses its self-helpfulness; and with self-respectand self-help vanish all the savage virtues, few andflimsy as they are, and the downward road toward beggingand stealing, sottishness and idleness, is easy, ifnot sure.
And down that road, it really seemed at first, thatpoor Ayacanora was walking fast. For the warrior-prophetessof the Omaguas soon became, to all appearance, nothingbut a very naughty child; and the Diana of the Meta,after she had satisfied her simple wonder at the greatfloating house by rambling from deck to deck, andpeeping into every cupboard and cranny, manifesteda great propensity to steal and hide (she was tooproud or too shy to ask for) every trumpery which smither fancy; and when Amyas forbade her to take anythingwithout leave, threatened to drown herself, and wentoff and sulked all day in her cabin. Nevertheless,she obeyed him, except in the matter of sweet things.Perhaps she craved naturally for the vegetable foodof her native forests; at all events the bishop’sstores of fruit and sweetmeats diminished rapidly;and what was worse, so did the sweet Spanish winewhich Amyas had set apart for poor Lucy’s dailycordial. Whereon another severe lecture, in whichAmyas told her how mean it was to rob poor sick Lucy;whereat she, as usual, threatened to drown herself;and was running upon deck to do it, when Amyas caughther and forgave her. On which a violent fit ofcrying, and great penitence and promises; and a weekafter, Amyas found that she had cheated Satan and herown conscience by tormenting the Portuguese stewardinto giving her some other wine instead: butluckily for her, she found Amyas’s warningsabout wine making her mad so far fulfilled, that shedid several foolish things one evening, and had abad headache next morning; so the murder was out,and Amyas ordered the steward up for a sound flogging;but Ayacanora, honorably enough, not only begged himoff, but offered to be whipped instead of him, confessingthat the poor fellow spoke truly when he swore thatshe had threatened to kill him, and that he had givenher the wine in bodily fear for his life.
However, her own headache and Amyas’s cold lookswere lesson enough, and after another attempt to drownherself, the wilful beauty settled down for awhile;and what was better, could hardly be persuaded, thenceforthto her dying day, to touch fermented liquors.
But, in the meanwhile, poor Amyas had many a brains-beatingas to how he was to tame a lady who, on the leastprovocation, took refuge in suicide. Punish herhe dared not, even if he had the heart. And asfor putting her ashore, he had an instinct, and surelynot a superstitious one, that her strange affectionfor the English was not unsent by Heaven, and thatGod had committed her into his charge, and that Hewould require an account at his hands of the soul ofthat fair lost lamb.
So, almost at his wits’ end, he prayed to God,good simple fellow, and that many a time, to showhim what he should do with her before she killed eitherherself, or what was just as likely, one of the crew;and it seemed best to him to make Parson Jack teachher the rudiments of Christianity, that she mightbe baptized in due time when they got home to England.
But here arose a fresh trouble—for sheroundly refused to learn of Jack, or of any one butAmyas himself; while he had many a good reason forrefusing the office of schoolmaster; so, for a weekor two more, Ayacanora remained untaught, save inthe English tongue, which she picked up with marvellousrapidity.
And next, as if troubles would never end, she tooka violent dislike, not only to John Brimblecombe,whose gait and voice she openly mimicked for the edificationof the men; but also to Will Cary, whom she neverallowed to speak to her or approach her. Perhapsshe was jealous of his intimacy with Amyas; or perhaps,with the subtle instinct of a woman, she knew thathe was the only other man on board who might dare tomake love to her (though Will, to do him justice,was as guiltless of any such intention as Amyas himself).But when she was remonstrated with, her only answerwas that Cary was a cacique as well as Amyas, and thatthere ought not to be two caciques; and one day sheactually proposed to Amyas to kill his supposed rival,and take the ship all to himself; and sulked for severaldays at hearing Amyas, amid shouts of laughter, retailher precious advice to its intended victim.
Moreover, the negroes came in for their share, beingregarded all along by her with an unspeakable repugnance,which showed itself at first in hiding from them whenevershe could, and, afterwards, in throwing at them everythingshe could lay hands on, till the poor Quashies, indanger of their lives, complained to Amyas, and gotrest for awhile.
Over the rest of the sailors she lorded it like avery princess, calling them from their work to runon her errands and make toys for her, enforcing hercommands now and then by a shrewd box on the ears;while the good fellows, especially old Yeo, like truesailors, petted her, obeyed her, even jested withher, much as they might have done with a tame leopard,whose claws might be unsheathed and about their earsat any moment. But she amused them, and amusedAmyas too. They must of course have a pet; andwhat prettier one could they have? And as forAmyas, the constant interest of her presence, eventhe constant anxiety of her wilfulness, kept his mindbusy, and drove out many a sad foreboding about thatmeeting with his mother, and the tragedy which hehad to tell her, which would otherwise, so heavilydid they weigh on him, have crushed his spirit withmelancholy, and made all his worldly success and marvellousdeliverance worthless in his eyes.
At last the matter, as most things luckily do, cameto a climax; and it came in this way.
The ship had been slipping along now for many a day,slowly but steadily before a favorable breeze.She had passed the ring of the West India islands,and was now crawling, safe from all pursuit, throughthe vast weed-beds of the Sargasso Sea. There,for the first time, it was thought safe to relax thediscipline which had been hitherto kept up, and to“rummage” (as was the word in those days)their noble prize. What they found, of gold andsilver, jewels, and merchandise, will interest noreaders. Suffice it to say, that there was enoughthere, with the other treasure, to make Amyas richfor life, after all claims of Cary’s and thecrew, not forgetting Mr. Salterne’s third, asowner of the ship, had been paid off. But inthe captain’s cabin were found two chests, onefull of gorgeous Mexican feather dresses, and the otherof Spanish and East Indian finery, which, having comeby way of Havana and Cartagena, was going on, it seemed,to some senora or other at the Caracas. Whichtwo chests were, at Cary’s proposal, voted amidthe acclamations of the crew to Ayacanora, as herdue and fit share of the pillage, in considerationof her Amazonian prowess and valuable services.
So the poor child took greedy possession of the trumpery,had them carried into Lucy’s cabin, and thereknelt gloating over them many an hour. The Mexicanwork she chose to despise as savage; but the Spanishdresses were a treasure; and for two or three daysshe appeared on the quarter-deck, sunning herselflike a peaco*ck before the eyes of Amyas in Sevillemantillas, Madrid hats, Indian brocade farthingales,and I know not how many other gewgaws, and dare notsay how put on.
The crew tittered: Amyas felt much more inclinedto cry. There is nothing so pathetic as a child’svanity, saving a grown person aping a child’svanity; and saving, too, a child’s agony of disappointmentwhen it finds that it has been laughed at insteadof being admired. Amyas would have spoken, buthe was afraid: however, the evil brought its owncure. The pageant went on, as its actor thought,most successfully for three days or so; but at lastthe dupe, unable to contain herself longer, appealedto Amyas,—“Ayacanora quite Englishgirl now; is she not?”—heard a titterbehind her, looked round, saw a dozen honest facesin broad grin, comprehended all in a moment, darteddown the companion-ladder, and vanished.
Amyas, fully expecting her to jump overboard, followedas fast as he could. But she had locked herselfin with Lucy, and he could hear her violent sobs,and Lucy’s faint voice entreating to know whatwas the matter.
In vain he knocked. She refused to come out allday, and at even they were forced to break the dooropen, to prevent Lucy being starved.
There sat Ayacanora, her finery half torn off, andscattered about the floor in spite, crying still asif her heart would break; while poor Lucy cried too,half from fright and hunger, and half for company.
Amyas tried to comfort the poor child, assured herthat the men should never laugh at her again; “Butthen,” added he, “you must not be so—so—”What to say he hardly knew.
“So what?” asked she, crying more bitterlythan ever.
“So like a wild girl, Ayacanora.”
Her hands dropped on her knees: a strong spasmran through her throat and bosom, and she fell onher knees before him, and looked up imploringly inhis face.
“Yes; wild girl—poor, bad wild girl.. . . But I will be English girl now!”
“Fine clothes will never make you English, mychild,” said Amyas.
“No! not English clothes—Englishheart! Good heart, like yours! Yes, I willbe good, and Sir John shall teach me!”
“There’s my good maid,” said Amyas.“Sir John shall begin and teach you to-morrow.”
“No! Now! now! Ayacanora cannot wait.She will drown herself if she is bad another day!Come, now!”
And she made him fetch Brimblecombe, heard the honestfellow patiently for an hour or more, and told Lucythat very night all that he had said. And fromthat day, whenever Jack went in to read and pray withthe poor sufferer, Ayacanora, instead of escapingon deck as before, stood patiently trying to makeit all out, and knelt when he knelt, and tried topray too—that she might have an Englishheart; and doubtless her prayers, dumb as they were,were not unheard.
So went on a few days more, hopefully enough, withoutany outbreak, till one morning, just after they hadpassed the Sargasso-beds. The ship was takingcare of herself; the men were all on deck under theawning, tinkering, and cobbling, and chatting; Brimblecombewas catechising his fair pupil in the cabin; Amyasand Cary, cigar in mouth, were chatting about allheaven and earth, and, above all, of the best way ofgetting up a fresh adventure against the Spaniardsas soon as they returned; while Amyas was pouringout to Will that dark hatred of the whole nation,that dark purpose of revenge for his brother and forRose, which had settled down like a murky cloud intoevery cranny of his heart and mind. Suddenlythere was a noise below; a scuffle and a shout, whichmade them both leap to their feet; and up on deck rushedJack Brimblecombe, holding his head on with both hishands.
“Save me! save me from that she-fiend!She is possessed with a legion! She has brokenmy nose—torn out half my hair!—andI’m sure I have none to spare! Here shecomes! Stand by me, gentlemen both! Satanas,I defy thee!” And Jack ensconced himself behindthe pair, as Ayacanora whirled upon deck like a veryMaenad, and, seeing Amyas, stopped short.
“If you had defied Satan down below there,”said Cary, with a laugh, “I suspect he wouldn’thave broken out on you so boldly, Master Jack.”
“I am innocent—innocent as the babeunborn! Oh! Mr. Cary! this is too bad ofyou, sir!” quoth Jack indignantly, while Amyasasked what was the matter.
“He looked at me,” said she, sturdily.
“Well, a cat may look at a king.”
“But he sha’n’t look at Ayacanora.Nobody shall but you, or I’ll kill him!”
In vain Jack protested his innocence of having evenlooked at her. The fancy (and I verily believeit was nothing more) had taken possession of her.She refused to return below to her lesson. Jackwent off grumbling, minus his hair, and wore a blackeye for a week after.
“At all events,” quoth Cary, re-lightinghis cigar, “it’s a fault on the rightside.”
“God give me grace, or it may be one on thewrong side for me.”
“He will, old heart-of-oak!” said Cary,laying his arm around Amyas’s neck, to the evidentdisgust of Ayacanora, who went off to the side, gota fishing-line, and began amusing herself therewith,while the ship slipped on quietly and silently asever, save when Ayacanora laughed and clapped herhands at the flying-fish scudding from the bonitos.At last, tired of doing nothing, she went forwardto the poop-rail to listen to John Squire the armorer,who sat tinkering a headpiece, and humming a song,mutato nomine, concerning his native place—
“Oh, Bidefordis a pleasant place, it shines where it stands,
And the more I lookupon it, the more my heart it warms;
For there are fair younglasses, in rows upon the quay,
To welcome gallant mariners,when they come home from say.”
“’Tis Sunderland, John Squire, to thesong, and not Bidevor,” said his mate.
“Well, Bidevor’s so good as Sunderlandany day, for all there’s no say-coals thereblacking a place about; and makes just so good harmonies,Tommy Hamblyn—
“Oh, if I wasa herring, to swim the ocean o’er,
Or if I was a say-dove,to fly unto the shoor,
To fly unto my truelove, a waiting at the door,
To wed her with a gooldring, and plough the main no moor.”
Here Yeo broke in—
“Aren’t you ashamed, John Squire, to youryears, singing such carnal vanities, after all theprovidences you have seen? Let the songs of Zionbe in your mouth, man, if you must needs keep a caterwaulingall day like that.”
“You sing ’em yourself then, gunner.”
“Well,” says Yeo, “and why not?”And out he pulled his psalm-book, and began a scrapof the grand old psalm—
“Such as in shipsand brittle barks
Intothe seas descend,
Their merchandise throughfearful floods
Tocompass and to end;
There men are forcedto behold
TheLord’s works what they be;
And in the dreadfuldeep the same,
Mostmarvellous they see.”
“Humph!” said John Squire. “Verygood and godly: but still I du like a merry catchnow and then, I du. Wouldn’t you let a bodysing ’Rumbelow’—even when he’sheaving of the anchor?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Yeo;“but the Lord’s people had better praisethe Lord then too, and pray for a good voyage, insteadof howling about—
“Arandy, dandy, dandy O,
Awhet of ale and brandy O,
With a rumbelow anda Westward-ho!
Andheave, my mariners all, O!”
“Is that fit talk for immortal souls? Howdoes that child’s-trade sound beside the Psalms,John Squire?”
Now it befell that Salvation Yeo, for the very purposeof holding up to ridicule that time-honored melody,had put into it the true nasal twang, and rung itout as merrily as he had done perhaps twelve yearsbefore, when he got up John Oxenham’s anchorin Plymouth Sound. And it befell also that Ayacanora,as she stood by Amyas’s side, watching the men,and trying to make out their chat, heard it, and started;and then, half to herself, took up the strain, andsang it over again, word for word, in the very sametune and tone.
Salvation Yeo started in his turn, and turned deadlypale.
“Who sung that?” he asked quickly.
“The little maid here. She’s comingon nicely in her English,” said Amyas.
“The little maid?” said Yeo, turning palerstill. “Why do you go about to scare anold servant, by talking of little maids, Captain Amyas?Well,” he said aloud to himself, “as Iam a sinful saint, if I hadn’t seen where thevoice came from, I could have sworn it was her; justas we taught her to sing it by the river there, Iand William Penberthy of Marazion, my good comrade.The Lord have mercy on me!”
All were silent as the grave whenever Yeo made anyallusion to that lost child. Ayacanora only,pleased with Amyas’s commendation, went hummingon to herself—
“And heave, mymariners all, O!”
Yeo started up from the gun where he sat.
“I can’t abear it! As I live, I can’t!You, Indian maiden, where did you learn to sing thatthere?”
Ayacanora looked up at him, half frightened by hisvehemence, then at Amyas, to see if she had been doinganything wrong; and then turned saucily away, lookedover the side, and hummed on.
“Ask her, for mercy’s sake—askher, Captain Leigh!”
“My child,” said Amyas, speaking in Indian,“how is it you sing that so much better thanany other English? Did you ever hear it before?”
Ayacanora looked up at him puzzled, and shook herhead; and then—
“If you tell Indian to Ayacanora, she dumb.She must be English girl now, like poor Lucy.”
“Well then,” said Amyas, “do yourecollect, Ayacanora—do you recollect—whatshall I say? anything that happened when you were alittle girl?”
She paused awhile; and then moving her hands overhead—
“Trees—great trees like the Magdalena—alwaysnothing but trees—wild and bad everything.Ayacanora won’t talk about that.”
“Do you mind anything that grew on those trees?”asked Yeo, eagerly.
She laughed. “Silly! Flowers and fruit,and nuts—grow on all trees, and monkey-cupstoo. Ayacanora climbed up after them—whenshe was wild. I won’t tell any more.”
“But who taught you to call them monkey-cups?”asked Yeo, trembling with excitement.
“Monkey’s drink; mono drink.”
“Mono?” said Yeo, foiled on one cast,and now trying another. “How did you knowthe beasts were called monos?”
“She might have heard it coming down with us,”said Cary, who had joined the group.
“Ay, monos,” said she, in a self-justifyingtone. “Faces like little men, and tails.And one very dirty black one, with a beard, say Amenin a tree to all the other monkeys, just like SirJohn on Sunday.”
This allusion to Brimblecombe and the preaching apesupset all but old Yeo.
“But don’t you recollect any Christians?—whitepeople?”
She was silent.
“Don’t you mind a white lady?”
“Um?”
“A woman, a very pretty woman, with hair likehis?” pointing to Amyas.
“No.”
“What do you mind, then, beside those Indians?”added Yeo, in despair.
She turned her back on him peevishly, as if tiredwith the efforts of her memory.
“Do try to remember,” said Amyas; andshe set to work again at once.
“Ayacanora mind great monkeys—black,oh, so high,” and she held up her hand aboveher head, and made a violent gesture of disgust.
“Monkeys? what, with tails?”
“No, like man. Ah! yes—justlike Cooky there—dirty Cooky!”
And that hapless son of Ham, who happened to be justcrossing the main-deck, heard a marlingspike, whichby ill luck was lying at hand, flying past his ears.
“Ayacanora, if you heave any more things atCooky, I must have you whipped,” said Amyas,without, of course, any such intention.
“I’ll kill you, then,” answeredshe, in the most matter-of-fact tone.
“She must mean negurs,” said Yeo; “Iwonder where she saw them, now. What if it werethey Cimaroons?”
“But why should any one who had seen whitesforget them, and yet remember negroes?” askedCary.
“Let us try again. Do you mind no greatmonkeys but those black ones?” asked Amyas.
“Yes,” she said, after a while,—“devil.”
“Devil?” asked all three, who, of course,were by no means free from the belief that the fienddid actually appear to the Indian conjurors, suchas had brought up the girl.
“Ay, him Sir John tell about on Sundays.”
“Save and help us!” said Yeo; “andwhat was he like unto?”
She made various signs to intimate that he had a monkey’sface, and a gray beard like Yeo’s. So farso good: but now came a series of manipulationsabout her pretty little neck, which set all their fanciesat fault.
“I know,” said Cary, at last, burstinginto a great laugh. “Sir Urian had a ruffon, as I live! Trunk-hose too, my fair dame?Stop—I’ll make sure. Was hisneck like the senor commandant’s, the Spaniard?”
Ayacanora clapped her hands at finding herself understood,and the questioning went on.
“The ‘devil’ appeared like a monkey,with a gray beard, in a ruff;—humph!—”
“Ay!” said she in good enough Spanish,“Mono de Panama; viejo diablo de Panama.”
Yeo threw up his hands with a shriek—“OhLord of all mercies! Those were the last wordsof Mr. John Oxenham! Ay—and the devilis surely none other than the devil Don FranciscoXararte! Oh dear! oh dear! oh dear! my sweetyoung lady! my pretty little maid! and don’tyou know me? Don’t you know Salvation Yeo,that carried you over the mountains, and used to climbfor the monkey-cups for you, my dear young lady?And William Penberthy too, that used to get you flowers;and your poor dear father, that was just like Mr.Cary there, only he had a black beard, and black curls,and swore terribly in his speech, like a Spaniard,my dear young lady?”
And the honest fellow, falling on his knees, coveredAyacanora’s hands with kisses; while all thecrew, fancying him gone suddenly mad, crowded aft.
“Steady, men, and don’t vex him!”said Amyas. “He thinks that he has foundhis little maid at last.”
“And so do I, Amyas, as I live,” saidCary.
“Steady, steady, my masters all! If thisturn out a wrong scent after all, his wits will crack.Mr. Yeo, can’t you think of any other token?”
Yeo stamped impatiently. “What need then?it’s her, I tell ye, and that’s enough!What a beauty she’s grown! Oh dear! wherewere my eyes all this time, to behold her, and notto see her! ’Tis her very mortal self,it is! And don’t you mind me, my dear, now?Don’t you mind Salvation Yeo, that taught youto sing ‘Heave my mariners all, O!’ a-sittingon a log by the boat upon the sand, and there was asight of red lilies grew on it in the moss, dear,now, wasn’t there? and we made posies of themto put in your hair, now?”—And thepoor old man ran on in a supplicating, suggestivetone, as if he could persuade the girl into becomingthe person whom he sought.
Ayacanora had watched him, first angry, then amused,then attentive, and at last with the most intenseearnestness. Suddenly she grew crimson, and snatchingher hands from the old man’s, hid her face inthem, and stood.
“Do you remember anything of all this, my child?”asked Amyas, gently.
She lifted up her eyes suddenly to his, with a lookof imploring agony, as if beseeching him to spareher. The death of a whole old life, the birthof a whole new life, was struggling in that beautifulface, choking in that magnificent throat, as she threwback her small head, and drew in her breath, and dashedher locks back from her temples, as if seeking forfresh air. She shuddered, reeled, then fell weepingon the bosom, not of Salvation Yeo, but of Amyas Leigh.
He stood still a minute or two, bearing that fairburden, ere he could recollect himself. Then,—
“Ayacanora, you are not yet mistress of yourself,my child. You were better to go down, and seeafter poor Lucy, and we will talk about it all to-morrow.”
She gathered herself up instantly, and with eyes fixedon the deck slid through the group, and disappearedbelow.
“Ah!” said Yeo, with a tone of exquisitesadness; “the young to the young! Overland and sea, in the forests and in the galleys, inbattle and prison, I have sought her! And now!—”
“My good friend,” said Amyas, “neitherare you master of yourself yet. When she comesround again, whom will she love and thank but you?”
“You, sir! She owes all to you; and sodo I. Let me go below, sir. My old wits are shaky.Bless you, sir, and thank you for ever and ever!”
And Yeo grasped Amyas’s hand, and went downto his cabin, from which he did not reappear for manyhours.
From that day Ayacanora was a new creature. Thethought that she was an Englishwoman; that she, thewild Indian, was really one of the great white peoplewhom she had learned to worship, carried in it someregenerating change: she regained all her formerstateliness, and with it a self-restraint, a temperance,a softness which she had never shown before.Her dislike to Cary and Jack vanished. Modestand distant as ever, she now took delight in learningfrom them about England and English people; and herknowledge of our customs gained much from the somewhatfantastic behaviour which Amyas thought good, for reasonsof his own, to assume toward her. He assignedher a handsome cabin to herself, always addressedher as madam, and told Cary, Brimblecombe, and thewhole crew that as she was a lady and a Christian,he expected them to behave to her as such. Sothere was as much bowing and scraping on the poopas if it had been a prince’s court: andAyacanora, though sorely puzzled and chagrined atAmyas’s new solemnity, contrived to imitateit pretty well (taking for granted that it was theright thing); and having tolerable masters in theart of manners (for both Amyas and Cary were thoroughlywell-bred men), profited much in all things, exceptin intimacy with Amyas, who had, cunning fellow, hiton this parade of good manners, as a fresh means ofincreasing the distance between him and her.The crew, of course, though they were a little vexedat losing their pet, consoled themselves with thethought that she was a “real born lady,”and Mr. Oxenham’s daughter, too; and there wasnot a man on board who did not prick up his ears fora message if she approached him, or one who wouldnot have, I verily believe, jumped overboard to doher a pleasure.
Only Yeo kept sorrowfully apart. He never lookedat her, spoke to her, met her even, if he could.His dream had vanished. He had found her! andafter all, she did not care for him? Why shouldshe?
But it was hard to have hunted a bubble for years,and have it break in his hand at last. “Setnot your affections on things on the earth,”murmured Yeo to himself, as he pored over his Bible,in the vain hope of forgetting his little maid.
But why did Amyas wish to increase the distance betweenhimself and Ayacanora? Many reasons might begiven: I deny none of them. But the mainone, fantastic as it may seem, was simply, that whileshe had discovered herself to be an Englishwoman,he had discovered her to be a Spaniard. If herfather were seven times John Oxenham (and even thatthe perverse fellow was inclined to doubt), her motherwas a Spaniard—Pah! one of the accursedrace; kinswoman—perhaps, to his brother’smurderers! His jaundiced eyes could see nothingbut the Spanish element in her; or, indeed, in anythingelse. As Cary said to him once, using a cantphrase of Sidney’s, which he had picked up fromFrank, all heaven and earth were “spaniolated,”to him. He seemed to recollect nothing but thatHeaven had “made Spaniards to be killed, andhim to kill them.” If he had not been themost sensible of John Bulls, he would certainly haveforestalled the monomania of that young Frenchman ofrank, who, some eighty years after him, so maddenedhis brain by reading of the Spanish cruelties, thathe threw up all his prospects and turned captain offilibusters in the West Indies, for the express purposeof ridding them of their tyrants; and when a Spanishship was taken, used to relinquish the whole bootyto his crew, and reserve for himself only the pleasureof witnessing his victims’ dying agonies.
But what had become of that bird-like song of Ayacanora’swhich had astonished them on the banks of the Meta,and cheered them many a time in their anxious voyagedown the Magdalena? From the moment that shefound out her English parentage, it stopped. Sherefused utterly to sing anything but the songs andpsalms which she picked up from the English.Whether it was that she despised it as a relic of herbarbarism, or whether it was too maddening for onewhose heart grew heavier and humbler day by day, thenightingale notes were heard no more.
So homeward they ran, before a favoring southwestbreeze: but long ere they were within sight ofland, Lucy Passmore was gone to her rest beneath theAtlantic waves.
CHAPTER XXVIII
HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE THIRD TIME
“It fell about the Martinmas,
When nights were lang and mirk,
That wife’s twa sons cam hame again,
And their hats were o’ the birk.
“It did na graw by bushor brae,
Nor yet in ony shough;
But by the gates o’ paradise
That birk grew fair eneugh.”
The Wife of Usher’sWell.
