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WESTWARD HO!

by Charles Kingsley

TO

THE RAJAH SIR JAMES BROOKE, K.C.B.

AND

GEORGE AUGUSTUS SELWYN, D.D.

BISHOP OF NEW ZEALAND

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

By one who (unknown to them) has no other method of expressing his

admiration and reverence for their characters.

That type of English virtue, at once manful and godly, practical

and enthusiastic, prudent and self-sacrificing, which he has tried

to depict in these pages, they have exhibited in a form even purer

and more heroic than that in which he has drest it, and than that

in which it was exhibited by the worthies whom Elizabeth, without

distinction of rank or age, gathered round her in the ever glorious

wars of her great reign.

C. K.

FEBRUARY, 1855.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

I. HOW MR. OXENHAM SAW THE WHITE BIRD

II. HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE FIRST TIME

III. OF TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES, AND HOW THEY HUNTED WITH THE

HOUNDS, AND YET RAN WITH THE DEER

IV. THE TWO WAYS OF BEING CROST IN LOVE

V. CLOVELLY COURT IN THE OLDEN TIME

VI. THE COMBES OF THE FAR WEST

VII. THE TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM OF PLYMOUTH

VIII. HOW THE NOBLE BROTHERHOOD OF THE ROSE WAS FOUNDED

IX. HOW AMYAS KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS DAY

X. HOW THE MAYOR OF BIDEFORD BAITED HIS HOOK WITH HIS OWN FLESH

XI. HOW EUSTACE LEIGH MET THE POPE'S LEGATE

XII. HOW BIDEFORD BRIDGE DINED AT ANNERY HOUSE

XIII. HOW THE GOLDEN HIND CAME HOME AGAIN

XIV. HOW SALVATION YEO SLEW THE KING OF THE GUBBINGS

XV. HOW MR. JOHN BRIMBLECOMBE UNDERSTOOD THE NATURE OF AN OATH

XVI. THE MOST CHIVALROUS ADVENTURE OF THE GOOD SHIP ROSE

XVII. HOW THEY CAME TO BARBADOS, AND FOUND NO MEN THEREIN

XVIII. HOW THEY TOOK THE PEARLS AT MARGARITA

XIX. WHAT BEFELL AT LA GUAYRA

XX. SPANISH BLOODHOUNDS AND ENGLISH MASTIFFS

XXI. HOW THEY TOOK THE COMMUNION UNDER THE TREE AT HIGUEROTE

XXII. THE INQUISITION IN THE INDIES

XXIII. THE BANKS OF THE META

XXIV. HOW AMYAS WAS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL

XXV. HOW THEY TOOK THE GOLD-TRAIN

XXVI. HOW THEY TOOK THE GREAT GALLEON

XXVII. HOW SALVATION YEO FOUND HIS LITTLE MAID AGAIN

XXVIII. HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE THIRD TIME

XXIX. HOW THE VIRGINIA FLEET WAS STOPPED BY THE QUEEN'S COMMAND

XXX. HOW THE ADMIRAL JOHN HAWKINS TESTIFIED AGAINST CROAKERS

XXXI. THE GREAT ARMADA

XXXII. HOW AMYAS THREW HIS SWORD INTO THE SEA

XXXIII. HOW AMYAS LET THE APPLE FALL

WESTWARD HO!

CHAPTER I

HOW MR. OXENHAM SAW THE WHITE BIRD

"The hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea."

All who have travelled through the delicious scenery of North Devon

must needs know the little white town of Bideford, which slopes

upwards from its broad tide-river paved with yellow sands, and

many-arched old bridge where salmon wait for autumn floods, toward

the pleasant upland on the west. Above the town the hills close

in, cushioned with deep oak woods, through which juts here and

there a crag of fern-fringed slate; below they lower, and open more

and more in softly rounded knolls, and fertile squares of red and

green, till they sink into the wide expanse of hazy flats, rich

salt-marshes, and rolling sand-hills, where Torridge joins her

sister Taw, and both together flow quietly toward the broad surges

of the bar, and the everlasting thunder of the long Atlantic swell.

Pleasantly the old town stands there, beneath its soft Italian sky,

fanned day and night by the fresh ocean breeze, which forbids alike

the keen winter frosts, and the fierce thunder heats of the

midland; and pleasantly it has stood there for now, perhaps, eight

hundred years since the first Grenville, cousin of the Conqueror,

returning from the conquest of South Wales, drew round him trusty

Saxon serfs, and free Norse rovers with their golden curls, and

dark Silurian Britons from the Swansea shore, and all the mingled

blood which still gives to the seaward folk of the next county

their strength and intellect, and, even in these levelling days,

their peculiar beauty of face and form.

But at the time whereof I write, Bideford was not merely a pleasant

country town, whose quay was haunted by a few coasting craft. It

was one of the chief ports of England; it furnished seven ships to

fight the Armada: even more than a century afterwards, say the

chroniclers, "it sent more vessels to the 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 the

present day: but who dare despise the day of small things, if it

has proved to be the dawn of mighty ones? And it is to the sea-

life and labor of Bideford, and Dartmouth, and Topsham, and

Plymouth (then a petty place), and many another little western

town, that England owes the foundation of her naval and commercial

glory. It was the men of Devon, the Drakes and Hawkins', Gilberts

and Raleighs, Grenvilles and Oxenhams, 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 very

existence. For had they not first crippled, by their West Indian

raids, the ill-gotten resources of the Spaniard, and then crushed

his last huge effort in Britain's Salamis, the glorious fight of

1588, what had we been by now but a popish appanage of a world-

tyranny as cruel as heathen Rome itself, and far more devilish?

It is in memory of these men, their voyages and their battles,

their faith and their valor, their heroic lives and no less heroic

deaths, that I write this book; and if now and then I shall seem to

warm into a style somewhat too stilted and pompous, let me be

excused for my subject's sake, fit rather to have been sung than

said, and to have proclaimed to all true English hearts, not as a

novel but as an epic (which some man may yet gird himself to

write), the same great message which the songs of Troy, and the

Persian 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 of grace 1575, a tall

and fair boy came lingering along Bideford quay, in his scholar's

gown, with satchel and slate in hand, watching wistfully the

shipping and the sailors, till, just after he had passed the bottom

of the High Street, he came opposite to one of the many taverns

which looked out upon the river. In the open bay window sat

merchants and gentlemen, discoursing over their afternoon's draught

of sack; and outside the door was gathered a group of sailors,

listening earnestly to some one who stood in the midst. The boy,

all alive for any sea-news, must needs go up to them, and take his

place among the sailor-lads who were peeping and whispering under

the elbows of the men; and so came in for the following speech,

delivered in a loud bold voice, with a strong Devonshire 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. I tell you, as I am a gentleman, I saw it with

these eyes, and so did Salvation Yeo there, through a window in the

lower room; and we measured the heap, as I am a christened man,

seventy foot long, ten foot broad, and twelve foot high, of silver

bars, and each bar between a thirty and forty pound weight. And

says Captain Drake: 'There, my lads of Devon, I've brought you to

the mouth of the world's treasure-house, and it's your own fault

now if 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 carry them? We would have

brought 'em away, safe enough, and young Drake and I had broke the

door abroad already, but Captain Drake goes off in a dead faint;

and when we came to look, he had a wound in his leg you might have

laid three fingers in, and his boots were full of blood, and had

been for an hour or more; but the heart of him was that, that he

never knew it till he dropped, and then his brother and I got him

away to the boats, he kicking and struggling, and bidding us let

him go on with the fight, though every step he took in the sand was

in a pool of blood; and so we got off. And tell me, ye sons of

shotten herrings, wasn't it worth more to save him than the dirty

silver? for silver we can get again, brave boys: there's more fish

in the sea than ever came out of it, and more silver in Nombre de

Dios than would pave all the streets in the west country: but of

such captains as Franky Drake, Heaven never makes but one at a

time; and if we lose him, good-bye to England's luck, say I, and

who don't agree, let him choose his weapons, and I'm his man."

He who delivered this harangue was a tall and sturdy personage,

with a florid black-bearded face, and bold restless dark eyes, who

leaned, with crossed legs and arms akimbo, against the wall of the

house; and seemed 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 a suit of crimson velvet, a little

the worse, perhaps, for wear; by his side were a long Spanish

rapier and a brace of daggers, gaudy enough about the hilts; his

fingers sparkled with rings; he had two or three gold chains about

his neck, and large earrings in his ears, behind one of which a red

rose was stuck jauntily enough among the glossy black curls; on his

head was a broad velvet Spanish hat, in which instead of a feather

was fastened with a great gold clasp a whole Quezal bird, whose

gorgeous plumage of fretted golden green shone like one entire

precious stone. As he finished his speech, he took off the said

hat, and looking at the bird in it--

"Look ye, my lads, did you ever see such a fowl as that before?

That's the bird which the old Indian kings of Mexico let no one

wear but their own selves; and therefore I wear it,--I, John

Oxenham of South Tawton, for a sign to all brave lads of Devon,

that as the Spaniards are the masters of the Indians, we're the

masters of the Spaniards:" and he replaced his hat.

A murmur of applause followed: but one hinted that he "doubted the

Spaniards were too many for them."

"Too many? How many men did we take Nombre de Dios with? Seventy-

three were we, and no more when we sailed out of Plymouth Sound;

and before we saw the Spanish Main, half were gastados, used up, as

the Dons say, with the scurvy; and in Port Pheasant Captain Rawse

of Cowes fell in with us, and that gave us some thirty hands more;

and with that handful, my lads, only fifty-three in all, we picked

the lock of the new world! And whom did we lose but our trumpeter,

who stood braying like an ass in the middle of the square, instead

of taking care of his neck like a Christian? I tell you, those

Spaniards are rank cowards, as all bullies are. They pray to a

woman, the idolatrous rascals! and no wonder they fight like

women."

"You'm right, captain," sang out a tall gaunt fellow who stood

close to him; "one westcountry-man can fight two easterlings, and

an easterling can beat three Dons any day. Eh! my lads of Devon?

"For O! it's the herrings and the good brown beef,

And the cider and the cream so white;

O! they are the making of 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 will join, jolly mariners all?

And who will join, says he, O!

To fill his pockets with the good red goold,

By sailing on the sea, O!"

"Who'll list?" cried the gaunt man again; "now's your time! We've

got forty men to Plymouth now, ready to sail the minute we get

back, and we want a dozen out of you Bideford men, and just a boy

or two, and then we'm off and away, and make our fortunes, or go to

heaven.

"Our bodies in the sea so deep,

Our souls in heaven to rest!

Where valiant seamen, one and all,

Hereafter shall be blest!"

"Now," said Oxenham, "you won't let the Plymouth men say that the

Bideford men daren't follow them? North Devon against South, it

is. Who'll join? who'll join? It is but a step of a way, after

all, and sailing as smooth as a duck-pond as soon as you're past

Cape Finisterre. I'll run a Clovelly herring-boat there and back

for a wager of twenty pound, and never ship a bucketful all the

way. Who'll join? Don't think you're buying a pig in a poke. I

know the road, and Salvation Yeo, here, too, who was the gunner's

mate, as well as I do the narrow seas, and better. You ask him to

show you the chart of it, now, and see if he don't tell you over

the ruttier as well as Drake himself."

On which the gaunt man pulled from under his arm a great white

buffalo horn covered with rough etchings of land and sea, and held

it up to the admiring ring.

"See here, boys all, and behold the pictur of the place, dra'ed out

so natural as ever was life. I got mun from a Portingal, down to

the Azores; and he'd pricked mun out, and pricked mun out,

wheresoever he'd sailed, and whatsoever he'd seen. Take mun in

your hands now, Simon Evans, take mun in your hands; look mun over,

and I'll warrant you'll know the way in five minutes so 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, called through 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 and ears all which

passed, and had contrived by this time to edge himself into the

inner ring, now stood face to face with the hero of the emerald

crest, and got as many peeps as he could at the wonder. But when

he saw the sailors, one after another, having turned it over a

while, come forward and offer to join Mr. Oxenham, his soul burned

within him for a nearer view of that wondrous horn, as magical in

its effects as that of Tristrem, or the enchanter's in Ariosto; and

when the group had somewhat broken up, and Oxenham was going into

the tavern with his recruits, he asked boldly for a nearer sight of

the marvel, which was granted at once.

And now to his astonished gaze displayed themselves cities and

harbors, dragons and elephants, whales which fought with sharks,

plate ships of Spain, islands with apes and palm-trees, each with

its name over-written, and here and there, "Here is gold;" and

again, "Much gold and silver;" inserted most probably, as the words

were in English, by the hands of Mr. Oxenham himself. Lingeringly

and longingly the boy turned it round and round, and thought the

owner of it more fortunate than Khan or Kaiser. Oh, if he could

but possess that horn, what needed he on earth beside to make him

blest!

"I say, will you sell this?"

"Yea, marry, or my own soul, if I can get the worth of it."

"I want the horn,--I don't want your soul; it's somewhat of a stale

sole, for aught I know; and there are plenty of fresh ones in the

bay."

And therewith, after much fumbling, he pulled out a tester (the

only one he had), and asked if that would buy it?

"That! no, nor twenty of them."

The boy thought over what a good knight-errant would do in such

case, and then answered, "Tell you what: 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 a man's fist. I shall be

fifteen years old this month, and know how to answer any one who

insults me."

"Fifteen, my young cockerel? you look liker twenty," said Oxenham,

with an admiring glance at the lad's broad limbs, keen blue eyes,

curling golden locks, and round honest face. "Fifteen? If I had

half-a-dozen such lads as you, I would make knights of them before

I died. Eh, Yeo?"

"He'll do," said Yeo; "he will make a brave gamecock in a year or

two, if he dares ruffle up so early at a tough old hen-master like

the captain."

At which there was a general laugh, in which Oxenham joined as

loudly as any, and then bade the lad tell him why he was so keen

after the horn.

"Because," said he, looking up boldly, "I want to go to sea. I

want to see the Indies. I want to fight the Spaniards. Though I

am a gentleman's son, I'd a deal liever be a cabin-boy on board

your ship." And the lad, having hurried out his say fiercely

enough, dropped his head again.

"And you shall," cried Oxenham, with a great oath; "and take a

galloon, and dine off carbonadoed Dons. Whose son are you, my

gallant fellow?"

"Mr. Leigh's, of Burrough Court."

"Bless his soul! I know him as well as I do the Eddystone, and his

kitchen too. Who sups with him to-night?"

"Sir Richard Grenville."

"Dick Grenville? I did not know he was in town. Go home and tell

your father John Oxenham will come and keep him company. There,

off with you! I'll make all straight with the good gentleman, and

you shall have your venture with me; and as for the horn, let him

have the horn, Yeo, and I'll give you a noble for it."

"Not a penny, noble captain. If young master will take a poor

mariner's gift, there it is, for the sake of his love to the

calling, and Heaven send him luck therein." And the good fellow,

with the impulsive generosity of a true sailor, thrust the horn

into the boy's hands, and walked away to escape thanks.

"And now," quoth Oxenham, "my merry men all, make up your minds

what mannered men you be 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 out of 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

that humor, he had better to cut himself up, and salt himself down

in a barrel for pork, before he meets me again; for by this light,

let me catch him, be it seven years hence, and if I do not cut his

throat upon the streets, it's a pity! But if any man will be true

brother to me, true brother to him I'll be, come wreck or prize,

storm or calm, salt water or fresh, victuals or none, share and

fare alike; and here's my hand upon it, for every man and all! and

so--

"Westward ho! with a rumbelow,

And hurra for the Spanish Main, O!"

After which oration Mr. Oxenham swaggered into the tavern, followed

by his new men; and the boy took his way homewards, nursing his

precious horn, trembling between hope and fear, and blushing with

maidenly shame, and a half-sense of wrong-doing at having revealed

suddenly to a stranger the darling wish which he had hidden from

his father and mother ever since he was ten years old.

Now this young gentleman, Amyas Leigh, though come of as good blood

as any in Devon, and having lived all his life in what we should

even now call the very best society, and being (on account of the

valor, courtesy, and truly noble qualities which he showed forth in

his most eventful life) chosen by me as the hero and centre of this

story, was not, saving for his good looks, by any means what would

be called now-a-days an "interesting" youth, still less a "highly

educated" one; for, with the exception of a little Latin, which had

been driven into 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's edition, which lay in the great bay

window in the hall, and the translation of "Las Casas' History of

the West Indies," which lay beside it, lately done into English

under the title of "The Cruelties of the Spaniards." He devoutly

believed in fairies, whom he called pixies; and held that they

changed babies, and made the mushroom rings on the downs to dance

in. When he had warts or burns, he went to the white witch at

Northam to charm them away; he thought that the sun moved round the

earth, and that the moon had some kindred with a Cheshire cheese.

He held that the swallows slept all the winter at the bottom of the

horse-pond; talked, like Raleigh, Grenville, and other low persons,

with a broad Devonshire accent; and was in many other respects so

very ignorant a youth, that any pert monitor in a national school

might have had a hearty laugh at him. 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 English history now current among

our railway essayists, which consist in believing all persons, male

and female, before the year 1688, and nearly all after it, to have

been either hypocrites or fools, had learnt certain things which he

would hardly have been taught just now in any school in England;

for his training had been that of the old Persians, "to speak the

truth and to draw the bow," both of which savage virtues he had

acquired to perfection, as well as the equally savage ones of

enduring pain cheerfully, and of believing it to be the finest

thing in the world to be a gentleman; by which word he had been

taught to understand the careful habit of causing needless pain to

no human being, poor or rich, and of taking pride in giving up his

own pleasure for the sake of those who were weaker than himself.

Moreover, having been entrusted for the last year with the breaking

of a colt, and the care of a cast of young hawks which his father

had received from Lundy Isle, he had been profiting much, by the

means of those coarse and frivolous amusements, in perseverance,

thoughtfulness, and the habit of keeping his temper; and though he

had never had a single "object lesson," or been taught 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 oldest sailor,

the meaning of every drift of cloud which crossed the heavens.

Lastly, he had been for some time past, on account of his

extraordinary size and strength, undisputed cock of the school, and

the most terrible fighter among all Bideford boys; in which brutal

habit he took much delight, and contrived, strange as it may seem,

to extract from it good, not only for himself but for others, doing

justice among his school-fellows with a heavy hand, and succoring

the oppressed and afflicted; so that he was the terror of all the

sailor-lads, and the pride and stay of all the town's boys and

girls, and hardly considered that he had done his duty in his

calling if he went home without beating a big lad for bullying a

little one. For the rest, he never thought about thinking, or felt

about feeling; and had no ambition whatsoever beyond pleasing his

father and mother, getting by honest means the maximum of "red

quarrenders" and mazard cherries, and going to sea when he was big

enough. Neither was he what would be now-a-days called by many a

pious child; for though he said his Creed and Lord's Prayer night

and morning, and went to the service at the church every forenoon,

and read the day's Psalms with his mother every evening, and had

learnt from her and from his father (as he proved well in after

life) that it was infinitely noble to do right and infinitely base

to do wrong, yet (the age of children's religious books not having

yet dawned on the world) he knew nothing more of theology, or of

his own soul, than is contained in the Church Catechism. It is a

question, however, on the whole, whether, though grossly ignorant

(according to our modern notions) in science and religion, he was

altogether untrained in manhood, virtue, and godliness; and whether

the barbaric narrowness of his information was not somewhat

counterbalanced both in him and in the 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 hugging his 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 he foreknew that it would give her pain; and because,

moreover, being a prudent and sensible lad, he knew that he was not

yet old enough to go, and that, as he expressed it to her that

afternoon, "there was no use hollaing till he was out of the wood."

So he goes up between the rich lane-banks, heavy with drooping

ferns and honeysuckle; out upon the windy down toward the old

Court, nestled amid its ring of wind-clipt oaks; through the gray

gateway into the homeclose; and then he pauses a moment to look

around; first at the wide bay to the westward, with its southern

wall of purple cliffs; then at the dim Isle of Lundy far away at

sea; then at the cliffs and downs of Morte and Braunton, right in

front of him; then at the vast yellow sheet of rolling sand-hill,

and green alluvial plain dotted with red cattle, at his feet,

through which the silver estuary winds onward toward the sea.

Beneath him, on his right, the Torridge, like a land-locked lake,

sleeps broad and bright between the old park of Tapeley and the

charmed rock of the Hubbastone, where, seven hundred years ago, the

Norse rovers landed to lay siege to Kenwith Castle, a mile away on

his left hand; and not three fields away, are the old stones of

"The Bloody Corner," where the retreating Danes, cut off from their

ships, made their last fruitless stand against the Saxon sheriff

and the valiant men of Devon. Within that charmed rock, so

Torridge boatmen tell, sleeps now the old Norse Viking in his

leaden coffin, with all his fairy treasure and his crown of gold;

and as the boy looks at the spot, he fancies, and almost hopes,

that the day may come when he shall have to do his duty against the

invader as boldly as the men of Devon did then. And past him, far

below, upon the soft southeastern breeze, the stately ships go

sliding out to sea. When shall he sail in them, and see the

wonders of the deep? And as he stands there with beating heart and

kindling eye, the cool breeze whistling through his long fair

curls, he is a symbol, though he knows it not, of brave young

England longing to wing its way out of its island prison, to

discover and to traffic, to colonize and to civilize, until no wind

can sweep the earth which does not bear the echoes of an English

voice. Patience, young Amyas! Thou too shalt forth, and westward

ho, beyond thy wildest dreams; and see brave sights, and do brave

deeds, which no man has since the foundation of the world. Thou

too shalt face invaders stronger and more cruel far than Dane or

Norman, and bear thy part in that great Titan strife before the

renown of which the name of Salamis shall fade away!

Mr. Oxenham came that evening to supper as he had promised: but as

people supped in those days in much the same manner as they do now,

we may drop the thread of the story for a few hours, and take it up

again after supper is over.

"Come now, Dick Grenville, do thou talk the good man round, and

I'll warrant myself to talk round the good wife."

The personage whom Oxenham addressed thus familiarly answered by a

somewhat sarcastic smile, and, "Mr. Oxenham gives Dick Grenville"

(with just enough emphasis on the "Mr." and the "Dick," to hint

that a liberty had been taken with him) "overmuch credit with the

men. Mr. Oxenham's credit with 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 Richard Grenville,

Granville, Greenvil, Greenfield, with two or three other

variations, was one of those truly heroical personages whom

Providence, fitting always the men to their age and their work, had

sent upon the earth whereof it takes right good care, not in

England only, but in Spain and Italy, in Germany and the

Netherlands, and wherever, in short, great men and great deeds were

needed to lift the mediaeval world into the modern.

And, among all the heroic faces which the painters of that age have

preserved, none, perhaps, hardly excepting Shakespeare's or

Spenser's, Alva's or Farina's, is more heroic than that of Richard

Grenville, as it stands in Prince's "Worthies of Devon;" of a

Spanish type, perhaps (or more truly speaking, a Cornish), rather

than an English, with just enough of the British element in it to

give delicacy to its massiveness. The forehead and whole brain are

of extraordinary loftiness, and perfectly upright; the nose long,

aquiline, and delicately pointed; the mouth fringed with a short

silky beard, small and ripe, yet firm as granite, with just pout

enough of the lower lip to give hint of that capacity of noble

indignation which lay hid under its usual courtly calm and

sweetness; if there be a defect in the face, it is that the eyes

are somewhat small, and close together, and the eyebrows, though

delicately arched, and, without a trace of peevishness, too closely

pressed down upon them, the complexion is dark, the figure tall and

graceful; altogether the likeness of a wise and gallant gentleman,

lovely to all good men, awful to all bad men; in whose presence

none dare say or do a mean or a ribald thing; whom brave men left,

feeling themselves nerved to do their duty better, while cowards

slipped away, as bats and owls before the sun. So he lived and

moved, whether in the Court of Elizabeth, giving his counsel among

the wisest; or in the streets of Bideford, capped alike by squire

and merchant, shopkeeper and sailor; or riding along the moorland

roads between his houses of Stow and Bideford, while every woman

ran out to her door to look at the great Sir Richard, the pride of

North Devon; or, sitting there in the low mullioned window at

Burrough, with his cup of malmsey before him, and the lute to which

he had just been singing laid across his knees, while the red

western sun streamed in upon his high, bland forehead, and soft

curling locks; ever the same steadfast, God-fearing, chivalrous

man, conscious (as far as a soul so healthy could be conscious) of

the pride of beauty, and strength, and valor, and wisdom, and a

race and name which claimed direct descent from the grandfather of

the Conqueror, and was tracked down the centuries by valiant deeds

and noble benefits to his native shire, himself the noblest of his

race. Men said that he was proud; but he could not look round him

without having something to be proud of; that he was stern and

harsh to his sailors: but it was only when he saw in them any taint

of cowardice or falsehood; that he was subject, at moments, to such

fearful fits of rage, that he had 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 aroused by

some tale of cruelty or oppression, and, above all, 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

fact Oxenham was well aware, and therefore felt somewhat puzzled

and nettled, when, after having asked Mr. Leigh's leave to take

young Amyas with him and set forth in glowing colors the purpose of

his voyage, he found Sir Richard utterly unwilling to help him with

his suit.

"Heyday, Sir Richard! You are not surely gone over to the side of

those canting fellows (Spanish Jesuits 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 the sententious and measured

style of the day, "I have always held, as you should know by this,

that Mr. Drake's booty, as well as my good friend Captain

Hawkins's, is lawful prize, as being taken from the Spaniard, who

is not only hostis humani generis, but has no right to the same,

having robbed it violently, by torture and extreme iniquity, from

the poor Indian, whom God avenge, as He surely will."

"Amen," said Mrs. Leigh.

"I say Amen, too," quoth Oxenham, "especially if it please Him to

avenge them by English hands."

"And I also," went on Sir Richard; "for the rightful owners of the

said goods being either miserably dead, or incapable, by reason of

their servitude, of ever recovering any share thereof, the

treasure, falsely called Spanish, cannot be better bestowed than in

building up the state of England against them, our natural enemies;

and thereby, in building up the weal of the Reformed Churches

throughout the world, and the liberties of all nations, against a

tyranny more 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, as he warmed in his speech, his eyes flashed

very fire.

"Hark now!" said Oxenham, "who can speak more boldly than he? and

yet he will not help this lad to so noble an adventure."

"You have asked his father and mother; what is their answer?"

"Mine is this," said Mr. Leigh; "if it 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 first bide 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 up the 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's reason, yet it is a mother's: he is my only child. His

elder brother is far away. God only knows whether I shall see him

again; and what are all reports of his virtues and his learning to

me, compared to that sweet presence which I daily miss? Ah! Mr.

Oxenham, my beautiful Joseph is gone; and though he be lord of

Pharaoh's household, yet he is far away in Egypt; and you will take

Benjamm also! Ah! Mr. Oxenham, you have no child, or you would not

ask for mine!"

"And how do you know that, my sweet madam!" said the adventurer,

turning first deadly pale, and then glowing red. Her last words

had touched him to the quick in some unexpected place; and rising,

he courteously laid her hand to his lips, and said--"I say no more.

Farewell, sweet madam, and God send all men such wives as you."

"And all wives," said she, smiling, "such husbands 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 come home. And yet,

why should I come home? Will you pray for poor Jack, gentles?"

"Tut, tut, man! good words," said Leigh; "let us drink to our merry

meeting before you go." And rising, and putting the tankard of

malmsey to his lips, he passed it to Sir Richard, who rose, and

saying, "To the fortune of a bold mariner and a gallant gentleman,"

drank, and put the cup into Oxenham's hand.

The adventurer's face was flushed, and his eye wild. Whether from

the liquor he had drunk during the day, or whether from Mrs.

Leigh's last speech, he had not been himself for a few minutes. He

lifted the cup, and was in act to pledge them, when he 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!--the bird with the white

breast!"

Each looked at the other; but Leigh, who was a quick-witted man 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 them all round,

drinking deep and fiercely; and after hearty farewells, departed,

never hinting again at his strange exclamation.

After he was gone, and while Leigh was attending him to the door,

Mrs. Leigh and Grenville kept a few minutes' dead silence. At

last--"God help him!" said she.

"Amen!" said Grenville, "for he never needed it more. But, indeed,

madam, I put no faith in such omens."

"But, Sir Richard, that bird has been seen for generations before

the death of any of his family. I know those who were at South

Tawton when his mother died, 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 is ready for each man, then he must go; and when can he go

better?"

"But," said Mr. Leigh, who entered, "I have seen, and especially

when I was in Italy, omens and prophecies before now beget their

own fulfilment, by driving men into recklessness, and making them

run headlong upon that very ruin which, as they fancied, was

running upon them."

"And which," said Sir Richard, "they might have avoided, if,

instead of trusting in I know not what dumb and dark destiny, they

had trusted in the living God, by faith in whom men may remove

mountains, and quench the fire, and put to flight the armies of the

alien. I too know, and know not how I know, that I shall never die

in my bed."

"God forfend! " cried Mrs. Leigh.

"And why, fair madam, if I die doing my duty to my God and my

queen? The thought never moves me: nay, to tell the truth, I pray

often enough that I may be spared the miseries of imbecile old age,

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 done

wisely to-night. Poor Oxenham does not go on his voyage with a

single eye. I have talked about him with Drake and Hawkins; and I

guess why Mrs. Leigh touched him so home when she told him that he

had no child."

"Has he one, then, in the West Indies?" cried the good lady.

"God knows; and God grant we may not hear of shame and sorrow

fallen upon an ancient and honorable house of Devon. My brother

Stukely is woe enough to North Devon for this generation."

"Poor braggadocio!" said Mr. Leigh; "and yet not altogether that

too, for he can fight at least."

"So can every mastiff and boar, much more an Englishman. And now

come hither to me, my adventurous godson, and don't look in such

doleful dumps. I hear you have broken all the sailor-boys' heads

already."

"Nearly all," said young Amyas, with due modesty.. "But am I not

to go to sea?"

"All things in their time, my boy, and God forbid that either I or

your worthy parents should keep you from that noble calling which

is the safeguard of this England and her queen. But you do not

wish to live and die the master of a trawler?"

"I should like to be a brave adventurer, like Mr. Oxenham."

"God grant you become a braver man than he! for, as I think, to be

bold against the enemy is common to the brutes; but the prerogative

of a man is to be bold against himself."

"How, sir?"

"To conquer our own fancies, Amyas, and our own lusts, and our

ambition, in the sacred name of duty; this it is to be truly brave,

and truly strong; for he who cannot rule himself, how can he rule

his crew or his fortunes? Come, now, I will make you a promise.

If you will bide quietly at home, and learn from your father and

mother all which befits a gentleman and a Christian, as well as a

seaman, the day shall come when you shall sail with Richard

Grenville himself, or with better men than he, on a nobler errand

than gold-hunting on the Spanish Main."

"O my boy, my boy!" said Mrs. Leigh, "hear what the good Sir

Richard promises you. Many an earl's son would be glad to be in

your place."