It is the evening of the 15th of February, 1587, andMrs. Leigh (for we must return now to old scenes andold faces) is pacing slowly up and down the terrace-walkat Burrough, looking out over the winding river, andthe hazy sand-hills, and the wide western sea, as shehas done every evening, be it fair weather or foul,for three weary years. Three years and more arepast and gone, and yet no news of Frank and Amyas,
and the gallant ship and all the gallant souls therein;and loving eyes in Bideford and Appledore, Clovellyand Ilfracombe, have grown hollow with watching andwith weeping for those who have sailed away into theWest, as John Oxenham sailed before them, and havevanished like a dream, as he did, into the infiniteunknown. Three weary years, and yet no word.Once there was a flush of hope, and good Sir Richard(without Mrs. Leigh’s knowledge), had sent ahorseman posting across to Plymouth, when the newsarrived that Drake, Frobisher, and Carlisle had returnedwith their squadron from the Spanish Main. Alas!he brought back great news, glorious news; news ofthe sacking of Cartagena, San Domingo, Saint Augustine;of the relief of Raleigh’s Virginian Colony:but no news of the Rose, and of those who had sailedin her. And Mrs. Leigh bowed her head, and worshipped,and said, “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath takenaway; blessed be the name of the Lord!”Her hair was now grown gray; her cheeks were wan;her step was feeble. She seldom went from home,save to the church, and to the neighboring cottages.She never mentioned her sons’ names; never alloweda word to pass her lips, which might betoken thatshe thought of them; but every day, when the tidewas high, and red flag on the sandhills showed thatthere was water over the bar, she paced the terrace-walk,and devoured with greedy eyes the sea beyond in searchof the sail which never came. The stately shipswent in and out as of yore; and white sails hung offthe bar for many an hour, day after day, month aftermonth, year after year: but an instinct withintold her that none of them were the sails she sought.She knew that ship, every line of her, the cut of everycloth; she could have picked it out miles away, amonga whole fleet, but it never came, and Mrs. Leigh bowedher head and worshipped, and went to and fro amongthe poor, who looked on her as an awful being, andone whom God had brought very near to Himself, inthat mysterious heaven of sorrow which they too knewfull well. And lone women and bed-ridden menlooked in her steadfast eyes, and loved them, and drankin strength from them; for they knew (though she neverspoke of her own grief) that she had gone down intothe fiercest depths of the fiery furnace, and waswalking there unhurt by the side of One whose formwas as of the Son of God. And all the while shewas blaming herself for her “earthly”longings, and confessing nightly to Heaven that weaknesswhich she could not shake off, which drew her feetat each high tide to the terrace-walk beneath therow of wind-clipt trees.
But this evening Northam is in a stir. The pebbleridge is thundering far below, as it thundered yearsago: but Northam is noisy enough without therolling of the surge. The tower is rocking withthe pealing bells: the people are all in thestreets shouting and singing round bonfires.They are burning the pope in effigy, drinking to thequeen’s health, and “So perish all herenemies!” The hills are red with bonfires inevery village; and far away, the bells of Bidefordare answering the bells of Northam, as they answeredthem seven years ago, when Amyas returned from sailinground the world. For this day has come the newsthat Mary Queen of Scots is beheaded in Fotheringay;and all England, like a dreamer who shakes off somehideous nightmare, has leapt up in one tremendousshout of jubilation, as the terror and the danger ofseventeen anxious years is lifted from its heart forever.
Yes, she is gone, to answer at a higher tribunal thanthat of the Estates of England, for all the nobleEnglish blood which has been poured out for her; forall the noble English hearts whom she has temptedinto treachery, rebellion, and murder. Elizabeth’sown words have been fulfilled at last, after yearsof long-suffering,—
“The daughterof debate,
That discordaye doth sow,
Hath reap’d nogain where former rule
Hath taughtstill peace to grow.”
And now she can do evil no more. Murder and adultery,the heart which knew no forgiveness, the tongue whichcould not speak truth even for its own interest, havepast and are perhaps atoned for; and her fair facehangs a pitiful dream in the memory even of those whoknew that either she, or England, must perish.
“Nothing is leftof her
Now, but pure womanly.”
And Mrs. Leigh, Protestant as she is, breathes a prayer,that the Lord may have mercy on that soul, as “clearas diamond, and as hard,” as she said of herself.That last scene, too, before the fatal block—itcould not be altogether acting. Mrs. Leigh hadlearned many a priceless lesson in the last sevenyears; might not Mary Stuart have learned somethingin seventeen? And Mrs. Leigh had been a courtier,and knew, as far as a chaste Englishwoman could know(which even in those coarser days was not very much),of that godless style of French court profligacy inwhich poor Mary had had her youthful training, amidthe Medicis, and the Guises, and Cardinal Lorraine;and she shuddered, and sighed to herself”—Towhom little is given, of them shall little be required!”But still the bells pealed on and would not cease.
What was that which answered them from afar out ofthe fast darkening twilight? A flash, and thenthe thunder of a gun at sea.
Mrs. Leigh stopped. The flash was right outsidethe bar. A ship in distress it could not be.The wind was light and westerly. It was a highspring-tide, as evening floods are always there.What could it be? Another flash, another gun.The noisy folks of Northam were hushed at once, andall hurried into the churchyard which looks down onthe broad flats and the river.
There was a gallant ship outside the bar. Shewas running in, too, with all sails set. A largeship; nearly a thousand tons she might be; but notof English rig. What was the meaning of it?A Spanish cruiser about to make reprisals for Drake’sraid along the Cadiz shore! Not that, surely.The Don had no fancy for such unscientific and dare-devilwarfare. If he came, he would come with admiral,rear-admiral, and vice-admiral, transports, and avisos,according to the best-approved methods, articles,and science of war. What could she be?
Easily, on the flowing tide and fair western wind,she has slipped up the channel between the two linesof sandhill. She is almost off Appledore now.She is no enemy; and if she be a foreigner, she isa daring one, for she has never veiled her topsails,—andthat, all know, every foreign ship must do withinsight of an English port, or stand the chance of war;as the Spanish admiral found, who many a year sincewas sent in time of peace to fetch home from FlandersAnne of Austria, Philip the Second’s last wife.
For in his pride he sailed into Plymouth Sound withoutveiling topsails, or lowering the flag of Spain.Whereon, like lion from his den, out rushed John Hawkinsthe port admiral, in his famous Jesus of Lubec (afterwardslost in the San Juan d’Ulloa fight), and withoutargument or parley, sent a shot between the admiral’smasts; which not producing the desired effect, alongsideran bold Captain John, and with his next shot, sosays his son, an eye-witness, “lackt the admiralthrough and through;” whereon down came theoffending flag; and due apologies were made, but notaccepted for a long time by the stout guardian of hermajesty’s honor. And if John Hawkins didas much for a Spanish fleet in time of peace, thereis more than one old sea-dog in Appledore who willdo as much for a single ship in time of war, if hecan find even an iron pot to burn powder withal.
The strange sail passed out of sight behind the hillof Appledore; and then there rose into the quiet eveningair a cheer, as from a hundred throats. Mrs.Leigh stood still, and listened. Another gun thunderedamong the hills; and then another cheer.
It might have been twenty minutes before the vesselhove in sight again round the dark rocks of the Hubbastone,as she turned up the Bideford river. Mrs. Leighhad stood that whole time perfectly motionless, a paleand scarcely breathing statue, her eyes fixed uponthe Viking’s rock.
Round the Hubbastone she came at last. Therewas music on board, drums and fifes, shawms and trumpets,which wakened ringing echoes from every knoll of woodand slab of slate. And as she opened full on BurroughHouse, another cheer burst from her crew, and rolledup to the hills from off the silver waters far below,full a mile away.
Mrs. Leigh walked quickly toward the house, and calledher maid,—
“Grace, bring me my hood. Master Amyasis come home!”
“No, surely? O joyful sound! Praisedand blessed be the Lord, then; praised and blessedbe the Lord! But, madam, however did you knowthat?”
“I heard his voice on the river; but I did nothear Mr. Frank’s with him, Grace!”
“Oh, be sure, madam, where the one is the otheris. They’d never part company. Bothcome home or neither, I’ll warrant. Here’syour hood, madam.”
And Mrs. Leigh, with Grace behind her, started withrapid steps towards Bideford.
Was it true? Was it a dream? Had the divineinstinct of the mother enabled her to recognize herchild’s voice among all the rest, and at thatenormous distance; or was her brain turning with thelong effort of her supernatural calm?
Grace asked herself, in her own way, that same questionmany a time between Burrough and Bideford. Whenthey arrived on the quay the question answered itself.
As they came down Bridgeland Street (where afterwardsthe tobacco warehouses for the Virginia trade usedto stand, but which then was but a row of rope-walksand sailmakers’ shops), they could see the strangeship already at anchor in the river. They hadjust reached the lower end of the street, when roundthe corner swept a great mob, sailors, women, ’prentices,hurrahing, questioning, weeping, laughing: Mrs.Leigh stopped; and behold, they stopped also.
“Here she is!” shouted some one; “here’shis mother!”
“His mother? Not their mother!” saidMrs. Leigh to herself, and turned very pale; but thatheart was long past breaking.
The next moment the giant head and shoulders of Amyas,far above the crowd, swept round the corner.
“Make a way! Make room for Madam Leigh!”—AndAmyas fell on his knees at her feet.
She threw her arms round his neck, and bent her fairhead over his, while sailors, ’prentices, andcoarse harbor-women were hushed into holy silence,and made a ring round the mother and the son.
Mrs. Leigh asked no question. She saw that Amyaswas alone.
At last he whispered, “I would have died tosave him, mother, if I could.”
“You need not tell me that, Amyas Leigh, myson.”
Another silence.
“How did he die?” whispered Mrs. Leigh.
“He is a martyr. He died in the——”
Amyas could say no more.
“The Inquisition?”
“Yes.”
A strong shudder passed through Mrs. Leigh’sframe, and then she lifted up her head.
“Come home, Amyas. I little expected suchan honor—such an honor—ha! ha!and such a fair young martyr, too; a very St. Stephen!God, have mercy on me; and let me not go mad beforethese folk, when I ought to be thanking Thee for Thygreat mercies! Amyas, who is that?”
And she pointed to Ayacanora, who stood close behindAmyas, watching with keen eyes the whole.
“She is a poor wild Indian girl—mydaughter, I call her. I will tell you her storyhereafter.”
“Your daughter? My grand-daughter, then.Come hither, maiden, and be my grand-daughter.”
Ayacanora came obedient, and knelt down, because shehad seen Amyas kneel.
“God forbid, child! kneel not to me. Comehome, and let me know whether I am sane or mazed,alive or dead.”
And drawing her hood over her face, she turned togo back, holding Amyas tight by one hand, and Ayacanoraby the other.
The crowd let them depart some twenty yards in respectfulsilence, and then burst into a cheer which made theold town ring.
Mrs. Leigh stopped suddenly.
“I had forgotten, Amyas. You must not letme stand in the way of your duty. Where are yourmen?”
“Kissed to death by this time; all of them,that is, who are left.”
“Left?”
“We went out a hundred, mother, and we camehome forty-four—if we are at home.Is it a dream, mother? Is this you? and this oldBridgeland Street again? As I live, there standsEvans the smith, at his door, tankard in hand, ashe did when I was a boy!”
The brawny smith came across the street to them; butstopped when he saw Amyas, but no Frank.
“Better one than neither, madam!” saidhe, trying a rough comfort. Amyas shook his handas he passed him; but Mrs. Leigh neither heard norsaw him nor any one.
“Mother,” said Amyas, when they were nowpast the causeway, “we are rich for life.”
“Yes; a martyr’s death was the fittestfor him.”
“I have brought home treasure untold.”
“What, my boy?”
“Treasure untold. Cary has promised tosee to it to-night.”
“Very well. I would that he had slept atour house. He was a kindly lad, and loved Frank.When did he?”—
“Three years ago, and more. Within twomonths of our sailing.”
“Ah! Yes, he told me so.”
“Told you so?”
“Yes; the dear lad has often come to see mein my sleep; but you never came. I guessed howit was—as it should be.”
“But I loved you none the less, mother!”
“I know that, too: but you were busy withthe men, you know, sweet; so your spirit could notcome roving home like his, which was free. Yes—allas it should be. My maid, and do you not findit cold here in England, after those hot regions?”
“Ayacanora’s heart is warm; she does notthink about cold.”
“Warm? perhaps you will warm my heart for me,then.”
“Would God I could do it, mother!” saidAmyas, half reproachfully.
Mrs. Leigh looked up in his face, and burst into aviolent flood of tears.
“Sinful! sinful that I am!”
“Blessed creature!” cried Amyas, “ifyou speak so I shall go mad. Mother, mother,I have been dreading this meeting for months.It has been a nightmare hanging over me like a horribleblack thunder-cloud; a great cliff miles high, withits top hid in the clouds, which I had to climb, anddare not. I have longed to leap overboard, andflee from it like a coward into the depths of thesea.—The thought that you might ask mewhether I was not my brother’s keeper—thatyou might require his blood at my hands—andnow, now! when it comes! to find you all love, andtrust, and patience—mother, mother, it’smore than I can bear!” and he wept violently.
Mrs. Leigh knew enough of Amyas to know that any burstof this kind, from his quiet nature, betokened somevery fearful struggle; and the loving creature forgoteverything instantly, in the one desire to soothehim.
And soothe him she did; and home the two went, armin arm together, while Ayacanora held fast, like achild, by the skirt of Mrs. Leigh’s cloak.The self-help and daring of the forest nymph had givenplace to the trembling modesty of the young girl,suddenly cast on shore in a new world, among strangefaces, strange hopes, and strange fears also.
“Will your mother love me?” whisperedshe to Amyas, as she went in.
“Yes; but you must do what she tells you.”
Ayacanora pouted.
“She will laugh at me, because I am wild.”
“She never laughs at any one.”
“Humph!” said Ayacanora. “Well,I shall not be afraid of her. I thought she wouldhave been tall like you; but she is not even as bigas me.”
This hardly sounded hopeful for the prospect of Ayacanora’sobedience; but ere twenty-four hours had passed, Mrs.Leigh had won her over utterly; and she explainedher own speech by saying that she thought so greata man ought to have a great mother. She had expected,poor thing, in her simplicity, some awful princesswith a frown like Juno’s own, and found insteada healing angel.
Her story was soon told to Mrs. Leigh, who of course,woman-like, would not allow a doubt as to her identity.And the sweet mother never imprinted a prouder orfonder kiss upon her son’s forehead, than thatwith which she repaid his simple declaration, thathe had kept unspotted, like a gentleman and a Christian,the soul which God had put into his charge.
“Then you have forgiven me, mother?”
“Years ago I said in this same room, what shouldI render to the Lord for having given me two suchsons? And in this room I say it once again.Tell me all about my other son, that I may honor himas I honor you.”
And then, with the iron nerve which good women have,she made him give her every detail of Lucy Passmore’sstory and of all which had happened from the day oftheir sailing to that luckless night at Guayra.And when it was done, she led Ayacanora out, and beganbusying herself about the girl’s comforts, ascalmly as if Frank and Amyas had been sleeping intheir cribs in the next room.
But she had hardly gone upstairs, when a loud knockat the door was followed by its opening hastily; andinto the hall burst, regardless of etiquette, thetall and stately figure of Sir Richard Grenville.
Amyas dropped on his knees instinctively. Thestern warrior was quite unmanned; and as he bent overhis godson, a tear dropped from that iron cheek, uponthe iron cheek of Amyas Leigh.
“My lad! my glorious lad! and where have youbeen? Get up, and tell me all. The sailorstold me a little, but I must hear every word.I knew you would do something grand. I told yourmother you were too good a workman for God to throwaway. Now, let me have the whole story. Why,I am out of breath! To tell truth, I ran three-partsof the way hither.”
And down the two sat, and Amyas talked long into thenight; while Sir Richard, his usual stateliness recovered,smiled stern approval at each deed of daring; andwhen all was ended, answered with something like asigh:
“Would God that I had been with you every step!Would God, at least, that I could show as good a three-years’log-book, Amyas, my lad!”
“You can show a better one, I doubt not.”
“Humph! With the exception of one paltrySpanish prize, I don’t know that the queen isthe better, or her enemies the worse, for me, sincewe parted last in Dublin city.”
“You are too modest, sir.”
“Would that I were; but I got on in Ireland,I found, no better than my neighbors; and so camehome again, to find that while I had been wastingmy time in that land of misrule, Raleigh had done adeed to which I can see no end. For, lad, hehas found (or rather his two captains, Amadas andBarlow, have found for him) between Florida and Newfoundland,a country, the like of which, I believe, there isnot on the earth for climate and fertility. Whetherthere be gold there, I know not, and it matters little;for there is all else on earth that man can want; furs,timber, rivers, game, sugar-canes, corn, fruit, andevery commodity which France, Spain, or Italy canyield, wild in abundance; the savages civil enoughfor savages, and, in a word, all which goes to themaking of as noble a jewel as her majesty’scrown can wear. The people call it Wingandacoa;but we, after her majesty, Virginia.”
“You have been there, then?”
“The year before last, lad; and left there RalfLane, Amadas, and some twenty gentlemen, and ninetymen, and, moreover, some money of my own, and someof old Will Salterne’s, which neither of us willever see again. For the colony, I know not how,quarrelled with the Indians (I fear I too was over-sharpwith some of them for stealing—if I was,God forgive me!), and could not, forsooth, keep themselvesalive for twelve months; so that Drake, coming backfrom his last West Indian voyage, after giving themall the help he could, had to bring the whole partyhome. And if you will believe it, the faint-heartedfellows had not been gone a fortnight, before I wasback again with three ships and all that they couldwant. And never was I more wroth in my life, whenall I found was the ruins of their huts, which (sorich is the growth there) were already full of greatmelons, and wild deer feeding thereon—apretty sight enough, but not what I wanted just then.So back I came; and being in no overgood temper, ventedmy humors on the Portugals at the Azores, and hadhard fights and small booty. So there the matterstands, but not for long; for shame it were if sucha paradise, once found by Britons, should fall intothe hands of any but her majesty; and we will try againthis spring, if men and money can be found. Eh,lad?”
“But the prize?”
“Ah! that was no small make-weight to our disasters,after all. I sighted her for six days’sail from the American coast: but ere we couldlay her aboard it fell dead calm. Never a boathad I on board—they were all lost in agale of wind—and the other ships were becalmedtwo leagues astern of me. There was no use lyingthere and pounding her till she sank; so I calledthe carpenter, got up all the old chests, and withthem and some spars we floated ourselves alongside,and only just in time. For the last of us hadhardly scrambled up into the chains, when our crazyNoah’s ark went all aboard, and sank at the side,so that if we had been minded to run away, Amyas,we could not; whereon, judging valor to be the betterpart of discretion (as I usually do), we fell to withour swords and had her in five minutes, and fifty thousandpounds’ worth in her, which set up my purseagain, and Raleigh’s too, though I fear it hasrun out again since as fast as it ran in.”
And so ended Sir Richard’s story.
Amyas went the next day to Salterne, and told histale. The old man had heard the outlines of italready: but he calmly bade him sit down, andlistened to all, his chin upon his hand, his elbowson his knees. His cheek never blanched, his lipsnever quivered throughout. Only when Amyas cameto Rose’s marriage, he heaved a long breath,as if a weight was taken off his heart.
“Say that again, sir!”
Amyas said it again, and then went on; faltering,he hinted at the manner of her death.
“Go on, sir! Why are you afraid? Thereis nothing to be ashamed of there, is there?”
Amyas told the whole with downcast eyes, and thenstole a look at his hearer’s face. Therewas no sign of emotion: only somewhat of a proudsmile curled the corners of that iron mouth.
“And her husband?” asked he, after a pause.
“I am ashamed to have to tell you, sir, thatthe man still lives.”
“Still lives, sir?”
“Too true, as far as I know. That it wasnot my fault, my story bears me witness.”
“Sir, I never doubted your will to kill him.Still lives, you say? Well, so do rats and adders.And now, I suppose, Captain Leigh, your worship isminded to recruit yourself on shore a while with thefair lass whom you have brought home (as I hear) beforehaving another dash at the devil and his kin!”
“Do not mention that young lady’s namewith mine, sir; she is no more to me than she is toyou; for she has Spanish blood in her veins.”
Salterne smiled grimly.
“But I am minded at least to do one thing, Mr.Salterne, and that is, to kill Spaniards, in fairfight, by land and sea, wheresoever I shall meet them.And, therefore, I stay not long here, whithersoeverI may be bound next.”
“Well, sir, when you start, come to me for aship, and the best I have is at your service; and,if she do not suit, command her to be fitted as youlike best; and I, William Salterne, will pay for allwhich you shall command to be done.”
“My good sir, I have accounts to square withyou after a very different fashion. As part-adventurerin the Rose, I have to deliver to you your share ofthe treasure which I have brought home.”
“My share, sir? If I understood you, myship was lost off the coast of the Caracas three yearsagone, and this treasure was all won since?”
“True; but you, as an adventurer in the expedition,have a just claim for your share, and will receiveit.”
“Captain Leigh, you are, I see, as your fatherwas before you, a just and upright Christian man:but, sir, this money is none of mine, for it was wonin no ship of mine.—Hear me, sir! Andif it had been, and that ship”—(hecould not speak her name)—“lay safeand sound now by Bideford quay, do you think, sir,that William Salterne is the man to make money outof his daughter’s sin and sorrow, and to handlethe price of blood? No, sir! You went likea gentleman to seek her, and like a gentleman, asall the world knows, you have done your best, and Ithank you: but our account ends there. Thetreasure is yours, sir; I have enough, and more thanenough, and none, God help me, to leave it to, butgreedy and needy kin, who will be rather the worsethan the better for it. And if I have a claimin law for aught—which I know not, neithershall ever ask—why, if you are not too proud,accept that claim as a plain burgher’s thank-offeringto you, sir, for a great and a noble love which youand your brother have shown to one who, though I sayit, to my shame, was not worthy thereof.”
“She was worthy of that and more, sir.For if she sinned like a woman, she died like a saint.”
“Yes, sir!” answered the old man, witha proud smile; “she had the right English bloodin her, I doubt not; and showed it at the last.But now, sir, no more of this. When you needa ship, mine is at your service; till then, sir, farewell,and God be with you.”
And the old man rose, and with an unmoved countenance,bowed Amyas to the door. Amyas went back andtold Cary, bidding him take half of Salterne’sgift: but Cary swore a great oath that he wouldhave none of it.
“Heir of Clovelly, Amyas, and want to rob you?I who have lost nothing,—you who have losta brother! God forbid that I should ever toucha farthing beyond my original share!”
That evening a messenger from Bideford came runningbreathless up to Burrough Court. The authoritieswanted Amyas’s immediate attendance, for hewas one of the last, it seemed, who had seen Mr. Salternealive.
Salterne had gone over, as soon as Amyas departed,to an old acquaintance; signed and sealed his willin their presence with a firm and cheerful countenance,refusing all condolence; and then gone home, and lockedhimself into Rose’s room. Supper-time came,and he did not appear. The apprentices couldnot make him answer, and at last called in the neighbors,and forced the door. Salterne was kneeling byhis daughter’s bed; his head was upon the coverlet;his Prayer-book was open before him at the BurialService; his hands were clasped in supplication; buthe was dead and cold.
His will lay by him. He had left all his propertyamong his poor relations, saving and excepting allmoney, etc., due to him as owner and part-adventurerof the ship Rose, and his new bark of three hundredtons burden, now lying East-the-water; all which wasbequeathed to Captain Amyas Leigh, on condition thathe should re-christen that bark the Vengeance,—fither out with part of the treasure, and with her sailonce more against the Spaniard, before three yearswere past.
And this was the end of William Salterne, merchant.
CHAPTER XXIX
HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS STOPPED BY THE QUEEN’S COMMAND
“The daughterof debate,
Thatdiscord still doth sow,
Shall reap no gain whereformer rule
Hathtaught still peace to grow.
No foreign banish’dwight
Shallanker in this port
Our realm it brooksno stranger’s force;
Letthem elsewhere resort.”
QU. Elizabeth.1569.
And now Amyas is settled quietly at home again; andfor the next twelve months little passes worthy ofrecord in these pages. Yeo has installed himselfas major domo, with no very definite functions, savethose of walking about everywhere at Amyas’sheels like a lank gray wolf-hound, and spending hisevenings at the fireside, as a true old sailor does,with his Bible on his knee, and his hands busy in manufacturingnumberless nicknacks, useful and useless, for everymember of the family, and above all for Ayacanora,whom he insults every week by humbly offering sometoy only fit for a child; at which she pouts, andis reproved by Mrs. Leigh, and then takes the gift,and puts it away never to look at it again. Forher whole soul is set upon being an English maid;and she runs about all day long after Mrs. Leigh,insisting upon learning the mysteries of the kitchenand the still-room, and, above all, the art of makingclothes for herself, and at last for everybody inNortham. For first, she will be a good housewife,like Mrs. Leigh; and next a new idea has dawned onher: that of helping others. To the boundlesshospitality of the savage she has been of course accustomed:but to give to those who can give nothing in return,is a new thought. She sees Mrs. Leigh spendingevery spare hour in working for the poor, and visitingthem in their cottages. She sees Amyas, afterpublic thanks in church for his safe return, givingaway money, food, what not, in Northam, Appledore,and Bideford; buying cottages and making them almshousesfor worn-out mariners; and she is told that this ishis thank-offering to God. She is puzzled; hernotion of a thank-offering was rather that of theIndians, and indeed of the Spaniards,—sacrificesof human victims, and the bedizenment of the GreatSpirit’s sanctuary with their skulls and bones.Not that Amyas, as a plain old-fashioned churchman,
was unmindful of the good old instinctive rule, thatsomething should be given to the Church itself; forthe vicar of Northam was soon resplendent with a newsurplice, and what was more, the altar with a splendidflagon and salver of plate (lost, I suppose, in thecivil wars) which had been taken in the great galleon.Ayacanora could understand that: but the almsgivingshe could not, till Mrs. Leigh told her, in her simpleway, that whosoever gave to the poor, gave to theGreat Spirit; for the Great Spirit was in them, andin Ayacanora too, if she would be quiet and listento him, instead of pouting, and stamping, and doingnothing but what she liked. And the poor childtook in that new thought like a child, and worked herfingers to the bone for all the old dames in Northam,and went about with Mrs. Leigh, lovely and beloved,and looked now and then out from under her long blackeyelashes to see if she was winning a smile from Amyas.And on the day on which she won one, she was goodall day; and on the day on which she did not, shewas thoroughly naughty, and would have worn out thepatience of any soul less chastened than Mrs. Leigh’s.But as for the pomp and glory of her dress, therewas no keeping it within bounds; and she swept intochurch each Sunday bedizened in Spanish finery, withsuch a blaze and rustle, that the good vicar had toremonstrate humbly with Mrs. Leigh on the disturbancewhich she caused to the eyes and thoughts of all hiscongregation. To which Ayacanora answered, thatshe was not thinking about them, and they need notthink about her; and that if the Piache (in plainEnglish, the conjuror), as she supposed, wanted apresent, he might have all her Mexican feather-dresses;she would not wear them—they were wildIndian things, and she was an English maid—butthey would just do for a Piache; and so darted upstairs,brought them down, and insisted so stoutly on arrayingthe vicar therein, that the good man beat a swiftretreat. But he carried off with him, nevertheless,one of the handsomest mantles, which, instead of sellingit, he converted cleverly enough into an altar-cloth;and for several years afterwards, the communion atNortham was celebrated upon a blaze of emerald, azure,and crimson, which had once adorned the sinful bodyof some Aztec prince.So Ayacanora flaunted on; while Amyas watched her,half amused, half in simple pride of her beauty; andlooked around at all gazers, as much as to say, “Seewhat a fine bird I have brought home!”
Another great trouble which she gave Mrs. Leigh washer conduct to the ladies of the neighborhood.They came, of course, one and all, not only to congratulateMrs. Leigh, but to get a peep at the fair savage; butthe fair savage snubbed them all round, from the vicar’swife to Lady Grenville herself, so effectually, thatfew attempted a second visit.
Mrs. Leigh remonstrated, and was answered by floodsof tears. “They only come to stare at apoor wild Indian girl, and she would not be made ashow of. She was like a queen once, and everyone obeyed her; but here every one looked down uponher.” But when Mrs. Leigh asked her, whethershe would sooner go back to the forests, the poor girlclung to her like a baby, and entreated not to besent away, “She would sooner be a slave in thekitchen here, than go back to the bad people.”
And so on, month after month of foolish storm andfoolish sunshine; but she was under the shadow ofone in whom was neither storm nor sunshine, but aperpetual genial calm of soft gray weather, which tempereddown to its own peacefulness all who entered its charmedinfluence; and the outbursts grew more and more rare,and Ayacanora more and more rational, though no morehappy, day by day.
And one by one small hints came out which made heridentity certain, at least in the eyes of Mrs. Leighand Yeo. After she had become familiar with thesight of houses, she gave them to understand that shehad seen such things before. The red cattle,too, seemed not unknown to her; the sheep puzzledher for some time, and at last she gave Mrs. Leighto understand that they were too small.
“Ah, madam,” quoth Yeo, who caught atevery straw, “it is because she has been accustomedto those great camel sheep (llamas they call them)in Peru.”
But Ayacanora’s delight was a horse. Theuse of tame animals at all was a daily wonder to her;but that a horse could be ridden was the crowningmiracle of all; and a horse she would ride, and afterplaguing Amyas for one in vain (for he did not wantto break her pretty neck), she proposed confidentiallyto Yeo to steal one, and foiled in that, went to thevicar and offered to barter all her finery for hisbroken-kneed pony. But the vicar was too honestto drive so good a bargain, and the matter ended,in Amyas buying her a jennet, which she learned ina fortnight to ride like a very Gaucho.
And now awoke another curious slumbering reminiscence.For one day, at Lady Grenville’s invitation,the whole family went over to Stow; Mrs. Leigh soberlyon a pillion behind the groom, Ayacanora canteringround and round upon the moors like a hound let loose,and trying to make Amyas ride races with her.But that night, sleeping in the same room with Mrs.Leigh, she awoke shrieking, and sobbed out a long storyhow the “Old ape of Panama,” her especialabomination, had come to her bedside and dragged herforth into the courtyard, and how she had mounteda horse and ridden with an Indian over great moorsand high mountains down into a dark wood, and therethe Indian and the horses vanished, and she foundherself suddenly changed once more into a little savagechild. So strong was the impression, that shecould not be persuaded that the thing had not happened,if not that night, at least some night or other.So Mrs. Leigh at last believed the same, and toldthe company next morning in her pious way how the Lordhad revealed in a vision to the poor child who shewas, and how she had been exposed in the forests byher jealous step-father, and neither Sir Richard norhis wife could doubt but that hers was the true solution.It was probable that Don Xararte, though his homewas Panama, had been often at Quito, for Yeo had seenhim come on board the Lima ship at Guayaquil, oneof the nearest ports. This would explain her havingbeen found by the Indians beyond Cotopaxi, the nearestpeak of the Eastern Andes, if, as was but too likely,the old man, believing her to be Oxenham’s child,had conceived the fearful vengeance of exposing herin the forests.
Other little facts came to light one by one.They were all connected (as was natural in a savage)with some animal or other natural object. Whateverimpressions her morals or affections had received,had been erased by the long spiritual death of thatforest sojourn; and Mrs. Leigh could not elicit fromher a trace of feeling about her mother, or recollectionof any early religious teaching. This link, however,was supplied at last, and in this way.
Sir Richard had brought home an Indian with him fromVirginia. Of his original name I am not sure,but he was probably the “Wanchese” whosename occurs with that of “Manteo.”
This man was to be baptized in the church at Bidefordby the name of Raleigh, his sponsors being most probablyRaleigh himself, who may have been there on Virginianbusiness, and Sir Richard Grenville. All thenotabilities of Bideford came, of course, to see thebaptism of the first “Red man” whose foothad ever trodden British soil, and the mayor and corporation-menappeared in full robes, with maces and tipstaffs, todo honor to that first-fruits of the Gospel in theWest.
Mrs. Leigh went, as a matter of course, and Ayacanorawould needs go too. She was very anxious to knowwhat they were going to do with the “Carib.”
“To make him a Christian.”
“Why did they not make her one?”
Because she was one already. They were sure thatshe had been christened as soon as she was born.But she was not sure, and pouted a good deal at thechance of an “ugly red Carib” being betteroff than she was. However, all assembled duly;the stately son of the forest, now transformed intoa footman of Sir Richard’s, was standing at thefont; the service was half performed when a heavysigh, or rather groan, made all eyes turn, and Ayacanorasank fainting upon Mrs. Leigh’s bosom.
She was carried out, and to a neighboring house; andwhen she came to herself, told a strange story.How, as she was standing there trying to recollectwhether she too had ever been baptized, the churchseemed to grow larger, the priest’s dress richer;the walls were covered with pictures, and above thealtar, in jewelled robes, stood a lady, and in herarms a babe. Soft music sounded in her ears; theair was full (on that she insisted much) of fragrantodor which filled the church like mist; and throughit she saw not one, but many Indians, standing by thefont; and a lady held her by the hand, and she wasa little girl again.
And after, many questionings, so accurate was herrecollection, not only of the scene, but of the building,that Yeo pronounced:
“A christened woman she is, madam, if Popishchristening is worth calling such, and has seen Indianschristened too in the Cathedral Church at Quito, theinside whereof I know well enough, and too well, forI sat there three mortal hours in a San Benito, tohear a friar preach his false doctrines, not knowingwhether I was to be burnt or not next day.”
So Ayacanora went home to Burrough, and Raleigh theIndian to Sir Richard’s house. The entryof his baptism still stands, crooked-lettered, inthe old parchment register of the Bideford baptismsfor 1587-3:
“Raleigh, a Winganditoian:March 26.”
His name occurs once more, a year and a month after:
“Rawly, a Winganditoian,April 1589.”
But it is not this time among the baptisms. Thefree forest wanderer has pined in vain for his olddeer-hunts amid the fragrant cedar woods, and lazypaddlings through the still lagoons, where water-liliessleep beneath the shade of great magnolias, wreathedwith clustered vines; and now he is away to “happierhunting-grounds,” and all that is left of himbelow sleeps in the narrow town churchyard, blockedin with dingy houses, whose tenants will never wastea sigh upon the Indian’s grave. There thetwo entries stand, unto this day; and most patheticthey have seemed to me; a sort of emblem and first-fruitsof the sad fate of that worn-out Red race, to whomcivilization came too late to save, but not too lateto hasten their decay.
But though Amyas lay idle, England did not. Thatspring saw another and a larger colony sent out byRaleigh to Virginia, under the charge of one JohnWhite. Raleigh had written more than once, entreatingAmyas to take the command, which if he had done, perhapsthe United States had begun to exist twenty yearssooner than they actually did. But his motherhad bound him by a solemn promise (and who can wonderat her for asking, or at him for giving it?) to waitat home with her twelve months at least. So,instead of himself, he sent five hundred pounds, whichI suppose are in Virginia (virtually at least) untilthis day; for they never came back again to him.
But soon came a sharper trial of Amyas’s promiseto his mother; and one which made him, for the firsttime in his life, moody, peevish, and restless, atthe thought that others were fighting Spaniards, whilehe was sitting idle at home. For his whole soulwas filling fast with sullen malice against Don Guzman.He was losing the “single eye,” and hiswhole body was no longer full of light. He hadentered into the darkness in which every man walkswho hates his brother; and it lay upon him like ablack shadow day and night. No company, too, couldbe more fit to darken that shadow than Salvation Yeo’s.The old man grew more stern in his fanaticism dayby day, and found a too willing listener in his master;and Mrs. Leigh was (perhaps for the first and lasttime in her life) seriously angry, when she heardthe two coolly debating whether they had not committeda grievous sin in not killing the Spanish prisonerson board the galleon.
It must be said, however (as the plain facts set downin this book testify), that if such was the temperof Englishmen at that day, the Spaniards had donea good deal to provoke it; and were just then attemptingto do still more.
For now we are approaching the year 1588, “whichan astronomer of Konigsberg, above a hundred yearsbefore, foretold would be an admirable year, and theGerman chronologers presaged would be the climactericalyear of the world.”
The prophecies may stand for what they are worth;but they were at least fulfilled. That year was,indeed, the climacterical year of the world; and decidedonce and for all the fortunes of the European nations,and of the whole continent of America.
No wonder, then, if (as has happened in each greatcrisis of the human race) some awful instinct thatThe Day of the Lord was at hand, some dim feelingthat there was war in heaven, and that the fiends ofdarkness and the angels of light were arrayed againsteach other in some mighty struggle for the possessionof the souls of men, should have tried to expressitself in astrologic dreams, and, as was the fashionthen, attributed to the “rulers of the planetaryhouses” some sympathy with the coming world-tragedy.
But, for the wise, there needed no conjunction ofplanets to tell them that the day was near at hand,when the long desultory duel between Spain and Englandwould end, once and for all, in some great death-grapple.The war, as yet, had been confined to the Netherlands,to the West Indies, and the coasts and isles of Africa;to the quarters, in fact, where Spain was held eitherto have no rights, or to have forfeited them by tyranny.But Spain itself had been respected by England, asEngland had by Spain; and trade to Spanish ports wenton as usual, till, in the year 1585, the Spaniard,without warning, laid an embargo on all English shipscoming to his European shores. They were to beseized, it seemed, to form part of an enormous armament,which was to attack and crush, once and for all—whom?The rebellious Netherlanders, said the Spaniards:but the queen, the ministry, and, when it was justnot too late, the people of England, thought otherwise.England was the destined victim; so, instead of negotiating,in order to avoid fighting, they fought in order toproduce negotiation. Drake, Frobisher, and Carlisle,as we have seen, swept the Spanish Main with fire andsword, stopping the Indian supplies; while Walsingham(craftiest, and yet most honest of mortals) prevented,by some mysterious financial operation, the Venetianmerchants from repairing the Spaniards’ lossby a loan; and no Armada came that year.
In the meanwhile, the Jesuits, here and abroad, madeno secret, among their own dupes, of the real objectsof the Spanish armament. The impious heretics,—theDrakes and Raleighs, Grenvilles and Cavendishes, Hawkinsesand Frobishers, who had dared to violate that hiddensanctuary of just half the globe, which the pope hadbestowed on the defender of the true faith,—ashameful ruin, a terrible death awaited them, whentheir sacrilegious barks should sink beneath the thunderof Spanish cannon, blessed by the pope, and sanctified
with holy water and prayer to the service of “Godand his Mother.” Yes, they would fall, andEngland with them. The proud islanders, who haddared to rebel against St. Peter, and to cast offthe worship of “Mary,” should bow theirnecks once more under the yoke of the Gospel.Their so-called queen, illegitimate, excommunicate,contumacious, the abettor of free-trade, the defenderof the Netherlands, the pillar of false doctrine throughoutEurope, should be sent in chains across the Alps, tosue for her life at the feet of the injured and long-sufferingfather of mankind, while his nominee took her placeupon the throne which she had long since forfeitedby her heresy.“What nobler work? How could the Churchof God be more gloriously propagated? How couldhigher merit be obtained by faithful Catholics?It must succeed. Spain was invincible in valor,inexhaustible in wealth. Heaven itself offeredthem an opportunity. They had nothing now to fearfrom the Turk, for they had concluded a truce withhim; nothing from the French, for they were embroiledin civil war. The heavens themselves had calledupon Spain to fulfil her heavenly mission, and restoreto the Church’s crown this brightest and richestof her lost jewels. The heavens themselves calledto a new crusade. The saints, whose altars theEnglish had rifled and profaned, called them to a newcrusade. The Virgin Queen of Heaven, whose boundlessstores of grace the English spurned, called them toa new crusade. Justly incensed at her own wrongsand indignities, that ’ever-gracious Virgin,refuge of sinners, and mother of fair love, and holyhope,’ adjured by their knightly honor all valiantcavaliers to do battle in her cause against the impiousharlot who assumed her titles, received from her idolatrousflatterers the homage due to Mary alone, and even(for Father Parsons had asserted it, therefore itmust be true) had caused her name to be substitutedfor that of Mary in the Litanies of the Church.Let all who wore within a manly heart, without a manlysword, look on the woes of ’Mary,’—hershame, her tears, her blushes, her heart pierced throughwith daily wounds, from heretic tongues, and choosebetween her and Elizabeth!”
So said Parsons, Allen, and dozens more; and saidmore than this, too, and much which one had rathernot repeat; and were somewhat surprised and mortifiedto find that their hearers, though they granted thepremises, were too dull or carnal to arrive at thesame conclusion. The English lay Romanists, almostto a man, had hearts sounder than their heads, and,howsoever illogically, could not help holding to thestrange superstition that, being Englishmen, theywere bound to fight for England. So the haplessJesuits, who had been boasting for years past thatthe persecuted faithful throughout the island wouldrise as one man to fight under the blessed bannerof the pope and Spain, found that the faithful, likeDemas of old, forsook them and “went after thispresent world;” having no objection, of course,to the restoration of Popery: but preferringsome more comfortable method than an invasion whichwould inevitably rob them of their ancestral landsand would seat needy and greedy Castilians in theirold country houses, to treat their tenants as theyhad treated the Indians of Hispaniola, and them asthey had treated the caciques.
But though the hearts of men in that ungodly age weretoo hard to melt at the supposed woes of the Marywho reigned above, and too dull to turn rebels andtraitors for the sake of those thrones and principalitiesin supra-lunar spheres which might be in her gift:yet there was a Mary who reigned (or ought to reign)below, whose woes (like her gifts) were somewhat morepalpable to the carnal sense. A Mary who, havingevery comfort and luxury (including hounds and horses)found for her by the English Government, at an expensewhich would be now equal to some twenty thousand ayear, could afford to employ the whole of her jointureas Queen Dowager of France (probably equal to fiftythousand a year more), in plotting the destructionof the said government, and the murder of its queen;a Mary who, if she prospered as she ought, might havedukedoms, and earldoms, fair lands and castles to bestowon her faithful servants; a Mary, finally, who contrivedby means of an angel face, a serpent tongue, and aheart (as she said herself) as hard as a diamond,to make every weak man fall in love with her, and,what was worse, fancy more or less that she was inlove with him.
Of her the Jesuits were not unmindful; and found itconvenient, indeed, to forget awhile the sorrows ofthe Queen of Heaven in those of the Queen of Scots.Not that they cared much for those sorrows; but theywere an excellent stock-in-trade. She was a Romanist;she was “beautiful and unfortunate,” avirtue which, like charity, hides the multitude ofsins; and therefore she was a convenient card to playin the great game of Rome against the Queen and peopleof England; and played the poor card was, till itgot torn up by over-using. Into her merits ordemerits I do not enter deeply here. Let herrest in peace.
To all which the people of England made a most practicaland terrible answer. From the highest noble tothe lowest peasant, arose one simultaneous plebiscitum:“We are tired of these seventeen years of chicaneryand terror. This woman must die: or the commonwealof England perish!” We all know which of thetwo alternatives was chosen.
All Europe stood aghast: but rather with astonishmentat English audacity, than with horror at English wickedness.Mary’s own French kinsfolk had openly givenher up as too bad to be excused, much less assisted.Her own son blustered a little to the English ambassador;for the majesty of kings was invaded: whereonWalsingham said in open council, that “the queenshould send him a couple of hounds, and that wouldset all right.” Which sage advice (beingacted on, and some deer sent over and above) was sosuccessful that the pious mourner, having run off(Randolph says, like a baby to see the deer in theircart), returned for answer that he would “thereafterdepend wholly upon her majesty, and serve her fortuneagainst all the world; and that he only wanted nowtwo of her majesty’s yeoman prickers, and a coupleof her grooms of the deer.” The Spaniardwas not sorry on the whole for the catastrophe; forall that had kept him from conquering England longago was the fear lest, after it was done, he mighthave had to put the crown thereof on Mary’shead, instead of his own. But Mary’s deathwas as convenient a stalking-horse to him as to thepope; and now the Armada was coming in earnest.
Elizabeth began negotiating; but fancy not that shedoes nothing more, as the following letter testifies,written about midsummer, 1587.
“F. Drake to Captain Amyas Leigh.This with haste.
“Dear lad,
“As I said to her most glorious majesty, I sayto you now. There are two ways of facing an enemy.The one to stand off, and cry, ’Try that again,and I’ll strike thee’; the other to strikehim first, and then, ’Try that at all, and I’llstrike thee again.’ Of which latter counselher majesty so far approves, that I go forthwith (tellit not in Gath) down the coast, to singe the kingof Spain’s beard (so I termed it to her majesty,she laughing), in which if I leave so much as a fishing-boatafloat from the Groyne unto Cadiz, it will not be withmy good will, who intend that if he come this year,he shall come by swimming and not by sailing.So if you are still the man I have known you, bringa good ship round to Plymouth within the month, andaway with me for hard blows and hard money, the feelof both of which you know pretty well by now.
“Thine lovingly,
“F. Drake.”
Amyas clutched his locks over this letter, and smokedmore tobacco the day he got it than had ever beforebeen consumed at once in England. But he kepttrue to his promise; and this was his reply:—
“Amyas Leigh to the Worshipful Sir F. Drake,Admiral of her Majesty’s Fleet in Plymouth.
“Most honored sir,
“A magician keeps me here, in bilboes for whichyou have no picklock; namely, a mother who forbids.The loss is mine: but Antichrist I can fightany year (for he will not die this bout, nor the next),while my mother—but I will not troubleyour patience more than to ask from you to get menews, if you can, from any prisoners of one Don GuzmanMaria Magdalena Sotomayor de Soto; whether he is inSpain or in the Indies; and what the villain does,and where he is to be found. This only I entreatof you, and so remain behind with a heavy heart.
“Yours to command in all else, and I would toHeaven, in this also,
“Amyas Leigh.”
I am sorry to have to say, that after having thusobeyed his mother, Master Amyas, as men are too aptto do, revenged himself on her by being more and morecross and disagreeable. But his temper amendedmuch, when, a few months after, Drake returned triumphant,having destroyed a hundred sail in Cadiz alone, takenthree great galleons with immense wealth on board,burnt the small craft all along the shore, and offeredbattle to Santa Cruz at the mouth of the Tagus.After which it is unnecessary to say, that the Armadawas put off for yet another year.
This news, indeed, gave Amyas little comfort; forhe merely observed, grumbling, that Drake had goneand spoiled everybody else’s sport: butwhat cheered him was news from Drake that Don Guzmanhad been heard of from the captain of one of the galleons;that he was high in favor in Spain, and commandantof soldiers on board one of the largest of the marquis’sships.
And when Amyas heard that, a terrible joy took possessionof him. When the Armada came, as come it would,he should meet his enemy at last! He could waitnow patiently: if—and he shudderedat himself, as he found himself in the very act ofbreathing a prayer that Don Guzman might not die beforethat meeting.
In the meanwhile, rumor flew thousand-tongued throughthe length and breadth of the land; of vast preparationsgoing on in Spain and Italy; of timber felled longbefore for some such purpose, brought down to thesea, and sawn out for shipbuilding; of casting of cannon,and drilling of soldiers; of ships in hundreds collectingat Lisbon; of a crusade preached by Pope Sixtus theFifth, who had bestowed the kingdom of England onthe Spaniard, to be enjoyed by him as vassal tributaryto Rome; of a million of gold to be paid by the pope,one-half down at once, the other half when Londonwas taken; of Cardinal Allen writing and printingbusily in the Netherlands, calling on all good Englishmento carry out, by rebelling against Elizabeth, the bullof Sixtus the Fifth, said (I blush to repeat it) tohave been dictated by the Holy Ghost; of Inquisitorsgetting ready fetters and devil’s engines ofall sorts; of princes and noblemen, flocking fromall quarters, gentlemen selling their private estatesto fit out ships; how the Prince of Melito, the Marquessof Burgrave, Vespasian Gonzaga, John Medicis, Amadasof Savoy, in short, the illegitimate sons of all thesouthern princes, having no lands of their own, werecoming to find that necessary of life in this pleasantlittle wheat-garden. Nay, the Duke of MedinaSidonia had already engaged Mount-Edgecombe for himself,as the fairest jewel of the south; which when goodold Sir Richard Edgecombe heard, he observed quietly,that in 1555 he had the pleasure of receiving at histable at one time the admirals of England, Spain, andthe Netherlands, and therefore had experience in entertainingDons; and made preparations for the visit by fillinghis cellars with gunpowder, with a view to a house-warmingand feu-de-joie on the occasion. But as old Fullersays, “The bear was not yet killed, and MedinaSidonia might have catched a great cold, had he noother clothes to wear than the skin thereof.”
So flew rumor, false and true, till poor John Bull’swits were well-nigh turned: but to the very last,after his lazy fashion, he persuaded himself thatit would all come right somehow; that it was too greatnews to be true; that if it was true, the expeditionwas only meant for the Netherlands; and, in short,sat quietly over his beef and beer for many a dayafter the French king had sent him fair warning, andthe queen, the ministry, and the admirals had beenassuring him again and again that he, and not theDutchman, was the destined prey of this great flightof ravenous birds.
At last the Spaniard, in order that there should beno mistake about the matter, kindly printed a completebill of the play, to be seen still in Van Meteran,for the comfort of all true Catholics, and confusionof all pestilent heretics; which document, of course,the seminary priests used to enforce the duty of helpingthe invaders, and the certainty of their success;and from their hands it soon passed into those of thedevout ladies, who were not very likely to keep itto themselves; till John Bull himself found his daughtersbuzzing over it with very pale faces (as young ladieswell might who had no wish to follow the fate of thedamsels of Antwerp), and condescending to run his eyethrough it, discovered, what all the rest of Europehad known for months past, that he was in a very greatscrape.
Well it was for England, then, that her Tudor sovereignshad compelled every man (though they kept up no standingarmy) to be a trained soldier. Well it was thatElizabeth, even in those dangerous days of intrigueand rebellion, had trusted her people enough, not onlyto leave them their weapons, but (what we, forsooth,in these more “free” and “liberal”days dare not do) to teach them how to use them.Well it was, that by careful legislation for the comfortand employment of “the masses” (term then,thank God, unknown), she had both won their hearts,and kept their bodies in fighting order. Wellit was that, acting as fully as Napoleon did on “lacarriere ouverte aux talens,” she had raisedto the highest posts in her councils, her army, andher navy, men of business, who had not been ashamedto buy and sell as merchants and adventurers.Well for England, in a word, that Elizabeth had pursuedfor thirty years a very different course from thatwhich we have been pursuing for the last thirty, withone exception, namely, the leaving as much as possibleto private enterprise.
There we have copied her: would to Heaven thatwe had in some other matters! It is the fashionnow to call her a despot: but unless every monarchis to be branded with that epithet whose power is notas circ*mscribed as Queen Victoria’s is now,we ought rather to call her the most popular sovereign,obeyed of their own free will by the freest subjectswhich England has ever seen; confess the Armada fightto have been as great a moral triumph as it was apolitical one; and (now that our late boasting isa little silenced by Crimean disasters) inquire whetherwe have not something to learn from those old Tudortimes, as to how to choose officials, how to traina people, and how to defend a country.
To return to the thread of my story.
January, 1587-8, had well-nigh run through, beforeSir Richard Grenville made his appearance on the streetsof Bideford. He had been appointed in Novemberone of the council of war for providing for the safetyof the nation, and the West Country had seen nothingof him since. But one morning, just before Christmas,his stately figure darkened the old bay-window atBurrough, and Amyas rushed out to meet him, and bringhim in, and ask what news from Court.
“All good news, dear lad, and dearer madam.The queen shows the spirit of a very Boadicea or Semiramis;ay, a very Scythian Tomyris, and if she had the Spaniardbefore her now, would verily, for aught I know, feasthim as the Scythian queen did Cyrus, with ’Satiate sanguine, quod sitisti.’”
“I trust her most merciful spirit is not sochanged already,” said Mrs. Leigh.
“Well, if she would not do it, I would, andask pardon afterwards, as Raleigh did about the rascalsat Smerwick, whom Amyas knows of. Mrs. Leigh,these are times in which mercy is cruelty. NotEngland alone, but the world, the Bible, the Gospelitself, is at stake; and we must do terrible things,lest we suffer more terrible ones.”
“God will take care of world and Bible betterthan any cruelty of ours, dear Sir Richard.”
“Nay, but, Mrs. Leigh, we must help Him to takecare of them! If those Smerwick Spaniards hadnot been—”
“The Spaniard would not have been exasperatedinto invading us.”
“And we should not have had this chance of crushinghim once and for all; but the quarrel is of olderstanding, madam, eh, Amyas? Amyas, has Raleighwritten to you of late?”
“Not a word, and I wonder why.”
“Well; no wonder at that, if you knew how hehas been laboring. The wonder is, whence he gotthe knowledge wherewith to labor; for he never sawsea-work to my remembrance.”
“Never saw a shot fired by sea, except oursat Smerwick, and that brush with the Spaniards in1579, when he sailed for Virginia with Sir Humphrey;and he was a mere crack then.”
“So you consider him as your pupil, eh?But he learnt enough in the Netherland wars, and inIreland too, if not of the strength of ships, yetstill of the weakness of land forces; and would youbelieve it, the man has twisted the whole councilround his finger, and made them give up the land defencesto the naval ones.”
“Quite right he, and wooden walls against stoneones for ever! But as for twisting, he wouldpersuade Satan, if he got him alone for half an hour.”