"And many an earl's son will be glad to be in his place a score

years hence, if he will but learn what I know you two can teach

him. And now, Amyas, my lad, I will tell you for a warning the

history of that Sir Thomas Stukely of whom I spoke just now, and

who was, as all men know, a gallant and courtly knight, of an

ancient and worshipful family in Ilfracombe, well practised in the

wars, and well beloved at first by our incomparable queen, the

friend of all true virtue, as I trust she will be of yours some

day; who wanted but one step to greatness, and that was this, that

in his hurry to rule all the world, he forgot to rule himself. At

first, he wasted his estate in show and luxury, always intending to

be famous, and destroying his own fame all the while by his

vainglory and haste. Then, to retrieve his losses, he hit upon the

peopling of Florida, which thou and I will see done some day, by

God's blessing; for I and some good friends of mine have an errand

there as well as he. But he did not go about it as a loyal man, to

advance the honor of his queen, but his own honor only, dreaming

that he too should be a king; and was not ashamed to tell her

majesty that he had rather be sovereign of a molehill than the

highest subject of an emperor."

"They say," said Mr. Leigh, "that he told her plainly he should be

a prince before he died, and that she gave him one of her pretty

quips in return."

"I don't know that her majesty had the best of it. A fool is many

times too strong for a wise man, by virtue of his thick hide. For

when she said that she hoped she should hear from him in his new

principality, 'Yes, sooth,' says he, graciously enough. 'And in

what style?' asks she. 'To our dear sister,' says Stukely: to

which her clemency had nothing to reply, but turned away, as Mr.

Burleigh told me, laughing."

"Alas for him!" said gentle Mrs. Leigh. "Such self-conceit--and

Heaven knows we have the root of it in ourselves also--is the very

daughter of self-will, and of that loud crying out about I, and me,

and mine, which is the very bird-call for all devils, and the broad

road which leads to death."

"It will lead him to his," said Sir Richard; "God grant it be not

upon Tower-hill! for since that Florida plot, and after that his

hopes of Irish preferment came to naught, he who could not help

himself by fair means has taken to foul ones, and gone over to

Italy to the Pope, whose infallibility has not been proof against

Stukely's wit; for he was soon his Holiness's closet counsellor,

and, they say, his bosom friend; and made him give credit to his

boasts that, with three thousand soldiers he would beat the English

out of Ireland, and make the Pope's son king of it."

"Ay, but," said Mr. Leigh, "I suppose the Italians have the same

fetch now as they had when I was there, to explain such ugly cases;

namely, that the Pope is infallible only in doctrine, and quoad

Pope; while quoad hominem, he is even as others, or indeed, in

general, a deal worse, so that the office, and not the man, may be

glorified thereby. But where is Stukely now?"

"At Rome when last I heard of him, ruffling it up and down the

Vatican as Baron Ross, Viscount Murrough, Earl Wexford, Marquis

Leinster, and a title or two more, which have cost the Pope little,

seeing that they never were his to give; and plotting, they say,

some hare-brained expedition against Ireland by the help of the

Spanish king, which must end in nothing but his shame and ruin.

And now, my sweet hosts, I must call for serving-boy and lantern,

and home to my bed in Bideford."

And so Amyas Leigh went back to school, and Mr. Oxenham went his

way to Plymouth again, and sailed for the Spanish Main.

CHAPTER II

HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE FIRST TIME

"Si taceant homines, facient te sidera notum,

Sol nescit comitis immemor esse sui."

Old Epigram on Drake.

Five years are past and gone. It is nine of the clock on a still,

bright November morning; but the bells of Bideford church are still

ringing for the daily service two hours after the usual time; and

instead of going soberly according to wont, cannot help breaking

forth every five minutes into a jocund peal, and tumbling head over

heels in ecstasies of joy. Bideford streets 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 tapestries from every

window. The ships in the pool are dressed in all their flags, and

give tumultuous vent to their feelings by peals of ordnance of

every size. Every stable is crammed with horses; and Sir Richard

Grenville's house is like a very tavern, with eating and drinking,

and unsaddling, and running to and fro of grooms and serving-men.

Along the little churchyard, packed full with women, streams all

the gentle blood of North Devon,--tall and stately men, and fair

ladies, worthy of the days when the gentry of England were by due

right the leaders of the people, by personal prowess and beauty, as

well as by intellect and education. And first, there is my lady

Countess of Bath, whom Sir Richard Grenville is escorting, cap in

hand (for her good Earl Bourchier is in London with the queen); and

there are Bassets from beautiful Umberleigh, and Carys from more

beautiful Clovelly, and Fortescues of Wear, and Fortescues of

Buckland, and Fortescues from all quarters, and Coles from Slade,

and Stukelys from Affton, and St. Legers from Annery, and Coffins

from Portledge, and even Coplestones from Eggesford, thirty miles

away: and last, but not least (for almost all stop to give them

place), Sir John Chichester of Ralegh, followed in single file,

after the good old patriarchal fashion, by his eight daughters, and

three of his five famous sons (one, to avenge his murdered brother,

is fighting valiantly in Ireland, hereafter to rule there wisely

also, as Lord Deputy and Baron of Belfast); and he meets at the

gate his cousin of Arlington, and behind him a train of four

daughters and nineteen sons, the last of whom has not yet passed

the town-hall, while the first is at the Lychgate, who, laughing,

make way for the elder though shorter branch of that most fruitful

tree; and so on into the church, where all are placed according to

their degrees, or at least as near as may 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

had before so goodly a company to arrange, have bustled themselves

hot, and red, and frantic, and end by imploring abjectly the help

of the great Sir Richard himself to tell them who everybody is, and

which is the elder branch, and which is the younger, and who

carries eight quarterings in their arms, and who only four, and so

prevent their setting at deadly feud half the fine ladies of North

Devon; for the old men are all safe packed away in the corporation

pews, and the young ones care only to get a place whence they may

eye 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 come braying, and screaming, and thundering

merrily up to the very church doors, and then cease; and the

churchwardens and sidesmen bustle down to the entrance, rods in

hand, and there is a general whisper and rustle, not without glad

tears and blessings from many a woman, and from some men also, as

the wonder of the day enters, and the rector begins, not the

morning service, but the good old thanksgiving after a victory at

sea.

And what is it which has thus sent old Bideford wild with that

"goodly joy and pious mirth," of which we now only retain

traditions in our translation of the Psalms? Why are all eyes

fixed, with greedy admiration, on those four weather-beaten

mariners, decked out with knots and ribbons by loving hands; and

yet more on that gigantic figure who walks before them, a beardless

boy, and yet with the frame and stature of a Hercules, towering,

like Saul of old, a head and shoulders above all the congregation,

with his golden locks flowing down over his shoulders? And why, as

the five go instinctively up to the altar, and there fall on their

knees before the rails, are all eyes turned to the pew where Mrs.

Leigh of Burrough has hid her face between her hands, and her hood

rustles and shakes to her joyful sobs? Because there was fellow-

feeling of old in merry England, in county and in 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, and Thomas Braund of Clovelly: and they, the first of all

English mariners, have sailed round the world with Francis Drake,

and are come hither to give God thanks.

It is a long story. To explain how it happened we must go back for

a page or two, almost to the point from whence we started in the

last chapter.

For somewhat more than a twelvemonth after Mr. Oxenham's departure,

young Amyas had gone on quietly enough, according to promise, with

the exception of certain occasional outbursts of fierceness common

to all young male animals, and especially to boys of any strength

of character. His scholarship, indeed, progressed no better than

before; but his home education went on healthily enough; and he was

fast becoming, young as he was, a right good archer, and rider, and

swordsman (after the old school of buckler practice), when his

father, having gone down on business to the Exeter Assizes, caught

(as was too common in those days) the gaol-fever from the

prisoners; sickened in the very 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 train for this life and the

life to come. She had loved her husband fervently and holily. He

had been often peevish, often melancholy; for he was a disappointed

man, with an estate impoverished by his father's folly, and his own

youthful ambition, which had led him up to Court, and made him

waste his heart and his purse in following a vain shadow. He was

one of those men, moreover, who possess almost every gift except

the gift of the power to use them; and though a scholar, a

courtier, and a soldier, he had found himself, when he was past

forty, without settled employment or aim in life, by reason of a

certain shyness, pride, or delicate honor (call it which you will),

which had always kept him from playing a winning game in that very

world after whose prizes he hankered to the last, and on which he

revenged himself by continual grumbling. At last, by his good

luck, he met with a fair young Miss Foljambe, of Derbyshire, then

about Queen Elizabeth's Court, who was as tired as he of the sins

of the world, though she had seen less of them; and the two

contrived to please each other so well, that though the queen

grumbled a little, as usual, at the lady for marrying, and at the

gentleman for adoring any one but her royal self, they got leave to

vanish from the little Babylon at Whitehall, and settle in peace at

Burrough. In her he found a treasure, and he knew what he had

found.

Mrs. Leigh was, and had been from her youth, one of those noble old

English churchwomen, without superstition, and without severity,

who are among the fairest features of that heroic time. There was

a certain melancholy about her, nevertheless; for the recollections

of her childhood carried her back to times when it was an awful

thing to be a Protestant. She could remember among them, five-and-

twenty years ago, the burning of poor blind Joan Waste at Derby,

and of Mistress Joyce Lewis, too, like herself, a lady born; and

sometimes even now, in her nightly dreams, rang in her ears her

mother's bitter cries to God, either to spare her that fiery

torment, or to give her strength to bear it, as she whom she loved

had borne it before her. For her mother, who was of a good family

in Yorkshire, had been one of Queen Catherine's bedchamber women,

and the bosom friend and disciple of Anne Askew. And she had sat

in Smithfield, with blood curdled by horror, to see the hapless

Court beauty, a month before the paragon of Henry's Court, carried

in a chair (so crippled was she by the rack) to her fiery doom at

the stake, beside her fellow-courtier, Mr. Lascelles, while the

very heavens seemed to the shuddering mob around to speak their

wrath and grief in solemn thunder peals, and heavy drops which

hissed upon the crackling pile.

Therefore a sadness hung upon her all her life, and deepened in the

days of Queen Mary, when, as a notorious Protestant and heretic,

she had had to hide for her life among the hills and caverns of the

Peak, and was only saved, by the love which her husband's tenants

bore her, and by his bold declaration that, good Catholic as he

was, he would run through the body any constable, justice, or

priest, yea, bishop or cardinal, who dared to serve the queen's

warrant upon his wife.

So she escaped: but, as I said, a sadness hung upon her all her

life; and the skirt of that dark mantle fell upon the young girl

who had been the partner of her wanderings and hidings among the

lonely hills; and who, after she was married, gave herself utterly

up to God.

And yet in giving herself to God, Mrs. Leigh gave herself to her

husband, her children, and the poor of Northam Town, and was none

the less welcome to the Grenvilles, and Fortescues, and

Chichesters, and all the gentle families round, who honored her

husband's talents, and enjoyed his wit. She accustomed herself to

austerities, which often called forth the kindly rebukes of her

husband; and yet she did so without one superstitious thought of

appeasing the fancied wrath of God, or of giving Him pleasure (base

thought) by any pain of hers; for her spirit had been trained in

the freest and loftiest doctrines of Luther's school; and that

little mystic "Alt-Deutsch Theologie" (to which the great Reformer

said that he owed more than 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 lovely from the divine calm

which brooded, like the dove of peace and the Holy Spirit of God

(which indeed it was), over every look, and word, and gesture; a

sweetness which had been ripened by storm, as well as by sunshine;

which this world had not given, and could not take away. No wonder

that Sir Richard and Lady Grenville loved her; no wonder that her

children worshipped her; no wonder that the young Amyas, when the

first burst of grief was over, and he knew again where he stood,

felt that a new life had begun for him; that his mother was no more

to think and act for him only, but that he must think and act for

his mother. And so it was, that on the very day after his father's

funeral, when school-hours were over, instead of coming straight

home, he walked boldly into Sir Richard Grenville's house, and

asked to see his godfather.

"You must be my father now, sir," said he, firmly.

And Sir Richard looked at the boy's broad strong face, and swore a

great and holy oath, like Glasgerion's, "by oak, and ash, and

thorn," that he would be a father to him, and a brother to his

mother, for Christ's sake. And Lady Grenville took the boy by the

hand, and walked home with him to Burrough; and there the two fair

women fell on each other's necks, and wept together; the one for

the loss which had been, the other, as by a prophetic instinct, for

the like loss which was to come to her also. For the sweet St.

Leger knew well that her husband's fiery spirit would never leave

his body on a peaceful bed; but that death (as he prayed almost

nightly that it might) would find him sword in hand, upon the field

of duty and of fame. And there those two vowed everlasting

sisterhood, and kept their vow; and after that all things went on

at Burrough as before; and Amyas rode, and shot, and boxed, and

wandered on the quay at Sir Richard's side; for Mrs. Leigh was too

wise a woman to alter one tittle of the training which her husband

had thought best for his younger boy. It was enough that her elder

son had of his own accord taken to that form of life in which she

in her secret heart would fain have moulded both her children. For

Frank, God's wedding gift to that pure love of hers, had won

himself honor at home and abroad; first at the school at Bideford;

then at Exeter College, where he had become a friend of Sir Philip

Sidney's, and many another young man of rank and promise; and next,

in the summer of 1572, on his way to the University of Heidelberg,

he had gone to Paris, with (luckily for him) letters of

recommendation to Walsingham, at the English Embassy: by which

letters he not only fell in a second time with Philip Sidney, but

saved his own life (as Sidney did his) in the Massacre of St.

Bartholomew's Day. At Heidelberg he had stayed two years, winning

fresh honor from all who knew him, and resisting all Sidney's

entreaties to follow him into Italy. For, scorning to be a burden

to his parents, he had become at Heidelberg tutor to two young

German princes, whom, after living with them at their father's

house for a year or more, he at last, to his own great delight,

took with him down to Padua, "to perfect them," as he wrote home,

"according to his insufficiency, in all princely studies." Sidney

was now returned to England; but Frank found friends enough without

him, such letters of recommendation and diplomas did he carry from

I know not how many princes, magnificos, and learned doctors, who

had fallen in love with the learning, modesty, and virtue of the

fair young Englishman. And ere Frank returned to Germany he had

satiated his soul with all the wonders of that wondrous land. He

had talked over the art of sonneteering with Tasso, the art of

history with Sarpi; he had listened, between awe and incredulity,

to the daring theories of Galileo; he had taken his pupils to

Venice, that their portraits might be painted by Paul Veronese; he

had seen the palaces of Palladio, and the merchant princes on the

Rialto, and the argosies of Ragusa, and all the wonders of that

meeting-point of east and west; he had watched Tintoretto's mighty

hand "hurling tempestuous glories o'er the scene;" and even, by

dint of private intercession in high places, had been admitted to

that sacred room where, with long silver beard and undimmed eye,

amid a pantheon of his own creations, the ancient Titian, patriarch

of art, still lingered upon earth, and told old tales of the

Bellinis, and Raffaelle, and Michael Angelo, and the building of

St. Peter's, and the fire at Venice, and the sack of Rome, and of

kings and warriors, statesmen and poets, long since gone to their

account, and showed the sacred brush which Francis 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

scandal of good Protestants at home) that "right good fellow," as

Sidney calls him, who had not yet eaten himself to death, the Pope

for the time being. And he had seen the frescos of the Vatican,

and heard Palestrina preside as chapel-master over the performance

of 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 recollection that beneath that same dome had gone up

thanksgivings to 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 had taken back his pupils to

their home in Germany, from whence he was dismissed, as he wrote,

with rich gifts; and then Mrs. Leigh's heart beat high, at the

thought 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 Barbes he

had had much talk about the late horrible persecutions), and

setting forth how at Padua he had made the acquaintance of that

illustrious scholar and light of the age, Stephanus Parmenius

(commonly called from his native place, Budaeus), who had visited

Geneva with him, and heard the disputations of their most learned

doctors, which both he and Budaeus disliked for their hard

judgments both of God and man, as much as they admired them for

their subtlety, being themselves, as became Italian students,

Platonists of the school of Ficinus and 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 whose

delight it had been penned: and the widow had to weep over it

alone, and to weep more bitterly than ever at the conclusion, in

which, with many excuses, Frank said that he had, at the special

entreaty of the said Budaeus, set out with him down the Danube

stream to Buda, that he might, before finishing his travels, make

experience of that learning for which the Hungarians were famous

throughout Europe. And after that, though he wrote again and again

to the father whom he fancied living, no letter in return reached

him from home for nearly two years; till, fearing some mishap, he

hurried back to England, to find his mother a widow, and his

brother Amyas gone to the South Seas with Captain Drake of

Plymouth. And yet, even then, after years of absence, he was not

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 months were over, and sent him off to Court to Lord

Hunsdon.

There, being as delicately beautiful as his brother was huge and

strong, he had speedily, by Carew's interest and that of Sidney and

his Uncle Leicester, found entrance into some office in the queen's

household; and he was now basking in the full sunshine of Court

favor, and fair ladies' eyes, and all the 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

delicate mission 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 Rodolph on his father's death.

Frank found him when he himself came to Court in 1579 as lovely and

loving as ever; and, at the early age of twenty-five, acknowledged

as one of the most remarkable men of Europe, the patron of all men

of letters, the counsellor of warriors and statesmen, and the

confidant and advocate of William of Orange, Languet, Plessis du

Mornay, and all the Protestant leaders on the Continent; and found,

moreover, that the son of the poor Devon squire was as welcome as

ever to the friendship of nature's and fortune's most favored, yet

most unspoilt, minion.

Poor Mrs. Leigh, as one who had long since learned to have no self,

and to live not only for her children but in them, submitted

without a murmur, and only said, smiling, to her stern friend--"You

took away my mastiff-pup, and now you must needs have my fair

greyhound also."

"Would you have your fair greyhound, dear lady, grow up a tall and

true Cotswold dog, that can pull down a stag of ten, or one of

those smooth-skinned poppets which the Florence ladies lead about

with a ring of bells round its neck, and a flannel farthingale over

its loins?"

Mrs. Leigh submitted; and was rewarded after a few months by a

letter, sent through Sir Richard, from none other than Gloriana

herself, in which she thanked her for "the loan of that most

delicate and flawless crystal, the soul of her excellent son," with

more praises of him than I have room to insert, and finished by

exalting the poor mother above the famed Cornelia; "for those sons,

whom she called her jewels, 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, beyond her courage, lent them

both to your country and to your queen, who therein holds herself

indebted to you for that which, if God give her grace, she will

repay as becomes both her and you." Which epistle the sweet mother

bedewed with holy tears, and laid by in the cedar-box which held

her household gods, by the side of Frank's innumerable diplomas and

letters of recommendation, the Latin whereof she was always

spelling over (although she understood not a word of it), in hopes

of finding, here and there, that precious excellentissimus Noster

Franciscus Leighius Anglus, which was all in all to the mother's

heart.

But why did Amyas go to the South Seas? Amyas went to the South

Seas for two causes, each of which has, before now, sent many a lad

to far worse places: first, because of an old schoolmaster;

secondly, because of a young beauty. I will take them in order and

explain.

Vindex Brimblecombe, whilom servitor of Exeter College, Oxford

(commonly called Sir Vindex, after the fashion of the times), was,

in those days, master of the grammar-school of Bideford. He was,

at root, a godly and kind-hearted pedant enough; but, like most

schoolmasters in the old flogging days, had his heart pretty well

hardened by long, baneful license to inflict pain at will on those

weaker than himself; a power healthful enough for the victim (for,

doubtless, flogging is the best of all punishments, being not only

the shortest, but also a mere bodily and animal, and not, like most

of our new-fangled "humane" punishments, a spiritual and fiendish

torture), but for the executioner pretty certain to eradicate, from

all but the noblest spirits, every trace of chivalry and tenderness

for the weak, as well, often, as all self-control and command of

temper. Be that as it may, old Sir Vindex had heart enough to feel

that it was now his duty to take especial care of the fatherless

boy to whom he tried to teach his qui, quae, quod: but the only

outcome of that new sense of responsibility was a rapid increase in

the number of floggings, which rose from about two a week to one

per diem, not without consequences to the pedagogue himself.

For all this while, Amyas had never for a moment lost sight of his

darling desire for a sea-life; and when he could not wander on the

quay and stare at the shipping, or go down to the pebble-ridge at

Northam, and there sit, devouring, with hungry eyes, the great

expanse of ocean, which seemed to woo him outward into boundless

space, 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 very busy at a map,

or bird's-eye view of an island, whereon was a great castle, and at

the gate thereof a dragon, terrible to see; while in the foreground

came that which was meant for a gallant ship, with a great flag

aloft, but which, by reason of the forest of lances with which it

was crowded, looked much more like a porcupine carrying a sign-

post; and, at the roots 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 the beautiful princess

who dwelt in that enchanted tower. To behold which marvel of art,

all the other boys at the same desk must needs club their heads

together, and with the more security, because Sir Vindex, as was

his custom after dinner, was lying back in his chair, and slept the

sleep of the just.

But when Amyas, by special instigation of the evil spirit who

haunts successful artists, proceeded further to introduce, heedless

of perspective, a rock, on which stood the lively portraiture of

Sir Vindex--nose, spectacles, gown, and all; and in his hand a

brandished rod, while out of his mouth a label shrieked after the

runaways, "You come back!" while a similar label replied from the

gallant bark, "Good-bye, master!" the shoving and tittering rose to

such a pitch that Cerberus awoke, and demanded sternly what the

noise was about. To which, of course, there was no answer.

"You, of course, Leigh! Come up, sir, and show me your

exercitation."

Now of Amyas's exercitation not a word was written; and, moreover,

he was in the very article of putting the last touches to Mr.

Brimblecombe's portrait. Whereon, to the astonishment of all

hearers, he made answer--

"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 you alive!"

"Wait a bit!" answered Amyas.

The old gentleman jumped up, ferula in hand, and darted across the

school, and saw himself upon the fatal slate.

"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 and

shoulders above his tormentor, and that slate descended on the bald

coxcomb of Sir Vindex Brimblecombe, with so shrewd a blow that

slate and pate cracked at the same instant, and the poor pedagogue

dropped to the floor, and lay for dead.

After which Amyas arose, and walked out of the school, and so

quietly home; and having taken counsel with himself, went to his

mother, and said, "Please, mother, I've broken schoolmaster's

head."

"Broken his head, thou wicked boy!" shrieked the poor widow; "what

didst do that for?"

"I can't tell," said Amyas, penitently; "I couldn't help it. It

looked so smooth, and bald, and round, and--you know?"

"I know? Oh, wicked boy! thou hast given place to the devil; and

now, perhaps, thou hast killed him."

"Killed the devil?" asked Amyas, hopefully but doubtfully.

"No, killed the schoolmaster, sirrah! Is he dead?"

"I don't think he's dead; his coxcomb sounded too hard for that.

But had not I better go and tell Sir Richard?"

The poor mother could hardly help laughing, in spite of her terror,

at Amyas's perfect coolness (which was not in the least meant for

insolence), and being at her wits' end, sent him, as usual, to his

godfather.

Amyas rehearsed his story again, with pretty nearly the same

exclamations, to which he gave pretty nearly the same answers; and

then--"What was 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 accustomed to it; but I was busy,

and he was in such a desperate hurry; and, oh, sir, if you had but

seen his bald head, 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 Vindex Brimblecombe's father,

schoolmaster in his day, and therefore had a precedent to direct

him; and he answered--"Amyas, sirrah! those who cannot obey will

never be fit to rule. If thou canst not keep discipline now, thou

wilt never make a 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, and be flogged."

"Very well," said Amyas, considering that he had got off very

cheaply; while Sir Richard, as soon 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 be flogged;

whereon the old schoolmaster, whose pate had been plastered

meanwhile, wept tears of joy over the returning prodigal, and then

gave him such a switching as 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 primed him with a cup of sack,

said--"Well, Mr. Schoolmaster! My godson has been somewhat too

much for you to-day. There are a couple of nobles to pay the

doctor."

"O Sir Richard, gratias tibi et Domino! but the boy hits shrewdly

hard. Nevertheless I have repaid 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 who brought up a lion's cub,

and was eaten by him in 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--sapienti loquor--it were well if he were

away, for I 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 a roasting pig, Sir Richard."

"Alas, poor Jack!"

"And what's more, your worship, he is pugnax, 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's lieges erelong, if he be not wisely curbed.

It was but a month agone that he bemoaned himself, I hear, as

Alexander did, because there were no more worlds to conquer, saying

that it was a pity he was so strong; for, now he had thrashed all

the Bideford lads, he had no sport left; and so, as my Jack tells

me, last Tuesday week he fell upon a young man of Barnstaple, Sir

Richard, a hosier's man, sir, and plebeius (which I consider unfit

for one of his blood), and, moreover, a man full grown, and as big

as either of us (Vindex stood five feet four in his high-heeled

shoes), and smote him clean over the quay into the mud, because he

said that there was a prettier maid in Barnstaple (your worship

will forgive my speaking of such toys, to which my fidelity compels

me) than ever Bideford could show; and then offered to do the same

to any man who dare say that Mistress Rose Salterne, his worship

the mayor's daughter, was not the fairest lass in all Devon."

"Eh? Say that over again, my good sir," quoth Sir Richard, who had

thus arrived, as we have seen, at the second count of the

indictment. "I say, good sir, whence dost thou hear all these

pretty stories?"

"My son Jack, Sir Richard, my son Jack, ingenui vultus puer."

"But not, it seems, ingenui pudoris. Tell thee what, Mr.

Schoolmaster, no wonder if thy son gets 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?--for a much

more lasting and hotter fire than that which has scorched thy son

Jack's nether-tackle. Do you mark me, sir?"

The poor pedagogue, thus cunningly caught in his own trap, stood

trembling before his patron, who, as hereditary head of the Bridge

Trust, which endowed the school and the rest of the Bideford

charities, could, by a turn of his finger, sweep him forth with the

besom of destruction; and he gasped with terror as Sir Richard went

on--"Therefore, mind you, Sir Schoolmaster, unless you shall

promise me never to hint word of what has passed between us two,

and that neither you nor yours shall henceforth carry tales of my

godson, or speak his name within a day's march of Mistress

Salterne's, look to it, if I do not--"

What was to be done in default was not spoken; for down went poor

old Vindex on his knees:--

"Oh, Sir Richard! Excellentissime, immo praecelsissime Domine et

Senator, I promise! O sir, Miles et Eques of the Garter, Bath, and

Golden Fleece, consider your dignities, and my old age--and my

great family--nine children--oh, Sir Richard, and eight of them

girls!--Do eagles war with mice? says the ancient!"

"Thy large family, eh? How old is that fat-witted son of thine?"

"Sixteen, Sir Richard; but that is not his fault, indeed!"

"Nay, I suppose he would be still sucking his thumb if he dared--

get up, man--get up and seat yourself."

"Heaven forbid!" murmured poor Vindex, with deep humility.

"Why is not the rogue at Oxford, with a murrain on him, instead of

lurching about here carrying tales and ogling the maidens?"

"I had hoped, Sir Richard--and therefore I said it was not his

fault--but there was never a servitorship at Exeter open."

"Go to, man--go to! I will speak to my brethren of the Trust, and

to Oxford he shall go this autumn, or else to Exeter gaol, for a

strong rogue, and a masterless man. Do you hear?"

"Hear?--oh, sir, yes! and return thanks. Jack shall go, Sir

Richard, doubt it not--I were mad else; and, Sir Richard, may I go

too?"

And therewith Vindex vanished, and Sir Richard enjoyed a second

mighty laugh, which brought in Lady Grenville, who possibly had

overheard the whole; for the first words she said were--

"I think, my sweet life, we had better go up to Burrough."

So to Burrough they went; and after much talk, and many tears,

matters were so concluded that Amyas Leigh found himself riding

joyfully towards Plymouth, by the side of Sir Richard, and being

handed over to Captain Drake, vanished for three years from the

good town of Bideford.

And now he is returned in triumph, and the observed of all

observers; and looks round and round, and sees all faces whom he

expects, except one; and that the one 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 ascends the pulpit, and

begins his sermon on the text:--

"The heaven and the heaven of heavens are the Lord's; the whole

earth hath he given to the children of men;" deducing therefrom

craftily, to the exceeding pleasure of his hearers, the iniquity of

the Spaniards in dispossessing the Indians, and in arrogating to

themselves the sovereignty of the tropic seas; the vanity of the

Pope of Rome in pretending to bestow on them the new countries of

America; and the justice, valor, and glory of Mr. Drake and his

expedition, as testified by God's miraculous protection of him and

his, both in the Straits of Magellan, and in his battle with the

Galleon; and last, but not least, upon the rock by Celebes, when

the Pelican lay for hours firmly fixed, and was floated off unhurt,

as it were by miracle, by a sudden shift of wind.

Ay, smile, reader, if you will; and, perhaps, there was matter for

a smile in that honest sermon, interlarded, as it was, with scraps

of Greek and Hebrew, which no one understood, but every one

expected as their right (for a preacher was nothing then who could

not prove himself "a good Latiner"); and graced, moreover, by a

somewhat pedantic and lengthy refutation from Scripture of Dan

Horace's cockney horror of the sea--

"Illi robur et aes triplex," etc.

and his infidel and ungodly slander against the impias rates, and

their crews.

Smile, if you will: but those were days (and there were never less

superstitious ones) in which Englishmen believed in the living God,

and were not ashamed to acknowledge, as a matter of course, His

help and providence, and calling, in the matters of daily life,

which we now in our covert atheism term "secular and carnal;" and

when, the sermon ended, the communion service had begun, and the

bread and the wine were given to those five mariners, every gallant

gentleman who stood near them (for the press would not allow of

more) knelt and received the elements with them as a thing of

course, and then rose to join with 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 verse

of that great hymn, than it was taken up by five hundred voices

within the church, in bass and tenor, treble and alto (for every

one could sing in those days, and the west-country folk, as now,

were fuller than any of music), the chant was caught up by the

crowd outside, and rang away over roof and river, up to the woods

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 Bridge Head, whither Sir Richard Grenville, and Sir John

Chichester, and Mr. Salterne, the Mayor, led the five heroes of the

day to await the pageant which had been prepared in honor of them.

And as they went by, there were few in the crowd who did not press

forward to shake them by the hand, and not only them, but their

parents and kinsfolk who walked behind, till Mrs. Leigh, her

stately joy quite broken down at last, could only answer between

her sobs, "Go along, good people--God a mercy, go along--and God

send you all such sons!"

"God give me back mine!" cried an old red-cloaked dame in the

crowd; and then, struck by some hidden impulse, she sprang forward,

and catching hold of young Amyas's sleeve--

"Kind sir! dear sir! For Christ his sake answer a poor old widow

woman!"

"What is it, dame?" quoth Amyas, gently enough.

"Did you see my son to the Indies?--my son Salvation?"

"Salvation?" replied he, with the air of one who recollected the

name.