“I wish he would sail for Spain then, just now,and try the powers of his tongue,” said Mrs.Leigh.
“But are we to have the honor, really?”
“We are, lad. There were many in the councilwho were for disputing the landing on shore, and said—whichI do not deny—that the ’prenticeboys of London could face the bluest blood in Spain.But Raleigh argued (following my Lord Burleigh inthat) that we differed from the Low Countries, andall other lands, in that we had not a castle or townthroughout, which would stand a ten days’ siege,and that our ramparts, as he well said, were, afterall, only a body of men. So, he argued, as longas the enemy has power to land where he will, prevention,rather than cure, is our only hope; and that belongsto the office, not of an army, but of a fleet.So the fleet was agreed on, and a fleet we shall have.”
“Then here is his health, the health of a truefriend to all bold mariners, and myself in particular!But where is he now?”
“Coming here to-morrow, as I hope—forhe left London with me, and so down by us into Cornwall,to drill the train-bands, as he is bound to do, beingSeneschal of the Duchies and Lieutenant-General ofthe county.”
“Besides Lord Warden of the Stanneries!How the man thrives!” said Mrs. Leigh.
“How the man deserves to thrive!” saidAmyas; “but what are we to do?”
“That is the rub. I would fain stay andfight the Spaniards.”
“So would I; and will.”
“But he has other plans in his head for us.”
“We can make our own plans without his help.”
“Heyday, Amyas! How long? When didhe ask you to do a thing yet and you refuse him?”
“Not often, certainly; but Spaniards I mustfight.”
“Well, so must I, boy: but I have givena sort of promise to him, nevertheless.”
“Not for me too, I hope?”
“No: he will extract that himself whenhe comes; you must come and sup to-morrow, and talkit over.”
“Be talked over, rather. What chestnutdoes the cat want us monkeys to pull out of the firefor him now, I wonder?”
“Sir Richard Grenville is hardly accustomedto be called a monkey,” said Mrs. Leigh.
“I meant no harm; and his worship knows it,none better: but where is Raleigh going to sendus, with a murrain?”
“To Virginia. The settlers must have help:and, as I trust in God, we shall be back again longbefore this armament can bestir itself.”
So Raleigh came, saw, and conquered. Mrs. Leighconsented to Amyas’s going (for his twelve-monthwould be over ere the fleet could start) upon so peacefuland useful an errand; and the next five months werespent in continual labor on the part of Amyas and Grenville,till seven ships were all but ready in Bideford river,the admiral whereof was Amyas Leigh.
But that fleet was not destined ever to see the shoresof the New World: it had nobler work to do (ifAmericans will forgive the speech) than even settlingthe United States.
It was in the long June evenings, in the year 1588;Mrs. Leigh sat in the open window, busy at her needle-work;Ayacanora sat opposite to her, on the seat of thebay, trying diligently to read “The History ofthe Nine Worthies,” and stealing a glance everynow and then towards the garden, where Amyas stalkedup and down as he had used to do in happier days goneby. But his brow was contracted now, his eyesfixed on the ground, as he plodded backwards and forwards,his hands behind his back, and a huge cigar in hismouth, the wonder of the little boys of Northam, whopeeped in stealthily as they passed the iron-work gates,to see the back of the famous fire-breathing captainwho had sailed round the world and been in the countryof headless men and flying dragons, and then popped
back their heads suddenly, as he turned toward themin his walk. And Ayacanora looked, and looked,with no less admiration than the urchins at the gate:but she got no more of an answering look from Amyasthan they did; for his head was full of calculationsof tonnage and stowage, of salt pork and ale-barrels,and the packing of tools and seeds; for he had promisedRaleigh to do his best for the new colony, and hewas doing it with all his might; so Ayacanora lookedback again to her book, and heaved a deep sigh.It was answered by one from Mrs. Leigh.“We are a melancholy pair, sweet chuck,”said the fair widow. “What is my maid sighingabout, there?”
“Because I cannot make out the long words,”said Ayacanora, telling a very white fib.
“Is that all? Come to me, and I will tellyou.”
Ayacanora moved over to her, and sat down at her feet.
“H—e, he, r—o, ro, i—c—a—l,heroical,” said Mrs. Leigh.
“But what does that mean?”
“Grand, good, and brave, like—”
Mrs. Leigh was about to have said the name of onewho was lost to her on earth. His fair angelicface hung opposite upon the wall. She pausedunable to pronounce his name; and lifted up her eyes,and gazed on the portrait, and breathed a prayer betweenclosed lips, and drooped her head again.
Her pupil caught at the pause, and filled it up forherself—
“Like him?” and she turned her head quicklytoward the window.
“Yes, like him, too,” said Mrs. Leigh,with a half-smile at the gesture. “Now,mind your book. Maidens must not look out of thewindow in school hours.”
“Shall I ever be an English girl?” askedAyacanora.
“You are one now, sweet; your father was anEnglish gentleman.”
Amyas looked in, and saw the two sitting together.
“You seem quite merry there,” said he.
“Come in, then, and be merry with us.”
He entered, and sat down; while Ayacanora fixed hereyes most steadfastly on her book.
“Well, how goes on the reading?” saidhe; and then, without waiting for an answer—“Weshall be ready to clear out this day week, mother,I do believe; that is, if the hatchets are made intime to pack them.”
“I hope they will be better than the last,”said Mrs. Leigh. “It seems to me a shamefulsin to palm off on poor ignorant savages goods whichwe should consider worthless for ourselves.”
“Well, it’s not over fair: but still,they are a sight better than they ever had before.An old hoop is better than a deer’s bone, asAyacanora knows,—eh?”
“I don’t know anything about it,”said she, who was always nettled at the least allusionto her past wild life. “I am an Englishgirl now, and all that is gone—I forgetit.”
“Forget it?” said he, teasing her forwant of something better to do. “Shouldnot you like to sail with us, now, and see the Indiansin the forests once again?”
“Sail with you?” and she looked up eagerly.
“There! I knew it! She would not befour-and-twenty hours ashore, but she would be offinto the woods again, bow in hand, like any runawaynymph, and we should never see her more.”
“It is false, bad man!” and she burstinto violent tears, and hid her face in Mrs. Leigh’slap.
“Amyas, Amyas, why do you tease the poor fatherlessthing?”
“I was only jesting, I’m sure,”said Amyas, like a repentant schoolboy. “Don’tcry now, don’t cry, my child, see here,”and he began fumbling in his pockets; “see whatI bought of a chapman in town to-day, for you, mymaid, indeed, I did.”
And out he pulled some smart kerchief or other, whichhad taken his sailor’s fancy.
“Look at it now, blue, and crimson, and green,like any parrot!” and he held it out.
She looked round sharply, snatched it out of his hand,and tore it to shreds.
“I hate it, and I hate you!” and she sprangup and darted out of the room.
“Oh, boy, boy!” said Mrs. Leigh, “willyou kill that poor child? It matters little foran old heart like mine, which has but one or two chordsleft whole, how soon it be broken altogether; but ayoung heart is one of God’s precious treasures,Amyas, and suffers many a long pang in the breaking;and woe to them who despise Christ’s little ones!”
“Break your heart, mother?”
“Never mind my heart, dear son; yet how canyou break it more surely than by tormenting one whomI love, because she loves you?”
“Tut! play, mother, and maids’ tempers.But how can I break your heart? What have I done?Have I not given up going again to the West Indiesfor your sake? Have I not given up going to Virginia,and now again settled to go after all, just becauseyou commanded? Was it not your will? HaveI not obeyed you, mother, mother? I will stayat home now, if you will. I would rather rusthere on land, I vow I would, than grieve you—”and he threw himself at his mother’s knees.
“Have I asked you not to go to Virginia?No, dear boy, though every thought of a fresh partingseems to crack some new fibre within me, you mustgo! It is your calling. Yes; you were notsent into the world to amuse me, but to work.I have had pleasure enough of you, my darling, formany a year, and too much, perhaps; till I shrank fromlending you to the Lord. But He must have you.. . . It is enough for the poor old widow toknow that her boy is what he is, and to forget allher anguish day by day, for joy that a man is borninto the world. But, Amyas, Amyas, are you soblind as not to see that Ayacanora—”
“Don’t talk about her, poor child.Talk about yourself.”
“How long have I been worth talking about?No, Amyas, you must see it; and if you will not seeit now, you will see it one day in some sad and fearfulprodigy; for she is not one to die tamely. Sheloves you, Amyas, as a woman only can love.”
“Loves me? Well, of course. I foundher, and brought her home; and I don’t denyshe may think that she owes me somewhat—thoughit was no more than a Christian man’s duty.But as for her caring much for me, mother, you measureevery one else’s tenderness by your own.”
“Think that she owes you somewhat? Sillyboy, this is not gratitude, but a deeper affection,which may be more heavenly than gratitude, as it may,too, become a horrible cause of ruin. It restswith you, Amyas, which of the two it will be.”
“You are in earnest?”
“Have I the heart or the time to jest?”
“No, no, of course not; but, mother, I thoughtit was not comely for women to fall in love with men?”
“Not comely, at least, to confess their loveto men. But she has never done that, Amyas; noteven by a look or a tone of voice, though I have watchedher for months.”
“To be sure, she is as demure as any cat whenI am in the way. I only wonder how you foundit out.”
“Ah,” said she, smiling sadly, “evenin the saddest woman’s soul there linger snatchesof old music, odors of flowers long dead and turnedto dust—pleasant ghosts, which still keepher mind attuned to that which may be in others, thoughin her never more; till she can hear her own wedding-hymnre-echoed in the tones of every girl who loves, andsees her own wedding-torch re-lighted in the eyesof every bride.”
“You would not have me marry her?” askedblunt, practical Amyas.
“God knows what I would have—I knownot; I see neither your path nor my own—no,not after weeks and months of prayer. All thingsbeyond are wrapped in mist; and what will be, I knownot, save that whatever else is wrong, mercy at leastis right.”
“I’d sail to-morrow, if I could.As for marrying her, mother—her birth,mind me—”
“Ah, boy, boy! Are you God, to visit thesins of the parents upon the children?”
“Not that. I don’t mean that; butI mean this, that she is half a Spaniard, mother;and I cannot!—Her blood may be as blue asKing Philip’s own, but it is Spanish still!I cannot bear the thought that my children shouldhave in their veins one drop of that poison.”
“Amyas! Amyas!” interrupted she,“is this not, too, visiting the parents’sins on the children?”
“Not a whit; it is common sense,—shemust have the taint of their bloodthirsty humor.She has it—I have seen it in her again andagain. I have told you, have I not? CanI forget the look of her eyes as she stood over thatgalleon’s captain, with the smoking knife inher hand.—Ugh! And she is not tamedyet, as you can see, and never will be:—notthat I care, except for her own sake, poor thing!”
“Cruel boy! to impute as a blame to the poorchild, not only the errors of her training, but thevery madness of her love!”
“Of her love?”
“Of what else, blind buzzard? From themoment that you told me the story of that captain’sdeath, I knew what was in her heart—andthus it is that you requite her for having saved yourlife!”
“Umph! that is one word too much, mother.If you don’t want to send me crazy, don’tput the thing on the score of gratitude or duty.As it is, I can hardly speak civilly to her (God forgiveme!) when I recollect that she belongs to the crewwho murdered him”—and he pointed tothe picture, and Mrs. Leigh shuddered as he did so.
“You feel it! You know you feel it, tender-hearted,forgiving angel as you are; and what do you thinkI must feel?”
“Oh, my son, my son!” cried she, wringingher hands, “if I be wretch enough to give placeto the devil for a moment, does that give you a rightto entertain and cherish him thus day by day?”
“I should cherish him with a vengeance, if Ibrought up a crew of children who could boast of apedigree of idolaters and tyrants, hunters of Indians,and torturers of women! How pleasant to hear hertelling Master Jack, ’Your illustrious grand-unclethe pope’s legate, was the man who burned RoseSalterne at Cartagena;’ or Miss Grace, ’Yourgreat-grandfather of sixteen quarterings, the Marquisof this, son of the Grand-equerry that, and husbandof the Princess t’other, used to feed his bloodhounds,when beef was scarce, with Indians’ babies!’Eh, mother? These things are true, and if youcan forget them, I cannot. Is it not enough tohave made me forego for awhile my purpose, my business,the one thing I live for, and that is, hunting downthe Spaniards as I would adders or foxes, but youmust ask me over and above to take one to my bosom?”
“Oh, my son, my son! I have not asked youto do that; I have only commanded you, in God’sname, to be merciful, if you wish to obtain mercy.Oh, if you will not pity this poor maiden, pity yourself;for God knows you stand in more need of it than shedoes!”
Amyas was silent for a minute or two; and then,—
“If it were not for you, mother, would God thatthe Armada would come!”
“What, and ruin England?”
“No! Curse them! Not a foot will theyever set on English soil, such a welcome would wegive them. If I were but in the midst of thatfleet, fighting like a man—to forget itall, with a galleon on board of me to larboard, andanother to starboard—and then to put a linstockin the magazine, and go aloft in good company—Idon’t care how soon it comes, mother, if itwere not for you.”
“If I am in your way, Amyas, do not fear thatI shall trouble you long.”
“Oh, mother, mother, do not talk in that way!I am half-mad, I think, already, and don’t knowwhat I say. Yes, I am mad; mad at heart, thoughnot at head. There’s a fire burning me up,night and day, and nothing but Spanish blood willput it out.”
“Or the grace of God, my poor wilful child!Who comes to the door?—so quickly, too?”
There was a loud hurried knocking, and in anotherminute a serving-man hurried in with a letter.
“This to Captain Amyas Leigh with haste, haste!”
It was Sir Richard’s hand. Amyas tore itopen; and “a loud laugh laughed he.”
“The Armada is coming! My wish has cometrue, mother!”
“God help us, it has! Show me the letter.”
It was a hurried scrawl.
“Dr. Godson,—Walsinghamsends word that the Ada. sailed from Lisbon to theGroyne the 18. of May. We know no more, but havecommandment to stay the ships. Come down, dearlad, and give us counsel; and may the Lord help HisChurch in this great strait.
“Your loving godfather,
“R. G.”
“Forgive me, mother, mother, once for all!”cried Amyas, throwing his arms round her neck.
“I have nothing to forgive, my son, my son!And shall I lose thee, also?”
“If I be killed, you will have two martyrs ofyour blood, mother!—”
Mrs. Leigh bowed her head, and was silent. Amyascaught up his hat and sword, and darted forth towardBideford.
Amyas literally danced into Sir Richard’s hall,where he stood talking earnestly with various merchantsand captains.
“Gloria, gloria! gentles all! The devilis broke loose at last; and now we know where to havehim on the hip!”
“Why so merry, Captain Leigh, when all elseare sad?” said a gentle voice by his side.
“Because I have been sad a long time, whileall else were merry, dear lady. Is the hawk dolefulwhen his hood is pulled off, and he sees the heronflapping right ahead of him?”
“You seem to forget the danger and the woe ofus weak women, sir?”
“I don’t forget the danger and the woeof one weak woman, madam, and she the daughter ofa man who once stood in this room,” said Amyas,suddenly collecting himself, in a low stern voice.“And I don’t forget the danger and thewoe of one who was worth a thousand even of her.I don’t forget anything, madam.”
“Nor forgive either, it seems.”
“It will be time to talk of forgiveness afterthe offender has repented and amended; and does thesailing of the Armada look like that?”
“Alas, no! God help us!”
“He will help us, madam,” said Amyas.
“Admiral Leigh,” said Sir Richard, “weneed you now, if ever. Here are the queen’sorders to furnish as many ships as we can; though fromthese gentlemen’s spirit, I should say the orderswere well-nigh needless.”
“Not a doubt, sir; for my part, I will fit myship at my own charges, and fight her too, as longas I have a leg or an arm left.”
“Or a tongue to say, never surrender, I’llwarrant!” said an old merchant. “Youput life into us old fellows, Admiral Leigh: butit will be a heavy matter for those poor fellows inVirginia, and for my daughter too, Madam Dare, withher young babe, as I hear, just born.”
“And a very heavy matter,” said some oneelse, “for those who have ventured their moneyin these cargoes, which must lie idle, you see, nowfor a year maybe—and then all the cost ofunlading again—”
“My good sir,” said Grenville, “whathave private interests to do with this day? Letus thank God if He only please to leave us the barefee-simple of this English soil, the honor of our wivesand daughters, and bodies safe from rack and fa*got,to wield the swords of freemen in defence of a freeland, even though every town and homestead in Englandwere wasted with fire, and we left to rebuild overagain all which our ancestors have wrought for usin now six hundred years.”
“Right, sir!” said Amyas. “Formy part, let my Virginian goods rot on the quay, ifthe worst comes to the worst. I begin unloadingthe Vengeance to-morrow; and to sea as soon as I canfill up my crew to a good fighting number.”
And so the talk ran on; and ere two days were past,most of the neighboring gentlemen, summoned by SirRichard, had come in, and great was the bidding againsteach other as to who should do most. Cary andBrimblecombe, with thirty tall Clovelly men, came acrossthe bay, and without even asking leave of Amyas, tookup their berths as a matter of course on board theVengeance. In the meanwhile, the matter was takenup by families. The Fortescues (a numberless clan)offered to furnish a ship; the Chichesters another,the Stukelys a third; while the merchantmen were notbackward. The Bucks, the Stranges, the Heards,joyfully unloaded their Virginian goods, and replacedthem with powder and shot; and in a week’s timethe whole seven were ready once more for sea, anddropped down into Appledore pool, with Amyas as theiradmiral for the time being (for Sir Richard had goneby land to Plymouth to join the deliberations there),and waited for the first favorable wind to start forthe rendezvous in the Sound.
At last, upon the twenty-first of June, the clankof the capstans rang merrily across the flats, andamid prayers and blessings, forth sailed that gallantsquadron over the bar, to play their part in Britain’sSalamis; while Mrs. Leigh stood watching as she stoodonce before, beside the churchyard wall: butnot alone this time; for Ayacanora stood by her side,and gazed and gazed, till her eyes seemed ready toburst from their sockets. At last she turnedaway with a sob,—
“And he never bade me good-bye, mother!”
“God forgive him! Come home and pray, mychild; there is no other rest on earth than prayerfor woman’s heart!”
They were calling each other mother and daughter then?Yes. The sacred fire of sorrow was fast burningout all Ayacanora’s fallen savageness; and,like a Phoenix, the true woman was rising from thoseashes, fair, noble, and all-enduring, as God had madeher.
CHAPTER XXX
HOW THE ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS TESTIFIED AGAINST CROAKERS
“Oh, where be these gay Spaniards,
Which make so great a boast O?
Oh, they shall eat the gray-goose feather,And we shall eat the roastO!”
CornishSong.
What if the spectators who last summer gazed withjust pride upon the noble port of Plymouth, its vastbreakwater spanning the Sound, its arsenals and docks,its two estuaries filled with gallant ships, and watchedthe great screw-liners turning within their own lengthby force invisible, or threading the crowded fleetswith the ease of the tiniest boat,—whatif, by some magic turn, the nineteenth century, andall the magnificence of its wealth and science, hadvanished—as it may vanish hereafter—andthey had found themselves thrown back three hundredyears into the pleasant summer days of 1588?
Mount Edgecombe is still there, beautiful as ever:but where are the docks, and where is Devonport?No vast dry-dock roofs rise at the water’s edge.Drake’s island carries but a paltry battery,just raised by the man whose name it bears; MountWise is a lone gentleman’s house among fields;the citadel is a pop-gun fort, which a third-classsteamer would shell into rubble for an afternoon’samusem*nt. And the shipping, where are they?The floating castles of the Hamoaze have dwindled toa few crawling lime-hoys; and the Catwater is packed,not as now, with merchant craft, but with the shipswho will to-morrow begin the greatest sea-fight whichthe world has ever seen.
There they lie, a paltry squadron enough in moderneyes; the largest of them not equal in size to a six-and-thirty-gunfrigate, carrying less weight of metal than one ofour new gun-boats, and able to employ even that atnot more than a quarter of our modern range. Wouldour modern spectators, just come down by rail fora few hours, to see the cavalry embark, and returntomorrow in time for dinner, have looked down uponthat petty port, and petty fleet, with a contemptuoussmile, and begun some flippant speech about the progressof intellect, and the triumphs of science, and ourbenighted ancestors? They would have done so,doubt it not, if they belonged to the many who gazeon those very triumphs as on a raree-show to feedtheir silly wonder, or use and enjoy them withoutthankfulness or understanding, as the ox eats the cloverthrust into his rack, without knowing or caring howit grew. But if any of them were of the classby whom those very triumphs have been achieved; thethinkers and the workers, who, instead of enteringlazily into other men’s labors, as the mob does,labor themselves; who know by hard experience thestruggles, the self-restraints, the disappointments,the slow and staggering steps, by which the discovererreaches to his prize; then the smile of those menwould not have been one of pity, but rather of filiallove. For they would have seen in those outwardlypaltry armaments the potential germ of that mightierone which now loads the Black Sea waves; they wouldhave been aware, that to produce it, with such materialsand knowledge as then existed, demanded an intellect,an energy, a spirit of progress and invention, equal,if not superior, to those of which we now so loudlyboast.
But if, again, he had been a student of men ratherthan of machinery, he would have found few noblercompanies on whom to exercise his discernment, thanhe might have seen in the little terrace bowling-greenbehind the Pelican Inn, on the afternoon of the nineteenthof July. Chatting in groups, or lounging overthe low wall which commanded a view of the Sound andthe shipping far below, were gathered almost everynotable man of the Plymouth fleet, the whole possecomitatus of “England’s forgotten worthies.”The Armada has been scattered by a storm. LordHoward has been out to look for it, as far as the Spanishcoast; but the wind has shifted to the south, and fearinglest the Dons should pass him, he has returned toPlymouth, uncertain whether the Armada will come afterall or not. Slip on for a while, like Prince Hal,the drawer’s apron; come in through the rose-claddoor which opens from the tavern, with a tray of long-neckedDutch glasses, and a silver tankard of wine, and lookround you at the gallant captains, who are waitingfor the Spanish Armada, as lions in their lair mightwait for the passing herd of deer.
See those five talking earnestly, in the centre ofa ring, which longs to overhear, and yet is too respectfulto approach close. Those soft long eyes and pointedchin you recognize already; they are Walter Raleigh’s.The fair young man in the flame-colored doublet, whosearm is round Raleigh’s neck, is Lord Sheffield;opposite them stands, by the side of Sir Richard Grenville,a man as stately even as he, Lord Sheffield’suncle, the Lord Charles Howard of Effingham, lord highadmiral of England; next to him is his son-in-law,Sir Robert Southwell, captain of the Elizabeth Jonas:but who is that short, sturdy, plainly dressed man,who stands with legs a little apart, and hands behindhis back, looking up, with keen gray eyes, into theface of each speaker? His cap is in his hands,so you can see the bullet head of crisp brown hairand the wrinkled forehead, as well as the high cheekbones, the short square face, the broad temples, thethick lips, which are yet firm as granite. Acoarse plebeian stamp of man: yet the whole figureand attitude are that of boundless determination,self-possession, energy; and when at last he speaksa few blunt words, all eyes are turned respectfullyupon him;—for his name is Francis Drake.
A burly, grizzled elder, in greasy sea-stained garments,contrasting oddly with the huge gold chain about hisneck, waddles up, as if he had been born, and hadlived ever since, in a gale of wind at sea. Theupper half of his sharp dogged visage seems of brick-redleather, the lower of badger’s fur; and as heclaps Drake on the back, and, with a broad Devon twang,shouts, “be you a coming to drink your wine,Francis Drake, or be you not?—saving yourpresence, my lord;” the lord high admiral onlylaughs, and bids Drake go and drink his wine; for JohnHawkins, admiral of the port, is the patriarch ofPlymouth seamen, if Drake be their hero, and saysand does pretty much what he likes in any company onearth; not to mention that to-day’s prospectof an Armageddon fight has shaken him altogether outof his usual crabbed reserve, and made him overflowwith loquacious good-humor, even to his rival Drake.
So they push through the crowd, wherein is many anotherman whom one would gladly have spoken with face toface on earth. Martin Frobisher and John Davisare sitting on that bench, smoking tobacco from longsilver pipes; and by them are Fenton and Withrington,who have both tried to follow Drake’s path roundthe world, and failed, though by no fault of theirown. The man who pledges them better luck nexttime, is George Fenner, known to “the sevenPortugals,” Leicester’s pet, and captainof the galleon which Elizabeth bought of him.That short prim man in the huge yellow ruff, withsharp chin, minute imperial, and self-satisfied smile,is Richard Hawkins, the Complete Seaman, Admiral John’shereafter famous and hapless son. The elder whois talking with him is his good uncle William, whosemonument still stands, or should stand, in DeptfordChurch; for Admiral John set it up there but one yearafter this time; and on it record how he was, “Aworshipper of the true religion, an especial benefactorof poor sailors, a most just arbiter in most difficultcauses, and of a singular faith, piety, and prudence.”That, and the fact that he got creditably through somesharp work at Porto Rico, is all I know of WilliamHawkins: but if you or I, reader, can have asmuch or half as much said of us when we have to followhim, we shall have no reason to complain.
There is John Drake, Sir Francis’ brother, ancestorof the present stock of Drakes; and there is George,his nephew, a man not overwise, who has been roundthe world with Amyas; and there is Amyas himself, talkingto one who answers him with fierce curt sentences,Captain Barker of Bristol, brother of the haplessAndrew Barker who found John Oxenham’s guns,and, owing to a mutiny among his men, perished by theSpaniards in Honduras, twelve years ago. Barkeris now captain of the Victory, one of the queen’sbest ships; and he has his accounts to settle withthe Dons, as Amyas has; so they are both growlingtogether in a corner, while all the rest are as merryas the flies upon the vine above their heads.
But who is the aged man who sits upon a bench, againstthe sunny south wall of the tavern, his long whitebeard flowing almost to his waist, his hands uponhis knees, his palsied head moving slowly from sideto side, to catch the scraps of discourse of the passingcaptains? His great-grandchild, a little maidof six, has laid her curly head upon his knees, andhis grand-daughter, a buxom black-eyed dame of thirty,stands by him and tends him, half as nurse, and half,too, as showman, for he seems an object of curiosityto all the captains, and his fair nurse has to entreatagain and again, “Bless you, sir, please now,don’t give him no liquor, poor old soul, thedoctor says.” It is old Martin co*ckrem,father of the ancient host, aged himself beyond theyears of man, who can recollect the bells of Plymouthringing for the coronation of Henry the Eighth, andwho was the first Englishman, perhaps, who ever set
foot on the soil of the New World. There he sits,like an old Druid Tor of primeval granite amid thetall wheat and rich clover crops of a modern farm.He has seen the death of old Europe and the birth-throesof the new. Go to him, and question him; forhis senses are quick as ever; and just now the oldman seems uneasy. He is peering with rheumy eyesthrough the groups, and seems listening for a well-knownvoice.“There ’a be again! Why don’t’a come, then?”
“Quiet, gramfer, and don’t trouble hisworship.”
“Here an hour, and never speak to poor old Martin!I say, sir”—and the old man feeblyplucks Amyas’s cloak as he passes. “Isay, captain, do ’e tell young master old Martin’slooking for him.”
“Marcy, gramfer, where’s your manners?Don’t be vexed, sir, he’m a’mosta babe, and tejous at times, mortal.”
“Young master who?” says Amyas, bendingdown to the old man, and smiling to the dame to lethim have his way.
“Master Hawkins; he’m never been a-nearme all day.”
Off goes Amyas; and, of course, lays hold of the sleeveof young Richard Hawkins; but as he is in act to speak,the dame lays hold of his, laughing and blushing.
“No, sir, not Mr. Richard, sir; Admiral John,sir, his father; he always calls him young master,poor old soul!” and she points to the grizzledbeard and the face scarred and tanned with fifty yearsof fight and storm.
Amyas goes to the Admiral, and gives his message.
“Mercy on me! Where be my wits? Iss,I’m a-coming,” says the old hero in hisbroadest Devon, waddles off to the old man, and beginslugging at a pocket. “Here, Martin, I’vegot mun, I’ve got mun, man alive; but his Lordshipkeept me so. Lookee here, then! Why, I doget so lusty of late, Martin, I can’t get tomy pockets!”
And out struggle a piece of tarred string, a bundleof papers, a thimble, a piece of pudding-tobacco,and last of all, a little paper of Muscovado sugar—thenas great a delicacy as any French bonbons would benow—which he thrusts into the old man’seager and trembling hand.
Old Martin begins dipping his finger into it, andrubbing it on his toothless gums, smiling and noddingthanks to his young master; while the little maidat his knee, unrebuked, takes her share also.
“There, Admiral Leigh; both ends meet—gramfersand babies! You and I shall be like to that oneday, young Samson!”
“We shall have slain a good many Philistinesfirst, I hope.”
“Amen! so be it; but look to mun! so fine asailor as ever drank liquor; and now greedy aftera hit of sweet trade! ’tis piteous like; butI bring mun a hit whenever I come, and he looks forit. He’s one of my own flesh like, is oldMartin. He sailed with my father Captain Will,when they was both two little cracks aboard of a trawler;and my father went up, and here I am—hedidn’t, and there he is. We’m up now,we Hawkinses. We may be down again some day.”
“Never, I trust,” said Amyas.
“’Tain’t no use trusting, youngman: you go and do. I do hear too much ofthat there from my lad. Let they ministers preachtill they’m black in the face, works is thetrade!” with a nudge in Amyas’s ribs.“Faith can’t save, nor charity nether.There, you tell with him, while I go play bowls withDrake. He’ll tell you a sight of stories.You ask him about good King Hal, now, just—”
And off waddled the Port Admiral.
“You have seen good King Henry, then, father?”said Amyas, interested.
The old man’s eyes lighted at once, and he stoppedmumbling his sugar.
“Seed mun? Iss, I reckon. I was withCaptain Will when he went to meet the Frenchman thereto Calais—at the Field, the Field—”
“The Field of the Cloth of Gold, gramfer,”suggested the dame.
“That’s it. Seed mun? Iss, fegs.Oh, he was a king! The face o’ mun likea rising sun, and the back o’ mun so broad asthat there” (and he held out his palsied arms),“and the voice of mun! Oh, to hear mun swearif he was merry, oh, ’tas royal!—Seedmun? Iss, fegs! And I’ve seed mun dowhat few has; I’ve seed mun christle like anychild.”
“What—cry?” said Amyas.“I shouldn’t have thought there was muchcry in him.”
“You think what you like—”
“Gramfer, gramfer, don’t you be rude,now—
“Let him go on,” said Amyas.
“I seed mun christle; and, oh dear, how he didput hands on mun’s face; and ‘Oh, my gentlemen,’says he, ‘my gentlemen! Oh, my gallant men!’Them was his very words.”
“But when?”
“Why, Captain Will had just come to the Hard—that’sto Portsmouth—to speak with mun, and thebarge Royal lay again the Hard—so; and ourboot alongside—so; and the king he standthas it might be there, above my head, on the quay edge,and she come in near abreast of us, looking most royalto behold, poor dear! and went to cast about.And Captain Will, saith he, ‘Them lower portsis cruel near the water;’ for she had not morethan a sixteen inches to spare in the nether overloop,as I heard after. And saith he, ’That won’tdo for going to windward in a say, Martin.’And as the words came out of mun’s mouth, yourworship, there was a bit of a flaw from the westward,sharp like, and overboard goeth my cap, and hitthagainst the wall, and as I stooped to pick it up, Iheard a cry, and it was all over!”
“He is telling of the Mary Rose, sir.”
“I guessed so.”
“All over: and the cry of mun, and thescreech of mun! Oh, sir, up to the very heavens!And the king he screeched right out like any maid,’Oh my gentlemen, oh my gallant men!’and as she lay on her beam-ends, sir, and just a-settling,the very last souls I seen was that man’s father,and that man’s. I knowed mun by their armor.”
And he pointed to Sir George Carew and Sir RichardGrenville.
“Iss! Iss! Drowned like rattens.Drowned like rattens!”
“Now; you mustn’t trouble his worshipany more.”
“Trouble? Let him tell till midnight, Ishall be well pleased,” said Amyas, sittingdown on the bench by him. “Drawer! ale—anda parcel of tobacco.”
And Amyas settled himself to listen, while the oldman purred to himself—
“Iss. They likes to hear old Martin.All the captains look upon old Martin.”
“Hillo, Amyas!” said Cary, “who’syour friend? Here’s a man been tellingme wonders about the River Plate. We should gothither for luck there next time.”
“River Plate?” said old Martin. “It’sI knows about the River Plate; none so well.Who’d ever been there, nor heard of it nether,before Captain Will and me went, and I lived amongthe savages a whole year; and audacious civil I found’em if they ’d had but shirts to theirbacks; and so was the prince o’ mun, that CaptainWill brought home to King Henry; leastwise he diedon the voyage; but the wild folk took it cruel well,for you see, we was always as civil with them as Christians,and if we hadn’t been, I should not have beenhere now.”
“What year was that?”
“In the fifteen thirty: but I was thereafore, and learnt the speech o’ mun; and that’swhy Captain Will left me to a hostage, when he tukedtheir prince.”
“Before that?” said Cary; “why,the country was hardly known before that.”
The old man’s eyes flashed up in triumph.
“Knowed? Iss, and you may well say that!Look ye here! Look to mun!” and he wavedhis hand round—“There’s captains!and I’m the father of ’em all now, nowpoor Captain Will’s in gloory; I, Martin co*ckrem!. . . Iss, I’ve seen a change. I mindwhen Tavistock Abbey was so full o’ friars,and goolden idols, and sich noxious trade, as everwas a wheat-rick of rats. I mind the fight offBrest in the French wars—Oh, that was afight, surely!—when the Regent and the FrenchCarack were burnt side by side, being fast grappled,you see, because of Sir Thomas Knivet; and CaptainWill gave him warning as he ran a-past us, saying,says he—”
“But,” said Amyas, seeing that the oldman was wandering away, “what do you mind aboutAmerica?”
“America? I should think so! But Iwas a-going to tell you of the Regent—andseven hundred Englishmen burnt and drowned in her,and nine hundred French in the Brest ship, besideswhat we picked up. Oh dear! But about America.”
“Yes, about America. How are you the fatherof all the captains?”
“How? you ask my young master! Why, beforethe fifteen thirty, I was up the Plate with Cabot(and a cruel fractious ontrustful fellow he was, likeall they Portingals), and bid there a year and more,and up the Paraguaio with him, diskivering no end;whereby, gentles, I was the first Englishman, I hold,that ever sot a foot on the New World, I was!”
“Then here’s your health, and long life,sir!” said Amyas and Cary.
“Long life? Iss, fegs, I reckon, long enougha’ready! Why, I mind the beginning of itall, I do. I mind when there wasn’t a mastermariner to Plymouth, that thought there was aughtwest of the Land’s End except herrings.Why, they held them, pure wratches, that if you sailedright west away far enough, you’d surely cometo the edge, and fall over cleve. Iss—’Twasdark parts round here, till Captain Will arose; andthe first of it I mind was inside the bar of San Lucar,and he and I were boys about a ten year old, aboordof a Dartmouth ship, and went for wine, and therecome in over the bar he that was the beginning of itall.”
“Columbus?”
“Iss, fegs, he did, not a pistol-shot from us;and I saw mun stand on the poop, so plain as I seeyou; no great shakes of a man to look to nether; there’sa sight better here, to plase me, and we was disappointed,we lads, for we surely expected to see mun with a gooldencrown on, and a sceptre to a’s hand, we did,and the ship o’ mun all over like Solomon’stemple for gloory. And I mind that same year,too, seeing Vasco da Gama, as was going out over thebar, when he found the Bona Speranza, and sailed roundit to the Indies. Ah, that was the making ofthey rascally Portingals, it was! . . . And ourcrew told what they seen and heerd: but nobodyminded sich things. ’Twas dark parts, andPopish, then; and nobody knowed nothing, nor got noschooling, nor cared for nothing, but scrattling upand down alongshore like to prawns in a pule.Iss, sitting in darkness, we was, and the shadow ofdeath, till the day-spring from on high arose, andshined upon us poor out-o’-the-way folk—TheLord be praised! And now, look to mun!”and he waved his hand all round—“Lookto mun! Look to the works of the Lord! Lookto the captains! Oh blessed sight! And one’sbeen to the Brazils, and one to the Indies, and theSpanish Main, and the North-West, and the Rooshias,and the Chinas, and up the Straits, and round the Cape,and round the world of God, too, bless His holy name;and I seed the beginning of it; and I’ll seethe end of it too, I will! I was born into theold times: but I’ll see the wondrous worksof the new, yet, I will! I’ll see theybloody Spaniards swept off the seas before I die, ifmy old eyes can reach so far as outside the Sound.I shall, I knows it. I says my prayers for itevery night; don’t I, Mary? You’llbate mun, sure as Judgment, you’ll bate mun!The Lord’ll fight for ye. Nothing’llstand against ye. I’ve seed it all along—eversince I was with young master to the Honduras.They can’t bide the push of us! You’llbate mun off the face of the seas, and be mastersof the round world, and all that therein is.And then, I’ll just turn my old face to the wall,and depart in peace, according to his word.
“Deary me, now, while I’ve been tellingwith you, here’ve this little maid been andate up all my sugar!”
“I’ll bring you some more,” saidAmyas; whom the childish bathos of the last sentencemoved rather to sighs than laughter.
“Will ye, then? There’s a good soul,and come and tell with old Martin. He likes tosee the brave young gentlemen, a-going to and fro intheir ships, like Leviathan, and taking of their pastimetherein. We had no such ships to our days.Ah, ’tis grand times, beautiful times surely—andyou’ll bring me a bit sugar?”
“You were up the Plate with Cabot?” saidCary, after a pause. “Do you mind the fairlady Miranda, Sebastian de Hurtado’s wife?”
“What! her that was burnt by the Indians?Mind her? Do you mind the sun in heaven?Oh, the beauty! Oh, the ways of her! Oh,the speech of her! Never was, nor never willbe! And she to die by they villains; and allfor the goodness of her! Mind her? I mindednaught else when she was on deck.”
“Who was she?” asked Amyas of Cary.
“A Spanish angel, Amyas.”
“Humph!” said Amyas. “So muchthe worse for her, to be born into a nation of devils.”
“They’em not all so bad as that, yer honor.Her husband was a proper gallant gentleman, and kindas a maid, too, and couldn’t abide that De Solis’smurderous doings.”
“His wife must have taught it him, then,”said Amyas, rising. “Where did you hearof these black swans, Cary?”
“I have heard of them, and that’s enough,”answered he, unwilling to stir sad recollections.
“And little enough,” said Amyas.“Will, don’t talk to me. The devilis not grown white because he has trod in a lime-heap.”
“Or an angel black because she came down a chimney,”said Cary; and so the talk ended, or rather was cutshort; for the talk of all the groups was interruptedby an explosion from old John Hawkins.
“Fail? Fail? What a murrain do youhere, to talk of failing? Who made you a prophet,you scurvy, hang-in-the-wind, croaking, white-liveredson of a corby-crow?”
“Heaven help us, Admiral Hawkins, who has putfire to your culverins in this fashion?” saidLord Howard.
“Who? my lord! Croakers! my lord!Here’s a fellow calls himself the captain ofa ship, and her majesty’s servant, and talksabout failing, as if he were a Barbican loose-kirtletrying to keep her apple-squire ashore! Blurtfor him, sneak-up! say I.”
“Admiral John Hawkins,” quoth the offender,“you shall answer this language with your sword.”
“I’ll answer it with my foot; and buyme a pair of horn-tips to my shoes, like a wraxlingman. Fight a croaker? Fight a frog, an owl!I fight those that dare fight, sir!”
“Sir, sir, moderate yourself. I am surethis gentleman will show himself as brave as any,when it comes to blows: but who can blame mortalman for trembling before so fearful a chance as this?”
“Let mortal man keep his tremblings to himself,then, my lord, and not be like Solomon’s madmen,casting abroad fire and death, and saying, it is onlyin sport. There is more than one of his kidney,your lordship, who have not been ashamed to play MotherShipton before their own sailors, and damp the poorfellows’ hearts with crying before they’rehurt, and this is one of them. I’ve heardhim at it afore, and I’ll present him, witha vengeance, though I’m no church-warden.”
“If this is really so, Admiral Hawkins—”
“It is so, my lord! I heard only last night,down in a tavern below, such unbelieving talk as mademe mad, my lord; and if it had not been after supper,and my hand was not oversteady, I would have let outa pottle of Alicant from some of their hoopings, andsent them to Dick Surgeon, to wrap them in swaddling-clouts,like whining babies as they are. Marry come up,what says Scripture? ’He that is fearfuland faint-hearted among you, let him go and’—what?son Dick there? Thou’rt pious, and read’stthy Bible. What’s that text? A mortalfine one it is, too.”
“‘He that is fearful and faint-heartedamong you, let him go back,’” quoth theComplete Seaman. “Captain Merryweather,as my father’s command, as well as his years,forbid his answering your challenge, I shall reputeit an honor to entertain his quarrel myself—place,time, and weapons being at your choice.”
“Well spoken, son Dick!—and likea true courtier, too! Ah! thou hast the palabras,and the knee, and the cap, and the quip, and the innuendo,and the true town fashion of it all—no oldtarry-breeks of a sea-dog, like thy dad! My lord,you’ll let them fight?”
“The Spaniard, sir; but no one else. But,captains and gentlemen, consider well my friend thePort Admiral’s advice; and if any man’sheart misgives him, let him, for the sake of his countryand his queen, have so much government of his tongueto hide his fears in his own bosom, and leave opencomplaining to ribalds and women. For if thesailor be not cheered by his commander’s cheerfulness,how will the ignorant man find comfort in himself?And without faith and hope, how can he fight worthily?”
“There is no croaking aboard of us, we willwarrant,” said twenty voices, “and shallbe none, as long as we command on board our own ships.”
Hawkins, having blown off his steam, went back toDrake and the bowls.
“Fill my pipe, Drawer—that croakingfellow’s made me let it out, of course!Spoil-sports! The father of all manner of troubleson earth, be they noxious trade of croakers!’Better to meet a bear robbed of her whelps,’Francis Drake, as Solomon saith, than a fule who can’tkeep his mouth shut. What brought Mr. AndrewBarker to his death but croakers? What stoppedFenton’s China voyage in the ’82, and lostyour nephew John, and my brother Will, glory and hardcash too, but croakers? What sent back my LordCumberland’s armada in the ’86, and thatafter they’d proved their strength, too, sixtyo’ mun against six hundred Portugals and Indians;and yet wern’t ashamed to turn round and comehome empty-handed, after all my lord’s expensesthat he had been at? What but these same beggarlycroakers, that be only fit to be turned into yellow-hammersup to Dartymoor, and sit on a tor all day, and cry’Very little bit of bread, and no chee-e-ese!’Marry, sneak-up! say I again.”
“And what,” said Drake, “would havekept me, if I’d let ’em, from ever sailinground the world, but these same croakers? I hangedmy best friend for croaking, John Hawkins, may Godforgive me if I was wrong, and I threatened a weekafter to hang thirty more; and I’d have doneit, too, if they hadn’t clapped tompions intotheir muzzles pretty fast.”
“You’m right, Frank. My old fatheralways told me—and old King Hal (blesshis memory!) would take his counsel among a thousand;—’And,my son,’ says he to me, ’whatever youdo, never you stand no croaking; but hang mun, sonJack, hang mun up for an ensign. There’sScripture for it,’ says he (he was a mightyman to his Bible, after bloody Mary’s days,leastwise), ’and ‘tis written,’ sayshe, ’It’s expedient that one man die forthe crew, and that the whole crew perish not; so showyou no mercy, son Jack, or you’ll find none,least-wise in they manner of cattle; for if you fail,they stamps on you, and if you succeeds, they takesthe credit of it to themselves, and goes to heavenin your shoes.’ Those were his words, andI’ve found mun true.—Who com’thhere now?”
“Captain Fleming, as I’m a sinner.”
“Fleming? Is he tired of life, that hecom’th here to look for a halter? I’vea warrant out against mun, for robbing of two Flushingerson the high seas, now this very last year. Isthe fellow mazed or drunk, then? or has he seen aghost? Look to mun!”
“I think so, truly,” said Drake.“His eyes are near out of his head.”
The man was a rough-bearded old sea-dog, who had justburst in from the tavern through the low hatch, upsettinga drawer with all his glasses, and now came pantingand blowing straight up to the high admiral,—
“My lord, my lord! They’m coming!I saw them off the Lizard last night!”
“Who? my good sir, who seem to have left yourmanners behind you.”
“The Armada, your worship—the Spaniard;but as for my manners, ’tis no fault of mine,for I never had none to leave behind me.”
“If he has not left his manners behind,”quoth Hawkins, “look out for your purses, gentlemenall! He’s manners enough, and very bad onesthey be, when he com’th across a quiet Flushinger.”
“If I stole Flushingers’ wines, I neverstole negurs’ souls, Jack Hawkins; so there’syour answer. My lord, hang me if you will; life’sshort and death’s easy ’specially to seamen;but if I didn’t see the Spanish fleet last sun-down,coming along half-moon wise, and full seven mile fromwing to wing, within a four mile of me, I’m asinner.”
“Sirrah,” said Lord Howard, “isthis no fetch, to cheat us out of your pardon forthese piracies of yours?”
“You’ll find out for yourself before nightfall,my lord high admiral. All Jack Fleming says is,that this is a poor sort of an answer to a man whohas put his own neck into the halter for the sake ofhis country.”
“Perhaps it is,” said Lord Howard.“And after all, gentlemen, what can this mangain by a lie, which must be discovered ere a day isover, except a more certain hanging?”
“Very true, your lordship,” said Hawkins,mollified. “Come here, Jack Fleming—whatwilt drain, man? Hippocras or Alicant, Sack orJohn Barleycorn, and a pledge to thy repentance andamendment of life.”
“Admiral Hawkins, Admiral Hawkins, this is notime for drinking.”
“Why not, then, my lord? Good news shouldbe welcomed with good wine. Frank, send downto the sexton, and set the bells a-ringing to cheerup all honest hearts. Why, my lord, if it werenot for the gravity of my office, I could dance agalliard for joy!”
“Well, you may dance, port admiral: butI must go and plan, but God give to all captains sucha heart as yours this day!”
“And God give all generals such a head as yours!Come, Frank Drake, we’ll play the game out beforewe move. It will be two good days before we shallbe fit to tackle them, so an odd half-hour don’tmatter.”
“I must command the help of your counsel, vice-admiral,”said Lord Charles, turning to Drake.
“And it’s this, my good lord,” saidDrake, looking up, as he aimed his bowl. “They’llcome soon enough for us to show them sport, and yetslow enough for us to be ready; so let no man hurryhimself. And as example is better than precept,here goes.”
Lord Howard shrugged his shoulders, and departed,knowing two things: first, that to move Drakewas to move mountains; and next, that when the self-taughthero did bestir himself, he would do more work in anhour than any one else in a day. So he departed,followed hastily by most of the captains; and Drakesaid in a low voice to Hawkins:
“Does he think we are going to knock about ona lee-shore all the afternoon and run our noses atnight—and dead up-wind, too—intothe Dons’ mouths? No, Jack, my friend.Let Orlando-Furioso-punctilio-fire-eaters go andget their knuckles rapped. The following gameis the game, and not the meeting one. The doggoes after the sheep, and not afore them, lad.Let them go by, and go by, and stick to them well towindward, and pick up stragglers, and pickings, too,Jack—the prizes, Jack!”
“Trust my old eyes for not being over-quickat seeing signals, if I be hanging in the skirts ofa fat-looking Don. We’m the eagles, Drake;and where the carcase is, is our place, eh?”
And so the two old sea-dogs chatted on, while theircompanions dropped off one by one, and only Amyasremained.
“Eh, Captain Leigh, where’s my boy Dick?”
“Gone off with his lordship, Sir John.”
“On his punctilios too, I suppose, the youngslashed-breeks. He’s half a Don, that fellow,with his fine scholarship, and his fine manners, andhis fine clothes. He’ll get a taking downbefore he dies, unless he mends. Why ain’tyou gone too, sir?”
“I follow my leader,” said Amyas, fillinghis pipe.
“Well said, my big man,” quoth Drake.“If I could lead you round the world, I canlead you up Channel, can’t I?—Eh?my little bantam-co*ck of the Orinoco? Drink,lad! You’re over-sad to-day.”
“Not a whit,” said Amyas. “OnlyI can’t help wondering whether I shall findhim after all.”
“Whom? That Don? We’ll findhim for you, if he’s in the fleet. We’llsqueeze it out of our prisoners somehow. Eh, Hawkins?I thought all the captains had promised to send younews if they heard of him.”
“Ay, but it’s ill looking for a needlein a haystack. But I shall find him. I ama coward to doubt it,” said Amyas, setting histeeth.
“There, vice-admiral, you’re beaten, andthat’s the rubber. Pay up three dollars,old high-flyer, and go and earn more, like an honestadventurer.”
“Well,” said Drake, as he pulled out hispurse, “we’ll walk down now, and see aboutthese young hot-heads. As I live, they are settingto tow the ships out already! Breaking the men’sbacks over-night, to make them fight the lustier inthe morning! Well, well, they haven’t sailedround the world, Jack Hawkins.”
“Or had to run home from San Juan d’Ulloawith half a crew.
“Well, if we haven’t to run out with halfcrews. I saw a sight of our lads drunk aboutthis morning.”
“The more reason for waiting till they be sober.Besides, if everybody’s caranting about to onceeach after his own men, nobody’ll find nothingin such a scrimmage as that. Bye, bye, Uncle Martin.We’m going to blow the Dons up now in earnest.”
CHAPTER XXXI
THE GREAT ARMADA
“Britannia needsno bulwarks,
Notowers along the steep,
Her march is o’erthe mountain wave,
Herhome is on the deep.”
Campbell,Ye Mariners of England.
And now began that great sea-fight which was to determinewhether Popery and despotism, or Protestantism andfreedom, were the law which God had appointed forthe half of Europe, and the whole of future America.It is a twelve days’ epic, worthy, as I saidin the beginning of this book, not of dull prose,but of the thunder-roll of Homer’s verse:but having to tell it, I must do my best, rather using,where I can, the words of contemporary authors thanmy own.
“The Lord High Admirall of England, sendinga pinnace before, called the Defiance, denounced warby discharging her ordnance; and presently approachingwith in musquet-shot, with much thundering out of hisown ship, called the Arkroyall (alias the Triumph),first set upon the admirall’s, as he thought,of the Spaniards (but it was Alfonso de Leon’sship). Soon after, Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisherplayed stoutly with their ordnance on the hindmostsquadron, which was commanded by Recalde.”The Spaniards soon discover the superior “nimblenessof the English ships;” and Recalde’s squadron,finding that they are getting more than they give,in spite of his endeavors, hurry forward to join therest of the fleet. Medina the Admiral, findinghis ships scattering fast, gathers them into a half-moon;and the Armada tries to keep solemn way forward, likea stately herd of buffaloes, who march on across the
prairie, disdaining to notice the wolves which snarlaround their track. But in vain. These areno wolves, but cunning hunters, swiftly horsed, andkeenly armed, and who will “shamefully shuffle”(to use Drake’s own expression) that vast herdfrom the Lizard to Portland, from Portland to CalaisRoads; and who, even in this short two hours’fight, have made many a Spaniard question the boastedinvincibleness of this Armada.One of the four great galliasses is already riddledwith shot, to the great disarrangement of her “pulpits,chapels,” and friars therein assistant.The fleet has to close round her, or Drake and Hawkinswill sink her; in effecting which manoeuvre, the “principalgalleon of Seville,” in which are Pedro de Valdezand a host of blue-blooded Dons, runs foul of herneighbor, carries away her foremast, and is, in spiteof Spanish chivalry, left to her fate. This doesnot look like victory, certainly. But courage!though Valdez be left behind, “our Lady,”and the saints, and the bull Caena Domini (dictatedby one whom I dare not name here), are with them still,and it were blasphemous to doubt. But in themeanwhile, if they have fared no better than this againsta third of the Plymouth fleet, how will they farewhen those forty belated ships, which are alreadywhitening the blue between them and the Mewstone,enter the scene to play their part?
So ends the first day; not an English ship, hardlya man, is hurt. It has destroyed for ever, inEnglish minds, the prestige of boastful Spain.It has justified utterly the policy which the goodLord Howard had adopted by Raleigh’s and Drake’sadvice, of keeping up a running fight, instead of“clapping ships together without consideration,”in which case, says Raleigh, “he had been lost,if he had not been better advised than a great manymalignant fools were, who found fault with his demeanor.”