"Yes, sure, Salvation Yeo, of Clovelly. A tall man and black, and

sweareth awfully in his talk, the Lord forgive him!"

Amyas recollected now. It was the name of the sailor who had given

him the wondrous horn five years ago.

"My good dame," said he, "the Indies are a very large place, and

your son may be safe and sound enough there, without my having seen

him. I knew one Salvation Yeo. But he must have come with-- By

the by, godfather, has Mr. Oxenham come home?"

There was a dead silence for a moment among the gentlemen round;

and then Sir Richard said solemnly, and in a low voice, turning

away from the old dame,--

"Amyas, Mr. Oxenham has not come home; and from the day he sailed,

no word has been heard of him and all his crew."

"Oh, Sir Richard! and you kept me from sailing with him! Had I

known this before I went into church, 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, a ship belonging to

Andrew Barker, of Bristol, took out of a Spanish caravel, somewhere

off the Honduras, his two brass guns; but whence they came the

Spaniard knew not, having bought them at Nombre de Dios."

"Yes!" cried the old woman; "they brought home the guns, and never

brought home my boy!"

"They never saw your boy, mother," said Sir Richard.

"But I've seen him! I saw him in a dream four years last

Whitsuntide, as plain as I see you now, gentles, a-lying upon a

rock, calling for a drop of water to cool his tongue, like Dives to

the torment! Oh! dear me!" and the old dame wept bitterly.

"There is a rose noble for you!" said Mrs. Leigh.

"And there another!" said Sir Richard. And in a few minutes four

or five gold coins were in her hand. But the old dame did but look

wonderingly at the gold a moment, and then--

"Ah! dear gentles, God's blessing on you, and Mr. Cary's mighty

good to me already; but gold won't buy back childer! O! young

gentleman! young gentleman! make me a promise; if you want God's

blessing on you this day, bring me back my boy, if you 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?--and the group hurried on;

but the lad's heart was heavy in the midst of joy, with the thought

of John Oxenham, as he walked through the churchyard, and down the

short street which led between the ancient school and still more

ancient town-house, to the head of the long bridge, across which

the pageant, having arranged "east-the-water," was to defile, and

then turn to the right along the quay.

However, he was bound in all courtesy to turn his attention now to

the show which had been prepared in his honor, and which was really

well enough worth seeing and hearing. The English were, in those

days, 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 short of the regular drama. For they were, in the

first place, 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 could be obtained in plenty,

without overworking either body or soul, men had time to amuse

themselves in something more intellectual than mere toping in pot-

houses. Moreover, the half century after the Reformation in

England was one not merely of new intellectual freedom, but of

immense animal good spirits. After years of dumb confusion and

cruel persecution, a breathing time had come: Mary and the fires of

Smithfield had vanished together like a hideous dream, and the

mighty shout of joy which greeted Elizabeth's entry into London,

was the key-note of fifty glorious years; the expression of a new-

found strength and freedom, which vented itself at home in drama

and in song; abroad in mighty conquests, achieved with the laughing

recklessness of boys at play.

So first, preceded by the waits, came along the bridge toward the

town-hall a device prepared by the good rector, who, standing by,

acted as showman, and explained anxiously to the bystanders the

import of a certain "allegory" wherein on a great banner was

depicted Queen Elizabeth herself, who, in ample ruff and

farthingale, a Bible in one hand and a sword in the other, stood

triumphant upon the necks of two sufficiently abject personages,

whose triple tiara and imperial crown proclaimed them the Pope and

the King of Spain; while a label, issuing from her royal mouth,

informed the world that--

"By land and sea a virgin queen I reign,

And spurn to dust both Antichrist and Spain."

Which, having been received with due applause, a well-bedizened

lad, having in his cap as a posy "Loyalty," stepped forward, and

delivered himself of the following verses:--

"Oh, great Eliza! oh, world-famous crew!

Which shall I hail more blest, your queen or you?

While without other either falls to wrack,

And light must eyes, or eyes their light must lack.

She without you, a diamond sunk in mine,

Its worth unprized, to self alone must shine;

You without her, like hands bereft of head,

Like Ajax rage, by blindfold lust misled.

She light, you eyes; she head, and you the hands,

In fair proportion knit by heavenly hands;

Servants in queen, and queen in servants blest;

Your only glory, how to serve her best;

And hers how best the adventurous might to guide,

Which knows no check of foemen, wind, or tide,

So fair Eliza's spotless fame may fly

Triumphant round the globe, and shake th' astounded sky!"

With which sufficiently bad verses Loyalty passed on, while my Lady

Bath hinted to Sir Richard, not without reason, that the poet, in

trying to exalt both parties, had very sufficiently snubbed both,

and intimated that it was "hardly safe for country wits to attempt

that euphuistic, antithetical, and delicately conceited vein, whose

proper fountain was in Whitehall." However, on went Loyalty, very

well pleased with himself, and next, amid much cheering, 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, which protruded from the fishes' stomachs. They drew (or

seemed to draw, for half the 'prentices in the town were shoving it

behind, and cheering on the panting monarchs of the flood) a car

wherein sate, amid reeds and river-flags, three or four pretty

girls in robes of gray-blue spangled with gold, their heads

wreathed one with a crown of the sweet bog-myrtle, another with

hops and white convolvulus, the third with pale heather and golden

fern. They stopped opposite Amyas; and she of the myrtle wreath,

rising and bowing to him and the company, began with a pretty blush

to say her say:--

"Hither from my moorland home,

Nymph of Torridge, proud I come;

Leaving fen and furzy brake,

Haunt of eft and spotted snake,

Where to fill mine urns I use,

Daily with Atlantic dews;

While beside the reedy flood

Wild duck leads her paddling brood.

For this morn, as Phoebus gay

Chased through heaven the night mist gray,

Close beside me, prankt in pride,

Sister Tamar rose, and cried,

'Sluggard, up! 'Tis holiday,

In the lowlands far away.

Hark! how jocund Plymouth bells,

Wandering up through mazy dells,

Call me down, with smiles to hail,

My daring Drake's returning sail.'

'Thine alone?' I answer'd. 'Nay;

Mine as well the joy to-day.

Heroes train'd on Northern wave,

To that Argo new I gave;

Lent to thee, they roam'd the main;

Give me, nymph, my sons again.'

'Go, they wait Thee,' Tamar cried,

Southward bounding from my side.

Glad I rose, and at my call,

Came my Naiads, one and all.

Nursling of the mountain sky,

Leaving Dian's choir on high,

Down her cataracts laughing loud,

Ockment leapt from crag and cloud,

Leading many a nymph, who dwells

Where wild deer drink in ferny dells;

While the Oreads as they past

Peep'd from Druid Tors aghast.

By alder copses sliding slow,

Knee-deep in flowers came gentler Yeo

And paused awhile her locks to twine

With musky hops and white woodbine,

Then joined the silver-footed band,

Which circled down my golden sand,

By dappled park, and harbor shady,

Haunt of love-lorn knight and lady,

My thrice-renowned sons to greet,

With rustic song and pageant meet.

For joy! the girdled robe around

Eliza's name henceforth shall sound,

Whose venturous fleets to conquest start,

Where ended once the seaman's chart,

While circling Sol his steps shall count

Henceforth from Thule's western mount,

And lead new rulers round the seas

From furthest Cassiterides.

For found is now the golden tree,

Solv'd th' Atlantic mystery,

Pluck'd the dragon-guarded fruit;

While around the charmed root,

Wailing loud, the Hesperids

Watch their warder's drooping lids.

Low he lies with grisly wound,

While the sorceress triple-crown'd

In her scarlet robe doth shield him,

Till her cunning spells have heal'd him.

Ye, meanwhile, around the earth

Bear the prize of manful worth.

Yet a nobler meed than gold

Waits for Albion's children bold;

Great Eliza's virgin hand

Welcomes you to Fairy-land,

While your native Naiads bring

Native wreaths as offering.

Simple though their show may be,

Britain's worship in them see.

'Tis not price, nor outward fairness,

Gives the victor's palm its rareness;

Simplest tokens can impart

Noble throb to noble heart:

Graecia, prize thy parsley crown,

Boast thy laurel, Caesar's town;

Moorland myrtle still shall be

Badge of Devon's Chivalry!"

And so ending, she took the wreath of fragrant gale from her own

head, and stooping from the car, placed it on the head of Amyas

Leigh, who made answer--

"There is no place like home, my fair mistress and no scent to my

taste like this old home-scent in all the spice-islands that I ever

sailed by!"

"Her song was not so bad," said Sir Richard to Lady Bath--"but how

came she to hear Plymouth bells at Tamar-head, full fifty miles

away? That's too much of a poet's license, is it not?"

"The river-nymphs, as daughters of Oceanus, and thus of immortal

parentage, are bound to possess organs of more than mortal

keenness; but, as you say, the song was not so bad--erudite, as

well as prettily conceived--and, saving for a certain rustical

simplicity and monosyllabic baldness, smacks rather of the forests

of Castaly than those of Torridge."

So spake my Lady Bath; whom Sir Richard wisely answered not; for

she was a terribly learned member of the college of critics, and

disputed even with Sidney's sister the chieftaincy of the

Euphuists; so Sir Richard answered not, but answer was made for

him.

"Since the whole choir of Muses, madam, have migrated to the Court

of Whitehall, no wonder if some dews of Parnassus should fertilize

at times even our Devon moors."

The speaker was a tall and slim young man, some five-and-twenty

years old, of so rare and delicate a beauty, that it seemed that

some Greek statue, or rather one of those pensive and pious knights

whom the old German artists took delight to paint, had condescended

to tread awhile this work-day earth in living flesh and blood. The

forehead was very lofty and smooth, the eyebrows thin and greatly

arched (the envious gallants whispered that something at least of

their curve was due to art, as was also the exceeding smoothness of

those delicate cheeks). The face was somewhat long and thin; the

nose aquiline; and the languid mouth showed, perhaps, too much of

the ivory upper teeth; but the most striking point of the speaker's

appearance was the extraordinary brilliancy of his complexion,

which shamed with its whiteness that of all fair ladies round, save

where open on each cheek a bright red spot gave warning, as did the

long thin neck and the taper hands, of sad possibilities, perhaps

not far off; possibilities which all saw with an inward sigh,

except she whose doting glances, as well as her resemblance to the

fair youth, proclaimed her at once his mother, Mrs. Leigh herself.

Master Frank, for he it was, was dressed in the very extravagance

of the fashion,--not so much from vanity, as from that delicate

instinct of self-respect which would keep some men spruce and

spotless from one year's end to another upon a desert island;

"for," as Frank used to say in his sententious way, "Mr. Frank

Leigh at least beholds me, though none else be by; and why should I

be more discourteous to him than I permit others to be? Be sure

that he who is a Grobian in his own company, will, sooner or later,

become a Grobian in that of his friends."

So Mr. Frank was arrayed spotlessly; but after the latest fashion

of Milan, not in trunk hose and slashed sleeves, nor in "French

standing collar, treble quadruple daedalian ruff, or stiff-necked

rabato, that had more arches for pride, propped up with wire and

timber, than five London Bridges;" but in a close-fitting and

perfectly plain suit of dove-color, which set off cunningly the

delicate proportions of his figure, and the delicate hue of his

complexion, which was shaded from the sun by a broad dove-colored

Spanish hat, with feather to match, looped up over the right ear

with a pearl brooch, and therein a crowned E, supposed by the

damsels of Bideford to stand for Elizabeth, which was whispered to

be the gift of some most illustrious hand. This same looping up

was not without good reason and purpose prepense; thereby all the

world had full view of a beautiful little ear, which looked as if

it had been cut of cameo, and made, as my Lady Rich once told him,

"to hearken only to the music of the spheres, or to the chants of

cherubim." Behind the said ear was stuck a fresh rose; and the

golden hair was all drawn 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 had been laid in press,"

rolled down low upon his bosom. Oh, Frank! Frank! have you come

out on purpose to break the hearts of all Bideford burghers'

daughters? And if so, did you expect to further that triumph by

dyeing that pretty little pointed beard (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, in

spite of your knots and your perfumes, and the gold chain round

your neck which a German princess gave you; and the emerald ring on

your right fore-finger which Hatton gave you; and the pair of

perfumed gloves in your left which Sidney's sister gave you; and

the silver-hilted Toledo which an Italian marquis gave you on a

certain occasion of which you never choose to talk, like a prudent

and modest gentleman as you are; but of which the gossips talk, of

course, all the more, and whisper that you saved his life from

bravoes--a dozen, at the least; and had that sword for your reward,

and might have had his beautiful sister's hand beside, and I know

not what else; but that you had so many lady-loves already that you

were loath to burden yourself with a fresh one. That, at least, we

know to be a lie, fair Frank; for your heart is as pure this day as

when you knelt in your little crib at Burrough, and said--

"Four corners to my bed

Four angels round my head;

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,

Bless the bed that I lie 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 of yours, "the black fringed curtains of whose

azure lids," usually down-dropt as if in deepest thought, you raise

slowly, almost wonderingly each time you speak, as if awakening

from some fair dream whose home is rather in your platonical

"eternal world of supra-sensible forms," than on that work-day

earth wherein you nevertheless acquit yourself so well? There--I

must stop describing you, or I shall catch the infection of your

own euphuism, and talk of you as you would have talked of Sidney or

of Spenser, or of that Swan of Avon, whose song had just begun when

yours--but I will not anticipate; my Lady Bath is waiting to give

you her rejoinder.

"Ah, my silver-tongued scholar! and are you, then, the poet? or

have you been drawing on the inexhaustible bank of your friend

Raleigh, or my cousin Sidney? or has our new Cygnet Immerito lent

you a few unpublished leaves from some fresh Shepherd's Calendar?"

"Had either, madam, of that cynosural triad been 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 store from whence to pick, I doubt not.

Few young Dulcineas round but must have been glad to take service

under so renowned a captain?"

"The only difficulty, gracious countess, has been to know where to

fix the wandering choice of my bewildered eyes, where all alike are

fair, and all alike facund."

"We understand," said she, smiling;--

"Dan Cupid, choosing 'midst his mother's graces,

Himself more fair, made scorn of fairest faces."

The young scholar capped her distich forthwith, and bowing to her

with a meaning look,

"'Then, Goddess, turn,' he cried, 'and veil thy light;

Blinded by thine, what eyes can choose aright?'"

"Go, saucy sir," said my lady, in high glee: "the pageant stays

your supreme pleasure."

And away went Mr. Frank as master of the revels, to bring up the

'prentices' pageant; while, for his sake, the nymph of Torridge was

forgotten for awhile by all young dames, and most young gentlemen:

and his mother heaved a deep sigh, which Lady Bath overhearing--

"What? in the dumps, good madam, while all are rejoicing in your

joy? Are you afraid that we court-dames shall turn your Adonis's

brain for him?"

"I do, indeed, fear lest your condescension should make him forget

that he is only a poor squire's orphan."

"I will warrant him never to forget aught that he should

recollect," said my Lady Bath.

And she spoke truly. But soon Frank's silver voice was heard

calling out--

"Room there, good people, for the gallant 'prentice lads!"

And on they came, headed by a giant of buckram and pasteboard

armor, forth of whose stomach looked, like a clock-face in a

steeple, a human visage, to be greeted, as was the fashion then, by

a volley of quips and puns from high and low.

Young Mr. William Cary, of Clovelly, who was the wit of those

parts, opened the fire by asking him whether he were Goliath,

Gogmagog, or Grantorto in the romance; for giants' names always

began with a G. To which 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 irascible visage, struggling in his

buckram prison, "and I soon show him whether I be a coward."

"Nay, if thou gettest out of thyself, thou wouldst be beside

thyself, and so wert but a mad giant."

"And that were pity," said Lady Bath; "for by the romances, giants

have never overmuch wit to spare."

"Mercy, dear lady!" said Frank, "and let the giant begin with an O."

"A ----"

"A false start, giant! you were to begin with an O."

"I'll make you end with an O, Mr. William Cary!" 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 stain his club with brains of Dagonet the jester? Be

mollified; leave thy caverned grumblings, like Etna when its windy

wrath is past, and discourse eloquence from thy central omphalos,

like Pythoness ventriloquizing."

"If you do begin laughing at me too, Mr. Leigh ----" said the

giant's clock-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, Earl Ordulf men me call,--

'Gainst Paynim foes Devonia's champion tall;

In single fight six thousand Turks I slew;

Pull'd off a lion's head, and ate it too:

With one shrewd blow, to let St. Edward in,

I smote the gates of Exeter in twain;

Till aged grown, by angels warn'd in dream,

I built an abbey fair by Tavy stream.

But treacherous time hath tripped my glories up,

The stanch old hound must yield to stancher pup;

Here's one so tall as I, and twice so bold,

Where I took only cuffs, takes good red gold.

From pole to pole resound his wondrous works,

Who slew more Spaniards than I e'er slew Turks;

I strode across the Tavy stream: but he

Strode round the world and back; and here 'a be!"

"Oh, bathos!" said Lady Bath, while the 'prentices shouted

applause. "Is this 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, "that the 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 boys at his heels, who halting, pulled out his

spectacles, and thus signified his forgiveness of his whilom broken

head:--

"That the world should have been circumnavigated, ladies and

gentles, were matter enough of jubilation to the student of

Herodotus and Plato, Plinius and ---- ahem! much more when the

circumnavigators are Britons; more, again, when Damnonians."

"Don't swear, master," said young Will Cary.

"Gulielme Cary, Gulielme Cary, hast thou forgotten thy--"

"Whippings? Never, old lad! Go on; but let not the license of the

scholar overtop the modesty of the Christian."

"More again, as I said, when, incolae, inhabitants of Devon; but,

most of all, men of Bideford school. Oh renowned school! Oh

schoolboys ennobled by fellowship 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 pillars on the

ocean shore, and then returned; but my scholar's voyage--"

"Hark how the old fox is praising himself all along on the sly,"

said Cary.

"Mr. William, Mr. william, peace;--silentium, my graceless pupil.

Urge the foaming steed, and strike terror into the rapid stag, but

meddle not with matters too high for thee."

"He has given you the dor now, sir," said Lady Bath; "let the old

man say his say."

"I bring, therefore, as my small contribution to 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 Tamaris ne spernat; Leighius addet

Mox terras terris, inclyte Drake, tuis."

"Neat, i' faith, la!" Whereon all the rest, as in duty bound,

approved also.

"This for the erudite: for vulgar ears the vernacular is more

consonant, sympathetic, instructive; as thus:--

"Famed Argo ship, that noble chip, by doughty Jason's steering,

Brought back to Greece the golden fleece, from Colchis home careering;

But now her fame is put to shame, while new Devonian Argo,

Round earth doth run in wake of sun, and brings wealthier cargo."

"Runs with a right fa-lal-la," observed Cary; "and would go nobly

to a fiddle and a big drum."

"Ye Spaniards, quake! our doughty Drake a royal swan is tested,

On wing and oar, from shore to shore, the raging main who breasted:--

But never needs to chant his deeds, like swan that lies a-dying,

So far his name, by trump of fame, around the sphere is flying."

"Hillo ho! schoolmaster!" shouted a voice from behind; "move on,

and make way for Father Neptune!" Whereon a whole storm of

raillery fell upon the hapless pedagogue.

"We waited for the parson's alligator, but we wain't for yourn."

"Allegory! my children, allegory!" shrieked the man of letters.

"What do ye call he an alligator for? He is but a poor little

starved evat!"

"Out of the road, old Custis! March on, Don Palmado!"

These allusions to the usual instrument of torture in 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 shakes off the flies,

and returned to the charge once more.

"Great Alexander, famed commander, wept and made a pother,

At conquering only half the world, but Drake had conquer'd t'other;

And Hercules to brink of seas!--"

"Oh--!"

And clapping both hands to the back of his neck, the schoolmaster

began dancing frantically about, while his boys broke out

tittering, "O! the ochidore! look to the blue ochidore! Who've put

ochidore to maister's poll!"

It was too true: neatly inserted, as he stooped forward, between

his neck and his collar, was a large live shore-crab, holding on

tight with both hands.

"Gentles! good Christians! save me! I am mare-rode! Incubo, vel

ab incubo, opprimor! Satanas has me by the poll! Help! he tears

my jugular; he wrings my neck, as he does to Dr. Faustus in the

play. Confiteor!--I confess! Satan, I defy thee! Good people, I

confess! [Greek text]! The truth will out. Mr. Francis Leigh

wrote the epigram!" And diving through the crowd, the pedagogue

vanished howling, while Father Neptune, crowned with sea-weeds, a

trident in one hand, and a live dog-fish in the other, swaggered up

the street surrounded by a tall bodyguard of mariners, and followed

by a great banner, on which was depicted a globe, with Drake's ship

sailing thereon upside down, and overwritten--

"See every man the Pelican,

Which round the world did go,

While her stern-post was uppermost,

And topmasts down below.

And by the way she lost a day,

Out of her log was stole:

But Neptune kind, with favoring wind,

Hath brought her safe and whole."

"Now, lads!" cried Neptune; "hand me my parable that's writ for me,

and here goeth!"

And at the top of his bull-voice, he began roaring--

"I am King Neptune bold,

The ruler of the seas

I don't understand much singing upon land,

But I hope what I say will please.

"Here be five Bideford men,

Which have sail'd the world around,

And I watch'd them well, as they all can tell,

And brought them home safe and sound.

"For it is the men of Devon.

To see them I take delight,

Both to tack and to hull, and to heave and to pull,

And to prove themselves in fight.

"Where be those Spaniards proud,

That make their valiant boasts;

And think for to keep the poor Indians for their sheep,

And to farm my golden coasts?

"'Twas the devil and the Pope gave them

My kingdom for their own:

But my nephew Francis Drake, he caused them to quake,

And he pick'd them to the bone.

"For the sea my realm it is,

As good Queen Bess's is the land;

So freely come again, all merry Devon men,

And there's old Neptune's hand."

"Holla, boys! holla! Blow up, Triton, and bring forward the

freedom of the seas."

Triton, roaring through a conch, brought forward a cockle-shell

full of salt-water, and delivered it solemnly to Amyas, who, of

course, put a noble into it, and returned it after Grenville had

done the same.

"Holla, Dick Admiral!" cried neptune, who was pretty far gone in

liquor; "we knew thou hadst a right English heart in thee, for all

thou standest there as taut as a Don who has swallowed his rapier."

"Grammercy, stop thy bellowing, fellow, and on; for thou smellest

vilely of fish."

"Everything smells sweet in its right place. I'm going home."

"I thought thou wert there all along, being already half-seas

over," said Cary.

"Ay, right Upsee-Dutch; and that's more than thou ever wilt be,

thou 'long-shore stay-at-home. Why wast making sheep's eyes at

Mistress Salterne here, while my pretty little chuck of Burrough

there was playing at shove-groat with Spanish doubloons?"

"Go to the devil, sirrah!" said Cary. Neptune had touched on a

sore subject; and more cheeks than Amyas Leigh's reddened at the

hint.

"Amen, if Heaven so please!" and on rolled the monarch of the seas;

and so the pageant ended.

The moment Amyas had an opportunity, he asked his brother Frank,

somewhat peevishly, where Rose Salterne was.

"What! the mayor's daughter? With her uncle by Kilkhampton, I

believe."

Now cunning Master Frank, whose daily wish was to "seek peace and

ensue it," told Amyas this, because he must needs speak the truth:

but he was purposed at the same time to speak as little truth as he

could, for fear of accidents; and, therefore, omitted to tell his

brother how that he, two days before, had entreated Rose Salterne

herself to appear as the nymph of Torridge; which honor she, who

had no objection either to exhibit her pretty face, to recite

pretty poetry, or to be trained thereto by the cynosure of North

Devon, would have assented willingly, but that her father stopped

the pretty project by a peremptory countermove, and packed her off,

in spite of her tears, to the said uncle on the Atlantic cliffs;

after which he went up to Burrough, and laughed over the whole

matter with Mrs. Leigh.

"I am but a burgher, Mrs. Leigh, and you a lady of blood; but I am

too proud to let any man say that Simon Salterne threw his daughter

at your son's head;--no; not if you were an empress!"

"And to speak truth, Mr. Salterne, there are young gallants enough

in the country quarrelling about her pretty face every day, without

making her a tourney-queen to tilt about."

Which was very true; for during the three years of Amyas's absence,

Rose Salterne had grown into so beautiful a girl of eighteen, that

half North Devon was mad about the "Rose of Torridge," as she was

called; and there was not a young gallant for ten miles round (not

to speak of her father's clerks and 'prentices, who moped about

after her like so many Malvolios, and treasured up the very parings

of her nails) who would not have gone to Jerusalem to win her. So

that all along the vales of Torridge and of Taw, and even away to

Clovelly (for young Mr. Cary was one of the sick), not a gay

bachelor but was frowning on his fellows, and vying with them in

the 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 golden days for all tailors and armorers, from

Exmoor to Okehampton town. But of all those foolish young lads not

one would speak to the other, either out hunting, or at the archery

butts, or in the tilt-yard; and my Lady Bath (who confessed that

there was no use in bringing out her daughters where Rose Salterne

was in the way) prophesied in her classical fashion that Rose's

wedding bid fair to be a very bridal of Atalanta, and feast of the

Lapithae; and poor Mr. Will Cary (who always blurted out the

truth), when old Salterne once asked him angrily in Bideford

Market, "What a plague business had he making sheep's eyes 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 meetings hereabouts? 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, "That she was none

of his choosing, nor of Mr. Cary's neither." And so the dor being

given, the belligerents parted laughing, but the war remained in

statu quo; and not a week passed but, by mysterious hands, some

nosegay, or languishing sonnet, was conveyed into The Rose's

chamber, all which she stowed away, with the simplicity of a

country girl, finding it mighty pleasant; and took all compliments

quietly enough, probably because, on the authority of her mirror,

she considered them no more than her due.

And now, to add to the general confusion, home was come young Amyas

Leigh, more desperately in love with her than ever. For, as is the

way with sailors (who after all are the truest lovers, as they are

the finest fellows, God bless them, upon earth), his lonely ship-

watches had been spent in imprinting on his imagination, month

after month, year after year, every feature and gesture and tone of

the fair lass whom he had left 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 been trained as

many a brave young man was then, to look upon profligacy not as a

proof of manhood, but as what the old Germans, and those Gortyneans

who crowned the offender with wool, knew it to be, a cowardly and

effeminate sin.

CHAPTER III

OF TWO GENTLEMEN OF WALES, AND HOW THEY HUNTED WITH THE HOUNDS, AND

YET RAN WITH THE DEER

"I know that Deformed; he has been a vile thief this seven years;

he goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember his name."--Much

Ado About Nothing.

Amyas slept that night a tired and yet a troubled sleep; and his

mother and Frank, as they bent over his pillow, could see that his

brain was busy with many dreams.

And no wonder; for over and above all the excitement of the day,

the recollection of John Oxenham had taken strange possession of

his mind; and all that evening, as he sat in the bay-windowed room

where he had seen him last, Amyas was recalling to himself every

look and gesture of the lost adventurer, and wondering at himself

for so doing, till he retired to sleep, only to renew the fancy in

his dreams. At last he found himself, he knew not how, sailing

westward ever, up the wake of the setting sun, in chase of a tiny

sail which was John Oxenham's. Upon him was a painful sense that,

unless he came up with her in time, something fearful would come to

pass; but the ship would not sail. All around floated the sargasso

beds, clogging her bows with their long snaky coils of weed; and

still he tried to sail, and tried to fancy that he was sailing,

till the sun went down and all was utter dark. And then the moon

arose, and in a moment John Oxenham's ship was close aboard; her

sails were torn and fluttering; the pitch was streaming from her

sides; her bulwarks were rotting to decay. And what was that line

of dark objects dangling along the mainyard?--A line of hanged men!

And, horror of horrors, from the yard-arm close above him, John

Oxenham's corpse looked down with grave-light eyes, and beckoned

and pointed, as if to show him his way, and strove to speak, and

could not, and pointed still, not forward, but back along their

course. And when Amyas looked back, behold, behind him was the

snow range of the Andes glittering in the moon, and he knew that he

was in the South Seas once more, and that all America was between

him and home. And still the corpse kept pointing back, and back,

and looking at him with yearning eyes of agony, and lips which

longed to tell some awful secret; till he sprang up, and woke with

a shout of terror, and found himself lying in the little coved

chamber in dear old Burrough, with the gray autumn 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 pebble ridge. As he passed his mother's door, he could

not help looking in. The dim light of morning showed him the bed;

but its pillow had not been pressed that night. His mother, in her

long white night-dress, was kneeling at the other end of the

chamber at her prie-dieu, absorbed in devotion. Gently he slipped

in without a word, and knelt down at her side. She turned, smiled,

passed her arm around him, and went 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 John Oxenham, and all

his vanished crew.

At last she rose, and standing above him, parted the yellow locks

from off his brow, and looked long and lovingly into his face.

There was nothing to be spoken, for there was nothing to be

concealed between these two souls as clear as glass. Each knew all

which the other meant; each knew that its own thoughts were known.

At last the mutual gaze was over; she stooped and kissed him on the

brow, and was in the act to turn away, as a tear dropped on his

forehead. Her little bare feet were peeping out from under her

dress. He bent down and kissed them again and again; and then

looking up, as if to excuse himself,--

"You have such pretty feet, mother!"

Instantly, with a woman's instinct, she had hidden them. She had

been a beauty once, as I said; and though her hair was gray, and

her roses had faded long ago, she was beautiful still, in all eyes

which saw deeper than the mere outward red and white.

"Your dear father used to say so thirty years ago."

"And I say so still: you always were beautiful; you are beautiful

now."

"What is that to you, silly boy? Will you play the lover with an

old mother? Go and take your walk, and think of younger ladies, if

you can find any worthy of you."

And so the son went forth, and the mother returned to her prayers.

He walked down to the pebble ridge, where the surges of the bay

have defeated their own fury, by rolling up 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

autumn a fertile sheet of smooth, alluvial turf. Sniffing the keen

salt air like a young sea-dog, he stripped and plunged into the

breakers, and dived, and rolled, and tossed about the foam with

stalwart arms, till he heard himself hailed from off the shore, and

looking up, saw standing on the top of the rampart the tall figure

of his cousin Eustace.

Amyas was half-disappointed at his coming; for, love-lorn rascal,

he had been dreaming all the way thither of Rose Salterne, and had

no wish for a companion who would 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, while his cousin

walked up and down upon the turf inside.

Eustace Leigh was the son of a younger brother of Leigh of

Burrough, who had more or less cut himself off 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 the

gentry, he had become a Protestant under Edward the Sixth, 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

second time, as hundreds did, at Elizabeth's accession. So a

Papist he remained, living out of the way of the world in a great,

rambling, dark house, still called "Chapel," on the Atlantic

cliffs, in Moorwinstow parish, not far from Sir Richard Grenville's

house of Stow. The penal laws never troubled him; for, in the

first place, they never troubled any one who did not make

conspiracy and rebellion an integral doctrine of his religious

creed; and next, they seldom troubled even them, unless, fired with

the glory of martyrdom, they bullied the long-suffering of

Elizabeth and her council into giving them their deserts, and, like

poor Father Southwell in after years, insisted on 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 conspiracies might have been hatched there without any one

hearing of it; and Jesuits and seminary priests skulked in and out

all the year round, unquestioned though unblest; and found a sort

of piquant pleasure, like naughty boys who have crept into the

store-closet, in living in mysterious little dens in a lonely

turret, and going up through a trap-door to celebrate mass in a

secret chamber in the roof, where they were allowed by the powers

that were to play as much as they chose at persecuted saints, and

preach about hiding in dens and caves of the earth. For once, when

the zealous parson of Moorwinstow, having discovered (what

everybody knew already) the existence of "mass priests and their

idolatry" at Chapel House, made formal complaint thereof to Sir

Richard, and called on him, as the nearest justice of the peace, to

put in force the act of the fourteenth of Elizabeth, that worthy

knight only rated him soundly for a fantastical Puritan, and bade

him mind his own business, if he wished not to make the place too

hot for him; whereon (for the temporal authorities, happily for the

peace of England, kept in those days a somewhat tight hand upon the

spiritual ones) the worthy parson subsided,--for, after all, Mr.

Thomas Leigh paid his tithes regularly enough,--and was content, as

he expressed it, to bow his head in the house of Rimmon like Naaman

of old, by eating Mr. Leigh's dinners as often as he was invited,

and ignoring the vocation of old Father Francis, who sat opposite

to him, dressed as a layman, and calling himself the young

gentleman's pedagogue.

But the said birds of ill-omen had a very considerable lien on the

conscience of poor Mr. Thomas Leigh, the father of Eustace, in the

form of certain lands once belonging to the Abbey of Hartland. He

more than half believed that he should be lost for holding those

lands; but he did not believe it wholly, and, therefore, he did not

give them up; which was the case, as poor Mary Tudor found to her

sorrow, with most of her "Catholic" subjects, whose consciences,

while they compelled them to return to the only safe fold of Mother

Church (extra quam nulla salus), by no means compelled them to

disgorge the wealth of which they had plundered that only hope of

their salvation. Most of them, however, like poor Tom Leigh, felt

the abbey rents burn in their purses; and, as John Bull generally

does in a difficulty, compromised the matter by a second folly (as

if two wrong things made one right one), and petted foreign

priests, and listened, or pretended not to listen, to their

plottings and their practisings; and gave up a son here, and a son

there, as a sort of a sin-offering and scapegoat, to be carried off

to Douay, or Rheims, or Rome, and trained as a seminary priest; in

plain English, to be taught the science of villainy, on the motive

of superstition. One of such hapless scapegoats, and children who

had been cast into the fire to Moloch, was Eustace Leigh, whom his

father had sent, giving the fruit of his body for the sin of his

soul, to be made a liar of at Rheims.

And a very fair liar he had become. Not that the lad was a bad

fellow at heart; but he had been chosen by the harpies at home, on

account of his "peculiar vocation;" in plain English, because the

wily priests had seen in him certain capacities of vague hysterical

fear of the unseen (the religious sentiment, we call it now-a-

days), and with them that tendency to 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 always trying to

get free, or rather to seem free, and indulge in smiles and dimples

which were proper; for one ought to have Christian love, and if one

had love one ought to be cheerful, and when people were cheerful

they smiled; and therefore he would smile, and tried to do so; but

his charity prepense looked no more alluring than malice prepense

would have done; and, had he not been really a handsome fellow,

many a woman who raved about his sweetness would have likened his

frankness to that of a skeleton dancing in fetters, and his smiles

to the grins thereof.

He had returned to England about a month before, in obedience to

the proclamation which had been set forth for that purpose (and

certainly not before it was needed), that, "whosoever had children,

wards, etc., in the parts beyond the seas, should send in their

names to the ordinary, and within four months call them home

again." So Eustace was now staying with his father at Chapel,

having, nevertheless, his private matters to transact on behalf of

the virtuous society by whom he had been brought up; one of which

private matters had brought him to Bideford the night before.

So he sat down beside Amyas on the pebbles, and looked at him all

over out of the corners of his eyes very gently, as if he did not

wish to hurt him, or even the flies on his back; and Amyas faced

right round, and looked him full in the face. with the heartiest

of smiles, and held out a lion's paw, which Eustace took

rapturously, and a great shaking of hands ensued; Amyas gripping

with a great round fist, and a quiet quiver thereof, as much as to

say, "I AM glad to see you;" and Eustace pinching hard with white,

straight fingers, and sawing the air violently up and down, as much

as to say, "DON'T YOU SEE how glad I am to see you?" A very

different greeting from the former.

"Hold hard, old lad," said Amyas, "before you break my elbow. And

where do you come from?"

"From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down

in it," said he, with a little smile and nod of mysterious self-

importance.

"Like the devil, eh? Well, every man has his 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 cousin Amyas. In the first place,

he knew Amyas could have killed him with a blow; and there are

natures, who, instead of rejoicing in the strength of men of

greater prowess than themselves, look at such with irritation,

dread, at last, spite; expecting, perhaps, that the stronger will

do to them what they feel they might have done in his place. Every

one, perhaps, has the same envious, cowardly devil haunting about

his heart; but the brave men, though they be very sparrows, kick

him out; the cowards keep him, and foster him; and so did poor

Eustace Leigh.

Next, he could not help feeling that Amyas despised him. They had

not met for three years; but before Amyas went, Eustace never could

argue with him, simply because Amyas treated him as beneath

argument. No doubt he was often rude and unfair enough; but the

whole mass of questions concerning the unseen world, which the

priests had stimulated in his cousin's mind 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 cousin did him an injustice. "He used

to undervalue me," said he to himself; "let us see whether he does

not find me a match for him now." And then went off into an agony

of secret contrition for his self-seeking and his forgetting that

"the glory of God, and not his own exaltation," was the object of

his existence.

There, dear readers, Ex pede Herculem; I cannot tire myself or you

(especially in this book) with any wire-drawn soul-dissections. I

have tried to hint to you two opposite sorts of men,--the one

trying to be good with all his might and main, according to certain

approved methods and rules, which he has got by heart, and like a

weak oarsman, feeling and fingering his spiritual muscles over all

day, to see if they are growing; the other not even knowing whether

he is good or not, but just doing the right thing without thinking

about it, as simply as a little child, because the Spirit of God is

with him. If you cannot see the great gulf fixed between the two,

I trust 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 was educated by the Jesuits. Had

he been saved from them, he might have lived and died as simple and

honest a gentleman as his brothers, who turned out like true

Englishmen (as did all the Romish laity) to face the great Armada,

and one of whom was fighting at that very minute under St. Leger in

Ireland, and as brave and loyal a soldier as those Roman Catholics

whose noble blood has stained every Crimean battlefield; but his

fate was appointed otherwise; and the Upas-shadow which has

blighted the whole Romish Church, blighted him also.

"Ah, my dearest cousin!" said Eustace, "how disappointed I was this

morning at finding I had arrived just a day too late to witness

your triumph! But I hastened to your home as soon as I could, and

learning from your mother that I should find you here, hurried down

to bid you welcome again to Devon."

"Well, old lad, it does look very natural to see you. I often used

to think of you walking the deck o' nights. Uncle and the girls

are all right, then? But is the old pony dead yet? 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 offered up nightly his weak prayers for your

safety (doubtless, not without avail) to those saints, to whom

would that you--"

"Halt there, coz. If they are half as good fellows as you and I

take them for, they'll help me without asking."

"They have helped you, Amyas."

"Maybe; I'd have done as much, I'm sure, for them, if I 'd been in

their place."

"And do you not feel, then, that you owe a debt of gratitude to

them; and, above all, to her, whose intercessions have, I doubt

not, availed for your preservation? Her, the star of the sea, the

all-compassionate guide of the mariner?"

"Humph!" said Amyas. "Here's Frank; 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 trying already to convert me; and

telling me that I owe all my luck to the Blessed Virgin's prayers

for me.

"It may be so," said Frank; "at least you owe it to the prayers of

that most pure and peerless virgin by whose commands you sailed;

the sweet incense of whose orisons has gone up for you daily, and

for whose sake you were preserved from flood and foe, that you

might spread the fame and advance the power of the spotless

championess of truth, and right, and freedom,--Elizabeth, your

queen."

Amyas answered this rhapsody, which would have been then both

fashionable and sincere, by a loyal chuckle. Eustace smiled

meekly, but answered somewhat venomously nevertheless--

"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, said quietly to the gulls over his head--"I

wonder what the Frenchman whose head I cut off at the Azores,

thinks by now about all that."

"Cut off a Frenchman's head?" said Frank.

"Yes, faith; and so fleshed my maiden sword. I'll tell you. It

was in some tavern; I and George Drake had gone in, and there sat

this Frenchman, with his sword on the table, ready for a quarrel (I

found afterwards he was a noted bully), and begins with us loudly

enough about this and that; but, after awhile, by the instigation

of the devil, what does he vent but a dozen slanders against her

majesty's honor, one atop of the other? I was ashamed to hear

them, and I should be more ashamed to repeat them."

"I have heard enough of such," said Frank. "They come mostly

through lewd rascals about the French ambassador, who have been

bred (God help them) among the filthy vices of that Medicean Court

in which the Queen of Scots had her schooling; and can only

perceive in a virtuous freedom a cloak for licentiousness like

their own. Let the curs bark; Honi soit qui mal y pense is our

motto, and shall be forever."

"But I didn't let the cur bark; for I took him by the ears, to show

him out into the street. Whereon he got to his sword, and I to

mine; and a very near chance I had of never bathing on the pebble

ridge more; for the fellow did not fight with edge and buckler,

like a Christian, but had some newfangled French devil's device of

scryming and foining with his point, ha'ing and stamping, and

tracing at me, that I expected to be full of eyelet holes ere I

could close with him."

"Thank God that you are safe, then!" said Frank. "I know that play

well enough, and dangerous enough it is."

"Of course you know it; but I didn't, more's the pity."

"Well, I'll teach it thee, lad, as well as Rowland Yorke himself,

'Thy fincture, carricade, and sly passata,

Thy stramazon, and resolute stoccata,

Wiping maudritta, closing embrocata,

And all the cant of the honorable fencing mystery.'"

"Rowland Yorke? Who's he, then?"

"A very roystering rascal, who is making good profit in London just

now by teaching this very art of fence; and is as likely to have

his mortal thread clipt in a tavern brawl, as thy Frenchman. But

how did you escape his pinking iron?"

"How? Had it through my left arm before I could look round; and at

that I got mad, and leapt upon him, and caught him by the wrist,

and then had a fair side-blow; and, as fortune would have it, off

tumbled his head on to the table, and there was an end of his

slanders."

"So perish all her enemies!" said Frank; and Eustace, who had been

trying not to listen, rose and 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 to put faith in the true report of those who have

daily experience of their mistress's excellent virtue, as they have

of the sun's shining, and of the earth's bringing forth fruit, and

not in the tattle of a few cowardly back-stair rogues, who wish to

curry favor with the Guises. Come, we will say no more. Walk

round with us by Appledore, and then home to breakfast."

But Eustace declined, having immediate business, he said, in

Northam town, and then in Bideford; and so left them to lounge for

another half-hour on the beach, and then walk across the smooth

sheet of turf to the little white fishing village, which stands

some two miles above the bar, at the meeting of the Torridge and

the Taw.

Now it came to pass, that Eustace Leigh, as we have seen, told his

cousins that he was going to Northam: but he did not tell them that

his point was really the same as their own, namely, Appledore; and,

therefore, after having satisfied his conscience by going as far as

the very nearest house in Northam village, he struck away sharp to

the left across the fields, repeating I 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

outwitted himself. For his cousins going merrily, like honest men,

along the straight road across the turf, arrived in Appledore,

opposite the little "Mariner's Rest" Inn, just in time to see what

Eustace had taken so much trouble to hide from them, namely, four

of Mr. Thomas Leigh's horses standing at the door, held by his

groom, saddles and mail-bags on back, and mounting three of them,

Eustace Leigh and 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 help him 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's head, and mimicking his mother's manner. "I

say, dear Frank, let's step into this shop 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. Why may not I have an excuse ready made as well

as Master Eustace?"

So saying, he pulled Frank into the little shop, unobserved by the

party at the inn-door.

"What strange cattle has he been importing now? Look at that

three-legged fellow, trying to get aloft on the wrong side. How he

claws at his horse's ribs, 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, that it differed little in size from the

very thin and stiff shanks 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 a tail! Why does not

some one in charity haul in half-a-yard of his belt for him?"

It was too true; the sword, after being kicked out three or four

times from its uncomfortable post between his legs, had returned

unconquered; and the hilt getting a little too far back by reason

of the too great length of the belt, the weapon took up its post

triumphantly behind, standing out point in air, a tail confest,

amid the tittering of the ostlers, and the cheers of the sailors.

At last the poor man, by dint of a chair, was mounted safely, while

his fellow-stranger, a burly, coarse-looking man, equally gay, and

rather more handy, made so fierce a rush at his saddle, that, like

"vaulting ambition who o'erleaps his selle," he "fell on t'other

side:" or would have fallen, had he not been brought up short by

the shoulders of the ostler at his off-stirrup. In which shock off

came hat and feather.

"Pardie, the bulldog-faced one is a fighting man. Dost see, Frank?

he has had his head broken."

"That scar came not, my son, but by a pair of most Catholic and

apostolic scissors. My gentle buzzard, that is a priest's

tonsure."

"Hang the dog! O, that the sailors may but see it, and put him

over the quay head. I've a half mind to go and do it myself."

"My dear Amyas," said Frank, laying two fingers on his arm, "these

men, whosoever they are, are the guests of our uncle, and therefore

the guests of our family. Ham gained little by publishing Noah's

shame; neither shall we, by publishing our uncle's."

"Murrain on you, old Franky, you never let a man 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 way to do that, sweet chuck, is very often not to speak your

mind at all. We will go down and visit them at Chapel in a day or

two, and see if we cannot serve these reynards as the badger did

the fox, when he found him in his hole, and could not get him out

by evil savors."

"How then?"

"Stuck a sweet nosegay in the door, which turned reynard's stomach

at once; and so overcame evil with good."

"Well, thou art too good for this world, that's certain; so we will

go home to breakfast. Those rogues are out of sight by now."

Nevertheless, Amyas was not proof against the temptation of going

over to the inn-door, and asking who were the 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 horsemen.

"So I said to Mr. Leigh's groom, your worship. But he says that

those parts be so uncommon rough and mountainous, that the poor

gentlemen, you see, being enforced to hunt on foot, have no such

opportunities as young gentlemen hereabout, like your worship; whom

God preserve, and send a virtuous lady, and one worthy of you."

"Thou hast a villainously glib tongue, fellow!" said Amyas, who was

thoroughly out of humor; "and a sneaking down visage too, when I

come to look at you. I doubt but you are a Papist too, I do!"

"Well, sir! and what if I am! I trust I don't break the queen's

laws by that. If I don't attend Northam church, I pay my month's

shilling for the use of the poor, as the act directs; and beyond

that, neither you nor any man dare demand of me."

"Dare! act directs! You rascally lawyer, you! and whence does an

ostler like you get your shilling to pay withal? Answer me." The

examinate found it so difficult to answer the question, that he

suddenly became afflicted with deafness.

"Do you hear?" roared Amyas, catching at him with his lion's paw.

"Yes, missus; anon, anon, missus!" quoth he to an imaginary

landlady inside, and twisting under Amyas's hand like an eel,

vanished into the house, while Frank got the hot-headed youth away.

"What a plague is one to do, then? That fellow was a Papist spy!"

"Of course he was!" said Frank.

"Then, what is one to do, if the whole country is 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 see him again."

"There is no harm in that," said Frank.

"Glad you think so."

"Don't quarrel with me, Amyas, the first day."

"Quarrel with thee, my darling old fellow! I had sooner kiss the

dust off thy feet, if I were worthy of it. So now away home; my

inside cries cupboard."

In the meanwhile Messrs. Evans and Morgans were riding away, as

fast as the rough by-lanes would let them, along the fresh coast of

the bay, steering carefully clear of Northam town on the one hand,

and on the other, of Portledge, where dwelt that most Protestant

justice of the peace, Mr. Coffin. And it was well for them that

neither Amyas Leigh, nor indeed any other loyal Englishman, was by

when they entered, as they shortly did, the lonely woods which

stretch along the southern wall of the bay. For there Eustace

Leigh pulled up short; and both he and his groom, leaping from

their horses, knelt down humbly in the wet grass, and implored the

blessing of the two valiant gentlemen of Wales, who, having

graciously bestowed it with three fingers apiece, became

thenceforth no longer Morgan Evans and Evan Morgans, Welshmen and

gentlemen; but Father Parsons and Father Gampian, Jesuits, and

gentlemen in no sense in which that word is applied in 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 them on the right, at the

mouth of rich-wooded glens, opened vistas of the bright blue bay,

and beyond it the sandhills of Braunton, and the ragged rocks of

Morte; while far away to the north and west the lonely isle of

Lundy hung like a soft gray cloud.

But they were not destined to reach their point as peaceably as

they could have wished. For just as they got opposite Clovelly

dike, the huge old Roman encampment which stands about midway in

their journey, they heard a halloo from the valley below, answered

by a fainter one far ahead. At which, like a couple of rogues (as

indeed they were), Father Campian and Father Parsons looked at each

other, and then both stared round at the wild, desolate, open

pasture (for the country was then all unenclosed), and the great

dark furze-grown banks above their heads; and Campian remarked

gently to Parsons, that this was a very dreary spot, and likely

enough for robbers.

"A likelier spot for us, Father," said Eustace, punning. "The old

Romans knew what they were about when they put their legions up

aloft 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 water inside; and" (added he in Latin), "in

case our 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-bushes an armed cavalier.

"Pardon, gentlemen!" shouted he, as the Jesuit and his horse

recoiled against the groom. "Stand, for your lives!"

"Mater caelorum!" moaned Campian; while Parsons, who, as all the

world knows, was a blustering bully enough (at least with his

tongue), asked: What a murrain right had he to stop honest folks on

the queen's highway? confirming the same with a mighty oath, which

he set down as peccatum veniale, on account of the sudden

necessity; nay, indeed fraus pia, as proper to support the

character of that valiant gentleman of Wales, Mr. Evan Morgans.

But the horseman, taking no notice of his hint, dashed across the

nose of Eustace Leigh's horse, with a "Hillo, old lad! where ridest

so early?" and peering down for a moment into the ruts of the

narrow track-way, struck spurs into his horse, shouting, "A fresh

slot! right away for Hartland! Forward, gentlemen all! 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 gallants plunged in and

out of the great dikes, and thundered on behind the party; whose

horses, quite understanding what game was up, burst into full

gallop, neighing and squealing; and in another minute the hapless

Jesuits were hurling along over moor and moss after a "hart of

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 not been in agonies of fear lest those

precious saddle-bags in front of him should break from their

lashings, and rolling to the earth, expose to the hoofs of heretic

horses, perhaps to the gaze of heretic eyes, such a cargo of bulls,

dispensations, secret correspondences, seditious tracts, and so

forth, that at the very thought of 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 as he

bumped and rolled along, sought vainly for comfort in professional

ejaculations 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 account in favor of my poor--oh, sharpness of this

saddle! Oh, whither, barbarous islanders!"

Now riding on his quarter, not in the rough track-way like a

cockney, but through the soft heather like a sportsman, was a very

gallant knight whom we all know well by this time, Richard

Grenville by name; who had made Mr. Cary and the rest his guests

the night before, and then ridden out with them at five o'clock

that morning, after the wholesome early ways of the time, to rouse

a well-known stag in the glens at Buckish, by help of Mr. Coffin's

hounds from Portledge. Who being as good a Latiner as Campian's

self, and overhearing both the scraps of psalm and the "barbarous

islanders," pushed his horse alongside of Mr. Eustace Leigh, and at

the first check said, with two low bows towards the two strangers--

"I hope Mr. Leigh will do me the honor of introducing me to his

guests. I should be sorry, and Mr. Cary also, that any gentle

strangers should become neighbors of ours, even for a day, without

our knowing who they are who honor our western Thule with a visit;

and showing them ourselves all due requital for the compliment of

their presence."

After which, the only thing which poor Eustace could do (especially

as it was spoken loud enough for all bystanders), was to introduce

in due form Mr. Evan Morgans and Mr. Morgan Evans, who, hearing the

name, and, what was worse, seeing the terrible face with its quiet

searching eye, felt like a brace of partridge-poults cowering in

the stubble, with a hawk hanging ten feet over their heads.

"Gentlemen," said Sir Richard blandly, cap in hand, "I fear that

your mails must have been somewhat in your way in this unexpected

gallop. If you will permit my groom, who is behind, to disencumber

you of them and carry them to Chapel, you will both confer an honor

on me, and be enabled yourselves to see the mort more pleasantly."

A twinkle of fun, in spite of all his efforts, played about good

Sir Richard's eye as he gave this searching hint. The two Welsh

gentlemen stammered out clumsy thanks; and pleading great haste and

fatigue from a long journey, contrived to fall to the rear and

vanish with their guides, as soon as the slot had been recovered.

"Will!" said Sir Richard, pushing alongside of young Cary.

"Your worship?"

"Jesuits, Will!"

"May the father of lies fly away with them over the nearest cliff!"

"He will not do that while this Irish trouble is about. Those

fellows are come to practise here for Saunders and Desmond."

"Perhaps they have a consecrated banner in their bag, the

scoundrels! Shall I and young Coffin on and stop them? Hard if

the honest men may not 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 day like any mousehole.

No one can land round Harty Point with these south-westers. Stop

every fellow who has the ghost of an Irish brogue, come he in or go

he out, and send him over to me."

"Some one should guard Bude-haven, sir."

"Leave that to me. Now then, forward, gentlemen all, or the stag

will take the sea at the Abbey."

And on they crashed down the Hartland glens, through the oak-scrub

and the great crown-ferns; and the baying of the slow-hound and the

tantaras of the horn died away farther and fainter toward the blue

Atlantic, while the conspirators, with lightened hearts, pricked

fast across Bursdon upon their evil errand. But Eustace Leigh had

other thoughts and other cares than the safety of his father's two

mysterious guests, important as that was in his eyes; for he was

one of the many who had drunk in sweet poison (though in his case

it could hardly be called sweet) from the magic glances of the Rose

of Torridge. He had seen her in the town, and for the first time

in his life fallen utterly in love; and now that she had come down

close to his father's house, he looked on her as a lamb fallen

unawares into the jaws of the greedy wolf, which he felt himself to

be. For Eustace's love had little or nothing of chivalry, self-

sacrifice, or purity in it; those were virtues which were not

taught at Rheims. Careful as the Jesuits were over the practical

morality of their pupils, this severe restraint had little effect

in producing real habits of self-control. What little Eustace had

learnt of women from them, was as base and vulgar as the rest of

their teaching. What could it be else, if instilled by men

educated in the schools of Italy and France, in the age which

produced the foul novels of Cinthio and Bandello, and compelled

Rabelais in order to escape the rack and stake, to hide the light

of his great wisdom, not beneath a bushel, but beneath a dunghill;

the age in which the Romish Church had made marriage a legalized

tyranny, and the laity, by a natural and pardonable revulsion, had

exalted adultery into a virtue and a science? That all love was

lust; that all women had their price; that profligacy, though an

ecclesiastical sin, was so pardonable, if not necessary, as to be

hardly a moral sin, were notions which Eustace must needs have

gathered from the hints of his preceptors; for their written works

bear to this day fullest and foulest testimony that such was their

opinion; and that their conception of the relation of the sexes was

really not a whit higher than that of the profligate laity who

confessed to them. He longed to marry Rose Salterne, with a wild

selfish fury; but only that he might be able to claim her as his

own property, and keep all others from her. Of her as a co-equal

and ennobling helpmate; as one in whose honor, glory, growth of

heart and soul, his own were inextricably wrapt up, he had never

dreamed. Marriage would prevent God from being angry with that,

with which otherwise He might be angry; and therefore the sanction

of 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 rose next

morning fierce and pale, to invent fresh excuses for going over to

her uncle's house, and lingering about the fruit which he dared not

snatch.

CHAPTER IV

THE TWO WAYS OF BEING CROST IN LOVE

"I could not love thee, dear, so much,

Loved I not honor more."--LOVELACE.

And what all this while has become of the fair breaker of so many

hearts, to whom I have not yet even introduced my readers?

She was sitting in the little farm-house beside the mill, buried in

the green depths of the valley of Combe, half-way between Stow and

Chapel, sulking as much as her sweet nature would let her, at being

thus shut out from all the grand doings at Bideford, and forced to

keep a Martinmas Lent in that far western glen. So lonely was she,

in fact, that though she regarded Eustace Leigh with somewhat of

aversion, and (being a good Protestant) with a great deal of

suspicion, she could not find it in her heart to avoid a chat with

him whenever he came down to the farm and to its mill, which he

contrived to do, on I know not what would-be errand, almost every

day. Her uncle and aunt at first looked stiff enough at these

visits, and the latter took care always to make a third in every

conversation; but still Mr. Leigh was a gentleman's son, and it

would not do to be rude to a neighboring squire and a good

customer; and Rose was the rich man's daughter and they poor

cousins, so it would not do either to quarrel with her; and

besides, the pretty maid, half by wilfulness, and half by her sweet

winning tricks, generally contrived to get her own way wheresoever

she went; and she herself had been wise enough to beg her aunt

never to leave them alone,--for she "could not a-bear the sight of

Mr. Eustace, only she must have some one to talk with down here."

On which her aunt considered, that she herself was but a simple

country-woman; and that townsfolks' ways of course must be very

different from hers; and that people 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 difference in creed between him

and Rose was likely to be the very hardest obstacle in the way of

his love, took care 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 it away to the old

women in Moorwinstow (who agreed that after all, for a Papist, he

was a godly young man enough); and at last, having taken counsel

with Campian and Parsons on certain political plots then on foot,

came with them to the conclusion that they would all three go to

church the next Sunday. Where Messrs. Evan Morgans and Morgan

Evans, having crammed up the rubrics beforehand, behaved themselves

in a most orthodox and unexceptionable manner; as did also poor

Eustace, to the great wonder of all good folks, and then went home

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 the parish was saying to the other, "He

turned Protestant? The devil turned monk! He's only after

Mistress Salterne, the young hypocrite."

But if the two Jesuits found it expedient, for the holy cause in

which they were embarked, to reconcile themselves outwardly to the

powers that were, they were none the less busy in private in

plotting their overthrow.

Ever since April last they had been playing at hide-and-seek

through the length and breadth of England, and now they were only

lying quiet till expected news from Ireland should give them their

cue, and a great "rising of the West" should sweep from her throne

that stiff-necked, persecuting, excommunicate, reprobate,

illegitimate, and profligate usurper, who falsely called herself

the Queen of England.

For they had as stoutly persuaded themselves in those days, as they

have in these (with a real Baconian contempt of the results of

sensible experience), that the heart of England was really with

them, and that the British nation was on the point of returning to

the bosom of the Catholic Church, and giving up Elizabeth to be led

in chains to the feet of the rightful Lord of Creation, the Old Man

of the Seven Hills. And this fair hope, which has been skipping

just in front of them for centuries, always a step farther off,

like the place where the rainbow touches the ground, they used to

announce at times, in language which 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 voices high in dispute;

Parsons as usual, blustering; Mr. Leigh peevishly deprecating, and

Campian, who was really the sweetest-natured of men, trying to pour

oil on the troubled waters. Whereat Eustace (for the good of the

cause, of course) stopped outside and listened.

"My excellent sir," said Mr. Leigh, "does not your very presence

here show how I am affected toward the holy cause of the Catholic

faith? But I cannot in the meanwhile forget that I am an

Englishman."

"And what is England?" said Parsons: "A heretic and schismatic

Babylon, whereof it is written, 'Come out of her, my people, lest

you be partaker of her plagues.' Yea, what is a country? An

arbitrary division of territory by the princes of this world, who

are naught, and come to naught. They are created by the people's

will; their existence depends on the sanction of him to whom all

power is given in heaven and earth--our Holy Father the Pope. Take

away the latter, and what is a king?--the people who have made him

may unmake him."

"My dear sir, recollect that I have sworn allegiance to Queen

Elizabeth!"

"Yes, sir, you have, sir; and, as I have shown at large in my

writings, you were absolved from that allegiance from the moment

that the bull of Pius the Fifth declared her a heretic and

excommunicate, and thereby to have forfeited all dominion

whatsoever. I tell you, sir, what I thought you should have known

already, that since the year 1569, England has had no queen, no

magistrates, no laws, no lawful authority whatsoever; and that to

own allegiance to any English magistrate, sir, or to plead in an

English court of law, is to disobey the apostolic precept, 'How

dare 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, take care!" said Mr. Leigh.

"Right or wrong, 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 with the flock,"

interposed Campian. "Your opinion, though probable, as I well

know, in the eyes of most of our order, is hardly safe enough here;

the opposite is at least so safe that Mr. Leigh may well excuse his

conscience for accepting it. After all, are we not sent hither to

proclaim this very thing, and to relieve the souls of good

Catholics from a burden which has seemed to them too heavy?"

"Yes," said Parsons, half-sulkily, "to allow all Balaams who will

to sacrifice to Baal, while they call themselves by the name of the

Lord."

"My dear brother, have I not often reminded you that Naaman was

allowed to bow himself in the house of Rimmon? And can we

therefore complain of the office to which the Holy Father has

appointed us, to declare to such as Mr. Leigh his especial grace,

by which the bull of Pius the Fifth (on whose soul God have mercy!)

shall henceforth bind the queen and the heretics only; but in no

ways the Catholics, at least as long as the present tyranny

prevents the pious purposes of the bull?"

"Be it so, sir; be it so. Only observe this, Mr. Leigh, that our

brother Campian confesses this to be a tyranny. Observe, sir, that

the bull does still bind the so-called queen, and that she and her

magistrates are still none the less usurpers, nonentities, and

shadows of a shade. And observe this, sir, that when that which is

lawful is excused to the weak, it remains no less lawful to the

strong. The seven thousand who had not bowed the knee to Baal did

not slay his priests; but Elijah did, and won to himself a good

reward. And if the rest of the children of Israel sinned not in

not slaying Eglon, yet Ehud's deed was none the less justified by

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 with Ehud and Eglon, and slaughters, and

tyrannies? Our queen is a very good queen, if Heaven would but

grant her repentance, and turn her to the true faith. I have never

been troubled about religion, nor any one 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 added softly--

"Yes, your West of England also has been honored by its martyrs, as

well as my London by the precious blood of Story."

"What, young malapert?" cried poor Leigh, facing round upon his

son, glad to find any one on whom he might vent his ill-humor; "are

you too against me, with a murrain on you? And pray, what the

devil brought Cuthbert Mayne to the gallows, and turned Mr.