Be that as it may, so ends the first day, in whichAmyas and the other Bideford ships have been rightbusy for two hours, knocking holes in a huge galleon,which carries on her poop a maiden with a wheel, andbears the name of Sta. Catharina. She hada coat of arms on the flag at her sprit, probablythose of the commandant of soldiers; but they wereshot away early in the fight, so Amyas cannot tellwhether they were De Soto’s or not. Nevertheless,there is plenty of time for private revenge; and Amyas,called off at last by the admiral’s signal, goesto bed and sleeps soundly.
But ere he has been in his hammock an hour, he isawakened by Cary’s coming down to ask for orders.
“We were to follow Drake’s lantern, Amyas;but where it is, I can’t see, unless he hasbeen taken up aloft there among the stars for a newDrakium Sidus.”
Amyas turns out grumbling: but no lantern isto be seen; only a sudden explosion and a great fireon board some Spaniard, which is gradually got under,while they have to lie-to the whole night long, withnearly the whole fleet.
The next morning finds them off Torbay; and Amyasis hailed by a pinnace, bringing a letter from Drake,which (saving the spelling, which was somewhat arbitrary,like most men’s in those days) ran somewhatthus:—
“Dear lad,—I have beenwool-gathering all night after five great hulks, whichthe Pixies transfigured overnight into galleons, andthis morning again into German merchantmen. Ilet them go with my blessing; and coming back, fellin (God be thanked!) with Valdez’ great galleon;and in it good booty, which the Dons his fellows hadleft behind, like faithful and valiant comrades, andthe Lord Howard had let slip past him, thinking herdeserted by her crew. I have sent to Dartmoutha sight of noblemen and gentlemen, maybe a half-hundred;and Valdez himself, who when I sent my pinnace aboardmust needs stand on his punctilios, and propound conditions.I answered him, I had no time to tell with him; ifhe would needs die, then I was the very man for him;if he would live, then, buena querra. He sendsagain, boasting that he was Don Pedro Valdez, andthat it stood not with his honor, and that of the Donsin his company. I replied, that for my part,I was Francis Drake, and my matches burning.Whereon he finds in my name salve for the wounds ofhis own, and comes aboard, kissing my fist, with Spanishlies of holding himself fortunate that he had falleninto the hands of fortunate Drake, and much more,which he might have kept to cool his porridge.But I have much news from him (for he is a leaky tub);and among others, this, that your Don Guzman is aboardof the Sta. Catharina, commandant of her soldiery,and has his arms flying at her sprit, beside Sta.Catharina at the poop, which is a maiden with a wheel,and is a lofty built ship of 3 tier of ordnance, fromwhich God preserve you, and send you like luck with.
“Your deare Friend and Admirall,
“F. Drake.
“She sails in this squadron of Recalde.The Armada was minded to smoke us out of Plymouth;and God’s grace it was they tried not: buttheir orders from home are too strait, and so theslaves fight like a bull in a tether, no farther thantheir rope, finding thus the devil a hard master,as do most in the end. They cannot compass ourquick handling and tacking, and take us for very witches.So far so good, and better to come. You and Iknow the length of their foot of old. Time andlight will kill any hare, and they will find it along way from Start to Dunkirk.”
“The admiral is in a gracious humor, Leigh,to have vouchsafed you so long a letter.”
“St. Catherine! why, that was the galleon wehammered all yesterday!” said Amyas, stampingon the deck.
“Of course it was. Well, we shall findher again, doubt not. That cunning old Drake!how he has contrived to line his own pockets, eventhough he had to keep the whole fleet waiting for him.”
“He has given the lord high admiral the dor,at all events.”
“Lord Howard is too high-hearted to stop andplunder, Papist though he is, Amyas.”
Amyas answered by a growl, for he worshipped Drake,and was not too just to Papists.
The fleet did not find Lord Howard till nightfall;he and Lord Sheffield had been holding on steadfastlythe whole night after the Spanish lanterns, with twoships only. At least there was no doubt now ofthe loyalty of English Roman Catholics, and indeed,throughout the fight, the Howards showed (as if towipe out the slurs which had been cast on their loyaltyby fanatics) a desperate courage, which might havethrust less prudent men into destruction, but ledthem only to victory. Soon a large Spaniard driftsby, deserted and partly burnt. Some of the menare for leaving their place to board her; but Amyasstoutly refuses. He has “come out to fight,and not to plunder; so let the nearest ship to herhave her luck without grudging.” They passon, and the men pull long faces when they see thegalleon snapped up by their next neighbor, and towedoff to Weymouth, where she proves to be the ship ofMiguel d’Oquenda, the vice-admiral, which theysaw last night, all but blown up by some desperateNetherland gunner, who, being “misused,”was minded to pay off old scores on his tyrants.
And so ends the second day; while the Portland riseshigher and clearer every hour. The next morningfinds them off the island. Will they try Portsmouth,though they have spared Plymouth? The wind hasshifted to the north, and blows clear and cool offthe white-walled downs of Weymouth Bay. The Spaniardsturn and face the English. They must mean tostand off and on until the wind shall change, and thento try for the Needles. At least, they shallhave some work to do before they round Purbeck Isle.
The English go to the westward again: but itis only to return on the opposite tack; and now begina series of manoeuvres, each fleet trying to get thewind of the other; but the struggle does not last long,and ere noon the English fleet have slipped close-hauledbetween the Armada and the land, and are coming downupon them right before the wind.
And now begins a fight most fierce and fell.“And fight they did confusedly, and with variablefortunes; while, on the one hand, the English manfullyrescued the ships of London, which were hemmed inby the Spaniards; and, on the other side, the Spaniardsas stoutly delivered Recalde being in danger.”“Never was heard such thundering of ordnanceon both sides, which notwithstanding from the Spaniardsflew for the most part over the English without harm.Only co*ck, an Englishman” (whom Prince claims,I hope rightfully, as a worthy of Devon), “diedwith honor in the midst of the enemies in a small shipof his. For the English ships, being far thelesser, charged the enemy with marvellous agility;and having discharged their broadsides, flew forthpresently into the deep, and levelled their shot directly,
without missing, at those great and unwieldy Spanishships.” “This was the most furiousand bloody skirmish of all” (though ending only,it seems, in the capture of a great Venetian and somesmall craft), “in which the lord admiral fightingamidst his enemies’ fleet, and seeing one ofhis captains afar off (Fenner by name, he who foughtthe seven Portugals at the Azores), cried, ’OGeorge, what doest thou? Wilt thou now frustratemy hope and opinion conceived of thee? Wilt thouforsake me now?’ With which words he being enflamed,approached, and did the part of a most valiant captain;”as, indeed, did all the rest.Night falls upon the floating volcano; and morningfinds them far past Purbeck, with the white peak ofFreshwater ahead; and pouring out past the Needles,ship after ship, to join the gallant chase. Fornow from all havens, in vessels fitted out at theirown expense, flock the chivalry of England; the LordsOxford, Northumberland, and Cumberland, Pallavicin,Brooke, Carew, Raleigh, and Blunt, and many anotherhonorable name, “as to a set field, where immortalfame and honor was to be attained.” Spainhas staked her chivalry in that mighty cast; not anoble house of Arragon or Castile but has lent a brotheror a son—and shall mourn the loss of one:and England’s gentlemen will measure their strengthonce for all against the Cavaliers of Spain. LordHoward has sent forward light craft into Portsmouthfor ammunition: but they will scarce return to-night,for the wind falls dead, and all the evening the twofleets drift helpless with the tide, and shout idledefiance at each other with trumpet, fife, and drum.
The sun goes down upon a glassy sea, and rises ona glassy sea again. But what day is this?The twenty-fifth, St. James’s-day, sacred tothe patron saint of Spain. Shall nothing be attemptedin his honor by those whose forefathers have so oftenseen him with their bodily eyes, charging in theirvan upon his snow-white steed, and scattering Paynimswith celestial lance? He might have sent them,certainly, a favoring breeze; perhaps, he only meansto try their faith; at least the galleys shall attack;and in their van three of the great galliasses (thefourth lies half-crippled among the fleet) thrashthe sea to foam with three hundred oars apiece; andsee, not St. James leading them to victory, but LordHoward’s Triumph, his brother’s Lion, Southwell’sElizabeth Jonas, Lord Sheffield’s Bear, Barker’sVictory, and George Fenner’s Leicester, towedstoutly out, to meet them with such salvoes of chain-shot,smashing oars, and cutting rigging, that had not thewind sprung up again toward noon, and the Spanishfleet come up to rescue them, they had shared thefate of Valdez and the Biscayan. And now the fightbecomes general. Frobisher beats down the Spanishadmiral’s mainmast; and, attacked himself byMexia and Recalde, is rescued by Lord Howard; who,himself endangered in his turn, is rescued in his turn;“while after that day” (so sickened werethey of the English gunnery) “no galliasse wouldadventure to fight.”
And so, with variable fortune, the fight thunderson the livelong afternoon, beneath the virgin cliffsof Freshwater; while myriad sea-fowl rise screamingup from every ledge, and spot with their black wingsthe snow-white wall of chalk; and the lone shepherdhurries down the slopes above to peer over the dizzyedge, and forgets the wheatear fluttering in his snare,while he gazes trembling upon glimpses of tall mastsand gorgeous flags, piercing at times the league-broadveil of sulphur-smoke which welters far below.
So fares St. James’s-day, as Baal’s didon Carmel in old time, “Either he is talking,or he is pursuing, or he is on a journey; or peradventurehe sleepeth, and must be awaked.” At least,the only fire by which he has answered his votaries,has been that of English cannon: and the Armada,“gathering itself into a roundel,” willfight no more, but make the best of its way to Calais,where perhaps the Guises’ faction may have aFrench force ready to assist them, and then to Dunkirk,to join with Parma and the great flotilla of the Netherlands.
So on, before “a fair Etesian gale,” whichfollows clear and bright out of the south-southwest,glide forward the two great fleets, past BrightonCliffs and Beachy Head, Hastings and Dungeness.Is it a battle or a triumph? For by sea LordHoward, instead of fighting is rewarding; and afterLord Thomas Howard, Lord Sheffield, Townsend, and Frobisherhave received at his hands that knighthood, which wasthen more honorable than a peerage, old Admiral Hawkinskneels and rises up Sir John, and shaking his shouldersafter the accolade, observes to the representativeof majesty, that his “old woman will hardly knowherself again, when folks call her My Lady.”
And meanwhile the cliffs are lined with pike-men andmusketeers, and by every countryman and groom whocan bear arms, led by their squires and sheriffs,marching eastward as fast as their weapons let them,towards the Dover shore. And not with them alone.From many a mile inland come down women and children,and aged folk in wagons, to join their feeble shouts,and prayers which are not feeble, to that great cryof mingled faith and fear which ascends to the throneof God from the spectators of Britain’s Salamis.
Let them pray on. The danger is not over yet,though Lord Howard has had news from Newhaven thatthe Guises will not stir against England, and Seymourand Winter have left their post of observation on theFlemish shores, to make up the number of the fleetto an hundred and forty sail—larger, slightly,than that of the Spanish fleet, but of not more thanhalf the tonnage, or one third the number of men.The Spaniards are dispirited and battered, but unbrokenstill; and as they slide to their anchorage in CalaisRoads on the Saturday evening of that most memorableweek, all prudent men know well that England’shour is come, and that the bells which will call allChristendom to church upon the morrow morn, will beeither the death-knell or the triumphal peal of theReformed faith throughout the world.
A solemn day that Sabbath must have been in countryand in town. And many a light-hearted coward,doubtless, who had scoffed (as many did) at the notionof the Armada’s coming, because he dare not facethe thought, gave himself up to abject fear, “ashe now plainly saw and heard that of which beforehe would not be persuaded.” And many a braveman, too, as he knelt beside his wife and daughters,felt his heart sink to the very pavement, at the thoughtof what those beloved ones might be enduring a fewshort days hence, from a profligate and fanatical soldiery,or from the more deliberate fiendishness of the Inquisition.The massacre of St. Bartholomew, the fires of Smithfield,the immolation of the Moors, the extermination ofthe West Indians, the fantastic horrors of the Piedmontesepersecution, which make unreadable the too truthfulpages of Morland,—these were the spectres,which, not as now, dim and distant through the mistof centuries, but recent, bleeding from still gapingwounds, flitted before the eyes of every Englishman,and filled his brain and heart with fire.
He knew full well the fate in store for him and his.One false step, and the unspeakable doom which, nottwo generations afterwards, befell the Lutherans ofMagdeburg, would have befallen every town from Londonto Carlisle. All knew the hazard, as they prayedthat day, and many a day before and after, throughoutEngland and the Netherlands. And none knew itbetter than she who was the guiding spirit of thatdevoted land, and the especial mark of the invaders’fury; and who, by some Divine inspiration (as menthen not unwisely held), devised herself the daringstroke which was to anticipate the coming blow.
But where is Amyas Leigh all this while? Dayafter day he has been seeking the Sta. Catharinain the thickest of the press, and cannot come at her,cannot even hear of her: one moment he dreadsthat she has sunk by night, and balked him of hisprey; the next, that she has repaired her damages,and will escape him after all. He is moody, discontented,restless, even (for the first time in his life) peevishwith his men. He can talk of nothing but DonGuzman; he can find no better employment, at everyspare moment, than taking his sword out of the sheath,and handling it, fondling it, talking to it even,bidding it not to fail him in the day of vengeance.At last, he has sent to Squire, the armorer, for awhetstone, and, half-ashamed of his own folly, whetsand polishes it in bye-corners, muttering to himself.That one fixed thought of selfish vengeance has possessedhis whole mind; he forgets England’s presentneed, her past triumph, his own safety, everythingbut his brother’s blood. And yet this isthe day for which he has been longing ever since hebrought home that magic horn as a fifteen years boy;the day when he should find himself face to face withan invader, and that invader Antichrist himself.He has believed for years with Drake, Hawkins, Grenville,
and Raleigh, that he was called and sent into theworld only to fight the Spaniard: and he is fightinghim now, in such a cause, for such a stake, withinsuch battle-lists, as he will never see again:and yet he is not content, and while throughout thatgallant fleet, whole crews are receiving the Communionside by side, and rising with cheerful faces to shakehands, and to rejoice that they are sharers in Britain’sSalamis, Amyas turns away from the holy elements.“I cannot communicate, Sir John. Charitywith all men? I hate, if ever man hated on earth.”
“You hate the Lord’s foes only, CaptainLeigh.”
“No, Jack, I hate my own as well.”
“But no one in the fleet, sir?”
“Don’t try to put me off with the sameJesuit’s quibble which that false knave ParsonFletcher invented for one of Doughty’s men, todrug his conscience withal when he was plotting againsthis own admiral. No, Jack, I hate one of whomyou know; and somehow that hatred of him keeps mefrom loving any human being. I am in love andcharity with no man, Sir John Brimblecombe—noteven with you! Go your ways in God’s name,sir! and leave me and the devil alone together, oryou’ll find my words are true.”
Jack departed with a sigh, and while the crew werereceiving the Communion on deck, Amyas sate belowin the cabin sharpening his sword, and after it, calledfor a boat and went on board Drake’s ship toask news of the Sta. Catharina, and listenedscowling to the loud chants and tinkling bells, whichcame across the water from the Spanish fleet.At last, Drake was summoned by the lord admiral, andreturned with a secret commission, which ought tobear fruit that night; and Amyas, who had gone withhim, helped him till nightfall, and then returned tohis own ship as Sir Amyas Leigh, Knight, to the joyand glory of every soul on board, except his moodyself.
So there, the livelong summer Sabbath-day, beforethe little high-walled town and the long range ofyellow sandhills, lie those two mighty armaments,scowling at each other, hardly out of gunshot.Messenger after messenger is hurrying towards Brugesto the Duke of Parma, for light craft which can followthese nimble English somewhat better than their ownfloating castles; and, above all, entreating him toput to sea at once with all his force. The dukeis not with his forces at Dunkirk, but on the futurefield of Waterloo, paying his devotions to St. Maryof Halle in Hainault, in order to make all sure inhis Pantheon, and already sees in visions of the nightthat gentle-souled and pure-lipped saint, CardinalAllen, placing the crown of England on his head.He returns for answer, first, that his victual isnot ready; next, that his Dutch sailors, who havebeen kept at their post for many a week at the sword’spoint, have run away like water; and thirdly, thatover and above all, he cannot come, so “strangelyprovided” of great ordnance and musketeers are
those five-and-thirty Dutch ships, in which round-sternedand stubborn-hearted heretics watch, like terriersat a rat’s hole, the entrance of Nieuwport andDunkirk. Having ensured the private patronageof St. Mary of Halle, he will return to-morrow to makeexperience of its effects: but only hear acrossthe flats of Dixmude the thunder of the fleets, andat Dunkirk the open curses of his officers. Forwhile he has been praying and nothing more, the Englishhave been praying, and something more; and all thatis left for the Prince of Parma is, to hang a fewpurveyors, as peace offerings to his sulking army,and then “chafe,” as Drake says of him,“like a bear robbed of her whelps.”For Lord Henry Seymour has brought Lord Howard a letterof command from Elizabeth’s self; and Drakehas been carrying it out so busily all that Sundaylong, that by two o’clock on the Monday morning,eight fire-ships “besmeared with wild-fire,brimstone, pitch, and resin, and all their ordnancecharged with bullets and with stones,” are stealingdown the wind straight for the Spanish fleet, guidedby two valiant men of Devon, Young and Prowse. (Lettheir names live long in the land!) The ships arefired, the men of Devon steal back, and in a momentmore, the heaven is red with glare from Dover Cliffsto Gravelines Tower; and weary-hearted Belgian boorsfar away inland, plundered and dragooned for many ahideous year, leap from their beds, and fancy (andnot so far wrongly either) that the day of judgmentis come at last, to end their woes, and hurl downvengeance on their tyrants.
And then breaks forth one of those disgraceful panics,which so often follow overweening presumption; andshrieks, oaths, prayers, and reproaches, make nighthideous. There are those too on board who recollectwell enough Jenebelli’s fire-ships at Antwerpthree years before, and the wreck which they madeof Parma’s bridge across the Scheldt. Ifthese should be like them! And cutting all cables,hoisting any sails, the Invincible Armada goes lumberingwildly out to sea, every ship foul of her neighbor.
The largest of the four galliasses loses her rudder,and drifts helpless to and fro, hindering and confusing.The duke, having (so the Spaniards say) weighed hisanchor deliberately instead of leaving it behind him,runs in again after awhile, and fires a signal forreturn: but his truant sheep are deaf to theshepherd’s pipe, and swearing and praying byturns, he runs up Channel towards Gravelines pickingup stragglers on his way, who are struggling as theybest can among the flats and shallows: but Drakeand Fenner have arrived as soon as he. When Monday’ssun rises on the quaint old castle and muddy dykesof Gravelines town, the thunder of the cannon recommences,and is not hushed till night. Drake can hangcoolly enough in the rear to plunder when he thinksfit; but when the battle needs it, none can fightmore fiercely, among the foremost; and there is neednow, if ever. That Armada must never be allowedto re-form. If it does, its left wing may yetkeep the English at bay, while its right drives offthe blockading Hollanders from Dunkirk port, and setsParma and his flotilla free to join them, and to sailin doubled strength across to the mouth of Thames.
So Drake has weighed anchor, and away up Channel withall his squadron, the moment that he saw the Spanishfleet come up; and with him Fenner burning to redeemthe honor which, indeed, he had never lost; and ereFenton, Beeston, Crosse, Ryman, and Lord Southwellcan join them, the Devon ships have been worryingthe Spaniards for two full hours into confusion worseconfounded.
But what is that heavy firing behind them? Alasfor the great galliasse! She lies, like a hugestranded whale, upon the sands where now stands Calaispier; and Amyas Preston, the future hero of La Guayra,is pounding her into submission, while a fleet ofhoys and drumblers look on and help, as jackals mightthe lion.
Soon, on the south-west horizon, loom up larger andlarger two mighty ships, and behind them sail on sail.As they near a shout greets the Triumph and the Bear;and on and in the lord high admiral glides statelyinto the thickest of the fight.
True, we have still but some three-and-twenty shipswhich can cope at all with some ninety of the Spaniards:but we have dash, and daring, and the inspirationof utter need. Now, or never, must the mightystruggle be ended. We worried them off Portland;we must rend them in pieces now; and in rushes shipafter ship, to smash her broadsides through and throughthe wooden castles, “sometimes not a pike’slength asunder,” and then out again to re-load,and give place meanwhile to another. The smallerare fighting with all sails set; the few larger, who,once in, are careless about coming out again, fightwith top-sails loose, and their main and foreyardsclose down on deck, to prevent being boarded.The duke, Oquenda, and Recalde, having with much adogot clear of the shallows, bear the brunt of the fightto seaward; but in vain. The day goes againstthem more and more, as it runs on. Seymour andWinter have battered the great San Philip into a wreck;her masts are gone by the board; Pimentelli in theSan Matthew comes up to take the mastiffs off thefainting bull, and finds them fasten on him instead;but the Evangelist, though smaller, is stouter thanthe Deacon, and of all the shot poured into him, nottwenty “lackt him thorough.” His mastsare tottering; but sink or strike he will not.
“Go ahead, and pound his tough hide, Leigh,”roars Drake off the poop of his ship, while he hammersaway at one of the great galliasses. “Whatright has he to keep us all waiting?”
Amyas slips in as best he can between Drake and Winter;as he passes he shouts to his ancient enemy,—
“We are with you, sir; all friends to-day!”and slipping round Winter’s bows, he pours hisbroadside into those of the San Matthew, and thenglides on to re-load; but not to return. For nota pistol shot to leeward, worried by three or foursmall craft, lies an immense galleon; and on her poop—canhe believe his eyes for joy?—the maidenand the wheel which he has sought so long!
“There he is!” shouts Amyas, springingto the starboard side of the ship. The men, too,have already caught sight of that hated sign; a cheerof fury bursts from every throat.
“Steady, men!” says Amyas, in a suppressedvoice. “Not a shot! Re-load, and beready; I must speak with him first;” and silentas the grave, amid the infernal din, the Vengeanceglides up to the Spaniard’s quarter.
“Don Guzman Maria Magdalena Sotomayor de Soto!”shouts Amyas from the mizzen rigging, loud and clearamid the roar.
He has not called in vain. Fearless and gracefulas ever, the tall, mail-clad figure of his foe leapsup upon the poop-railing, twenty feet above Amyas’shead, and shouts through his vizor,—
“At your service, sir whosoever you may be.”
A dozen muskets and arrows are levelled at him; butAmyas frowns them down. “No man strikeshim but I. Spare him, if you kill every other soulon board. Don Guzman! I am Captain Sir AmyasLeigh; I proclaim you a traitor and a ravisher, andchallenge you once more to single combat, when andwhere you will.”
“You are welcome to come on board me, sir,”answers the Spaniard, in a clear, quiet tone; “bringingwith you this answer, that you lie in your throat;”and lingering a moment out of bravado, to arrange hisscarf, he steps slowly down again behind the bulwarks.
“Coward!” shouts Amyas at the top of hisvoice.
The Spaniard re-appears instantly. “Whythat name, senor, of all others?” asks he ina cool, stern voice.
“Because we call men cowards in England, wholeave their wives to be burnt alive by priests.”
The moment the words had passed Amyas’s lips,he felt that they were cruel and unjust. Butit was too late to recall them. The Spaniardstarted, clutched his sword-hilt, and then hissed backthrough his closed vizor,—
“For that word, sirrah, you hang at my yardarm,if Saint Mary gives me grace.”
“See that your halter be a silken one, then,”laughed Amyas, “for I am just dubbed knight.”And he stepped down as a storm of bullets rang throughthe rigging round his head; the Spaniards are not aspunctilious as he.
“Fire!” His ordnance crash through thestern-works of the Spaniard; and then he sails onward,while her balls go humming harmlessly through hisrigging.
Half-an-hour has passed of wild noise and fury; threetimes has the Vengeance, as a dolphin might, sailedclean round and round the Sta. Catharina, pouringin broadside after broadside, till the guns are leapingto the deck-beams with their own heat, and the Spaniard’ssides are slit and spotted in a hundred places.And yet, so high has been his fire in return, andso strong the deck defences of the Vengeance, thata few spars broken, and two or three men wounded bymusketry, are all her loss. But still the Spaniardendures, magnificent as ever; it is the battle ofthe thresher and the whale; the end is certain, butthe work is long.
“Can I help you, Captain Leigh?” askedLord Henry Seymour, as he passes within oar’slength of him, to attack a ship ahead. “TheSan Matthew has had his dinner, and is gone on toMedina to ask for a digestive to it.”
“I thank your lordship: but this is myprivate quarrel, of which I spoke. But if yourlordship could lend me powder—”
“Would that I could! But so, I fear, saysevery other gentleman in the fleet.”
A puff of wind clears away the sulphurous veil fora moment; the sea is clear of ships towards the land;the Spanish fleet are moving again up Channel, Medinabringing up the rear; only some two miles to theirright hand, the vast hull of the San Philip is driftingup the shore with the tide, and somewhat nearer theSan Matthew is hard at work at her pumps. Theycan see the white stream of water pouring down herside.
“Go in, my lord, and have the pair,” shoutsAmyas.
“No, sir! Forward is a Seymour’scry. We will leave them to pay the Flushingers’expenses.” And on went Lord Henry, and onshore went the San Philip at Ostend, to be plunderedby the Flushingers; while the San Matthew, whose captain,“on a hault courage,” had refused to savehimself and his gentlemen on board Medina’s ship,went blundering miserably into the hungry mouths ofCaptain Peter Vanderduess and four other valiant Dutchmen,who, like prudent men of Holland, contrived to keepthe galleon afloat till they had emptied her, and then“hung up her banner in the great church of Leyden,being of such a length, that being fastened to theroof, it reached unto the very ground.”