Trudgeon (he was always a foolish hot-head) out of house and home,

but just such treasonable talk as Mr. Parsons must needs hold in my

house, to make a beggar of me and my children, as he will before he

has done."

"The Blessed Virgin forbid!" said Campian.

"The Blessed Virgin forbid? But you must help her to forbid it,

Mr. Campian. We should never have had the law of 1571, against

bulls, and Agnus Deis, and blessed grains, if the Pope's bull of

1569 had not made them matter of treason, by preventing a poor

creature's saving his soul in the true Church without putting his

neck into a halter by denying the queen's authority."

"What, sir?" almost roared Parsons, "do you dare to speak evil of

the edicts of the Vicar of Christ?"

"I? No. I didn't. Who says I 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 Holy Father's prudent

intentions have been so far defeated by the perverseness and

invincible misunderstanding of the heretics, that that which was in

itself meant for the good of the oppressed English Catholics has

been 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--Heaven forbid!--but to the pravity of his enemies."

"And it is for this very reason," said Campian, "that we have

brought with us the present merciful explanation of the bull."

"I'll tell you what, gentlemen," said Mr. Leigh, who, like other

weak men, grew in valor 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 put in force till Mayne and

Trudgeon made fools of themselves, and that was full six years.

There were a few offenders, 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 some deed which had better be

left alone, and so bring us all to shame."

"Your son, sir, if not openly vowed to God, has, I hope, a due

sense of that inward vocation which we have seen in him, and

reverences his spiritual fathers too well to listen to the

temptations of his earthly father."

"What, sir, will you teach my son to disobey me?"

"Your son is ours also, sir. This is strange language in one who

owes a debt to the Church, which it was charitably fancied he meant

to pay in the person of his child."

These last words touched poor Mr. Leigh in a sore point, and

breaking all bounds, he swore roundly at Parsons, who stood foaming

with rage.

"A plague upon you, sir, and a black assizes for you, for you will

come to the gallows yet! Do you mean to taunt me in my own house

with that Hartland land? You had better go back and ask those who

sent you where the dispensation to hold the land is, which they

promised to get me years ago, and have gone on putting me off, till

they have got my money, and my son, and my conscience, and I vow

before all the saints, seem now to want my head over and above.

God help me!"--and the poor man's eyes fairly filled with tears.

Now was Eustace's turn to be roused; for, after all, he was an

Englishman and a gentleman; and he said kindly enough, but firmly--

"Courage, my dearest father. Remember that I am still your son,

and not a Jesuit yet; and whether I ever become one, I promise you,

will depend mainly on the treatment which you meet with at the

hands of these reverend gentlemen, for whom I, as having brought

them 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

his breath at last--

"Sir! do you know, sir, the curse pronounced on those who, after

putting their hand to the plough, look back?"

Eustace was one of those impulsive men, with a lack of moral

courage, who dare raise the devil, but never dare fight him after

he has been raised; and he now tried to pass off his speech by

winking and making signs in the direction of his father, as much as

to say that he was only trying to quiet the old man's fears. But

Campian was too frightened, Parsons too angry, to take his hints:

and he had to carry his part through.

"All I read is, Father Parsons, that such are not fit for the

kingdom of God; of which high honor I have for some time past felt

myself unworthy. I have much doubt just now as to my vocation; and

in the meanwhile have not forgotten that I am a citizen of a free

country." And so saying, he took his father's arm, and walked out.

His last words had hit the Jesuits hard. They had put the poor

cobweb-spinners in mind of the humiliating fact, which they have

had thrust on them daily from that time till now, and yet have

never learnt the lesson, that all their scholastic cunning,

plotting, intriguing, bulls, pardons, indulgences, and the rest of

it, are, on this side the Channel, a mere enchanter's cloud-castle

and Fata Morgana, which vanishes into empty air by one touch of

that magic wand, the constable's staff. "A citizen of a free

country!"--there was the rub; and they looked at each other in more

utter perplexity than ever. At last Parsons spoke.

"There's a woman in the wind. I'll lay my life on it. I saw him

blush up crimson yesterday when his mother asked him whether some

Rose Salterne or other was still in the neighborhood."

"A woman! Well, the spirit may be willing, though the flesh be

weak. We will inquire into this. 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 perhaps see the expediency

of altering our tactics somewhat while we are here."

And thereupon a long conversation began between the two, who had

been sent together, after the wise method of their order, in

obedience to the precept, "Two are better than one," in order that

Campian might restrain Parsons' vehemence, and Parsons spur on

Campian's gentleness, and so each act as the supplement of the

other, and each also, it must be confessed, gave advice pretty

nearly contradictory to his fellow's if occasion should require,

"without the danger," as their writers have it, "of seeming

changeable and inconsistent."

The upshot of this conversation was, that in a day or two (during

which time Mr. Leigh and Eustace also had made the amende

honorable, and matters went smoothly enough) Father Campian asked

Father Francis, the household chaplain, to allow him, as an

especial favor, to hear Eustace'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 that the intent was to worm out

some family secrets, whereby his power would be diminished, and the

Jesuits' increased. For the regular priesthood and the Jesuits

throughout England were toward each other in a state of armed

neutrality, which wanted but little at any moment to become open

war, as it did in James the First's time, when those meek

missionaries, by their gentle moral tortures, literally hunted to

death the poor Popish bishop of Hippopotamus (that is to say,

London) for the time being.

However, Campian heard Eustace's confession; and by putting to him

such questions as may be easily conceived by those who know

anything about the confessional, discovered satisfactorily enough,

that he was what Campian would have called "in love:" though I

should question much the propriety of the term as applied to any

facts which poor prurient Campian discovered, or indeed knew how to

discover, seeing that a swine has no eye for pearls. But he had

found out enough: he smiled, and set to work next vigorously to

discover who the lady might be.

If he had frankly said to Eustace, "I feel for you; and if your

desires are reasonable, or lawful, or possible, I will help you

with all my heart and soul," he might have had the young man's

secret heart, and saved himself an hour's trouble; but, of course,

he took instinctively the crooked and suspicious method, expected

to find the case the worst possible,--as a man was bound to do who

had been trained to take the lowest possible view of human nature,

and to consider the basest motives as the mainspring of all human

action,--and began his moral torture accordingly by a series of

delicate questions, which poor Eustace dodged in every possible

way, though he knew that the good father was too cunning for him,

and that he must give in at last. Nevertheless, like a rabbit who

runs squealing round and round before the weasel, into whose jaws

it knows that it must jump at last by force of fascination, he

parried and parried, and pretended to be stupid, and surprised, and

honorably scrupulous, and even angry; while every question as to

her being married or single, Catholic or heretic, English or

foreign, brought his tormentor a step nearer the goal. At last,

when Campian, finding the business not such a very bad one, had

asked something about her worldly wealth, Eustace saw a door of

escape and sprang at it.

"Even if she be a heretic, she is heiress to one 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 may be 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,--not I! Let me have but her, and that but for one year,

one month, one day!--and all the rest--money, fame, talents, yea,

my life itself, hers if it be needed--are at the service of Holy

Church. Ay, I shall glory in showing my devotion by some special

sacrifice,--some desperate deed. Prove me 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 there is a thing to be done now,

but it may be at the risk of life."

"Prove me!" cried Eustace, impatiently.

"Here is a letter which was brought me last night; no matter from

whence; you can understand it better 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's house in

Moorwinstow, Devonshire. News may be had by one who will go to the

shore of Clovelly, any evening after the 25th of November, at dead

low tide, and there watch for a boat, rowed by one with a red

beard, and a Portugal by his speech. If he be asked, 'How many?'

he will answer, 'Eight hundred and one.' Take his letters and read

them. If the shore be watched, let him who comes show a light

three times in a safe place under the cliff above the town; below

is dangerous landing. Farewell, and expect great things!"

"I will go," said Eustace; "to-morrow is 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?" said Campian, with a mysterious

smile. "And now?"

"And now, to prove to you how I trust to you, you shall come with

me, and see this--the lady of whom I spoke, and judge for yourself

whether my 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, and it may be to help towards reclaiming a heretic,

and saving 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 Chapel and Stow mill, when

up the lane came none other than Mistress Rose Salterne herself, in

all the glories of a new scarlet hood, from under which her large

dark languid eyes gleamed soft lightnings through poor Eustace's

heart and marrow. Up to them she tripped on delicate ankles and

tiny feet, tall, lithe, and graceful, a true West-country lass; and

as 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 their

glossy nets.

"There!" whispered he, trembling from head to foot. "Can you

excuse me now?"

"I had excused you long ago;" said the kindhearted father. "Alas,

that so much fair red and white should have been created only as a

feast for worms!"

"A feast for gods, you mean!" cried Eustace, on whose common sense

the naive absurdity of the last speech struck keenly; and then, as

if to escape the scolding which he deserved for his heathenry--

"Will you let me return for a moment? I will 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 a field, 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--Mistress Salterne, 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 passionately seizing her by the hand, he poured out

the whole story of his love, heaping her with every fantastic

epithet of admiration which he could devise.

There was little, perhaps, of all his words which Rose had not

heard many a time before; but there was a quiver in his voice, and

a fire in his eye, from which she shrank by instinct.

"Let me go!" she said; "you are too rough, sir!"

"Ay!" he said, seizing now both her hands, "rougher, perhaps, than

the gay gallants of Bideford, 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 you take your eyes off me! Tell

me,--tell me, now here--this moment--before we part--if I may love

you!"

"Go away!" she answered, struggling, and bursting into tears.

"This is too rude. If I am but a merchant's daughter. I am God's

child. Remember that I am alone. Leave me; go! or I will call for

help!"

Eustace had heard or read somewhere that such expressions in a

woman's mouth were mere facons de parler, and on the whole signs

that she had no objection to be alone, and did not intend to call

for help; and he only grasped her hands the more fiercely, and

looked into her face with keen and hungry eyes; but she was in

earnest, nevertheless, and a loud shriek made him aware that, if he

wished to save his own good name, he must go: but there was one

question, for an answer to which he would risk his very life.

"Yes, proud woman! I thought so! Some one of those gay gallants

has been beforehand with me. Tell me who--"

But she broke from him, and passed him, and fled down the lane.

"Mark it!" cried he, after her. "You shall rue the day when you

despised Eustace Leigh! Mark it, proud beauty!" And he turned

back to join 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 she were dead, nevertheless, and I

by her! Say no more to me, father. We will home." Even Campian

knew enough of the world to guess what had 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, stopped for very

shame, and walked quietly by the cottages which stood opposite the

gate, and then turned up the lane towards Moorwinstow village,

whither she was bound. But on second thoughts, she felt herself so

"red and flustered," that she was afraid of going into the village,

for fear (as she said to herself) of making people talk, and so,

turning into a by-path, struck away toward the cliffs, to cool her

blushes in the sea-breeze. And there finding a 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-coast maiden, full

of passionate impulsive affections, and wild dreamy imaginations, a

fit subject, as the North-Devon women are still, for all romantic

and gentle superstitions. Left early without mother's care, she

had fed her fancy upon the legends and ballads of her native land,

till she believed--what did she not believe?--of mermaids and

pixies, charms and witches, dreams and omens, and all that world of

magic in which most of the countrywomen, and countrymen too,

believed firmly enough but twenty years ago. Then her father's

house was seldom without some merchant, or sea-captain from foreign

parts, who, like Othello, had his tales of--

"Antres vast, and deserts idle,

Of rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads reach heaven."

And,--

"And of the cannibals that each other eat,

The anthropophagi, and men whose heads

Do grow beneath their shoulders."

All which tales, she, like Desdemona, devoured with greedy ears,

whenever she could "the house affairs with haste despatch." And

when these failed, there was still boundless store of wonders open

to her in old romances which were then to be found in every English

house of the better class. The Legend of King Arthur, Florice and

Blancheflour, Sir Ysumbras, Sir Guy of Warwick, Palamon and Arcite,

and the Romaunt of the Rose, were with her text-books and canonical

authorities. And lucky it was, perhaps, for her that Sidney's

Arcadia was still in petto, or Mr. Frank (who had already seen the

first book or two in manuscript, and extolled it above all books

past, present, or to come) would have surely brought a copy down

for Rose, and thereby have turned her poor little flighty brains

upside down forever. And with her head full of these, it was no

wonder if she had likened herself of late more than once to some of

those peerless princesses of old, for whose fair hand paladins and

kaisers thundered against each other in tilted field; and perhaps

she would not have been sorry(provided, of course, no one was

killed) if duels, and passages of arms in honor of her, as her

father reasonably dreaded, had actually taken place.

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 any wish to break hearts: she did not break her heart

for any of her admirers, and why should they break theirs for her?

They were all very charming, each in his way (the gentlemen, at

least; for she had long since learnt to turn up her nose at

merchants and burghers); but one of them was not so very much

better than the other.

Of course, Mr. Frank Leigh was the most charming; but then, as a

courtier and squire of dames, he had never given her a sign of real

love, nothing but sonnets and compliments, and there was no

trusting such things from a gallant, who was said (though, by the

by, most scandalously) to have a lady love at Milan, and another at

Vienna, and half-a-dozen in the Court, and half-a-dozen more in the

city.

And very charming was Mr. William Cary, with his quips and his

jests, and his galliards and lavoltas; over and above his rich

inheritance; but then, charming also Mr. Coffin of Portledge,

though he were a little proud and stately; but which of the two

should she choose? It would be very pleasant to be mistress of

Clovelly Court; but just as pleasant to find herself lady of

Portledge, where the Coffins had lived ever since Noah's flood (if,

indeed, they had not merely returned thither after that temporary

displacement), and to bring her wealth into a family which was as

proud of its antiquity as any nobleman in Devon, and might have

made a fourth to that famous trio of Devonshire Cs, of which it is

written,--

"Crocker, Cruwys, and Copplestone,

When the Conqueror came were all at home."

And Mr. Hugh Fortescue, too--people said that he was certain to

become a great soldier--perhaps as great as his brother Arthur--and

that would be pleasant enough, too, though he was but the younger

son of an innumerable family: but then, so was Amyas Leigh. Ah,

poor Amyas! Her girl'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 beside it had entered in, and kept it

in due subjection. But still, she could not help thinking a good

deal about him, and his voyage, and the reports of his great

strength, and beauty, and valor, which had already reached her in

that out-of-the-way corner; and though she was not in the least in

love with him, she could not help hoping that he had at least (to

put her pretty little thought in the mildest shape) not altogether

forgotten her; and was hungering, too, with all her fancy, to give

him no peace till he had told her all the wonderful things which he

had seen and done in this ever-memorable voyage. So that,

altogether, it was no wonder, if in her last night's dream the

figure of Amyas had been even more forward and troublesome than

that of Frank or the rest.

But, moreover, another figure had been forward and troublesome

enough in last night's sleep-world; and forward and troublesome

enough, too, now in to-day's waking-world, namely, Eustace, the

rejected. How strange that she should have dreamt of him the night

before! 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; and after 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 that she would do it for worlds! And after

all, though Mr. Eustace had been very rude and naughty, yet still

it was not his own fault; he could not help being in love with her.

And--and, in short, the poor little maid felt herself one of the

most important personages on earth, with all the cares (or hearts)

of the country in her keeping, and as much perplexed with matters

of weight as ever was any Cleophila, or Dianeme, Fiordispina or

Flourdeluce, in verse run tame, or prose run mad.

Poor little Rose! Had she but had a mother! But she was to learn

her lesson, such as it was, in another school. She was too shy

(too proud perhaps) to tell her aunt her mighty troubles; but a

counsellor she must have; and after sitting with her head in her

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 to do; perhaps even whom to marry.

Lucy was a fat, jolly woman of fifty, with little pig-eyes, which

twinkled like sparks of fire, and eyebrows which sloped upwards and

outwards, like those of 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 knowledge of human weaknesses,

some mesmeric power, some skill in "yarbs," as she called her

simples, a firm faith in the virtue of her own incantations, and

the faculty of holding her tongue. By dint of these she contrived

to gain a fair share of money, and also (which she liked even

better) of power, among the simple folk for many miles round. If a

child was scalded, a tooth ached, a piece of silver was stolen, a

heifer shrew-struck, a pig bewitched, a young damsel crost in love,

Lucy was called in, and Lucy found a remedy, especially for the

latter complaint. Now and then she found herself on ticklish

ground, for the kind-heartedness which compelled her to help all

distressed damsels out of a scrape, sometimes compelled her also to

help them into one; whereon enraged fathers called Lucy ugly names,

and threatened to send her into Exeter gaol for a witch, and she

smiled quietly, and hinted that if she were "like some that were

ready to return evil for evil, such talk as that would bring no

blessing on them that spoke it;" which being translated into plain

English, meant, "If you trouble me, I will overlook (i. e.

fascinate) you, and then your pigs will die, your horses stray,

your cream turn sour, your barns be fired, your son have St.

Vitus's dance, your daughter fits, and so on, woe on woe, till you

are very probably starved to death in a ditch, by virtue of this

terrible little eye of mine, at which, in spite of all your

swearing and bullying, you know you are now shaking in your shoes

for fear. So you had much better hold your tongue, give me a drink

of 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 souls as happy as she could, by lawful

means, of course, if possible, but if not--why, unlawful ones were

better than none; for she "couldn't a-bear to see the poor

creatures taking on; she was too, too tender-hearted." And so she

was, to every one but her husband, a tall, simple-hearted rabbit-

faced man, a good deal older than herself. Fully agreeing with Sir

Richard Grenville's great axiom, that he who cannot obey cannot

rule, Lucy had been for the last five-and-twenty years training him

pretty smartly to obey her, with the intention, it is to be

charitably hoped, of letting him rule her in turn when his lesson

was perfected. He bore his honors, however, meekly enough, having

a boundless respect for his wife's wisdom, and a firm belief in her

supernatural powers, and let her go her own way and earn her own

money, while he got a little more in a truly pastoral method (not

extinct yet along those lonely cliffs), by feeding a herd of some

dozen donkeys and twenty goats. The donkeys fetched, at each low-

tide, white shell-sand which was to be sold for manure to the

neighboring farmers; the goats furnished milk and "kiddy-pies;" and

when there was neither milking nor sand-carrying to be done, old

Will Passmore just sat under a sunny rock and watched the buck-

goats rattle their horns together, thinking about nothing at all,

and taking very good care all the while neither to inquire nor to

see who came in and out of his little cottage in the glen.

The prophetess, when Rose approached her oracular cave, was seated

on a tripod in front of the fire, distilling strong waters out of

penny-royal. But no sooner did her distinguished visitor appear at

the hatch, than the still was left to take care of itself, and a

clean apron and mutch having been slipt on, Lucy welcomed Rose with

endless courtesies, and--"Bless my dear soul alive, who ever would

have thought to see the Rose of Torridge to my poor little place!"

Rose sat down: and then? How to begin was more than she knew, and

she stayed silent a full five minutes, looking earnestly at the

point of her shoe, till Lucy, who was an adept in such cases,

thought it best to proceed to business at once, and save Rose the

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 I can do for ye? For I

guess you want a bit of old Lucy's help, eh? Though I'm most mazed

to see ye here, surely. I should have supposed that pretty face

could manage they sort of matters for itself. Eh?"

Rose, thus bluntly charged, confessed at once, and with many

blushes and hesitations, made her soon understand that what she

wanted was "To have her fortune told."

"Eh? Oh! I see. The pretty face has managed it a bit too well

already, eh? Tu many o' mun, pure fellows? Well, 'tain't every

mayden has her pick and choose, like some I know 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, in a half-bantering tone. "Not so asy, is

it, then? One's gude for one thing, and one for another, eh? One

has the blood, and another the money."

And so the "cunning woman" (as she truly was), talking half to

herself, ran over all the names which she thought likely, peering

at Rose all the while out of the corners of her foxy bright eyes,

while Rose stirred the peat ashes steadfastly with the point of her

little shoe, half angry, half ashamed, half frightened, to find

that "the cunning woman" had guessed so well both her suitors and

her thoughts about them, and tried to look unconcerned at each name

as it came out.

"Well, well," said Lucy, who took nothing by her move, simply

because there was nothing to take; "think over it--think over it,

my dear life; and if you did set your mind on any one--why, then--

then maybe I might help you to a sight of him."

"A sight of him?"

"His sperrit, dear life, his sperrit only, I mane. I 'udn't have

no keeping company in my house, no, not for gowld untowld, I

'udn't; but the sperrit of mun--to see whether mun would 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. If you could show me that--

now--"

"Oh, I can show ye that, tu, I can. Ben there's a way to 't, a

sure way; but 'tis mortal cold for the time o' year, you zee."

"But what is it, then?" said Rose, who had in her heart been

longing for something of that very kind, and had half made up her

mind to ask for a charm.

"Why, you'm not afraid to goo into the say by night for a minute,

are you? And to-morrow night would serve, too; 't will be just low

tide to midnight."

"If you would come with me perhaps--"

"I'll come, I'll come, and stand within 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 naught at all, indeed,

now. And beside, there's a noxious business grow'd up against me

up to Chapel there; and I hear tell how Mr. Leigh saith I shall to

Exeter gaol for a witch--did ye ever hear the likes?--because his

groom Jan saith I overlooked mun--the Papist dog! And now never he

nor th' owld Father Francis goo by me without a spetting, and

saying of their Ayes and Malificas--I do know what their Rooman

Latin do mane, zo well as ever they, I du!--and a making o' their

charms and incantations to their saints and idols! They be mortal

feared of witches, they Papists, and mortal hard on 'em, even on a

pure body like me, that doth a bit in the white way; 'case why you

see, dear life," said she, with one of her humorous twinkles, "tu

to a trade do never agree. Do ye try my bit of a charm, now; do

ye!"

Rose could not resist the temptation; and between them both the

charm was agreed on, and the next night was fixed for its trial, on

the payment of certain current coins of the realm (for Lucy, of

course, must live by her trade); and slipping a tester into the

dame's hand as earnest, Rose went away home, and got there in

safety.

But in the meanwhile, at the very hour that Eustace had been

prosecuting his suit in the lane at Moorwinstow, a very different

scene was being enacted in Mrs. Leigh's room at Burrough.

For the night before, Amyas, as he was going to bed, heard his

brother Frank in the next room tune his lute, and then begin to

sing. And both their windows being open, and only a thin partition

between the chambers, Amyas's admiring ears came in for every word

of the following canzonet, sung in that delicate and mellow tenor

voice for which Frank was famed among all fair ladies:--

"Ah, tyrant Love, Megaera's serpents bearing,

Why thus requite my sighs with venom'd smart?

Ah, ruthless dove, the vulture's talons wearing,

Why flesh them, traitress, in this faithful heart?

Is this my meed? Must dragons' teeth alone

In Venus' lawns by lovers' hands be sown?

"Nay, gentlest Cupid; '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 in heaven, and wake in hell;

Forever doom'd, Ixion-like, to reel

On mine own passions' ever-burning wheel."

At which the simple sailor sighed, and longed that he could write

such neat verses, and sing them so sweetly. How he would besiege

the ear of Rose Salterne with amorous ditties! But still, he could

not be everything; and if he had the bone and muscle of the family,

it was but fair that Frank should have the brains and voice; and,

after all, he was bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, and it

was just the same as if he himself could do all the fine things

which Frank could do; for as long as one of the family won 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. "Come in here, and lull me to sleep

with a sea-song."

So Amyas went in, and found Frank laid on the outside of his bed

not yet undrest.

"I am a bad sleeper," said he; "I spend more time, I fear, in

burning the midnight oil than 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 the paradises of the

West."

So Amyas sat down, and told: but somehow, every story which he

tried to tell came round, by crooked paths, 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 seen him in this adventure, and how he longed to have had her

with him to show her that glorious sight, till Frank let him have

his own way, and then out came the whole story of the simple

fellow's daily and hourly devotion to her, through those three long

years of world-wide wanderings.

"And oh, Frank, I could hardly think of anything but her in the

church the other day, God forgive me! and it did seem so hard for

her to be the only face which I did not see--and have not seen her

yet, either."

"So I thought, dear lad," said Frank, with one of his sweetest

smiles; "and tried to get her father to let her impersonate the

nymph of Torridge."

"Did you, you dear kind fellow? That would have been too

delicious."

"Just so, too delicious; wherefore, I suppose, it was ordained not

to be, that which was being delicious enough."

"And is she as pretty as ever?"

"Ten times as pretty, dear lad, as half the young fellows round

have discovered. If you mean to win her and wear her (and God

grant you may fare no worse!) you will have rivals enough to get

rid of."

"Humph!" said Amyas, "I hope I shall not have to make short work

with some of them."

"I hope not," said Frank, laughing. "Now go to bed, and to-morrow

morning give your sword to mother to keep, lest you should be

tempted to 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'll serve him as the mastiff did the

terrier, and just drop 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 into his mother's

room, whom he was sure to find up and at her prayers; for he liked

to say his prayers, too, by her side, as he used to do when he was

a little boy. It seemed so homelike, he said, after three years'

knocking up and down in no-man's land. But coming gently to the

door, for fear of disturbing her, and entering unperceived, beheld

a sight which stopped him short.

Mrs. Leigh was sitting in her chair, with her face bowed 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

quivering with stifled emotion. Their mother was just finishing

the last words of a well-known text,--"for my sake, and the

Gospel's, shall receive a hundred-fold in this present life,

fathers, and mothers, and brothers, and sisters."

"But not a wife!" interrupted Frank, with a voice stifled with

sobs; "that was too precious a gift for even Him to promise to

those who gave up a first love for His sake!"

"And yet," said he, after a moment's silence, "has He not heaped me

with blessings enough already, that I must repine and rage at His

refusing me one more, even though that one be--No, mother! I am

your son, and God's; and you shall know it, even though Amyas never

does!" And he looked up with his clear blue eyes and white

forehead; and his face was as the face of an angel.

Both of them saw that Amyas was present, and started and blushed.

His mother motioned him away with her eyes, and he went quietly

out, as one stunned. Why had his name been mentioned?

Love, cunning love, told him all at once. This was the meaning of

last night's canzonet! This was why its words had seemed to fit

his own heart so well! His brother was his rival. And he had been

telling him all his love last night. What a stupid brute he was!

How it must have made poor Frank wince! And then Frank had

listened so kindly; even bid him God speed in his suit. What a

gentleman old Frank was, to be sure! No wonder the queen was so

fond of him, and all the Court ladies!--Why, if it came to that,

what wonder if Rose Salterne should be fond of him too? Hey-day!

"That would be a pretty fish to find in my net when I come to haul

it!" quoth Amyas to himself, as he paced the garden; and clutching

desperately hold of his locks with both hands, as if to hold his

poor confused head on its shoulders, he strode and tramped up and

down the shell-paved garden walks for a full half hour, till

Frank's voice (as cheerful as ever, though he more than suspected

all) called him.

"Come in to breakfast, lad; and stop grinding and creaking upon

those miserable limpets, before thou 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 said head straight enough by

this time; and in he came, and fell to upon the broiled fish and

strong ale, with a sort of fury, as determined to do his duty to

the utmost in all matters that day, and therefore, of course, in

that most important matter of bodily sustenance; while his mother

and Frank looked at him, not without anxiety and even terror,

doubting what turn his fancy might have taken in so new a case; at

last--

"My dear Amyas, you will really heat your blood with all that

strong ale! Remember, those who drink beer, think beer."

"Then they think right good thoughts, mother. And in the

meanwhile, those who drink water, think water. Eh, old Frank? and

here's your health."

"And clouds are water," said his mother, somewhat reassured by his

genuine good humor; "and so are rainbows; and clouds are angels'

thrones, and rainbows the sign of God's peace on earth."

Amyas understood the hint, and laughed. "Then I'll pledge Frank

out of the next ditch, if it please you and him. But first--I say--

he must hearken to a parable; a manner mystery, miracle play, I

have got in my head, like what they have at Easter, to the town-

hall. Now then, hearken, madam, and I and Frank will act." And up

rose Amyas, and shoved back his chair, and put on a solemn face.

Mrs. Leigh looked up, trembling; and Frank, he scarce knew why,

rose.

"No; you pitch again. You are King David, and sit still upon your

throne. David was a great singer, 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, and the other poor: and

the rich man had many flocks and herds, and all the fine ladies in

Whitehall to court if he liked; and the poor man had nothing but--"

And in spite of his broad honest smile, Amyas's deep voice began to

tremble and choke.

Frank sprang up, and burst into tears: "Oh! Amyas, my brother, my

brother! stop! I cannot endure this. Oh, God! was it not enough to

have entangled myself in this fatal fancy, but over and above, I

must meet the shame of my brother's discovering it?"

"What shame, then, I'd like to know?" said Amyas, recovering

himself. "Look here, brother Frank! I've thought it all over in

the garden; and I was an ass and a braggart for talking to you as I

did last night. Of course you love her! Everybody must; and I was

a fool for not recollecting that; and if you love her, your taste

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 first served is the

rule, and best to keep to it. Besides, brother Frank, though I'm

no scholar, yet I'm not so blind but that I tell the difference

between you and me; and of course your chance against mine, for a

hundred to one; and I am not going to be fool enough to row against

wind and tide too. I'm good enough for her, I hope; but if I am,

you are better, and the good dog may run, but it's the best that

takes the hare; and so I have nothing more to 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; "but so are other things too, by the dozen; it's

all in the day's work, as the huntsman said when the lion ate him.

One would never get through the furze-croft if one stopped to pull

out the prickles. The pig didn't scramble out of the ditch by

squeaking; and the less said the sooner mended; nobody was sent

into the world only to suck honey-pots. What must be must, man is

but dust; if you can't get crumb, you must fain eat crust. So I'll

go and join the army in Ireland, and get it out of my head, for

cannon balls fright away love as well as poverty does; and that's

all I've got to say." Wherewith Amyas sat down, and returned to

the beer; while Mrs. Leigh wept tears of joy.

"Amyas! Amyas!" said Frank; "you must not throw away the hopes of

years, and for me, too! Oh, how just was your parable! Ah! mother

mine! to what use is all my scholarship and my philosophy, when

this dear simple sailor-lad outdoes me at the first trial of

courtesy!"

"My children, my children, which of you shall I love best? Which

of you is the more noble? I thanked God this morning for having

given me one such son; but to have found that I possess two!" And

Mrs. Leigh laid her head on the table, and buried her face in her

hands, while the generous battle went on.

"But, dearest Amyas!--"

"But, Frank! if you don't hold your tongue, I must go forth. It

was quite trouble enough to make up one's mind, without having you

afterwards trying to unmake it again."

"Amyas! if you give her up to me, God do so to me, and more also,

if I do not hereby give her up to you!"

"He had done it already--this morning!" said Mrs. Leigh, looking up

through her tears. "He renounced her forever on his knees before

me! only he is too noble to tell you so."

"The more reason I should copy him," said Amyas, setting his lips,

and trying to look desperately determined, and then suddenly

jumping up, he leaped upon Frank, and throwing his arms round his

neck, sobbed out, "There, there, now! For God's sake, let us

forget all, and think about our mother, and the old house, and how

we may win her honor before we die! and that will be enough to keep

our hands full, without fretting about this woman and that.--What

an ass I have been for years! instead of learning my calling,

dreaming about her, and don't know at this minute whether she cares

more for me than she does for her father's 'prentices!"

"Oh, Amyas! every word of yours puts me to fresh shame! Will you

believe that I know as little of her likings as you do?"

"Don't tell me that, and play the devil's game by putting fresh

hopes into me, when I am trying to kick them out. I won't believe

it. If she is not a fool, she must love you; and if she don't,

why, be hanged if she is worth loving!"

"My dearest Amyas! I must ask you too to make no more such

speeches to me. All those thoughts I have forsworn."

"Only this morning; so there is time to catch them again before

they are gone too far."

"Only this morning," said Frank, with a quiet smile: "but centuries

have passed since then."

"Centuries? I don't see many gray hairs yet."

"I should not have been surprised if you had, though," answered

Frank, in so sad and meaning a tone that Amyas could only answer--

"Well, you are an angel!"

"You, at least, are something even more to the purpose, for you are

a man!"

And both spoke truth, and so the battle ended; and Frank went to

his books, while Amyas, who must needs be doing, if he was not to

dream, started off to the dockyard to potter about a new ship of

Sir Richard's, and forget his woes, in the capacity of Sir Oracle

among the sailors. And so he had played his move for 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 ways of good Queen Bess,

Who ruled as well as ever mortal can, sir,

When she was stogg'd, and the country in a mess,

She was wont to send for a Devon man, sir."

West Country 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 Torridge side." He had simply ridden off, Frank

found, to Sir Richard Grenville at Stow: his mother at once divined

the truth, that he was gone to try for a post in the Irish army,

and sent off Frank after him to bring him home again, and make him

at least reconsider himself.

So Frank took horse and rode thereon ten miles or more: and then,

as there were no inns on the road in those days, or indeed in

these, and he had some ten miles more of hilly road before him, he

turned down the hill towards Clovelly Court, to obtain, after the

hospitable humane fashion of those days, good entertainment for man

and horse from Mr. Cary the squire.

And when he walked self-invited, like the loud-shouting Menelaus,

into the long dark wainscoted hall of the court, the first object

he beheld was the mighty form of Amyas, who, seated at the long

table, was alternately burying his face in a pasty, and the pasty

in his face, his sorrows having, as it seemed, only sharpened his

appetite, while young Will Cary, kneeling on the opposite bench,

with his elbows on the table, was in that graceful attitude laying

down the law fiercely to him in a low voice.

"Hillo! lad," cried Amyas; "come hither and deliver me out of the

hands of this fire-eater, who I verily believe will kill me, if I

do not let him 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 very oracle and cynosure of fashion and chivalry, "welcome

here: I was just longing for you, too; I wanted your 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 head in the tankard, and then

mimicking Frank, "avoid strong ale o' mornings. It heats the

blood, thickens the animal spirits, and obfuscates the cerebrum

with frenetical and lymphatic idols, which cloud the quintessential

light of the pure reason. Eh? young Plato, young Daniel, come

hither to judgment! And yet, though I cannot see through the

bottom of the tankard already, I can see plain enough still to 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; "he could stand very well by

himself, when I saw him last."

"Plague on you, hold your tongue. Has he any right to look at me

as he does, whenever I pass him?"

"That depends on how he looks; a cat may look at a king, provided

she don't take him for a mouse."

"Oh, I know how he looks, and what he means too, and he shall stop,

or I will stop him. And the other day, when I spoke of Rose

Salterne"--"Ah!" groaned Frank, "Ate's apple again!"--"(never mind

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 to Stow by a market woman. What right has he to

write sonnets when I can't? It's not fair play, Mr. Frank, or I am

a Jew, and a Spaniard, and a Papist; it's not!" And Will smote the

table till the plates danced again.

"My dear knight of the burning pestle, I have a plan, a device, a

disentanglement, according to most approved rules of chivalry. Let

us fix a day, and summon by tuck of drum all young gentlemen under

the age of thirty, dwelling within fifteen miles of the habitation

of that peerless Oriana."

"And all 'prentice-boys too," cried Amyas, out of the pasty.

"And all 'prentice-boys. The bold lads shall fight first, with

good quarterstaves, in Bideford Market, till all heads are broken;

and the head which is not broken, let the back belonging to it pay

the penalty of the noble member's cowardice. After which grand

tournament, to which that of Tottenham shall 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 to come is no flouting,

but bloody and warlike earnest. For afterwards all the young

gentlemen shall adjourn into a convenient field, sand, or bog--

which last will be better, as no man will be able to run away, if

he be up to his knees in soft peat: and there stripping to our

shirts, with rapiers of equal length and keenest temper, each shall

slay his man, catch who catch can, and the conquerors fight again,

like a most valiant main of gamecocks as we are, till all be dead,

and out of their woes; after which the survivor, bewailing before

heaven and earth the cruelty of our Fair Oriana, and the slaughter

which her basiliscine eyes have caused, shall fall gracefully upon

his sword, and so end the woes of this our lovelorn generation.

Placetne Domini? as they used to ask in the Senate at Oxford."

"Really," said Cary, "this is too bad."

"So is, pardon me, your fighting Mr. Coffin with anything longer

than a bodkin."

"Bodkins are too short for such fierce Bobadils," said Amyas; "they

would close in so near, that we should have them falling to

fisticuffs after the first bout."

"Then let them fight with squirts across the market-place; for by

heaven and the queen's laws, they shall fight with nothing else."

"My dear Mr. Cary," went on Frank, suddenly changing his bantering

tone to one of the most winning sweetness, "do not fancy that I

cannot feel for you, or that I, as well as you, have not known the

stings of love and the bitterer stings of jealousy. But oh, Mr.

Cary, does it not seem to you an awful thing to waste selfishly

upon your own quarrel that divine wrath which, as Plato says, is

the very root of all virtues, and which has been given you, like

all else which you have, that you may spend it in the service of

her whom all bad souls fear, and all virtuous souls adore,--our

peerless queen? Who dares, while she rules England, call his sword

or his courage his own, or any one's but hers? Are there no

Spaniards to conquer, no wild Irish to deliver from their

oppressors, that two gentlemen of Devon can find no better place to

flesh their blades than in each other's valiant and honorable

hearts?"

"By heaven!" cried Amyas, "Frank speaks like a book; and for me, I

do think that Christian gentlemen may leave love quarrels to bulls

and rams."

"And that the heir of Clovelly," said Frank, smiling, "may find

more noble examples to copy than the stags in his own deer-park."

"Well," said Will, penitently, "you are a great scholar, Mr. Frank,

and you speak like one; but gentlemen must fight sometimes, or

where would be 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

has happened, Mr. Cary, to kill his man (on whose soul may God have

mercy); but it is my pride to remember that I have never yet fought

in my own quarrel, and my trust in God that I never shall. For as

there is nothing more noble and blessed than to fight in behalf of

those whom we love, so to fight in our own private behalf is a

thing not to be allowed to a Christian man, unless refusal imports

utter loss of life or honor; and even then, it may be (though I

would not lay a burden on any man's conscience), it is better not

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; but when I cut off the Frenchman's head, I said to

myself, 'If that braggart had been slandering me instead of her

gracious majesty, I should expect to see that head lying on my

pillow every time I went to bed at night.'"

"God forbid!" said Will, with a shudder. "But what shall I do? for

to the market tomorrow I will go, if it were choke-full of Coffins,

and a ghost in each coffin of the lot."

"Leave the matter to me," said Amyas. "I have my device, as well

as scholar Frank here; 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," said Will. "Let us have another

tankard in."

"And drink the health of Mr. Coffin, and all gallant lads of the

North," said Frank; "and now to my business. I have to take this

runaway youth here home to his mother; and if he will not go

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 have been doing, but my mind is made up."

"Stop," said Cary. "You must stay here tonight; first, for good

fellowship's sake; and next, because I want the advice of our

Phoenix here, our oracle, our paragon. There, Mr. Frank, can you

construe that for me? Speak low, though, gentlemen both; there

comes my father; you had better give me the letter again. Well,

father, whence this morning?"

"Eh, company here? Young men, you are always welcome, and such as

you. Would there were more of your sort in these dirty times! How

is your good 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. Tell

Jewell to go up and bring her in before night. And then up the

forty acres; sprang two coveys, and picked a leash out of them.

The Irish hawk flies as wild as any haggard still, and will never

make a bird. I had to hand her to Tom, and take the little

peregrine. Give me a Clovelly hawk against the world, after all;

and--heigh ho, I am very hungry! Half-past twelve, and dinner not

served? What, Master Amyas, spoiling your appetite with strong

ale? Better have tried sack, lad; have some now with me."

And the worthy old gentleman, having finished his oration, settled

himself on a great bench inside the chimney, and put his hawk on a

perch over his head, while his cockers coiled themselves up close

to the warm peat-ashes, and his son set to work to pull off his

father's boots, amid sundry warnings to take care of his corns.

"Come, Master Amyas, a pint of white wine and sugar, 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 I have drunk a mort of outlandish

liquors, better and worse, in the last three years, and yet never

found aught to come up to good ale, which needs neither shoeing-

horn before nor after, but takes care of itself, and of all honest

stomachs too, I think."

"You speak like a book, boy," said old Cary; "and after all, what a

plague comes of these newfangled hot wines, and aqua vitaes, which

have come in since the wars, but maddening of the brains, and fever

of the blood?"

"I fear we have not seen the end of that yet," said Frank. "My

friends write me from the Netherlands that our men are falling into

a swinish trick of swilling like the Hollanders. Heaven grant that

they may not bring home the fashion with them."

"A man must drink, they say, or die of the ague, in those vile

swamps," said Amyas. "When they get home here, they will not need

it."

"Heaven grant it," said Frank; "I should 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, that Devonshire is her right hand, and the

young children thereof like the arrows in the hand of the giant."

"They may well be," said his son, "when some of them are giants

themselves, like my tall school-fellow opposite."

"He will be up and doing again presently, I'll warrant him," said

old Cary.

"And that I shall," quoth Amyas. "I have been devising brave

deeds; and see in the 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 meant than met the ear.

"Yes," said Amyas, turning off his jest again, "I go to what

Raleigh calls the Land of the Nymphs. Another month, I hope, will

see me abroad in Ireland."

"Abroad? Call it rather at home," said old Cary; "for it is full

of Devon men from end to end, and you will be among friends all day

long. George Bourchier from Tawstock has the army now in Munster,

and Warham St. Leger is marshal; George Carew is with Lord Grey of

Wilton (Poor Peter Carew was killed at Glendalough); and after the

defeat last year, when that villain Desmond cut off Herbert and

Price, the companies were made up with six hundred Devon men, and

Arthur Fortescue at their head; so that the old county holds her

head as proudly in the Land of Ire as she does in the Low Countries

and the Spanish Main."

"And where," asked Amyas, "is Davils of 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, "that is a sad story. I thought all

England had known it."

"You forget, sir, I am a stranger. Surely he is not dead?"

"Murdered foully, lad! Murdered like a dog, 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't cry out again. I am getting

old--I must tell my story my own way. It was last July,--was it

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 the Pope, and the devil knows what beside; and with him

James Fitzmaurice, the same fellow who had sworn on his knees to

Perrott, in the church at Kilmallock, to be a true liegeman to

Queen Elizabeth, and confirmed it by all his saints, and such a

world of his Irish howling, that Perrott told me he was fain to

stop his own ears. Well, he had been practising with the King of

France, but got nothing but laughter for his pains, and so went

over to the Most Catholic King, and promises him to join Ireland to

Spain, and set up Popery again, and what not. And he, I suppose,

thinking it better that Ireland should belong to him than to the

Pope's bastard, fits him out, and sends him off on such another

errand as Stukely's,--though I will say, for the honor of Devon, if

Stukely lived like a fool, he died like an honest man."

"Sir Thomas Stukely dead too?" said Amyas.

"Wait a while, lad, and you shall have that tragedy afterwards.

Well, where was I? Oh, Fitzmaurice and the Jesuits land at

Smerwick, with three ships, choose a place for a fort, bless it

with their holy water, and their moppings and their scourings, and

the rest of it, to purify it from the stain of heretic dominion;

but in the meanwhile one of the Courtenays,--a Courtenay of

Haccombe, was it?--or a Courtenay of Boconnock? Silence, Will, I

shall have it in a minute--yes, a Courtenay of Haccombe it was,

lying at anchor near by, in a ship of war of his, cuts out the

three ships, and cuts off the Dons from the sea. John and James

Desmond, with some small rabble, go over to the Spaniards. Earl

Desmond will not join them, but will not fight them, and stands by

to take the winning side; and then in comes poor Davils, sent down

by the Lord Deputy to charge Desmond and his brothers, in the

queen's name, to assault the Spaniards. Folks say it was rash of

his lordship: but I say, what could be better done? Every one

knows that there never was a stouter or shrewder soldier than

Davils; and the young Desmonds, I have heard him say many a time,

used to look on him as their father. But he found out what it was

to trust Englishmen turned Irish. Well, the Desmonds found out on

a sudden that the Dons were such desperate Paladins, that it was

madness to meddle, though they were five to one; and poor Davils,

seeing that there was no fight in them, goes back for help, and

sleeps that night at some place called Tralee. Arthur Carter of

Bideford, St. Leger's lieutenant, as stout an old soldier as 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 of night, who should come in but James Desmond, sword in

hand, with a dozen of his ruffians at his heels, each with his glib

over his ugly face, and his skene in his hand. Davils springs up

in bed, and asks but this, 'What is the matter, my son?' whereon

the treacherous villain, without giving him time to say a prayer,

strikes at him, naked as he was, crying, 'Thou shalt be my father

no longer, nor I thy son! Thou shalt die!' and at that all the

rest fall on him. The poor little lad (so he says) leaps up to

cover his master with his naked body, gets three or four stabs of

skenes, and so falls for dead; with his master and Captain Carter,

who were dead indeed--God reward them! After that the ruffians

ransacked the house, till they had murdered every Englishman in it,

the lacquey-boy only excepted, who crawled out, wounded as he was,

through a window; while Desmond, if you will believe it, went back,

up to his elbows in blood, and vaunted his deeds to the Spaniards,

and asked them--'There! Will you take that as a pledge that I am

faithful to you?' And that, my lad, was the end of Henry Davils,

and will be of all who trust to the faith of wild savages."

"I would go a hundred miles to see that Desmond hanged!" said

Amyas, while great tears ran down his face. "Poor Mr. Davils! And

now, what is the story of Sir Thomas?"

"Your brother must tell you that, lad; I am somewhat out of

breath."

"And I have a right to tell it," said Frank, with a smile. "Do you

know that I was very near being Earl of the bog of Allen, and one

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 Rome I saw poor Stukely often;

and this and more he offered me on the part (as he said) of the

Pope, if I would just oblige him in the two little matters of being

reconciled to the Catholic Church, and joining the invasion of

Ireland."

"Poor deluded heretic," said Will Cary, "to have lost an earldom

for your family by such silly scruples of loyalty!"

"It is not a matter for jesting, after all," said Frank; "but I saw

Sir Thomas often, and I cannot believe he was in his senses, so

frantic was his vanity and his ambition; and all the while, in

private matters as honorable a gentleman as ever. However, he

sailed at last for Ireland, with his eight hundred Spaniards and

Italians; and what is more, I know that the King of Spain paid

their charges. Marquis Vinola--James Buoncompagna, that is--stayed

quietly at Rome, preferring that Stukely should conquer his

paternal heritage of Ireland for him while he took care of the bona

robas at home. I went down to Civita Vecchia to see him off; and

though his younger by many years, I could not but take the liberty

of entreating him, as a gentleman and a man of Devon, to consider

his faith to his queen and the honor of his country. There were

high words between 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 as for the weal of England, I knew that

it was little he would damage it, and told him so. And at that he

waxed utterly mad, for it touched his pride, and swore that if the

wind had not been fair for sailing, he would have fought me there

and then; to which I could only answer, that I was ready to meet

him when he would; and he parted from me, saying, 'It is a pity,

sir, I cannot fight you now; when next we meet, it will be beneath

my dignity to measure swords with you.'

"I suppose he expected to come back a prince at least--Heaven

knows; I owe him no ill-will, nor I hope does any man. He has paid

all debts now 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 his new ally, Mohammed the Prince of Fez,

to help King Abdallah, and conquer what he could. He persuaded

Stukely to go with him. There were those who thought that he, as

well as the Spaniards, had no stomach for seeing the Pope's son

King of Ireland. Others used to say that he thought an island too

small for his ambition, and must needs conquer a continent--I know

not why it was, but he went. They had heavy weather in the

passage; and when they landed, many of their soldiers were sea-

sick. Stukely, reasonably enough, counselled that they should wait

two or three days and recruit; but Don Sebastian was so mad for the

assault that he must needs have his veni, vidi, vici; and so ended

with a veni, vidi, perii; for he Abdallah, and his son Mohammed,

all perished in the first battle at Alcasar; and Stukely,

surrounded and overpowered, fought till he could fight no more, and

then died like a hero with all his wounds in front; and may God

have mercy on his soul!"

"Ah!" said Amyas, "we heard of that battle 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 wish God 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 cannot help 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 somewhat the younger; and many a good

thrashing have I given him, and one cannot help having a tenderness

for a man after that. Beside, we used to hunt together in Exmoor,

and have royal nights afterward into Ilfracombe, when we were a

couple of mad young blades. Fond of him? Why, I would have sooner

given my forefinger than 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 God may 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 heroical souls, who have wanted

but little of true greatness, are hereafter by some strait

discipline brought to a better mind; perhaps, as many ancients have

held with the Indian Gymnosophists, by transmigration into the

bodies of those animals whom they have resembled in their passions;

and indeed, if Sir Thomas Stukely's soul should now animate the

body of a lion, all I can say is that he would be a very valiant

and royal lion; and also doubtless become in due time heartily

ashamed and penitent for having been nothing better than a lion."

"What now, Master Frank? I don't trouble my head with such

matters--I say Stukely 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

knock to dinner."

After a madrigal or two, and an Italian song of Master Frank's, all

which went sweetly enough, the ladies rose, and went. Whereon Will

Cary, drawing his chair close to Frank's, put quietly into his hand

a dirty letter.

"This was the letter left for me," whispered he, "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

By deer park end to-night.

Yf Irish ffoxe com out of rocks

Grip and hold hym tight."

"I would have showed it my father," said Will, "but--"

"I verily believe it to be a blind. See now, this is the

handwriting of a man who has been trying to write vilely, and yet

cannot. Look at that B, and that G; their formae formativae never

were begotten 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 nothing therefore?"

"On that matter I am no judge. Let us ask much-enduring Ulysses

here; perhaps he has not sailed round the world without bringing

home a device or two."

Whereon Amyas was called to counsel, as soon as Mr. Cary could be

stopped in a long cross-examination of him as to Mr. Doughty's

famous trial and execution.

Amyas pondered awhile, thrusting his hands into his long curls; and

then--

"Will, my lad, have you been watching at the Deer 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! Above Freshwater."

"Where is Freshwater?"

"Why, where the water-fall comes over the cliff, half-a-mile from

the town. There is a path there up into the forest."

"I know. I'll watch there to-night. Do you keep all your old

haunts safe, of course, and send a couple of stout knaves to the

mill, to watch the beach at the Deer Park End, on the chance; for

your poet may be a true man, after all. But my heart's faith is,

that this comes just to draw you off from some old beat of yours,

upon a wild-goose chase. If they shoot the miller by mistake, I

suppose it don't much matter?"

"Marry, no."

"'When a miller's knock'd on the head,

The less of flour makes the more of bread.'"

"Or, again," chimed in old Mr. Cary, "as they say in the North--

"'Find a miller that will not steal,

Or a webster that is leal,

Or a priest that is not greedy,

And lay them three a dead corpse by;

And by the virtue of them three,

The said dead corpse shall quicken'd be.'"

"But why are you so ready to watch Freshwater to-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, they are too wise, as long as the westerly swell sets

in. As for landing at the town, that would be too great a risk;

but Freshwater is as lonely as the Bermudas; and they can beach a

boat up under the cliff at all tides, 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 now in your old age, eh?

Well, you have a gray head on green shoulders, my lad; and I verily

believe you are right. Who will you take with you to watch?"

"Sir," said Frank, "I will go with my brother; and that will be

enough."

"Enough? He is big enough, and you brave enough, for ten; but

still, the more the merrier."

"But the fewer, the better fare. If I might ask a first and last

favor, worshipful sir," said Frank, very earnestly, "you would

grant me two things: that you would let none go to Freshwater but

me and my brother; and that whatsoever we shall bring you back

shall be kept as secret as the 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 whatsoever we may do will

satisfy at once your honor and our own."

"My dear young gentleman, there is no need of so many courtier's

words. I am your father's friend, and yours. And God forbid that

a Cary--for I guess your drift--should ever wish to make a head or

a heart ache; that is, more than--"

"Those of whom it is written, 'Though thou bray a fool in a mortar,

yet will not his folly depart from him,'" interposed Frank, in so

sad a tone that no one at the table replied; and few more words

were exchanged, till the two brothers were safe outside the house;

and then--

"Amyas," said Frank, "that was a Devon man's handiwork,

nevertheless; it was Eustace's handwriting."

"Impossible!"

"No, lad. I have been secretary to a prince, and learnt to

interpret cipher, and to watch every pen-stroke; and, young as I

am, I think that I am not easily deceived. Would God I were! Come

on, lad; and strike no man hastily, lest thou cut off 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 far below them, the bright slate roofs

and white walls glittering in the moonlight; and on some half-mile

farther, along the steep hill-side, fenced with oak wood down to

the water's edge, by a narrow forest path, to a point where two

glens meet and pour their streamlets over a cascade some hundred

feet in height into the sea below. By the side of this waterfall a

narrow path climbs upward from the beach; and here it was that the

two brothers expected to meet the messenger.

Frank insisted on taking his station below Amyas. He said that he

was certain that Eustace himself would make his appearance, and

that he was more fit than Amyas to bring him to reason by parley;

that if Amyas would keep watch some twenty yards above, the escape

of the messenger would be impossible. Moreover, he was the elder

brother, and the post of honor was his right. So Amyas obeyed him,

after making him promise that if more than one man came up the

path, he would let them pass him before he challenged, so that 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 eye steadily on Frank, who sat down

on a little knoll of rock (where is now a garden on the cliff-edge)

which parts the path and the dark chasm down which the stream

rushes to its final leap over the cliff.

There Amyas sat a full half-hour, and glanced at whiles from Frank

to look upon the scene around. Outside the southwest wind blew

fresh and strong, and the moonlight danced upon a thousand crests

of foam; but within the black jagged point which sheltered the

town, the sea did but heave, in long oily swells of rolling silver,

onward into the black shadow of the hills, within which the town

and pier lay invisible, save where a twinkling light gave token of

some lonely fisher's wife, watching the weary night through for the

boat which would return with dawn. Here and there upon the sea, a

black speck marked a herring-boat, drifting with its line of nets;

and right off the mouth of the glen, Amyas saw, with a beating

heart, a large two-masted vessel lying-to--that must be the

"Portugal"! Eagerly he looked up the glen, and listened; but he

heard nothing but the sweeping of the wind across the downs five

hundred feet above, and the sough of the waterfall upon the rocks

below; he saw nothing but the vast black sheets of oak-wood sloping

up to the narrow blue sky above, and the broad bright hunter's

moon, and the woodcocks, which, chuckling to each other, hawked to

and fro, like swallows, between the tree-tops and the sky.

At last he heard a rustle of the fallen leaves; he shrank closer

and closer into the darkness of the bank. Then swift light steps--

not down the path, from above, but upward, from below; his heart

beat quick and loud. And in another half-minute a man came in

sight, within three yards of Frank's hiding-place.

Frank sprang out instantly. Amyas saw his bright blade glance in

the clear October moonlight.

"Stand in the queen's name!"

The man drew a pistol from under his cloak, and fired full in his

face. Had it happened in these days of detonators, Frank's chance

had been small; but to get a ponderous wheel-lock under weigh was a

longer business, and before the fizzing of the flint had ceased,

Frank had struck up the pistol with his rapier, and it exploded

harmlessly over his head. The man instantly dashed the weapon in

his face and closed.

The blow, luckily, did not take effect on that delicate forehead,

but struck him on the shoulder: nevertheless, Frank, who with all

his grace and agility was as fragile as 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

blows fiercely repeated.

Mad with fury, he was with them in an instant. They were scuffling

together so closely in the shade that he was afraid to use his

sword point; but with the hilt he dealt a single blow full on the

ruffian's cheek. It was enough; with a hideous shriek, the fellow

rolled over at his feet, and Amyas set his foot on him, in act to

run him through.

"Stop! stay!" almost screamed Frank; "it is Eustace! our cousin

Eustace!" and he leant against a tree.

Amyas sprang towards him: but Frank waved him off.

"It is nothing--a scratch. He has papers: I am sure of it. Take

them; and for God's sake let him go!"

"Villain! give me your papers!" cried Amyas, setting his foot once

more on the writhing Eustace, whose jaw was broken across.

"You struck me foully from behind," moaned he, his vanity and envy

even then coming out, in that faint and foolish attempt to prove

Amyas not so very much better a man.

"Hound, do you think that I dare not strike you in front? Give me

your papers, letters, whatever Popish devilry you carry; or as I

live, I will cut off your head, and take them myself, even if it

cost me the shame of stripping your corpse. Give them up!

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 consummated selon 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; and as he

lay, a stream of moonlight bathed his mighty cousin's broad clear

forehead, and his long golden locks, and his white terrible blade,

till he seemed, to Eustace's superstitious eye, like one of those

fair young St. Michaels trampling on the fiend, which he had seen

abroad in old German pictures. He shuddered; pulled a packet from

his bosom, and threw it from him, murmuring, "I have not given it."

"Swear to me that these are all the papers which you have in cipher

or out of cipher. Swear on your soul, or you die!"

Eustace swore.

"Tell me, who are your accomplices?"

"Never!" said Eustace. "Cruel! have you not degraded me enough

already?" and the wretched young man burst into tears, and hid his

bleeding 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 Eustace went; while Amyas, catching up the

precious packet, hurried to Frank. He had fainted already, and his

brother had to carry him as far as the park before he could find

any of the other watchers. The blind, as far as they were

concerned, was complete. They had heard and seen nothing.

Whosoever had brought the packet had landed they knew not where;

and so all returned to the court, carrying Frank, who recovered

gradually, having rather bruises than wounds; for his foe had

struck wildly, and with a trembling hand.

Half-an-hour after, Amyas, Mr. Cary, and his son Will were 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 the cause, that S.

Josephus has landed in Smerwick, with eight hundred valiant

Crusaders, burning with holy zeal to imitate last year's martyrs of

Carrigfolium, and to expiate their offences (which I fear may have

been many) by the propagation of our most holy faith. I have

purified the fort (which they are strenuously rebuilding) with

prayer and holy water, from the stain of heretical footsteps, and

consecrated it afresh to the service of Heaven, as the first-fruits

of the isle of saints; and having displayed the consecrated banner

to the adoration of the faithful, have returned to Earl Desmond,

that I may establish his faith, weak as yet, by reason of the

allurements of this world: though since, by the valor of his

brother James, he that hindered was taken out of the way (I mean

Davils the heretic, sacrifice well-pleasing in the eyes of

Heaven!), the young man has lent a more obedient ear to my

counsels. If you can do anything, do it quickly, 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 at the fury

of the heretics, that a hundred will flee before one Englishman.

And, indeed, were it not for that divine charity toward the Church

(which covers the multitude of sins) with which they are

resplendent, neither they nor their country would be, by the carnal

judgment, counted worthy of so great labor in their behalf. For

they themselves are given much to lying, theft, and drunkenness,

vain babbling, and profane dancing and singing; and are still, as

S. Gildas reports of them, 'more careful to shroud their villainous

faces in bushy hair, than decently to cover their bodies; while

their land (by reason of the tyranny of their chieftains, and the

continual wars and plunderings among their tribes, which leave them

weak and divided, an easy prey to the myrmidons of the

excommunicate and usurping Englishwoman) lies utterly waste with

fire, and defaced with corpses of the starved and slain. But what

are these things, while the holy virtue of Catholic obedience still

flourishes in their hearts? The Church cares not for the

conservation of body and goods, but of immortal souls.

"If any devout lady shall so will, you may obtain from her

liberality a shirt for this worthless tabernacle, and also a pair

of hose; for I am unsavory to myself and to others, and of such

luxuries none here has superfluity; for all live in holy poverty,

except the fleas, who have that consolation in this world for which

this unhappy nation, and those who labor among them, must wait till

the world to come.*

"Your loving brother,

"N. S."

• See note at end of chapter.

"Sir Richard must know of this before daybreak," cried old Cary.

"Eight hundred men landed! We must call out the Posse Comitatus,

and sail with them bodily. I will go myself, old as I am.

Spaniards in Ireland? not a dog of them must go home again."

"Not a dog of them," answered Will; "but where is Mr. Winter and

his squadron?"

"Safe in Milford Haven; a messenger must be sent to him too."

"I'll go," said Amyas: "but Mr. Cary is right. Sir Richard must

know all first."

"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," said old Mr. Cary, gently:

"would it not be rank treason to let these foxes escape, while we

have this damning proof against them?"

"I will go myself, then."

"Why not? You may keep all straight, and Will shall go with you.

Call a groom, Will, and get your horse saddled, and my Yorkshire

gray; he will make better play with this big fellow on his back,

than the little pony astride of which Mr. Leigh came walking 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 week or 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 warm one, and away!"

And the jolly old man bustled them out of the house and into their

saddles, under the broad bright winter's moon.

"You must make your pace, lads, or the moon will 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 object of saving the honor of his house;

and Will, because he was hesitating between Ireland and the wars,

and Rose Salterne and love-making. At last he spoke suddenly.

"I'll go, Amyas."

"Whither?"

"To Ireland with you, old man. I have dragged my 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 without their thorns."

"Hillo! I have seen oysters grow on fruit-trees before 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 like a jolly breeze, blowing dead from

the northeast, and as bitter and cross as a northeaster too, and

tugs me away toward Ireland. I hold on by the rosebed--any ground

in a storm--till every strand is parted, and off I go, westward ho!

to get my throat cut 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 Bower still, though," said

Will, punning on the double name of the noble precipice which forms

the highest point of the deer park.

"Well, as long as you are on land, you know it is Gallantry Bower

still: but we always call it 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 meanwhile being not

a little content (in spite of his late self-renunciation) to find

that one of his rivals at least was going to 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 our left?"

"On our left--coming up from Welsford moor? 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 us stand and watch."