But in the meanwhile, long ere the sun had set, comesdown the darkness of the thunderstorm, attracted,as to a volcano’s mouth, to that vast mass ofsulphur-smoke which cloaks the sea for many a mile;and heaven’s artillery above makes answer toman’s below. But still, through smoke andrain, Amyas clings to his prey. She too has seenthe northward movement of the Spanish fleet, and setsher topsails; Amyas calls to the men to fire high,and cripple her rigging: but in vain: forthree or four belated galleys, having forced theirway at last over the shallows, come flashing and sputteringup to the combatants, and take his fire off the galleon.Amyas grinds his teeth, and would fain hustle intothe thick of the press once more, in spite of thegalleys’ beaks.
“Most heroical captain,” says cary, pullinga long face, “if we do, we are stove and sunkin five minutes; not to mention that Yeo says he hasnot twenty rounds of great cartridge left.”
So, surely and silent, the Vengeance sheers off, butkeeps as near as she can to the little squadron, allthrough the night of rain and thunder which follows.Next morning the sun rises on a clear sky, with astrong west-north-west breeze, and all hearts are askingwhat the day will bring forth.
They are long past Dunkirk now; the German Ocean isopening before them. The Spaniards, sorely battered,and lessened in numbers, have, during the night, regainedsome sort of order. The English hang on theirskirts a mile or two behind. They have no ammunition,and must wait for more. To Amyas’s greatdisgust, the Sta. Catharina has rejoined her fellowsduring the night.
“Never mind,” says Cary; “she canneither dive nor fly, and as long as she is abovewater, we—What is the admiral about?”
He is signalling Lord Henry Seymour and his squadron.Soon they tack, and come down the wind for the coastof Flanders. Parma must be blockaded still; andthe Hollanders are likely to be too busy with theirplunder to do it effectually. Suddenly there isa stir in the Spanish fleet. Medina and the rearmostships turn upon the English. What can it mean?Will they offer battle once more? If so, it werebest to get out of their way, for we have nothingwherewith to fight them. So the English lie closeto the wind. They will let them pass, and returnto their old tactic of following and harassing.
“Good-bye to Seymour,” says Cary, “ifhe is caught between them and Parma’s flotilla.They are going to Dunkirk.”
“Impossible! They will not have water enoughto reach his light craft. Here comes a big shipright upon us! Give him all you have left, lads;and if he will fight us, lay him alongside, and dieboarding.”
They gave him what they had, and hulled him with everyshot; but his huge side stood silent as the grave.He had not wherewithal to return the compliment.
“As I live, he is cutting loose the foot ofhis mainsail! the villain means to run.”
“There go the rest of them! Victoria!”shouted Cary, as one after another, every Spaniardset all the sail he could.
There was silence for a few minutes throughout theEnglish fleet; and then cheer upon cheer of triumphrent the skies. It was over. The Spaniardhad refused battle, and thinking only of safety, waspressing downward toward the Straits again. TheInvincible Armada had cast away its name, and Englandwas saved.
“But he will never get there, sir,” saidold Yeo, who had come upon deck to murmur his NuncDomine, and gaze upon that sight beyond all humanfaith or hope: “Never, never will he weatherthe Flanders shore, against such a breeze as is comingup. Look to the eye of the wind, sir, and seehow the Lord is fighting for His people!”
Yes, down it came, fresher and stiffer every minuteout of the gray north-west, as it does so often aftera thunder-storm; and the sea began to rise high andwhite under the “Claro Aquilone,” tillthe Spaniards were fain to take in all spare canvas,and lie-to as best they could; while the English fleet,lying-to also, awaited an event which was in God’shands and not in theirs.
“They will be all ashore on Zealand before theafternoon,” murmured Amyas; “and I havelost my labor! Oh, for powder, powder, powder!to go in and finish it at once!”
“Oh, sir,” said Yeo, “don’tmurmur against the Lord in the very day of His mercies.It is hard, to be sure; but His will be done.”
“Could we not borrow powder from Drake there?”
“Look at the sea, sir!”
And, indeed, the sea was far too rough for any suchattempt. The Spaniards neared and neared thefatal dunes, which fringed the shore for many a drearymile; and Amyas had to wait weary hours, growling likea dog who has had the bone snatched out of his mouth,till the day wore on; when, behold, the wind beganto fall as rapidly as it had risen. A savagejoy rose in Amyas’s heart.
“They are safe! safe for us! Who will goand beg us powder? A cartridge here and a cartridgethere?—anything to set to work again!”
Cary volunteered, and returned in a couple of hourswith some quantity: but he was on board againonly just in time, for the south-wester had recoveredthe mastery of the skies, and Spaniards and Englishwere moving away; but this time northward. Whithernow? To Scotland? Amyas knew not, and carednot, provided he was in the company of Don Guzman deSoto.
The Armada was defeated, and England saved. Butsuch great undertakings seldom end in one grand melodramaticexplosion of fireworks, through which the devil arisesin full roar to drag Dr. Faustus forever into theflaming pit. On the contrary, the devil standsby his servants to the last, and tries to bring offhis shattered forces with drums beating and colorsflying; and, if possible, to lull his enemies intosupposing that the fight is ended, long before itreally is half over. All which the good LordHoward of Effingham knew well, and knew, too, thatMedina had one last card to play, and that was thefilial affection of that dutiful and chivalrous son,James of Scotland. True, he had promised faithto Elizabeth: but that was no reason why he shouldkeep it. He had been hankering and dabbling afterSpain for years past, for its absolution was dearto his inmost soul; and Queen Elizabeth had had towarn him, scold him, call him a liar, for so doing;so the Armada might still find shelter and provisionin the Firth of Forth. But whether Lord Howardknew or not, Medina did not know, that Elizabeth hadplayed her card cunningly, in the shape of one ofthose appeals to the purse, which, to James’sdying day, overweighed all others save appeals to hisvanity. “The title of a dukedom in England,a yearly pension of 5000 pounds, a guard at the queen’scharge, and other matters” (probably more houndsand deer), had steeled the heart of the King of Scots,and sealed the Firth of Forth. Nevertheless,as I say, Lord Howard, like the rest of Elizabeth’sheroes, trusted James just as much as James trustedothers; and therefore thought good to escort the Armadauntil it was safely past the domains of that mostchivalrous and truthful Solomon. But on the 4thof August, his fears, such as they were, were laidto rest. The Spaniards left the Scottish coastand sailed away for Norway; and the game was playedout, and the end was come, as the end of such mattersgenerally comes, by gradual decay, petty disaster,and mistake; till the snow-mountain, instead of beingblown tragically and heroically to atoms, melts helplesslyand pitiably away.
CHAPTER XXXII
HOW AMYAS THREW HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA
“Full fathom deep thy fatherlies;
Of his bones are corals made;
Those are pearls which were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange;
Fairies hourly ring his knell,
Hark! I hear them. Ding dong bell.”
The Tempest.
Yes, it is over; and the great Armada is vanquished.It is lulled for awhile, the everlasting war whichis in heaven, the battle of Iran and Turan, of thechildren of light and of darkness, of Michael and hisangels against Satan and his fiends; the battle whichslowly and seldom, once in the course of many centuries,culminates and ripens into a day of judgment, andbecomes palpable and incarnate; no longer a mere spiritualfight, but one of flesh and blood, wherein simple menmay choose their sides without mistake, and help God’scause not merely with prayer and pen, but with sharpshot and cold steel. A day of judgment has come,which has divided the light from the darkness, andthe sheep from the goats, and tried each man’swork by the fire; and, behold, the devil’s work,like its maker, is proved to have been, as always,a lie and a sham, and a windy boast, a bladder whichcollapses at the merest pinprick. Byzantine empires,Spanish Armadas, triple-crowned papacies, Russiandespotisms, this is the way of them, and will be tothe end of the world. One brave blow at the bigbullying phantom, and it vanishes in sulphur-stench;while the children of Israel, as of old, see the Egyptiansdead on the sea-shore,—they scarce knowhow, save that God has done it, and sing the songof Moses and of the Lamb.
And now, from England and the Netherlands, from Germanyand Geneva, and those poor Vaudois shepherd-saints,whose bones for generations past
“Lie scatteredon the Alpine mountains cold;”
to be, indeed, the seed of the Church, and a germof new life, liberty, and civilization, even in thesevery days returning good for evil to that Piedmontwhich has hunted them down like the partridges on themountains;—from all of Europe, from allof mankind, I had almost said, in which lay the seedof future virtue and greatness, of the destinies ofthe new-discovered world, and the triumphs of the comingage of science, arose a shout of holy joy, such asthe world had not heard for many a weary and bloodycentury; a shout which was the prophetic birth-paeanof North America, Australia, New Zealand, the PacificIslands, of free commerce and free colonization overthe whole earth.
“There was in England, by the commandment ofher majesty,” says Van Meteran, “and likewisein the United Provinces, by the direction of the States,a solemn festival day publicly appointed, wherein allpersons were solemnly enjoined to resort unto ye Church,and there to render thanks and praises unto God, andye preachers were commanded to exhort ye people thereunto.The aforesaid solemnity was observed upon the 29thof November: which day was wholly spent in fasting,prayer, and giving of thanks.
“Likewise the Queen’s Majesty herself,imitating ye ancient Romans, rode into London in triumph,in regard of her own and her subjects’ gloriousdeliverance. For being attended upon very solemnlyby all ye principal Estates and officers of her Realm,she was carried through her said City of London ina triumphant Chariot, and in robes of triumph, fromher Palace unto ye said Cathedral Church of St. Paul,out of ye which ye Ensigns and Colours of ye vanquishedSpaniards hung displayed. And all ye Citizensof London, in their liveries, stood on either sideye street, by their several Companies, with theirensigns and banners, and the streets were hanged onboth sides with blue Cloth, which, together with yeforesaid banners, yielded a very stately and gallantprospect. Her Majestie being entered into yeChurch together with her Clergy and Nobles, gave thanksunto God, and caused a public Sermon to be preachedbefore her at Paul’s Cross; wherein none otherargument was handled, but that praise, honour, andglory might be rendered unto God, and that God’sName might be extolled by thanksgiving. And withher own princely voice she most Christianly exhortedye people to do ye same; whereunto ye people, witha loud acclamation, wished her a most long and happylife to ye confusion of her foes.”
Yes, as the medals struck on the occasion said, “Itcame, it saw, and it fled!” And whither?Away and northward, like a herd of frightened deer,past the Orkneys and Shetlands, catching up a few haplessfishermen as guides; past the coast of Norway, there,too, refused water and food by the brave descendantsof the Vikings; and on northward ever towards thelonely Faroes, and the everlasting dawn which heraldsround the Pole the midnight sun.
Their water is failing; the cattle must go overboard;and the wild northern sea echoes to the shrieks ofdrowning horses. They must homeward at least,somehow, each as best he can. Let them meet againat Cape Finisterre, if indeed they ever meet.Medina Sidonia, with some five-and twenty of the soundestand best victualled ships, will lead the way, andleave the rest to their fate. He is soon out ofsight; and forty more, the only remnant of that mightyhost, come wandering wearily behind, hoping to makethe south-west coast of Ireland, and have help, or,at least, fresh water there, from their fellow Romanists.Alas for them!—
“Make Thou theirway dark and slippery,
And follow them up everwith Thy storm.”
For now comes up from the Atlantic, gale on gale;and few of that hapless remnant reached the shoresof Spain.
And where are Amyas and the Vengeance all this while?
At the fifty-seventh degree of latitude, the Englishfleet, finding themselves growing short of provision,and having been long since out of powder and ball,turn southward toward home, “thinking it bestto leave the Spaniard to those uncouth and boisterousnorthern seas.” A few pinnaces are stillsent onward to watch their course: and the Englishfleet, caught in the same storms which scattered theSpaniards, “with great danger and industry reachedHarwich port, and there provide themselves of victualsand ammunition,” in case the Spaniards shouldreturn; but there is no need for that caution.Parma, indeed, who cannot believe that the idol atHalle, after all his compliments to it, will playhim so scurvy a trick, will watch for weeks on Dunkirkdunes, hoping against hope for the Armada’sreturn, casting anchors, and spinning rigging to repairtheir losses.
“But lang, langmay his ladies sit,
With their fans intilltheir hand,
Before they see SirPatrick Spens
Come sailing to theland.”
The Armada is away on the other side of Scotland,and Amyas is following in its wake.
For when the lord high admiral determined to return,Amyas asked leave to follow the Spaniard; and asked,too, of Sir John Hawkins, who happened to be at hand,such ammunition and provision as could be affordedhim, promising to repay the same like an honest man,out of his plunder if he lived, out of his estateif he died; lodging for that purpose bills in thehands of Sir John, who, as a man of business, tookthem, and put them in his pocket among the thimbles,string, and tobacco; after which Amyas, calling hismen together, reminded them once more of the storyof the Rose of Torridge and Don Guzman de Soto, andthen asked:
“Men of Bideford, will you follow me? Therewill be plunder for those who love plunder; revengefor those who love revenge; and for all of us (forwe all love honor) the honor of having never left thechase as long as there was a Spanish flag in Englishseas.”
And every soul on board replied, that they would followSir Amyas Leigh around the world.
There is no need for me to detail every incident ofthat long and weary chase; how they found the Sta.Catharina, attacked her, and had to sheer off, shebeing rescued by the rest; how when Medina’ssquadron left the crippled ships behind, they wereall but taken or sunk, by thrusting into the midstof the Spanish fleet to prevent her escaping with Medina;how they crippled her, so that she could not beat towindward out into the ocean, but was fain to run south,past the Orkneys, and down through the Minch, betweenCape Wrath and Lewis; how the younger hands were readyto mutiny, because Amyas, in his stubborn haste, ranpast two or three noble prizes which were all butdisabled, among others one of the great galliasses,and the two great Venetians, La Ratta and La Belanzara—whichwere afterwards, with more than thirty other vessels,
wrecked on the west coast of Ireland; how he got freshwater, in spite of certain “Hebridean Scots”of Skye, who, after reviling him in an unknown tongue,fought with him awhile, and then embraced him and hismen with howls of affection, and were not much moredecently clad, nor more civilized, than his old friendsof California; how he pacified his men by lettingthem pick the bones of a great Venetian which was goingon shore upon Islay (by which they got booty enoughto repay them for the whole voyage), and offendedthem again by refusing to land and plunder two greatSpanish wrecks on the Mull of Cantire (whose crews,by the by, James tried to smuggle off secretly intoSpain in ships of his own, wishing to play, as usual,both sides of the game at once; but the Spaniardswere stopped at Yarmouth till the council’s pleasurewas known—which was, of course, to letthe poor wretches go on their way, and be hanged elsewhere);how they passed a strange island, half black, halfwhite, which the wild people called Raghary, but Carychristened it “the drowned magpie;” howthe Sta. Catharina was near lost on the Isleof Man, and then put into Castleton (where the Manx-menslew a whole boat’s-crew with their arrows),and then put out again, when Amyas fought with hera whole day, and shot away her mainyard; how the Spaniardblundered down the coast of Wales, not knowing whitherhe went; how they were both nearly lost on Holyhead,and again on Bardsey Island; how they got on a leeshore in Cardigan Bay, before a heavy westerly gale,and the Sta. Catharina ran aground on Sarn David,one of those strange subaqueous pebble-dykes whichare said to be the remnants of the lost land of Gwalior,destroyed by the carelessness of Prince Seitheninthe drunkard, at whose name each loyal Welshman spits;how she got off again at the rising of the tide, andfought with Amyas a fourth time; how the wind changed,and she got round St. David’s Head;—these,and many more moving incidents of this eventful voyage,I must pass over without details, and go on to theend; for it is time that the end should come.It was now the sixteenth day of the chase. Theyhad seen, the evening before, St. David’s Head,and then the Welsh coast round Milford Haven, loomingout black and sharp before the blaze of the inlandthunder-storm; and it had lightened all round themduring the fore part of the night, upon a light south-westernbreeze.
In vain they had strained their eyes through the darkness,to catch, by the fitful glare of the flashes, thetall masts of the Spaniard. Of one thing at leastthey were certain, that with the wind as it was, shecould not have gone far to the westward; and to attemptto pass them again, and go northward, was more thanshe dare do. She was probably lying-to aheadof them, perhaps between them and the land; and when,a little after midnight, the wind chopped up to thewest, and blew stiffly till day break, they felt surethat, unless she had attempted the desperate expedient
of running past them, they had her safe in the mouthof the Bristol Channel. Slowly and wearily brokethe dawn, on such a day as often follows heavy thunder;a sunless, drizzly day, roofed with low dingy cloud,barred and netted, and festooned with black, a signthat the storm is only taking breath awhile beforeit bursts again; while all the narrow horizon is dimand spongy with vapor drifting before a chilly breeze.As the day went on, the breeze died down, and the seafell to a long glassy foam-flecked roll, while overheadbrooded the inky sky, and round them the leaden mistshut out alike the shore and the chase.Amyas paced the sloppy deck fretfully and fiercely.He knew that the Spaniard could not escape; but hecursed every moment which lingered between him andthat one great revenge which blackened all his soul.The men sate sulkily about the deck, and whistled fora wind; the sails flapped idly against the masts;and the ship rolled in the long troughs of the sea,till her yard-arms almost dipped right and left.
“Take care of those guns. You will havesomething loose next,” growled Amyas.
“We will take care of the guns, if the Lordwill take care of the wind,” said Yeo.
“We shall have plenty before night,” saidCary, “and thunder too.”
“So much the better,” said Amyas.“It may roar till it splits the heavens, ifit does but let me get my work done.”
“He’s not far off, I warrant,” saidCary. “One lift of the cloud, and we shouldsee him.”
“To windward of us, as likely as not,”said Amyas. “The devil fights for him,I believe. To have been on his heels sixteen days,and not sent this through him yet!” And he shookhis sword impatiently.
So the morning wore away, without a sign of livingthing, not even a passing gull; and the black melancholyof the heaven reflected itself in the black melancholyof Amyas. Was he to lose his prey after all?The thought made him shudder with rage and disappointment.It was intolerable. Anything but that.
“No, God!” he cried, “let me butonce feel this in his accursed heart, and then—strikeme dead, if Thou wilt!”
“The Lord have mercy on us,” cried JohnBrimblecombe. “What have you said?”
“What is that to you, sir? There, theyare piping to dinner. Go down. I shall notcome.”
And Jack went down, and talked in a half-terrifiedwhisper of Amyas’s ominous words.
All thought that they portended some bad luck, exceptold Yeo.
“Well, Sir John,” said he, “andwhy not? What better can the Lord do for a man,than take him home when he has done his work?Our captain is wilful and spiteful, and must needskill his man himself; while for me, I don’tcare how the Don goes, provided he does go. Iowe him no grudge, nor any man. May the Lordgive him repentance, and forgive him all his sins:but if I could but see him once safe ashore, as hemay be ere nightfall, on the Mortestone or the backof Lundy, I would say, ’Lord, now lettest ThouThy servant depart in peace,’ even if it werethe lightning which was sent to fetch me.”
“But, master Yeo, a sudden death?”
“And why not a sudden death, Sir John?Even fools long for a short life and a merry one,and shall not the Lord’s people pray for a shortdeath and a merry one? Let it come as it willto old Yeo. Hark! there’s the captain’svoice!”
“Here she is!” thundered Amyas from thedeck; and in an instant all were scrambling up thehatchway as fast as the frantic rolling of the shipwould let them.
Yes. There she was. The cloud had liftedsuddenly, and to the south a ragged bore of blue skylet a long stream of sunshine down on her tall mastsand stately hull, as she lay rolling some four or fivemiles to the eastward: but as for land, nonewas to be seen.
“There she is; and here we are,” saidCary; “but where is here? and where is there?How is the tide, master?”
“Running up Channel by this time, sir.”
“What matters the tide?” said Amyas, devouringthe ship with terrible and cold blue eyes. “Can’twe get at her?”
“Not unless some one jumps out and shoves behind,”said Cary. “I shall down again and finishthat mackerel, if this roll has not chucked it tothe co*ckroaches under the table.”
“Don’t jest, Will! I can’tstand it,” said Amyas, in a voice which quiveredso much that Cary looked at him. His whole framewas trembling like an aspen. Cary took his arm,and drew him aside.
“Dear old lad,” said he, as they leanedover the bulwarks, “what is this? You arenot yourself, and have not been these four days.”
“No. I am not Amyas Leigh. I am mybrother’s avenger. Do not reason with me,Will: when it is over I shall be merry old Amyasagain,” and he passed his hand over his brow.
“Do you believe,” said he, after a moment,“that men can be possessed by devils?”
“The Bible says so.”
“If my cause were not a just one, I should fancyI had a devil in me. My throat and heart areas hot as the pit. Would to God it were done,for done it must be! Now go.”
Cary went away with a shudder. As he passed downthe hatchway he looked back. Amyas had got thehone out of his pocket, and was whetting away againat his sword-edge, as if there was some dreadful doomon him, to whet, and whet forever.
The weary day wore on. The strip of blue skywas curtained over again, and all was dismal as before,though it grew sultrier every moment; and now andthen a distant mutter shook the air to westward.Nothing could be done to lessen the distance betweenthe ships, for the Vengeance had had all her boatscarried away but one, and that was much too smallto tow her: and while the men went down againto finish dinner, Amyas worked on at his sword, lookingup every now and then suddenly at the Spaniard, asif to satisfy himself that it was not a vision whichhad vanished.
About two Yeo came up to him.
“He is ours safely now, sir. The tide hasbeen running to the eastward for this two hours.”
“Safe as a fox in a trap. Satan himselfcannot take him from us!”
“But God may,” said Brimblecombe, simply.
“Who spoke to you, sir? If I thought thatHe—There comes the thunder at last!”
And as he spoke an angry growl from the westward heavensseemed to answer his wild words, and rolled and loudenednearer and nearer, till right over their heads itcrashed against some cloud-cliff far above, and allwas still.
Each man looked in the other’s face: butAmyas was unmoved.
“The storm is coming,” said he, “andthe wind in it. It will be Eastward-ho now, foronce, my merry men all!”
“Eastward-ho never brought us luck,” saidJack in an undertone to Cary. But by this timeall eyes were turned to the north-west, where a blackline along the horizon began to define the boundaryof sea and air, till now all dim in mist.
“There comes the breeze.”
“And there the storm, too.”
And with that strangely accelerating pace which somestorms seem to possess, the thunder, which had beengrowling slow and seldom far away, now rang peal onpeal along the cloudy floor above their heads.
“Here comes the breeze. Round with theyards, or we shall be taken aback.”
The yards creaked round; the sea grew crisp aroundthem; the hot air swept their cheeks, tightened everyrope, filled every sail, bent her over. A cheerburst from the men as the helm went up, and they staggeredaway before the wind, right down upon the Spaniard,who lay still becalmed.
“There is more behind, Amyas,” said Cary.“Shall we not shorten sail a little?”
“No. Hold on every stitch,” saidAmyas. “Give me the helm, man. Boatswain,pipe away to clear for fight.”
It was done, and in ten minutes the men were all atquarters, while the thunder rolled louder and louderoverhead, and the breeze freshened fast.
“The dog has it now. There he goes!”said Cary.
“Right before the wind. He has no likingto face us.”
“He is running into the jaws of destruction,”said Yeo. “An hour more will send him eitherright up the Channel, or smack on shore somewhere.”
“There! he has put his helm down. I wonderif he sees land?”
“He is like a March hare beat out of his country,”said Cary, “and don’t know whither torun next.”
Cary was right. In ten minutes more the Spaniardfell off again, and went away dead down wind, whilethe Vengeance gained on him fast. After two hoursmore, the four miles had diminished to one, while thelightning flashed nearer and nearer as the storm cameup; and from the vast mouth of a black cloud-archpoured so fierce a breeze that Amyas yielded unwillinglyto hints which were growing into open murmurs, andbade shorten sail.
On they rushed with scarcely lessened speed, the blackarch following fast, curtained by the flat gray sheetof pouring rain, before which the water was boilingin a long white line; while every moment behind thewatery veil, a keen blue spark leapt down into thesea, or darted zigzag through the rain.
“We shall have it now, and with a vengeance;this will try your tackle, master,” said Cary.
The functionary answered with a shrug, and turnedup the collar of his rough frock, as the first dropsflew stinging round his ears. Another minuteand the squall burst full upon them, in rain, whichcut like hail—hail which lashed the seainto froth, and wind which whirled off the heads ofthe surges, and swept the waters into one white seethingwaste. And above them, and behind them and beforethem, the lightning leapt and ran, dazzling and blinding,while the deep roar of the thunder was changed tosharp ear-piercing cracks.
“Get the arms and ammunition under cover, andthen below with you all,” shouted Amyas fromthe helm.
“And heat the pokers in the galley fire,”said Yeo, “to be ready if the rain puts ourlinstocks out. I hope you’ll let me stayon deck, sir, in case—”
“I must have some one, and who better than you?Can you see the chase?”
No; she was wrapped in the gray whirlwind. Shemight be within half a mile of them, for aught theycould have seen of her.
And now Amyas and his old liegeman were alone.Neither spoke; each knew the other’s thoughts,and knew that they were his own. The squall blewfiercer and fiercer, the rain poured heavier and heavier.Where was the Spaniard?
“If he has laid-to, we may overshoot him, sir!”
“If he has tried to lay-to, he will not havea sail left in the bolt-ropes, or perhaps a mast ondeck. I know the stiff-neckedness of those Spanishtubs. Hurrah! there he is, right on our larboardbow!”
There she was indeed, two musket-shots’ off,staggering away with canvas split and flying.
“He has been trying to hull, sir, and caughta buffet,” said Yeo, rubbing his hands.“What shall we do now?”
“Range alongside, if it blow live imps and witches,and try our luck once more. Pah! how this lightningdazzles!”
On they swept, gaining fast on the Spaniard.“Call the men up, and to quarters; the rainwill be over in ten minutes.”
Yeo ran forward to the gangway; and sprang back again,with a face white and wild—
“Land right ahead! Port your helm, sir!For the love of God, port your helm!”
Amyas, with the strength of a bull, jammed the helmdown, while Yeo shouted to the men below.
She swung round. The masts bent like whips; crackwent the fore-sail like a cannon. What matter?Within two hundred yards of them was the Spaniard;in front of her, and above her, a huge dark bank rosethrough the dense hail, and mingled with the clouds;and at its foot, plainer every moment, pillars andspouts of leaping foam.
“What is it, Morte? Hartland?”
It might be anything for thirty miles.
“Lundy!” said Yeo. “The southend! I see the head of the Shutter in the breakers!Hard a-port yet, and get her close-hauled as you can,and the Lord may have mercy on us still! Lookat the Spaniard!”
Yes, look at the Spaniard!
On their left hand, as they broached-to, the wallof granite sloped down from the clouds toward an isolatedpeak of rock, some two hundred feet in height.Then a hundred yards of roaring breaker upon a sunkenshelf, across which the race of the tide poured likea cataract; then, amid a column of salt smoke, theShutter, like a huge black fang, rose waiting forits prey; and between the Shutter and the land, thegreat galleon loomed dimly through the storm.
He, too, had seen his danger, and tried to broach-to.But his clumsy mass refused to obey the helm; he struggleda moment, half hid in foam; fell away again, and rushedupon his doom.
“Lost! lost! lost!” cried Amyas madly,and throwing up his hands, let go the tiller.Yeo caught it just in time.
“Sir! sir! What are you at? We shallclear the rock yet.”
“Yes!” shouted Amyas, in his frenzy; “buthe will not!”
Another minute. The galleon gave a sudden jar,and stopped. Then one long heave and bound, asif to free herself. And then her bows lightedclean upon the Shutter.
An awful silence fell on every English soul.They heard not the roaring of wind and surge; theysaw not the blinding flashes of the lightning; butthey heard one long ear-piercing wail to every saintin heaven rise from five hundred human throats; theysaw the mighty ship heel over from the wind, and sweepheadlong down the cataract of the race, plunging heryards into the foam, and showing her whole black sideeven to her keel, till she rolled clean over, andvanished for ever and ever.
“Shame!” cried Amyas, hurling his swordfar into the sea, “to lose my right, my right!when it was in my very grasp! Unmerciful!”
A crack which rent the sky, and made the granite ringand quiver; a bright world of flame, and then a blankof utter darkness, against which stood out, glowingred-hot every mast, and sail, and rock, and SalvationYeo as he stood just in front of Amyas, the tillerin his hand. All red-hot, transfigured into fire;and behind, the black, black night.
* * * * *
A whisper, a rustling close beside him, and Brimblecombe’svoice said softly:
“Give him more wine, Will; his eyes are opening.”
“Hey day?” said Amyas, faintly, “notpast the Shutter yet! How long she hangs in thewind!”
“We are long past the Shutter, Sir Amyas,”said Brimblecombe.
“Are you mad? Cannot I trust my own eyes?”
There was no answer for awhile.
“We are past the Shutter, indeed,” saidCary, very gently, “and lying in the cove atLundy.”
“Will you tell me that that is not the Shutter,and that the Devil’s-limekiln, and that thecliff—that villain Spaniard only gone—andthat Yeo is not standing here by me, and Cary thereforward, and—why, by the by, where areyou, Jack Brimblecombe, who were talking to me thisminute?”
“Oh, Sir Amyas Leigh, dear Sir Amyas Leigh,”blubbered poor Jack, “put out your hand, andfeel where you are, and pray the Lord to forgive youfor your wilfulness!”
A great trembling fell upon Amyas Leigh; half fearfullyhe put out his hand; he felt that he was in his hammock,with the deck beams close above his head. Thevision which had been left upon his eye-balls vanishedlike a dream.
“What is this? I must be asleep? Whathas happened? Where am I?”
“In your cabin, Amyas,” said Cary.
“What? And where is Yeo?”
“Yeo is gone where he longed to go, and as helonged to go. The same flash which struck youdown, struck him dead.”
“Dead? Lightning? Any more hurt?I must go and see. Why, what is this?”and Amyas passed his hand across his eyes. “Itis all dark—dark, as I live!” Andhe passed his hand over his eyes again.
There was another dead silence. Amyas broke it.
“Oh, God!” shrieked the great proud sea-captain,“Oh, God, I am blind! blind! blind!” Andwrithing in his great horror, he called to Cary tokill him and put him out of his misery, and then wailedfor his mother to come and help him, as if he hadbeen a boy once more; while Brimblecombe and Cary,and the sailors who crowded round the cabin-door,wept as if they too had been boys once more.
Soon his fit of frenzy passed off, and he sank backexhausted.
They lifted him into their remaining boat, rowed himashore, carried him painfully up the hill to the oldcastle, and made a bed for him on the floor, in thevery room in which Don Guzman and Rose Salterne hadplighted their troth to each other, five wild yearsbefore.
Three miserable days were passed within that lonelytower. Amyas, utterly unnerved by the horrorof his misfortune, and by the over-excitement of thelast few weeks, was incessantly delirious; while Cary,and Brimblecombe, and the men nursed him by turns,as sailors and wives only can nurse; and listenedwith awe to his piteous self-reproaches and entreatiesto Heaven to remove that woe, which, as he shriekedagain and again, was a just judgment on him for hiswilfulness and ferocity. The surgeon talked, ofcourse, learnedly about melancholic humors, and hisliver’s being “adust by the over-pungencyof the animal spirits,” and then fell back onthe universal panacea of blood-letting, which he effectedwith fear and trembling during a short interval ofprostration; encouraged by which he attempted to administera large bolus of aloes, was knocked down for his pains,and then thought it better to leave Nature to herown work. In the meanwhile, Cary had sent offone of the island skiffs to Clovelly, with lettersto his father, and to Mrs. Leigh, entreating the latterto come off to the island: but the heavy westerlywinds made that as impossible as it was to move Amyason board, and the men had to do their best, and didit well enough.
On the fourth day his raving ceased: but he wasstill too weak to be moved. Toward noon, however,he called for food, ate a little, and seemed revived.
“Will,” he said, after awhile, “thisroom is as stifling as it is dark. I feel asif I should be a sound man once more if I could butget one snuff of the sea-breeze.”
The surgeon shook his head at the notion of movinghim: but Amyas was peremptory.
“I am captain still, Tom Surgeon, and will sailfor the Indies, if I choose. Will Cary, JackBrimblecombe, will you obey a blind general?”
“What you will in reason,” said they bothat once.
“Then lead me out, my masters, and over thedown to the south end. To the point at the southend I must go; there is no other place will suit.”
And he rose firmly to his feet, and held out his handsfor theirs.
“Let him have his humor,” whispered Cary.“It may be the working off of his madness.”
“This sudden strength is a note of fresh fever,Mr. Lieutenant,” said the surgeon, “andthe rules of the art prescribe rather a fresh blood-letting.”
Amyas overheard the last word, and broke out:
“Thou pig-sticking Philistine, wilt thou makesport with blind Samson? Come near me to letblood from my arm, and see if I do not let blood fromthy coxcomb. Catch him, Will, and bring him mehere!”
The surgeon vanished as the blind giant made a stepforward; and they set forth, Amyas walking slowly,but firmly, between his two friends.
“Whither?” asked Cary.
“To the south end. The crag above the Devil’s-limekiln.No other place will suit.”
Jack gave a murmur, and half-stopped, as a frightfulsuspicion crossed him.
“That is a dangerous place!”
“What of that?” said Amyas, who caughthis meaning in his tone. “Dost think Iam going to leap over cliff? I have not heartenough for that. On, lads, and set me safe amongthe rocks.”
So slowly, and painfully, they went on, while Amyasmurmured to himself:
“No, no other place will suit; I can see allthence.”
So on they went to the point, where the cyclopeanwall of granite cliff which forms the western sideof Lundy, ends sheer in a precipice of some threehundred feet, topped by a pile of snow-white rock,bespangled with golden lichens. As they approached,a raven, who sat upon the topmost stone, black againstthe bright blue sky, flapped lazily away, and sankdown the abysses of the cliff, as if he scented thecorpses underneath the surge. Below them fromthe Gull-rock rose a thousand birds, and filled theair with sound; the choughs cackled, the hacklets wailed,the great blackbacks laughed querulous defiance atthe intruders, and a single falcon, with an angrybark, dashed out from beneath their feet, and hungpoised high aloft, watching the sea-fowl which swungslowly round and round below.
It was a glorious sight upon a glorious day.To the northward the glens rushed down toward thecliff, crowned with gray crags, and carpeted withpurple heather and green fern; and from their feetstretched away to the westward the sapphire rollersof the vast Atlantic, crowned with a thousand crestsof flying foam. On their left hand, some ten milesto the south, stood out against the sky the purplewall of Hartland cliffs, sinking lower and lower asthey trended away to the southward along the lonelyironbound shores of Cornwall, until they faded, dimand blue, into the blue horizon forty miles away.
The sky was flecked with clouds, which rushed towardthem fast upon the roaring south-west wind; and thewarm ocean-breeze swept up the cliffs, and whistledthrough the heather-bells, and howled in cranny andin crag,
“Till the pillarsand clefts of the granite
Ranglike a God-swept lyre;”
while Amyas, a proud smile upon his lips, stood breastingthat genial stream of airy wine with swelling nostrilsand fast-heaving chest, and seemed to drink in lifefrom every gust. All three were silent for awhile;and Jack and Cary, gazing downward with delight uponthe glory and the grandeur of the sight, forgot forawhile that their companion saw it not. Yet whenthey started sadly, and looked into his face, didhe not see it? So wide and eager were his eyes,so bright and calm his face, that they fancied foran instant that he was once more even as they.
A deep sigh undeceived them. “I know itis all here—the dear old sea, where I wouldlive and die. And my eyes feel for it; feel forit—and cannot find it; never, never willfind it again forever! God’s will be done!”
“Do you say that?” asked Brimblecombe,eagerly.
“Why should I not? Why have I been ravingin hell-fire for I know not how many days, but tofind out that, John Brimblecombe, thou better manthan I?”
“Not that last: but Amen! Amen! andthe Lord has indeed had mercy upon thee!” saidJack, through his honest tears.
“Amen!” said Amyas. “Now setme where I can rest among the rocks without fear offalling—for life is sweet still, even withouteyes, friends—and leave me to myself awhile.”
It was no easy matter to find a safe place; for fromthe foot of the crag the heathery turf slopes downall but upright, on one side to a cliff which overhangsa shoreless cove of deep dark sea, and on the otherto an abyss even more hideous, where the solid rockhas sunk away, and opened inland in the hillside asmooth-walled pit, some sixty feet square and somehundred and fifty in depth, aptly known then as now,as the Devil’s-limekiln; the mouth of which,as old wives say, was once closed by the Shutter-rockitself, till the fiend in malice hurled it into thesea, to be a pest to mariners. A narrow and untroddencavern at the bottom connects it with the outer sea;they could even then hear the mysterious thunder andgurgle of the surge in the subterranean adit, as itrolled huge boulders to and fro in darkness, and forcedbefore it gusts of pent-up air. It was a spotto curdle weak blood, and to make weak heads reel:but all the fitter on that account for Amyas and hisfancy.
“You can sit here as in an arm-chair,”said Cary, helping him down to one of those squarenatural seats so common in the granite tors.
“Good; now turn my face to the Shutter.Be sure and exact. So. Do I face it full?”
“Full,” said Cary.
“Then I need no eyes wherewith to see what isbefore me,” said he, with a sad smile.“I know every stone and every headland, and everywave too, I may say, far beyond aught that eye canreach. Now go, and leave me alone with God andwith the dead!”
They retired a little space and watched him.He never stirred for many minutes; then leaned hiselbows on his knees, and his head upon his hands,and so was still again. He remained so long thus,that the pair became anxious, and went towards him.He was asleep, and breathing quick and heavily.
“He will take a fever,” said Brimblecombe,“if he sleeps much longer with his head downin the sunshine.”
“We must wake him gently if we wake him at all.”And Cary moved forward to him.
As he did so, Amyas lifted his head, and turning itto right and left, felt round him with his sightlesseyes.
“You have been asleep, Amyas.”
“Have I? I have not slept back my eyes,then. Take up this great useless carcase of mine,and lead me home. I shall buy me a dog when Iget to Burrough, I think, and make him tow me in astring, eh? So! Give me your hand.Now march!”
His guides heard with surprise this new cheerfulness.
“Thank God, sir, that your heart is so lightalready,” said good Jack; “it makes mefeel quite upraised myself, like.”
“I have reason to be cheerful, Sir John; I haveleft a heavy load behind me. I have been wilful,and proud, and a blasphemer, and swollen with crueltyand pride; and God has brought me low for it, and cutme off from my evil delight. No more Spaniard-huntingfor me now, my masters. God will send no suchfools as I upon His errands.”
“You do not repent of fighting the Spaniards.”
“Not I: but of hating even the worst ofthem. Listen to me, Will and Jack. If thatman wronged me, I wronged him likewise. I havebeen a fiend when I thought myself the grandest ofmen, yea, a very avenging angel out of heaven.But God has shown me my sin, and we have made up ourquarrel forever.”
“Made it up?”
“Made it up, thank God. But I am weary.Set me down awhile, and I will tell you how it befell.”
Wondering, they set him down upon the heather, whilethe bees hummed round them in the sun; and Amyas feltfor a hand of each, and clasped it in his own hand,and began:
“When you left me there upon the rock, lads,I looked away and out to sea, to get one last snuffof the merry sea-breeze, which will never sail meagain. And as I looked, I tell you truth, I couldsee the water and the sky; as plain as ever I sawthem, till I thought my sight was come again.But soon I knew it was not so; for I saw more thanman could see; right over the ocean, as I live, andaway to the Spanish Main. And I saw Barbados,and Grenada, and all the isles that we ever sailedby; and La Guayra in Caracas, and the Silla, and thehouse beneath it where she lived. And I saw himwalking with her on the barbecue, and he loved herthen. I saw what I saw; and he loved her; andI say he loves her still.
“Then I saw the cliffs beneath me, and the Gull-rock,and the Shutter, and the Ledge; I saw them, WilliamCary, and the weeds beneath the merry blue sea.And I saw the grand old galleon, Will; she has rightedwith the sweeping of the tide. She lies in fifteenfathoms, at the edge of the rocks, upon the sand;and her men are all lying around her, asleep untilthe judgment-day.”
Cary and Jack looked at him, and then at each other.His eyes were clear, and bright, and full of meaning;and yet they knew that he was blind. His voicewas shaping itself into a song. Was he inspired?Insane? What was it? And they listened withawe-struck faces, as the giant pointed down into theblue depths far below, and went on.
“And I saw him sitting in his cabin, like avaliant gentleman of Spain; and his officers weresitting round him, with their swords upon the tableat the wine. And the prawns and the crayfish andthe rockling, they swam in and out above their heads:but Don Guzman he never heeded, but sat still, anddrank his wine. Then he took a locket from hisbosom; and I heard him speak, Will, and he said:’Here’s the picture of my fair and truelady; drink to her, senors all.’ Then hespoke to me, Will, and called me, right up throughthe oar-weed and the sea: ’We have hada fair quarrel, senor; it is time to be friends oncemore. My wife and your brother have forgivenme; so your honor takes no stain.’ And Ianswered, ’We are friends, Don Guzman; God hasjudged our quarrel and not we.’ Then hesaid, ‘I sinned, and I am punished.’And I said, ’And, senor, so am I.’Then he held out his hand to me, Cary; and I stoopedto take it, and awoke.”
He ceased: and they looked in his face again.It was exhausted, but clear and gentle, like the faceof a new-born babe. Gradually his head droppedupon his breast again; he was either swooning or sleeping,and they had much ado to get him home. Therehe lay for eight-and-forty hours, in a quiet doze;then arose suddenly, called for food, ate heartily,and seemed, saving his eyesight, as whole and soundas ever. The surgeon bade them get him home toNortham as soon as possible, and he was willing enoughto go. So the next day the Vengeance sailed,leaving behind a dozen men to seize and keep in thequeen’s name any goods which should be washedup from the wreck.
CHAPTER XXXIII
HOW AMYAS LET THE APPLE FALL
“Would you hear a Spanishlady,
How she woo’d an Englishman?
Garments gay and rich as may be,
Deck’d with jewels had she on.”
Elizabethan Ballad.
It was the first of October. The morning wasbright and still; the skies were dappled modestlyfrom east to west with soft gray autumn cloud, asif all heaven and earth were resting after those fearfulsummer months of battle and of storm. Silently,as if ashamed and sad, the Vengeance slid over thebar, and passed the sleeping sand-hills and droppedher anchor off Appledore, with her flag floating half-masthigh; for the corpse of Salvation Yeo was on board.
A boat pulled off from the ship, and away to the westernend of the strand; and Cary and Brimblecombe helpedout Amyas Leigh, and led him slowly up the hill towardhis home.
The crowd clustered round him, with cheers and blessings,and sobs of pity from kind-hearted women; for allin Appledore and Bideford knew well by this time whathad befallen him.
“Spare me, my good friends,” said Amyas,“I have landed here that I might go quietlyhome, without passing through the town, and being madea gazing-stock. Think not of me, good folks, nortalk of me; but come behind me decently, as Christianmen, and follow to the grave the body of a betterman than I.”
And, as he spoke, another boat came off, and in it,covered with the flag of England, the body of SalvationYeo.
The people took Amyas at his word; and a man was senton to Burrough, to tell Mrs. Leigh that her son wascoming. When the coffin was landed and lifted,Amyas and his friends took their places behind it aschief mourners, and the crew followed in order, whilethe crowd fell in behind them, and gathered everymoment; till ere they were halfway to Northam town,the funeral train might number full five hundred souls.
They had sent over by a fishing-skiff the day beforeto bid the sexton dig the grave; and when they cameinto the churchyard, the parson stood ready waitingat the gate.
Mrs. Leigh stayed quietly at home; for she had noheart to face the crowd; and though her heart yearnedfor her son, yet she was well content (when was shenot content?) that he should do honor to his ancientand faithful servant; so she sat down in the bay-window,with Ayacanora by her side; and when the tolling ofthe bell ceased, she opened her Prayer-book, and beganto read the Burial-service.
“Ayacanora,” she said, “they areburying old Master Yeo, who loved you, and soughtyou over the wide, wide world, and saved you from theteeth of the crocodile. Are you not sorry forhim, child, that you look so gay to-day?”
Ayacanora blushed, and hung down her head; she wasthinking of nothing, poor child, but Amyas.
The Burial-service was done; the blessing said; theparson drew back: but the people lingered andcrowded round to look at the coffin, while Amyas stoodstill at the head of the grave. It had been dugby his command, at the west end of the church, nearby the foot of the tall gray windswept tower, whichwatches for a beacon far and wide over land and sea.Perhaps the old man might like to look at the sea,and see the ships come out and in across the bar,and hear the wind, on winter nights, roar throughthe belfry far above his head. Why not? Itwas but a fancy: and yet Amyas felt that he tooshould like to be buried in such a place; so Yeo mightlike it also.
Still the crowd lingered; and looked first at thegrave and then at the blind giant who stood over it,as if they felt, by instinct, that something moreought to come. And something more did come.Amyas drew himself up to his full height, and wavedhis hand majestically, as one about to speak; whilethe eyes of all men were fastened on him.
Twice he essayed to begin; and twice the words werechoked upon his lips; and then,—
“Good people all, and seamen, among whom I wasbred, and to whom I come home blind this day, to dwellwith you till death—Here lieth the flowerand pattern of all bold mariners; the truest of friends,and the most terrible of foes; unchangeable of purpose,crafty of council, and swift of execution; in triumphmost sober, in failure (as God knows I have foundfull many a day) of endurance beyond mortal man.Who first of all Britons helped to humble the prideof the Spaniard at Rio de la Hacha and Nombre, andfirst of all sailed upon those South Seas, which shallbe hereafter, by God’s grace, as free to Englishkeels as is the bay outside. Who having afterwardsbeen purged from his youthful sins by strange afflictionsand torments unspeakable, suffered at the hands ofthe Popish enemy, learned therefrom, my masters, tofear God, and to fear naught else; and having acquittedhimself worthily in his place and calling as a righteousscourge of the Spaniard, and a faithful soldier ofthe Lord Jesus Christ, is now exalted to his reward,as Elijah was of old, in a chariot of fire unto heaven:letting fall, I trust and pray, upon you who are leftbehind the mantle of his valor and his godliness,that so these shores may never be without brave andpious mariners, who will count their lives as worthlessin the cause of their Country, their Bible, and theirQueen. Amen.”
And feeling for his companions’ hands he walkedslowly from the churchyard, and across the villagestreet, and up the lane to Burrough gates; while thecrowd made way for him in solemn silence, as for anawful being, shut up alone with all his strength, valor,and fame, in the dark prison-house of his mysteriousdoom.
He seemed to know perfectly when they had reachedthe gates, opened the lock with his own hands, andwent boldly forward along the gravel path, while Caryand Brimblecombe followed him trembling; for they expectedsome violent burst of emotion, either from him or hismother, and the two good fellows’ tender heartswere fluttering like a girl’s. Up to thedoor he went, as if he had seen it; felt for the entrance,stood therein, and called quietly, “Mother!”
In a moment his mother was on his bosom.
Neither spoke for awhile. She sobbing inwardly,with tearless eyes, he standing firm and cheerful,with his great arms clasped around her.
“Mother!” he said at last, “I amcome home, you see, because I needs must come.Will you take me in, and look after this useless carcase?I shall not be so very troublesome, mother,—shallI?” and he looked down, and smiled upon her,and kissed her brow.
She answered not a word, but passed her arm gentlyround his waist, and led him in.
“Take care of your head, dear child, the doorsare low.” And they went in together.
“Will! Jack!” called Amyas, turninground: but the two good fellows had walked brisklyoff.
“I’m glad we are away,” said Cary;“I should have made a baby of myself in anotherminute, watching that angel of a woman. How herface worked and how she kept it in!”
“Ah, well!” said Jack, “there goesa brave servant of the queen’s cut off beforehis work was a quarter done. Heigho! I musthome now, and see my old father, and then—”
“And then home with me,” said Cary.“You and I never part again! We have pulledin the same boat too long, Jack; and you must not gospending your prize-money in riotous living.I must see after you, old Jack ashore, or we shallhave you treating half the town in taverns for a weekto come.”
“Oh, Mr. Cary!” said Jack, scandalized.
“Come home with me, and we’ll poison theparson, and my father shall give you the rectory.”
“Oh, Mr. Cary!” said Jack.
So the two went off to Clovelly together that veryday.
And Amyas was sitting all alone. His mother hadgone out for a few minutes to speak to the seamenwho had brought up Amyas’s luggage, and setthem down to eat and drink; and Amyas sat in the oldbay-window, where he had sat when he was a littletiny boy, and read “King Arthur,” and“Fox’s Martyrs,” and “The Crueltiesof the Spaniards.” He put out his handand felt for them; there they lay side by side, justas they had lain twenty years before. The windowwas open; and a cool air brought in as of old thescents of the four-season roses, and rosemary, andautumn gilliflowers. And there was a dish of appleson the table: he knew it by their smell; thevery same old apples which he used to gather whenhe was a boy. He put out his hand, and took them,and felt them over, and played with them, just asif the twenty years had never been: and as hefingered them, the whole of his past life rose up beforehim, as in that strange dream which is said to flashacross the imagination of a drowning man; and he sawall the places which he had ever seen, and heard allthe words which had ever been spoken to him—tillhe came to that fairy island on the Meta; and he heardthe roar of the cataract once more, and saw the greentops of the palm-trees sleeping in the sunlight far
above the spray, and stept amid the smooth palm-trunksacross the flower-fringed boulders, and leaped downto the gravel beach beside the pool: and thenagain rose from the fern-grown rocks the beautifulvision of Ayacanora—Where was she?He had not thought of her till now. How he hadwronged her! Let be; he had been punished, andthe account was squared. Perhaps she did notcare for him any longer. Who would care for agreat blind ox like him, who must be fed and tendedlike a baby for the rest of his lazy life? Tut!How long his mother was away! And he began playingagain with his apples, and thought about nothing butthem, and his climbs with Frank in the orchard yearsago.At last one of them slipt through his fingers, andfell on the floor. He stooped and felt for it:but he could not find it. Vexatious! He turnedhastily to search in another direction, and struckhis head sharply against the table.
Was it the pain, or the little disappointment? orwas it the sense of his blindness brought home tohim in that ludicrous commonplace way, and for thatvery reason all the more humiliating? or was it thesudden revulsion of overstrained nerves, producedby that slight shock? Or had he become indeeda child once more? I know not; but so it was,that he stamped on the floor with pettishness, andthen checking himself, burst into a violent floodof tears.
A quick rustle passed him; the apple was replacedin his hand, and Ayacanora’s voice sobbed out:
“There! there it is! Do not weep!Oh, do not weep! I cannot bear it! I willget you all you want! Only let me fetch and carryfor you, tend you, feed you, lead you, like your slave,your dog! Say that I may be your slave!”and falling on her knees at his feet, she seized bothhis hands, and covered them with kisses.
“Yes!” she cried, “I will be yourslave! I must be! You cannot help it!You cannot escape from me now! You cannot go tosea! You cannot turn your back upon wretchedme. I have you safe now! Safe!” andshe clutched his hands triumphantly. “Ah!and what a wretch I am, to rejoice in that! to taunthim with his blindness! Oh, forgive me! Iam but a poor wild girl—a wild Indian savage,you know: but—but—”and she burst into tears.
A great spasm shook the body and soul of Amyas Leigh;he sat quite silent for a minute, and then said solemnly:
“And is this still possible? Then God havemercy upon me a sinner!”
Ayacanora looked up in his face inquiringly:but before she could speak again, he had bent down,and lifting her as the lion lifts the lamb, pressedher to his bosom, and covered her face with kisses.
The door opened. There was the rustle of a gown;Ayacanora sprang from him with a little cry, and stood,half-trembling, half-defiant, as if to say, “Heis mine now; no one dare part him from me!”
“Who is it?” asked Amyas.
“Your mother.”
“You see that I am bringing forth fruits meetfor repentance, mother,” said he, with a smile.
He heard her approach. Then a kiss and a sobpassed between the women; and he felt Ayacanora sinkonce more upon his bosom.
“Amyas, my son,” said the silver voiceof Mrs. Leigh, low, dreamy, like the far-off chimesof angels’ bells from out the highest heaven,“fear not to take her to your heart again; forit is your mother who has laid her there.”
“It is true, after all,” said Amyas tohimself. “What God has joined together,man cannot put asunder.”
* * * * *
From that hour Ayacanora’s power of song returnedto her; and day by day, year after year, her voicerose up within that happy home, and soared, as ona skylark’s wings, into the highest heaven, bearingwith it the peaceful thoughts of the blind giant backto the Paradises of the West, in the wake of the heroeswho from that time forth sailed out to colonize anotherand a vaster England, to the heaven-prospered cry ofWestward-Ho!