Bursdon and Welsford were then, as now, a rolling range of dreary

moors, unbroken by tor or tree, or anything save few and far

between a world-old furze-bank which marked the common rights of

some distant cattle farm, and crossed. then, not as now, by a

decent road, but by a rough confused track-way, the remnant of an

old Roman road from Clovelly dikes to Launceston. To the left it

trended down towards a lower range of moors, which form the

watershed of the heads of Torridge; and thither the two young men

peered down over the expanse of bog and furze, which glittered for

miles beneath the moon, one sheet of frosted silver, in the heavy

autumn dew.

"If any of Eustace's party are trying to get home from Freshwater,

they might save a couple of miles by coming across Welsford,

instead of going by the main track, as we have done." So said

Amyas, who though (luckily for him) no "genius," was cunning as a

fox in all matters of tactic and practic, and would have in these

days proved his right to be considered an intellectual person by

being a thorough man of business.

"If any of his party are mad, they'll try 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 dodged us! Look

there!"

It was too true. The unknown horseman had evidently dismounted

below, and led his horse up on the other side of a long furze-dike;

till coming to the point where it turned away again from his

intended course, he appeared against the sky, in the act of leading

his nag over a gap.

"Ride like the wind!" and both youths galloped across furze and

heather at him; but ere they were within a hundred yards of him, he

had leapt again 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 after as you can, old

heavysides;" and Cary pushed forward.

Amyas lost sight of him for ten minutes, and then came up with him

dismounted, and feeling disconsolately at his horse's knees.

"Look for my head. It lies somewhere about among the furze there;

and oh! I am as full of needles 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 where is my cousin?"

"Behind us, I dare say. We shall nab him at least."

"Cary, promise me that if we do, you will keep out of sight, and

let me manage him."

"My boy, I only want Evan Morgans and Morgan Evans. He is but the

cat's paw, and we are after the cats themselves."

And so they went on another dreary six miles, till the land trended

downwards, showing dark glens and masses of woodland far below.

"Now, then, straight to Chapel, and stop the foxes' earth? Or

through the King's Park 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 whatsoever he decides about my

uncle, I will endure as a loyal subject must."

So they rode through the King's Park, while Sir Richard's colts

came whinnying and staring round the intruders, and down through a

rich woodland lane five hundred feet into the valley, till they

could hear the brawling of the little trout-stream, and beyond, the

everlasting thunder of the ocean surf.

Down through warm woods, all fragrant with dying autumn flowers,

leaving far above the keen Atlantic breeze, into one of those

delicious Western combes, and so past the mill, and the little knot

of flower-clad cottages. In the window of one of them a light was

still burning. The two young men knew well whose 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," said Amyas, as carelessly as he

could.

Cary looked earnestly at the window, and then sharply enough at

Amyas; but Amyas was busy settling his stirrup; and Cary rode on,

unconscious that every fibre in his companion's huge frame was

trembling like his own.

"Muggy and close down here," said Amyas, who, in reality, was quite

faint with his own inward struggles.

"We shall be at Stow gate in five minutes," said Cary, looking back

and down longingly as his horse climbed the opposite hill; but a

turn of the zigzag road hid the cottage, and the next thought was,

how to effect an entrance into Stow at three in the morning without

being eaten by the ban-dogs, who were already howling and growling

at the sound of the horse-hoofs.

However, they got safely in, after much knocking and calling,

through the postern gate in the high west wall, into a mansion, the

description whereof I must defer to the next chapter, seeing that

the moon has already sunk into the Atlantic, and there is darkness

over land and sea.

Sir Richard, in his long gown, was soon downstairs in the hall; the

letter read, and the story told; but ere it was half finished--

"Anthony, call up a groom, and let him bring me a horse round.

Gentlemen, if you will excuse me five minutes, I shall be at your

service."

"You will not go alone, Richard?" asked Lady Grenville, putting her

beautiful face in its nightcoif out of an adjoining door.

"Surely, sweet chuck, we three are enough to take two poor polecats

of Jesuits. Go in, and help me to boot and gird."

In half an hour they were down and up across the valley again,

under the few low ashes clipt flat by the sea-breeze which stood

round the lonely gate of Chapel.

"Mr. Cary, there is a back path across the downs to Marsland; go

and guard that." Cary rode off; and Sir Richard, as he knocked

loudly at the gate--

"Mr. Leigh, you see that I have consulted your honor, and that of

your poor uncle, by adventuring thus alone. What will you have me

do now, which may not be unfit for me and you?"

"Oh, sir!" said Amyas, with tears in his honest eyes, "you have

shown yourself once more what you always have been--my dear and

beloved master on earth, not second even to my admiral Sir Francis

Drake."

"Or the queen, I hope," said Grenville, smiling, "but pocas

palabras. What will you do?"

"My wretched cousin, sir, may not have returned--and if I might

watch for him on the main road--unless you 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 sleepy voice asked inside the gate,

"Who was there?"

"Sir Richard Grenville. Open, in the queen's name?"

"Sir Richard? He is in bed, and be hanged to you. No honest folk

come at this hour of night."

"Amyas!" shouted Sir Richard. Amyas rode 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 each other's heads, and in an

instant the door was flat on the ground, and the serving-man on his

back inside, while Sir Richard quietly entering over it, like Una

into the hut, told the fellow to get up and hold his horse for him

(which the clod, who knew well enough that terrible voice, did

without further murmurs), and then strode straight to the front

door. It was already opened. The household had been up and about

all along, or the noise at the entry had aroused 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 this neighborly, not to say

gentle, to break into my house in the dead of night?"

"I broke your outer door, sir, because I was refused entrance when

I asked in the queen's name. I knocked at your inner one, as I

should have knocked at the poorest cottager's in the parish,

because I found it open. You have two Jesuits here, sir! and here

is the queen's warrant for apprehending them. I have signed it

with my own hand, and, moreover, serve it now, with my own hand, in

order to save you scandal--and it may 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 so shameful a necessity?"

"My dear Sir Richard!--"

"Must I, then, ask you to stand back from your own doorway, my dear

sir?" said Grenville. And then changing his voice to that fearful

lion's roar, for which he was famous, and which it seemed

impossible 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 flashed out also, and putting Mr. Leigh

gently aside, as if he had been a child, he walked up to the party,

who vanished right and left; having expected a cur dog, in the

shape of a parish constable, and come upon a lion instead. They

were stout fellows enough, no doubt, in a fair fight: but they had

no stomach to be hanged in a row at Launceston Castle, after a

preliminary running through the body by that redoubted admiral and

most unpeaceful justice of the peace.

"And now, my dear Mr. Leigh," said Sir Richard, as blandly as ever,

"where are my men? The night is cold; and you, as well as I, need

to be in our beds."

"The men, Sir Richard--the Jesuits--they are not here, indeed."

"Not here, sir?"

"On the word of a gentleman, they left my house an hour ago.

Believe me, sir, they did. I will swear to you if you need."

"I believe Mr. Leigh of Chapel's word without oaths. Whither are

they gone?"

"Nay, sir--how can I tell? They are--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 punishment of 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 keeping these black rascals in my house, and

having to stop their villainous mouths every minute, for fear they

should hang me and themselves, I am to be called a traitor and a

liar in my old age, and that, too, by Richard Grenville! Would God

I had never been born! Would God I had no soul to be saved, and

I'd just go and drown care in drink, and let the queen and the Pope

fight it out their own way!" And the poor old man sank into a

chair, and covered his face with his hands, and then leaped up

again.

"Bless my heart! Excuse me, Sir Richard--to sit 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 with me into

my room, and hear a poor wretched man's story, for I swear before

God the men are fled; and my poor boy Eustace is not home either,

and the groom tells me that his devil of a cousin has broken his

jaw for him; and his mother is all but mad this hour past. 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 walks God's earth, struck him down. And

in defence of what, forsooth, did he play the ruffian and the

swashbuckler, but to bring home to your house this letter, 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 called to Cary to come to him.

"The birds are flown, Will," whispered he. "There is but one

chance for us, and that is Marsland Mouth. If they are trying to

take boat there, you may be yet in time. If they are gone inland

we can do nothing till we raise the hue and cry to-morrow."

And Will galloped off over the downs toward Marsland, while Sir

Richard ceremoniously walked in again, and professed himself ready

and happy to have the honor of an audience in Mr. Leigh's private

chamber. And as we know pretty well already what was to be

discussed therein, we had better go over to Marsland Mouth, and, if

possible, arrive there before Will Cary: seeing that he arrived hot

and swearing, half an hour too late.

Note.--I have shrunk somewhat from giving these and other sketches

(true and accurate as I believe them to be) of Ireland during

Elizabeth's reign, when the tyranny and lawlessness of the feudal

chiefs had reduced the island to such a state of weakness and

barbarism, that it was absolutely necessary for England either to

crush the Norman-Irish nobility, and organize some sort of law and

order, or to leave Ireland an easy prey to the Spaniards, or any

other nation which should go to war with us. The work was done--

clumsily rather than cruelly; but wrongs were inflicted, and

avenged by fresh wrongs, and those by fresh again. May the memory

of them perish forever! It has been reserved for this age, and for

the liberal policy of this age, to see the last ebullitions of

Celtic excitability die out harmless and ashamed of itself, and to

find that the Irishman, when he is brought as a soldier under the

regenerative influence of law, discipline, self-respect, and

loyalty, can prove himself a worthy rival of the more stern Norse-

Saxon warrior. God grant that the military brotherhood between

Irish and English, which is the special glory of the present war,

may be the germ of a brotherhood industrial, political, and

hereafter, perhaps, religious also; and that not merely the corpses

of heroes, but the feuds and wrongs which have parted them for

centuries, may lie buried, once and forever, in the noble graves of

Alma and Inkerman.

CHAPTER VI

THE COMBES OF THE FAR WEST

"Far, far from hence

The 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."

MATTHEW ARNOLD.

And even such are those delightful glens, which cut the 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 is like 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 smooth turf, then of

weird black cliffs which range out right and left far into the deep

sea, in castles, spires, and wings of jagged iron-stone. Each has

its narrow strip of fertile meadow, its crystal trout stream

winding across and across from one hill-foot to the other; its gray

stone mill, with the water sparkling and humming round the dripping

wheel; its dark, rock pools above the tide mark, where the salmon-

trout gather in from their Atlantic wanderings, after each autumn

flood: its ridge of blown sand, bright with golden trefoil and

crimson lady's finger; its gray bank of polished pebbles, down

which the stream rattles toward the sea below. Each has its black

field of jagged shark's-tooth rock which paves the cove from side

to side, streaked with here and there a pink line of shell sand,

and laced with white foam from the eternal surge, stretching in

parallel lines out to the westward, in strata set upright on edge,

or tilted towards each other at strange angles by primeval

earthquakes;--such is the "mouth"--as those coves are called; and

such the jaw of teeth which they display, one rasp of which would

grind abroad the timbers of the stoutest ship. To landward, all

richness, softness, and peace; to seaward, a waste and howling

wilderness of rock and roller, barren to the fisherman, and

hopeless to the shipwrecked mariner.

In only one of these "mouths" is a landing for 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 White

Witch, Lucy Passmore; whither, as Sir Richard Grenville rightly

judged, the Jesuits were gone. But before the Jesuits came, two

other persons were standing on 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 danger of the spell, had kept her

appointment; and, a few minutes before midnight, stood on the gray

shingle beach with her counsellor.

"You be safe enough here to-night, miss. My old man is snoring

sound abed, and there's no 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 be up here on the pebbles."

Rose pointed to a strip of sand some forty yards nearer the sea,

where the boat lay.

"Oh, the lazy old villain! he's been round the rocks after pollock

this evening, and never taken the trouble to hale the boat up.

I'll trounce him for it when I get home. I only hope he's made her

fast where she is, that's all! He's more plague to me than ever my

money will be. O deary me!"

And the goodwife bustled down toward the boat, with Rose behind

her.

"Iss, 'tis fast, sure enough: and the 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 all alone to yourself, you know, or you'll see

nothing. There's the looking-glass; now go, and dip your head

three times, and mind you don't look to land or sea before you've

said the words, and looked upon the glass. Now, be quick, it's

just upon midnight."

And she coiled herself up in the boat, while Rose went faltering

down the strip of sand, some twenty yards farther, and there

slipping off her clothes, stood shivering and trembling for a

moment before she entered the sea.

She was between two walls of rock: that on her left hand, some

twenty feet high, hid her in deepest shade; that on her right,

though much lower, took the whole blaze of the midnight moon.

Great festoons of live and purple sea-weed hung from it, shading

dark cracks and crevices, fit haunts for all the goblins of the

sea. On her left hand, the peaks of the rock 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 broke the perfect

stillness of the cove. The gulls were all asleep upon the ledges.

Over all was a true autumn silence; a silence which may be heard.

She stood awed, and listened in hope of a sound which might tell

her that any living thing beside herself existed.

There was a faint bleat, as of a new-born lamb, high above her

head; she started and looked up. Then a wail from the cliffs, as

of a child in pain, answered by another from the opposite rocks.

They were but the passing snipe, and the otter calling to her

brood; but to her they were mysterious, supernatural goblins, come

to answer to her call. Nevertheless, they only quickened her

expectation; and the witch had told her not to fear them. If she

performed the rite duly, nothing would harm her: but she could 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 was bathed in

lambent light; all the multitudinous life of the autumn sea,

stirred by her approach, had flashed suddenly into glory;--

"And around her the lamps of the sea nymphs,

Myriad fiery globes, swam heaving and panting, and rainbows,

Crimson and azure and emerald, were broken in star-showers, lighting

Far through the wine-dark depths of the crystal, the gardens of Nereus,

Coral and sea-fan and tangle, the blooms and the palms of the ocean."

She could see every shell which crawled on the white sand at her

feet, every rock-fish which played in and out of the crannies, and

stared at her with its broad bright eyes; while the great palmate

oarweeds which waved along the chasm, half-seen in the glimmering

water, seemed to beckon her down with long brown hands to a grave

amid their chilly bowers. She turned to flee; but she had gone too

far now to retreat; hastily dipping her head three times, she

hurried out to the sea-marge, and looking through her dripping

locks at the magic mirror, pronounced the incantation--

"A maiden pure, here I stand,

Neither on sea, nor yet on land;

Angels watch me on either hand.

If you be landsman, come down the strand;

If you be sailor, come up the sand;

If you be angel, come from the sky,

Look in my glass, and pass me by;

Look in my glass, and go from the shore;

Leave me, but love me for evermore."

The incantation was hardly finished, her eyes were straining into

the mirror, where, as may be supposed, nothing appeared but the

sparkle of the drops from her own tresses, when she heard rattling

down the pebbles the hasty feet of men and horses.

She darted into a cavern of the high rock, and hastily dressed

herself: the steps held on right to the boat. Peeping out, half-

dead with terror, she saw there four men, two of whom had just

leaped from their horses, and turning them adrift, began to help

the other two in running the boat down.

Whereon, out of the stern sheets, arose, like an angry ghost, the

portly figure of Lucy Passmore, and shrieked in shrillest treble--

"Eh! ye villains, ye roogs, what do ye want staling poor folks'

boats by night like this?"

The whole party recoiled in terror, and one turned to run up the

beach, shouting at the top of his voice, "'Tis a marmaiden--a

marmaiden asleep in Willy Passmore's boat!"

"I wish it were any sich good luck," she could hear Will say; "'tis

my wife, oh dear!" and he cowered down, expecting the hearty cuff

which he received duly, as the White Witch, leaping out of the

boat, dared any man to touch it, and thundered to her husband to go

home to bed.

The wily dame, as Rose well guessed, was keeping up this delay

chiefly to gain time for her pupil: but she had also more solid

reasons for making the fight as hard as possible; for she, as well

as Rose, had already discerned in the ungainly figure of one of the

party the same suspicious Welsh gentleman, on whose calling she had

divined long ago; and she was so loyal a subject as to hold in

extreme horror her husband's meddling with such "Popish skulkers"

(as she called the whole party roundly to their face)--unless on

consideration of a very handsome sum of money. In vain Parsons

thundered, Campian entreated, Mr. Leigh's groom swore, and her

husband danced round in an agony of mingled fear and covetousness.

"No," she cried, "as I am an honest woman and loyal! This is why

you left the boat down to the shoore, you old traitor, you, is it?

To help off sich noxious trade as this out of the hands of her

majesty's quorum and rotulorum? Eh? Stand back, cowards! Will

you strike a woman?"

This last speech (as usual) was merely indicative of her intention

to strike the men; for, getting out one of the oars, she swung it

round and round fiercely, and at last caught Father Parsons such a

crack across the shins, that he retreated with a howl.

"Lucy, Lucy!" shrieked her husband, in shrillest Devon falsetto,

"be you mazed? Be you mazed, lass? They promised me two gold

nobles before I'd lend them the boot!"

"Tu?" shrieked the matron, with a tone of ineffable scorn. "And do

yu call yourself a man?"

"Tu nobles! tu nobles!" shrieked he again, hopping about at oar's

length.

"Tu? And would you sell your soul under ten?"

"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 faemina possit!

Certainly she is some Lamia, some Gorgon, some--"

"Take that, for your Lamys and Gorgons to an honest woman!" and in

a moment poor Campian's thin legs were cut from under him, while

the virago, "mounting on his trunk astride," like that more famous

one on Hudibras, cried, "Ten nobles, or I'll kep ye here till

morning!" And the 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 where poor little Rose was

squeezing herself into the farthest and darkest corner, among wet

sea-weed and rough barnacles, holding her breath as they

approached.

They passed her, and the boat's keel was already in the water; Lucy

had followed them close, for reasons of her own, and perceiving

close to the water's edge a dark cavern, cunningly surmised that it

contained Rose, and planted her ample person right across its

mouth, while she grumbled at her husband, the strangers, and above

all at Mr. Leigh's groom, to whom she prophesied pretty plainly

Launceston gaol and the gallows; while the wretched serving-man,

who would as soon have dared to leap off Welcombe Cliff as to

return railing for railing to the White Witch, in vain entreated

her mercy, and tried, by all possible dodging, to keep one of the

party between himself and 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 halloo was heard upon the beach, and a minute

after, a horseman plunged down the pebbles, and along the sand, and

pulling his horse up on its haunches close to the terrified group,

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; and drawing, 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's men! Oh, sir, you're hurt!"

"A scratch, a scratch!" almost moaned Eustace. "Help me into the

boat, Jack. Gentlemen, I must with you."

"Not with us, surely, my dear son, vagabonds upon the face of the

earth?" said kind-hearted Campian.

"With you, forever. All is over here. Whither God and the cause

lead"--and he staggered toward the boat.

As he passed Rose, she saw his ghastly bleeding face, half bound up

with a handkerchief, which could not conceal the convulsions of

rage, shame, and despair, which twisted it from all its usual

beauty. His eyes glared wildly round--and once, right into the

cavern. They met hers, so full, and keen, and dreadful, that

forgetting she was utterly invisible, the terrified girl was on the

point of shrieking aloud.

"He has overlooked me!" said she, shuddering to herself, as she

recollected his threat of yesterday.

"Who has wounded you?" asked Campian.

"My cousin--Amyas--and taken the letter!"

"The devil take him, then!" cried Parsons, stamping up and down

upon the sand in fury.

"Ay, curse him--you may! I dare not! He saved me--sent me here!"--

and with a groan, he made an effort to enter the boat.

"Oh, my dear young gentleman," cried Lucy Passmore, her woman's

heart bursting out at the sight of pain, "you must not goo forth

with a grane wound like to that. Do ye let me just bind 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--William Cary 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

heard above.

"That rascal of Mr. Leigh's will catch it now, the Popish villain!"

said Lucy Passmore, aloud. "You lie still there, dear life, and

settle your sperrits; you'm so safe as ever was rabbit to burrow.

I'll see what happens, if I die for it!" And so saying, she

squeezed herself up through a cleft to a higher ledge, from whence

she could see what passed in the valley.

"There mun is! in the meadow, trying to catch the 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's Mr. Cary cotched mun! A's

down, a's down!"

"Is he dead?" asked Rose, shuddering.

"Iss, fegs, dead as nits! and Mr. Cary off his horse, standing

overthwart mun! No, a bain't! A's up now. Suspose he was hit wi'

the flat. Whatever is Mr. Cary tu? Telling wi' mun, a bit. Oh

dear, dear, dear!"

"Has he killed him?" cried poor Rose.

"No, fegs, no! kecking mun, kecking mun, so hard as ever was

futeball! Goodness, Father, who did ever? If a haven't kecked mun

right into 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 to goo hoom and get you

sommat warm. You'm mortal cold, I rackon, by now. I was cruel

fear'd for ye: but I kept mun off clever, didn't I, now?"

"I wish--I wish I had not seen Mr. Leigh's face!"

"Iss, dreadful, weren't it, poor young soul; a sad night for his

poor mother!"

"Lucy, I can't get his face out of my mind. I'm sure he overlooked

me."

"Oh then! who ever heard the like o' that? When young gentlemen do

overlook young ladies, tain't thikketheor aways, I knoo. Never you

think on it."

"But I can't help thinking of it," said Rose. "Stop. Shall we go

home yet? Where's that servant?"

"Never mind, he wain't see us, here under the hill. I'd much

sooner to know where my old man was. I've a sort of a forecasting

in my inwards, like, as I always has when aught's gwain to happen,

as though I shuldn't zee mun again, like, I have, miss. Well--he

was a bedient old soul, after all, he was. Goodness, Father! and

all this while us have forgot the very thing us come about! Who

did you see?"

"Only that face!" said Rose, shuddering.

"Not in the glass, maid? Say then, not in the glass?"

"Would to heaven it had been! Lucy, what if he were the man I was

fated to--"

"He? Why, he's a praste, a Popish praste, that can't marry if he

would, poor wratch."

"He is none; and I have cause enough to know it!" And, for want of

a better confidant, Rose poured into the willing ears of her

companion the whole story of yesterday's meeting.

"He's a pretty wooer!" said Lucy at last, contemptuously. "Be a

brave maid, then, be a brave maid, and never terrify yourself with

his unlucky face. It's because there was none 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 her eyeballs. She reached home safely,

and crept to bed undiscovered: and when the next morning, as was to

be expected, found her laid up with something very 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-

restraint to avoid betraying by her exclamations what had happened

on that fantastic night. After a fortnight's weakness, however,

she recovered and went back to Bideford: but ere she arrived there,

Amyas was far across the seas on his way to Milford Haven, as shall

be told in the ensuing chapters.

CHAPTER VII

THE TRUE AND TRAGICAL HISTORY OF MR. JOHN OXENHAM OF PLYMOUTH

"The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew;

The furrow follow'd free;

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent sea."

The Ancient Mariner.

It was too late and too dark last night to see the old 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

pacing up and down the terraced garden to the south. Amyas has

slept till luncheon, i. e. till an hour ago: but Sir Richard, in

spite of the bustle of last night, was up and in the valley by six

o'clock, recreating the valiant souls of himself and two terrier

dogs by the chase of sundry badgers.

Old Stow House stands, or rather stood, some four miles beyond the

Cornish border, on the northern slope of the largest and loveliest

of those combes of which I spoke in the last chapter. Eighty years

after Sir Richard's time there arose there a huge Palladian pile,

bedizened with every monstrosity of bad taste, which was built, so

the story runs, by Charles the Second, for Sir Richard's great-

grandson, the heir of that famous Sir Bevil who defeated the

Parliamentary troops at Stratton, and died soon after, fighting

valiantly at Lansdowne over Bath. But, like most other things

which owed their existence to the Stuarts, it rose only to fall

again. An old man who had seen, as a boy, the foundation of the

new house laid, lived to see it pulled down again, and the very

bricks and timber sold upon the spot; and since then the stables

have become a farm-house, the tennis-court a sheep-cote, the great

quadrangle a rick-yard; and civilization, spreading wave on wave so

fast elsewhere, has surged back from that lonely corner of the

land--let us hope, only for a while.

But I am not writing of that great new Stow House, of the past

glories whereof quaint pictures still hang in the neighboring

houses; nor of that famed Sir Bevil, most beautiful and gallant of

his generation, on whom, with his grandfather Sir Richard, old

Prince has his pompous epigram--

"Where next shall famous Grenvil's ashes stand?

Thy grandsire fills the 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, in part at least, from

gray and mythic ages, when the first Sir Richard, son of Hamon

Dentatus, Lord of Carboyle, 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 Cistercian monks of

Neath all his conquests in South Wales. It was a huge rambling

building, half castle, half dwelling-house, such as may be seen

still (almost an unique specimen) in Compton Castle near Torquay,

the dwelling-place of Humphrey Gilbert, Walter Raleigh's half-

brother, and Richard Grenville's bosom friend, of whom more

hereafter. On three sides, to the north, west, and south, the

lofty walls of the old ballium still stood, with their machicolated

turrets, loopholes, and dark downward crannies for dropping stones

and fire on the besiegers, the relics of a more unsettled age: but

the southern court of the ballium had become a flower-garden, with

quaint terraces, statues, knots of flowers, clipped yews and

hollies, and all the pedantries of the topiarian art. And toward

the east, where the vista of the valley opened, the old walls were

gone, and the frowning Norman keep, ruined in the Wars of the

Roses, had been replaced by the rich and stately architecture of

the Tudors. Altogether, the, house, like the time, was in a

transitionary state, and represented faithfully enough the passage

of the old middle age into the new life which had just burst into

blossom throughout Europe, never, let us pray, to see its autumn or

its winter.

From the house on three sides, the hill sloped steeply down, and

the garden where Sir Richard and Amyas were walking gave a truly

English prospect. At one turn they could catch, over the western

walls, a glimpse of the blue ocean flecked with passing sails; and

at the next, spread far below them, range on range of fertile park,

stately avenue, yellow autumn woodland, and purple heather moors,

lapping over and over each other up the valley to the old British

earthwork, which stood black and furze-grown on its conical peak;

and standing out against the sky on the highest bank of hill which

closed the valley to the east, the lofty tower of Kilkhampton

church, rich with the monuments and 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 they stood 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 the Queen's Park, on the opposite hill, answered

them in fuller though fainter voices. A rutting stag made the

still woodland rattle with his hoarse thunder, and a rival far up

the valley gave back a trumpet note of defiance, and was himself

defied from heathery brows which quivered far away above, half seen

through the veil of eastern mist. And close at home, upon the

terrace before the house, amid romping spaniels and golden-haired

children, sat Lady Grenville herself, the beautiful St. Leger of

Annery, the central jewel of all that glorious place, and looked

down at her noble children, and then up at her more noble husband,

and round at that broad paradise of the West, till life seemed too

full of happiness, and heaven of light.

And all the while up and down paced Amyas and Sir Richard, talking

long, earnestly, and slow; for they both knew that the turning

point of the boy's life was come.

"Yes," said Sir Richard, after Amyas, in his blunt simple way, had

told him the whole story about Rose Salterne and his brother,--

"yes, sweet lad, thou hast chosen the better part, thou and thy

brother also, and it shall not be taken from you. Only be strong,

lad, and trust in God that He will make a man of you."

"I do trust," said Amyas.

"Thank God," said Sir Richard, "that you have yourself taken from

my heart that which was my great anxiety for you, from the day that

your good father, 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 it is able to lift man's soul to the

heavens, is also able to drag him down to hell. But you have

learnt better, Amyas; and know, with our old German forefathers,

that, as Tacitus saith, Sera juvenum Venus, ideoque inexhausta

pubertas. And not only that, Amyas; but trust me, that silly

fashion of the French and Italians, to be hanging ever at some

woman's apron string, so that no boy shall count himself a man

unless he can vagghezziare le donne, whether maids or 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 be

escaped, yet the rich treasure of a manly worship, which should be

kept for one alone, is squandered and parted upon many, and the

bride at last comes in for nothing but the very last leavings and

caput mortuum of her bridegroom's heart, and becomes a mere

ornament for his table, and a means whereby he may obtain a

progeny. May God, who has saved me from that death in life, save

you also!" And as he spoke, he looked down toward his wife upon

the terrace below; and she, as if guessing instinctively that he

was talking of her, looked up with so sweet a smile, that Sir

Richard's stern face melted into a very glory of spiritual

sunshine.

Amyas looked at them both and sighed; and then turning the

conversation suddenly--

"And I may go to Ireland to-morrow?"

"You shall sail in the 'Mary' for Milford Haven, with these letters

to Winter. If the wind serves, you may bid the master drop down

the river tonight, and be off; for we must lose no time."

"Winter?" said Amyas. "He is no friend of mine, since he left

Drake and us so cowardly at the Straits of Magellan."

"Duty must not wait for private quarrels, even though they be just

ones, lad: but he will not be 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 work too, I warrant.

"I want nothing better."

"Right, lad; the best reward for having wrought well already, is to

have more to do; and he that has been faithful over a few things,

must find his account in being made ruler over many things. That

is the true and heroical rest, which only is worthy of gentlemen

and sons of God. As for those who, either in this world or the

world to come, look for idleness, and hope that God shall feed them

with pleasant things, as it were with a spoon, Amyas, I count them

cowards and base, even though they call themselves saints and

elect."

"I wish you could persuade my poor cousin of that."

"He has yet to learn what losing his life to save it means, Amyas.

Bad men have taught him (and I fear these Anabaptists and Puritans

at home teach little else), that it is the one great business of

every one to save his own soul after he dies; every one for

himself; and that that, and not divine self-sacrifice, is the one

thing needful, and the better part which Mary chose."

"I think men are inclined enough already to be selfish, without

being taught that."

"Right, lad. For me, if I could hang up such a teacher on high as

an enemy of mankind, and a corrupter of youth, I would do it

gladly. Is there not cowardice and self-seeking enough about the

hearts of us fallen sons of Adam, that these false prophets, with

their baits of heaven, and their terrors of hell, must exalt our

dirtiest vices into heavenly virtues and the means of bliss?

Farewell to chivalry and to desperate valor, farewell to patriotism

and loyalty, farewell to England and to the manhood of England, if

once it shall become the fashion of our preachers to bid every man,

as the Jesuits do, take care first of what they call the safety of

his soul. Every man will be afraid to die at his post, because he

will be afraid that he is not fit to die. Amyas, do thou do thy

duty like a man, to thy country, thy queen, and thy God; and count

thy life a worthless thing, as did the holy men of old. Do thy

work, lad; and leave thy soul to the care of Him who is just and

merciful in this, that He rewards every man according to his work.

Is there respect of persons with God? Now come in, and take the

letters, and to horse. And if I hear of thee dead there at

Smerwick fort, with all thy wounds in front, I shall weep for thy

mother, lad; but I shall have never a sigh for thee."

If any one shall be startled at hearing a fine gentleman and a

warrior like Sir Richard quote Scripture, and think Scripture also,

they must be referred to the writings of the time; which they may

read not without profit to themselves, if they discover therefrom

how it was possible then for men of the world to be thoroughly

ingrained with the Gospel, and yet to be free from any taint of

superstitious fear, or false devoutness. The religion of those

days was such as no soldier need have been ashamed of confessing.

At least, Sir Richard died as he lived, without a shudder, and

without a whine; and these were his last words, fifteen years after

that, as he lay shot through and through, a captive among Popish

Spaniards, priests, crucifixes, confession, extreme unction, and

all other means and appliances for delivering men out of the hands

of a God of love:--

"Here die I, Richard Grenville, with a joyful and quiet mind; for

that I have ended my life as a true soldier ought, fighting for his

country, queen, religion, and honor: my soul willingly departing

from this body, leaving behind the lasting fame of having behaved

as every valiant soldier is in his duty 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 not over 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 masterless man, at the

door; a very forward fellow, and must needs speak with you."

"A masterless man? He had better not to speak 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 he swears he will not leave the gate till he has

seen you."

"Seen me? Halidame! he shall see me, here and at Launceston too,

if he likes. Bring him in."

"Fegs, Sir Richard, we are half afeard. With your good leave--"

"Hillo, Tony," cried Amyas, "who was ever afeard yet with Sir

Richard's good leave?"

"What, has the fellow a tail or horns?"

"Massy no: but I be afeard of treason for your honor; for the

fellow is pinked all over in heathen patterns, and as brown as a

filbert; and a tall roog, a very strong roog, sir, and a foreigner

too, and a mighty staff with him. I expect him to be a manner of

Jesuit, or wild Irish, sir; and indeed the grooms have no stomach

to handle him, nor the dogs neither, or he had been under the pump

before now, for they that saw him coming up the hill swear that he

had fire 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 he will go into thy

pocket. So go, lad, while I finish my writing."

Amyas went out, and at the back door, leaning on his staff, stood a

tall, raw-boned, ragged man, "pinked all over," as the steward had

said.

"Hillo, lad!" quoth Amyas. "Before we come to talk, thou wilt

please to lay down that Plymouth cloak of thine." And he pointed

to the cudgel, which among West-country mariners usually bore that

name.

"I'll warrant," said the old steward, "that where he found his

cloak he found purse not far off."

"But not hose or doublet; so the magical virtue of his staff has

not helped him much. But put down thy staff, man, and speak like a

Christian, if thou 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 ask to speak with Sir Richard, before I go on my

way."

There was something stately and yet humble about the man's tone and

manner which attracted Amyas, and he asked more gently where he was

going and whence he came.

"From Padstow Port, sir, to Clovelly town, to see my old mother, if

indeed she be yet alive, which God knoweth."

Clovally man! why didn't thee say thee was 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 we heard, poor soul."

The man stood quite silent and unmoved for a minute or two; and

then said quietly to himself, in Spanish, "That which is, is best."

"You speak Spanish?" asked Amyas, more and more interested.

"I had need to do so, young sir; I have been five years in the

Spanish Main, and only set foot on shore two days ago; and if you

will let me have speech of Sir Richard, I will tell him that at

which both 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; but I would sooner have spoken with

one that is a mariner like to myself."

"And you shall," said Amyas. "Steward, we will have this man in;

for all his rags, he is a man of wit." And he led him in.

"I only hope he ben't one of those Popish murderers," said the old

steward, keeping at a safe distance from him as they entered the

hall.

"Popish, old master? There's little fear of my being that. Look

here!" And drawing back his rags, he showed a ghastly scar, which

encircled 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 you tell us that you were a poor

Christian?" asked the penitent steward.

"Because I have had naught but my deserts; and but a taste of them

either, as the Lord knoweth who delivered me; and I wasn't going to

make myself a beggar and a show on their account."

"By heaven, you are a brave fellow!" said Amyas. "Come along

straight to Sir Richard's room."

So in they went, where Sir Richard sat in his library among books,

despatches, state-papers, and warrants; for though he was not yet,

as in after times (after the fashion of those days) admiral,

general, member of parliament, privy councillor, justice of the

peace, and so forth, all at once, yet there were few great men with

whom he did not correspond, or great matters with 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 earnestly on him--

"Amyas?" said he; "is that your name, sir?"

"Amyas Leigh is my name, at your service, good fellow."

"Of Burrough by Bideford?"

"Why then? What do you know of me?"

"Oh sir, sir! young brains and happy ones have short memories; but

old and sad brains too long ones often! Do you mind one that was

with Mr. Oxenham, sir? A swearing reprobate he was, God forgive

him, and hath forgiven him too, for His dear Son's sake--one, sir,

that gave you a horn, a toy with a chart on it?"

"Soul alive!" cried Amyas, catching him by the hand; "and are you

he? The horn? why, I have it still, and will keep it to my dying

day, too. But where is Mr. Oxenham?"

"Yes, my good fellow, where is Mr. Oxenham?" asked Sir Richard,

rising. "You are somewhat over-hasty in welcoming your old

acquaintance, Amyas, before we have heard from him whether he can

give honest account of himself and of his captain. For there is

more than one way by which sailors may come home without their

captains, as poor Mr. Barker of Bristol found to his cost. God

grant that there may have been no such traitorous dealing here."

"Sir Richard Grenville, if I had been a guilty man to my noble

captain, as I have to God, I had not come here this day to you,

from whom villainy has never found favor, nor ever will; for I know

your conditions well, sir; and trust in the Lord, that if you will

be pleased to hear me, you shall know mine."

"Thou art a well-spoken knave. We shall see."

"My dear sir," said Amyas, in a whisper, "I will warrant this man

guiltless."

"I verily believe him to be; but this is too serious a matter to be

left on guess. If he will be sworn--"

Whereon the man, humbly enough, said, that if it would please Sir

Richard, he would rather not be sworn.

"But it does not please me, rascal! Did I not warn thee, Amyas?"

"Sir," said the man, proudly, "God forbid 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 heard a man yet begin to

prate of his conscience, but I knew that he was about to do

something more than ordinarily cruel or false."

"Sir," said the man, coolly enough, "do you sit here to judge me

according to law, and yet contrary to the law swear profane oaths,

for which a fine is provided?"

Amyas expected an explosion: but Sir Richard pulled a shilling out

and put it on the table. "There--my fine is paid, sirrah, to the

poor of Kilkhampton: but hearken thou all the same. If thou wilt

not speak an oath, thou shalt speak on compulsion; for to

Launceston gaol thou goest, there to answer for Mr. Oxenham's

death, on suspicion whereof, and of mutiny causing it, I will

attach thee and every soul of his crew that comes home. We have

lost too many gallant captains of late by treachery of their crews,

and he that will not clear himself on oath, must be held for

guilty, and self-condemned."

"My good fellow," said Amyas, who could not give up his belief in

the man's honesty, "why, for such fantastical scruples, peril not

only your life, but your honor, and Mr. Oxenham's also? For if you

be examined by question, you may be forced by torment to say that

which is not true."

"Little fear of that, young sir!" answered he, with a grim smile;

"I have had too much of the rack already, and the strappado too, to

care much what man can do unto me. I would heartily that I thought

it lawful to be sworn: but not so thinking, I can but submit to the

cruelty of man; though I did expect more merciful things, as a most

miserable and wrecked mariner, at the hands of one who hath himself

seen God's ways in the sea, and His wonders in the great deep. Sir

Richard Grenville, if you will hear my story, may God avenge on my

head all my sins from my youth up until now, and cut me off from

the blood of Christ, and, if it were possible, from the number of

His elect, if I tell you 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 brave ass, and valiant,

though an ass manifest. Dost thou not see, fellow, how thou hast

sworn a ten-times bigger oath than ever I should have asked of

thee? But this is the way with your Anabaptists, who by their very

hatred of forms and ceremonies, show of how much account they think

them, and then bind themselves out of their own fantastical self-

will with far heavier burdens than ever the lawful authorities have

laid on them for the sake of the commonweal. But what do they care

for the commonweal, as long as they can save, as they fancy, each

man his own dirty soul for himself? 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 unmoved by this last explosion;

"my name is Salvation Yeo, born in Clovelly Street, in the year

1526, where my 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; return thanks 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 thereby saved my life, as I will tell

presently. And I do think that a good mariner ought to have all

knowledge of carnal and worldly cunning, even to tailoring and

shoemaking, that he may be able to turn his hand to whatsoever may

hap.

Sir Richard.--Well spoken, fellow: but let us have thy text without

thy comments. Forwards!

Yeo.--Well, sir. I was bred to the sea from my youth, and was with

Captain Hawkins in his three voyages, which he made to Guinea for

negro slaves, and thence to the West Indies.

Sir Richard.--Then thrice thou wentest to a 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 the unlawfulness, I mean; being the negroes are of the

children of Ham, who are cursed and reprobate, as Scripture

declares, and their blackness testifies, being Satan's own livery;

among whom therefore there can be none of the elect, wherefore the

elect are not required to treat them as brethren.

Sir Richard.--What a plague of a pragmatical sea-lawyer have we

here? And I doubt not, thou hypocrite, that though thou wilt call

the negroes' black skin Satan's livery, when it serves thy turn to

steal them, thou wilt find out sables to be Heaven's livery every

Sunday, and up with a godly howl unless a parson shall preach in a

black gown, Geneva fashion. Out upon thee! Go on with thy tale,

lest thou finish thy sermon at Launceston after all.

Yeo.--The Lord's people were always a reviled people and a

persecuted people: but I will go forward, sir; for Heaven forbid

but that I should declare what God has done for me. For till

lately, from my youth up, I was given over to all wretchlessness

and unclean living, and was by nature a child of the devil, and to

every good work reprobate, even as others.

Sir Richard.--Hark to his "even as others"! Thou new-whelped

Pharisee, canst not confess thine own villainies without making out

others as bad as thyself, and so thyself no worse than others? I

only hope that thou hast shown none 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, and would have been a better friend to him,

sir, what is more, than ever he was to himself.

Sir Richard.--Alas! that might easily be.

Yeo.--I think, sir, and will make good against any man, that Mr.

Oxenham was a noble and valiant gentleman; true of his word, stout

of his sword, skilful by sea and land, and worthy to have been Lord

High Admiral 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 brought to the knowledge of the

truth. Ah, sir, he was a 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 after all. 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, to Nombre de Dios, with

Mr. Drake and Mr. Oxenham, in 1572, where what we saw and did, your

worship, I suppose, knows as well as I; and there was, as you've

heard maybe, a covenant between Mr. Oxenham and Mr. Drake to sail

the South Seas together, which they made, your worship, in my

hearing, under the tree over Panama. For when Mr. Drake came down

from the tree, after seeing the sea afar off, Mr. Oxenham and I

went up and saw it too; and when we came down, Drake says, 'John, I

have made a vow to God that I will sail that water, if I live and

God gives me grace;' which he had done, sir, upon his bended knees,

like a godly man as he always was, and would I had taken after him!

and Mr. O. says, 'I am with you, Drake, to live or die, and I think

I know some one there already, so we shall not be quite among

strangers;' and laughed withal. Well, sirs, that voyage, as you

know, never came off, because Captain 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

the difference in our ranks), helped him to get the crew together,

and went as his gunner. That was in 1575; as you know, he had a

140-ton ship, sir, and seventy men out of Plymouth and Fowey and

Dartmouth, and many of them old hands of Drake's, beside a dozen or

so from Bideford that I picked up when I saw young Master here."

"Thank God that you did not pick me up too."

"Amen, amen!" said Yeo, clasping his hands on his breast. "Those

seventy men, sir,--seventy gallant men, sir, with every one of them

an immortal soul within him,--where are they now? Gone, like the

spray!" And he swept his hands abroad with a wild and solemn

gesture. "And their blood is upon my head!"

Both Sir Richard and Amyas began to suspect that the man's brain

was not altogether sound.

"God forbid, my man," said the knight, kindly.

"Thirteen men I persuaded to join in Bideford town, beside William

Penberthy of Marazion, my good comrade. And what if it be said to

me at the day of judgment, 'Salvation Yeo, where are those fourteen

whom thou didst tempt to their deaths by covetousness and lust of

gold?' Not that I was alone in my sin, if the truth must be told.

For all the way out Mr. Oxenham was making loud speech, after his

pleasant way, that he would make all their fortunes, and take them

to such a Paradise, that they should have no lust to come home

again. And I--God knows why--for every one boast of his would make

two, even to lying and empty fables, and anything to keep up the

men's hearts. For I had really persuaded myself that we should all

find treasures beyond Solomon his temple, and Mr. Oxenham would

surely show us how to conquer some golden city or discover some

island all made of precious stones. And one day, 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 without

a 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 hearts better than he. Which speeches I took no count

of then, sirs: but after I minded them, whether I would or not.

Well, sirs, we came to the shore of New Spain, near to the old

place--that's Nombre de Dios; and there Mr. Oxenham went ashore

into the woods with a boat's crew, to find the negroes who helped

us three years before. Those are the Cimaroons, gentles, negro

slaves who have fled from those devils incarnate, their Spanish

masters, and live wild, like the beasts that perish; men of great

stature, sirs, and fierce as wolves in the onslaught, but poor

jabbering mazed fellows if they be but a bit dismayed: and have

many Indian women with them, who take to these negroes a deal

better than to their own kin, which breeds war enough, as you may

guess.

"Well, sirs, after three days the captain comes back, looking heavy

enough, and says, 'We played our 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 that since our last

visit they never move without plenty of soldiers, two hundred shot

at least. Therefore,' he said, 'my gallants, we must either return

empty-handed from this, the very market and treasury of the whole

Indies, or do such a deed as men never did before, which I shall

like all the better for that very reason.' And we, asking his

meaning, 'Why,' he said, 'if Drake will not sail the South Seas, we

will;' adding profanely that Drake was like Moses, who beheld the

promised land afar; but he was Joshua, who would enter into it, and

smite the inhabitants thereof. And, for our confirmation, showed

me and the rest the superscription of a letter: and said, 'How I

came by this is none of your business: but I have had it in my

bosom ever since I left Plymouth; and I tell you now, what I

forbore to tell you at first, that the South Seas have been my mark

all along! such news have I herein of plate-ships, and gold-ships,

and what not, which will come up from Quito and Lima this very

month, all which, with the pearls of the Gulf of Panama, and other

wealth unspeakable, will be ours, if we have but true English

hearts within us.'

"At which, gentles, we were like madmen for lust of that gold, and

cheerfully undertook a toil incredible; for first we run our ship

aground in a great wood which grew in the very sea itself, and then

took out her masts, and covered her in boughs, with her four cast

pieces of great ordnance (of which more hereafter), and leaving no

man in her, started for the South Seas across the neck of Panama,

with two small pieces of ordnance and our culverins, and good store

of victuals, and with us six of those negroes for a guide, and so

twelve leagues to a river which runs into the South Sea.

"And there, having cut wood, we made a pinnace (and work enough we

had at it) of five-and-forty foot in the keel; and in her down the

stream, and to the Isle of Pearls in the Gulf of Panama."

"Into the South Sea? Impossible!" said Sir Richard. "Have a care

what you say, my man; for there is that about you which would make

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 have been beforehand with

you."

The man looked inquiringly at Amyas, who said--

"Well, my man, of the Gulf of Panama I cannot ask you, for I never

was inside it, but what other parts of the coast do you know?"

"Every inch, sir, from Cabo San Francisco to Lima; more is my

sorrow, for I was a galley-slave there for two years and more."

"You know Lima?"

"I was there three times, worshipful gentlemen, and the last was

February come two years; and there I helped lade a great plate-

ship, the Cacafuogo,' they called her."

Amyas started. Sir Richard nodded to him gently to be silent, and

then--

"And what became of her, my lad?"

"God knows, who knows all, and the devil who freighted 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 take her?"

"Why should not a good English ship take her as well as another?"

said Amyas.

"Lord love you, sir; yes, faith, if they had but been there.

Many's the time that I thought to myself, as we went alongside,

'Oh, if Captain Drake was but here, well to windward, and our old

crew of the "Dragon"!' Ask your pardon, gentles: but how is

Captain Drake, if I may make so bold?"

Neither could hold out longer.

"Fellow, fellow!" cried Sir Richard, springing up, "either thou art

the cunningest liar that ever earned a halter, or thou hast done a

deed the like of which never man adventured. Dost thou not know

that Captain Drake took that 'Cacafuogo' and all her freight, in

February come two years?"

"Captain Drake! God forgive me, sir; but--Captain Drake in the

South Seas? He saw them, sir, from the tree-top over Panama, when

I was with him, and I 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 prove his sincerity.

The great stern Anabaptist, who had not winced at the news of his

mother's death, dropt right on his knees on the floor, and burst

into violent 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!

The spoiler spoiled, and the proud robbed; and all they whose 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 sword in hand, but never had need to

strike a blow; and before we left her, one of her own boys had

changed her name, and rechristened her the 'Cacaplata.'"

"Glory, glory! Cowards they are, as I told them. I told them they

never could stand the Devon mastiffs, and well they flogged me for

saying it; 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, with an old gentleman on

board,--Don Francisco de Xararte was his name, and by token, he had

a gold falcon hanging to a chain round his neck, and a green stone

in the breast of it. I saw it as we rowed him aboard. O tell me,

sir, tell me for the love of God, did you take that ship?"

"We did take that ship, and the jewel too, and her majesty has it

at this very hour."

"Then tell me, sir," said he slowly, as if he dreaded an answer;

"tell me, sir, and oh, try and mind--was there a little maid aboard

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 go back and finish the

story of Mr. Oxenham, if you will believe me enough to hear it."

"I do believe thee, good fellow, and honor thee too."

"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 Captain Drake came into the

South Seas:--over the neck, as we did?"

"Through the Straits, good fellow, like any Spaniard: but go on

with thy story, and thou shalt have Mr. Leigh's after."

"Through the Straits! O glory! But I'll tell my tale. Well, sirs

both--To the 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 Spaniard therein, save one man; at

which Mr. Oxenham was like a man transported, and fell on that

Spaniard, crying, 'Perro, where is your mistress? Where is the

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 head till his eyes burst out; and the Spaniard, being

terrified, said that the ship from Lima was expected in a

fortnight's time. So for ten days we lay quiet, letting neither

negro nor Spaniard leave the island, and took good store of pearls,

feeding sumptuously on wild cattle and hogs until the tenth day,

when there came by a small 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, all had gone well. And

some were willing to go back at once, having both treasure and

pearls in plenty; but Mr. O., he waxed right mad, and swore to slay

any one who made that motion again, assuring us that the Lima ship

of which he had news was far greater and richer, and would make

princes of us all; which bark came in sight on the sixteenth day,

and was taken without shot or slaughter. The taking of which bark,

I verily believe, was the ruin of every mother's son of us."

And being asked why, he answered, "First, because of the discontent

which was bred thereby; for on board was 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; and that, moreover,

the weight of that silver was afterwards a hindrance to them, and

fresh cause of discontent, as he would afterwards declare. "So

that it had been well for us, sirs, if we had left it behind, as

Mr. Drake left his three years before, and carried away the gold

only. In which I do see the evident hand of God, and His just

punishment for our greediness of gain; who caused Mr. Oxenham, by

whom we had hoped to attain great wealth, to be a snare to us, and

a cause of utter ruin."

"Do you think, then," said Sir Richard, "that Mr. Oxenham deceived

you wilfully?"

"I will never believe that, sir: Mr. Oxenham had his private

reasons for waiting for that ship, for the sake of one on board,

whose face would that he 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, "you have brought us thus far, and

you must go on."

"Gentlemen, I have concealed this matter from all men, both on my

voyage home and since; and I hope you will be secret in the matter,

for the honor of my noble captain, and the comfort of his friends

who are alive. For I think it shame to publish harm of a gallant

gentleman, and of an ancient and worshipful family, and to me a

true and kind captain, when what is done cannot be undone, and

least said soonest mended. Neither now would I have spoken of it,

but that I was inwardly moved to it for the sake of that young

gentleman there" (looking at Amyas), "that he might be warned in

time of God's wrath against the 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 not reward thee: but the young gentleman here, thank

God, needs no such warnings, having got them already both by

precept and example, where thou and poor Oxenham might have had

them also."

"You mean Captain Drake, your worship?"

"I do, sirrah. If all men were as clean livers as he, the world

would be spared one half the tears that are shed in it."

"Amen, sir. At least there would have been many a tear spared to

us and ours. For--as all must out--in that bark of Lima he took a

young lady, as fair as the sunshine, sir, and seemingly about two

or three-and-twenty years of age, having with her a tall young lad

of sixteen, and a little girl, a marvellously pretty child, of

about a six or seven. And the lady herself was of an excellent

beauty, like a whale's tooth for whiteness, so that all the crew

wondered at her, and could not be satisfied with looking upon her.

And, gentlemen, this was strange, that the lady seemed in no wise

afraid or mournful, and bid her little girl fear naught, as did

also Mr. Oxenham: but the lad kept a very sour countenance, and the

more when he saw the lady and Mr. Oxenham speaking together apart.

"Well, sir, after this good luck we were minded to have gone

straight back to the river whence we came, 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 he was moved by the

instigation of the devil and of that lady. For as we were about to

go ashore, I, going down into the cabin of the prize, saw Mr.

Oxenham and that lady making great cheer of each other with, 'My

life,' and 'My king,' and 'Light of my eyes,' and such toys; and

being bidden by Mr. Oxenham to fetch out the lady's mails, and take

them ashore, heard how the two laughed together about the old ape

of Panama (which ape, or devil rather, I saw afterwards to my

cost), and also how 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 the lady, 'What is yours is mine,

and what is mine is yours.' And she asking whether the lad should

come ashore, he answered, 'He is neither yours nor mine; let the

spawn of Beelzebub stay on shore.' 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 verily believe he had

overheard their speech, and so thrust him upon deck; and going

below again, told Mr. Oxenham what I thought, and said that it were

better to put a dagger into him at once, professing to be ready so

to do. For which grievous sin, seeing that it was committed in my

unregenerate days, I hope I have obtained the grace of forgiveness,

as I have that of hearty repentance. But the lady cried out,

'Though he be none of mine, I have sin enough already on my soul;'

and so laid her hand on Mr. Oxenham's mouth, entreating pitifully.

And Mr. Oxenham answered laughing, when she would let him, 'What

care we? let the young monkey go and howl to the old one;' and so

went ashore with the lady to that house, whence for three days he

never came forth, and would have remained longer, but that the men,

finding but few pearls, and being wearied with the watching and

warding so many Spaniards, and negroes came clamoring to him, and

swore that they would return or leave him there with the lady. So

all went on board the pinnace again, every one in ill humor with

the captain, and he with them.

"Well, sirs, we came back to the mouth of the river, and there

began our troubles; for the negroes, as soon as we were on shore,

called on Mr. Oxenham to fulfil the bargain he had made with them.

And now it came out (what few of us knew till then) that he had

agreed with the Cimaroons that they should have all the prisoners

which were taken, save the gold. And he, though loath, was about

to give up the Spaniards to them, near forty in all, supposing that

they intended to 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, and shrieking like a madman,

entreated not to be given up into the hands of 'those devils,' said

he, 'who never take a Spanish prisoner, but they roast him alive,

and then eat his heart among them.' We asked the negroes if this

was possible? To which some answered, What was that to us? But

others said boldly, that it was true enough, and that revenge made

the best sauce, and nothing was so sweet as Spanish blood; and one,

pointing to the lady, said such foul and devilish things as I

should be ashamed either for me to speak, or you to hear. At this

we were like men amazed for very horror; and Mr. Oxenham said, 'You

incarnate fiends, if you had taken these fellows for slaves, it had

been fair enough; for you were once slaves to them, and I doubt not

cruelly used enough: but as for this abomination,' says he, 'God do

so to me, and more also, if I let one of them come into your

murderous hands.' So there was a great quarrel; but Mr. Oxenham

stoutly bade put the prisoners on board the ships again, and so let

the prizes go, taking with him only the treasure, and the lady and

the little maid. And so the lad went on to Panama, God's wrath

having gone out against us.

"Well, sirs, the Cimaroons after that went away from us, swearing

revenge (for which we cared little enough), and we rowed up the

river to a place where three streams met, and then up the least of

the three, some four days' journey, till it grew all shoal and

swift; and there we hauled the pinnace upon the sands, and Mr.

Oxenham asked the men whether they were willing to carry the gold

and silver over the mountains to the North Sea. Some of them at

first were loath to do it, and I and others advised that we should

leave the plate behind, and take the gold only, for it would have

cost us three or four journeys at the least. But Mr. Oxenham

promised every man 100 pezos of silver over and above his wages,

which made them content enough, and we were all to start the morrow

morning. But, sirs, that night, as God had ordained, came a mishap

by some rash speeches of Mr. Oxenham's, which threw all abroad

again; for when we had carried the treasure about half a league

inland, and hidden it away in a house which we made of boughs, Mr.

O. being always full of that his fair lady, spoke to me and William

Penberthy of Marazion, my good comrade, and a few more, saying,

'That we had no need to return to England, seeing that we were

already in the very garden of Eden, and wanted for nothing, but

could live without labor or toil; and that it was better, when we

got over to the 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, 'will be king and queen, and you, whom I can trust, my

officers; and for servants we will have the Indians, who, I

warrant, will be more fain to serve honest and merry masters like

us than those Spanish devils,' and much more of the like; which

words I liked well,--my mind, alas! being given altogether to

carnal pleasure and vanity,--as did William Penberthy, my good

comrade, on whom I trust God has had mercy. But the rest, sirs,

took the matter all across, and began murmuring against the

captain, saying that poor honest mariners like them had always the

labor and the pain, while he took his delight with his lady; and

that they would have at least one merry night before they were

slain by the Cimaroons, or eaten by panthers and lagartos; and so

got out of the pinnace two great skins of Canary wine, which were

taken in the Lima prize, and sat themselves down to drink.

Moreover, there were in the pinnace a great sight of hens, which

came from the same prize, by which Mr. O. set great store, 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

fill the boat with dirty live lumber for that giglet's sake? They

had a better right to a good supper than ever she had, and might

fast awhile to cool her hot blood;' and so cooked and ate those

hens, plucking them on board the pinnace, and letting the feathers

fall into the stream. But when William Penberthy, my good comrade,

saw the feathers floating away down, he asked them if they were

mad, to lay a trail by which the Spaniards would surely track them

out, if they came after them, as without doubt they would. But

they laughed him to scorn, and said that no Spanish cur dared

follow on the heels of true English mastiffs as they were, and

other boastful speeches; and at last, being heated with wine, began

afresh to murmur at the captain. And one speaking of his counsel

about the island, the rest altogether took it amiss and out of the

way; and some sprang up crying treason, and others that he meant to

defraud them of the plate which he had promised, and others that he

meant to desert them in a strange land, and so forth, till Mr. O.,

hearing the hubbub, came out to them from the house, when they

reviled him foully, swearing that he meant to cheat them; and one

Edward Stiles, a Wapping man, mad with drink, dared to say that he

was a fool for not giving up the prisoners to the negroes, and what

was it to him if the lady roasted? the negroes should have her yet;

and drawing his sword, ran upon the captain: for which I was about

to strike him through the body; but the captain, not caring to

waste steel on such a ribald, with his fist caught him such a

buffet behind the ear, that he fell down stark dead, and all the

rest stood amazed. Then Mr. Oxenham called out, 'All honest men

who know me, and can trust me, stand by your lawful captain against

these ruffians.' Whereon, sirs, I, and Penberthy my good comrade,

and four Plymouth men, who had sailed with Mr. O. in Mr. Drake's

ship, and knew his trusty and valiant conditions, came over to him,

and swore before God to stand by him and the lady. Then said Mr.

O. to the rest, 'Will you carry this treasure, knaves, or will you

not? Give me an answer here.' And they refused, unless he would,

before they started, give each man his share. So Mr. O. waxed very

mad, and swore that he would never be served by men who did not

trust him, and so went in again; and that night was spent in great

disquiet, I and those five others keeping watch about the house of

boughs till the rest fell asleep, in their drink. And next

morning, when the wine was gone out of them, Mr. O. asked them

whether they would go to the hills with him, and find those

negroes, and persuade them after all to carry the treasure. To

which they agreed after awhile, thinking that so they should save

themselves labor; and went off with Mr. Oxenham, leaving us six who

had stood by him to watch the lady and the treasure, after he had

taken an oath of us that we would deal justly and obediently by him

and by her, which God knows, gentlemen, we did. So he parted with

much weeping and wailing of the lady, and was gone seven days; and

all that time we kept that lady faithfully and honestly, bringing

her the best we could find, and serving her upon our bended knees,

both for her admirable 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 little maid (God bless her!) did not,

but soon learned to play with us and we with her, so that we made

great cheer of her, gentlemen, sailor fashion--for you know we must

always have our minions aboard to pet and amuse us--maybe a monkey,

or a little dog, or a singing bird, ay, or mice and spiders, if we

have nothing better to play withal. And she was wonderful sharp,

sirs, was the little maid, and picked up her English from us fast,

calling us jolly mariners, which I doubt but she has forgotten by

now, but I hope in God it be not so;" and therewith the good fellow

began wiping his eyes.

"Well, sir, on the seventh day we six were down by the pinnace

clearing her out, and the little maid with us gathering of flowers,

and William Penberthy fishing on the bank, about a hundred yards

below, when on a sudden he leaps up and runs toward us, crying,

'Here come our hens' feathers back again with a vengeance!' and so

bade catch up the little maid, and run for the house, for the

Spaniards were upon us.

"Which was too true; for before we could win the house, there were

full eighty shot at our heels, but could not overtake us;

nevertheless, some of them stopping, fixed their calivers and let

fly, killing one of the Plymouth men. The rest of us escaped to

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 in great misery, the

lady weeping continually, and calling for Mr. Oxenham most

piteously, and the little maid likewise, till with much ado we

found the track of our comrades, and went up that as best we might:

but at nightfall, by good hap, we met the whole crew coming back,

and with them 200 negroes or more, with bows and arrows. At which

sight was great joy and embracing, and it was a strange thing,

sirs, to see the lady; for before that she was altogether

desperate: and yet she was now a very lioness, as soon as she had

got her love again; and prayed him earnestly not to care for that

gold, but to go forward to the North Sea, vowing to him in my

hearing that she cared no more for poverty than she had cared for

her good name, and then--they being a little apart from the rest--

pointed round to the green forest, and said in Spanish--which I

suppose they knew not that I understood,--'See, all round us is

Paradise. Were it not enough for you and me to stay here forever,

and let them take the gold or leave it as they will?'

"To which Mr. Oxenham--'Those who lived in Paradise had not sinned

as we have, and would never have grown old or sick, as we shall.'

"And she--'If we do that, there are poisons enough in these woods,

by which we may die in each other's arms, as would to Heaven we had

died seven years agone!'

"But he--'No, no, my life. It stands upon my honor both to fulfil

my bond with these men, whom I have brought hither, and to take

home to England at least something of my prize as a proof of my own

valor.'

"Then she smiling--'Am I not prize enough, and proof enough?' But

he would not be so tempted, and turning to us offered us the half

of that treasure, if we would go back with him, and rescue it from

the Spaniard. At which the lady wept and wailed much; but I took

upon myself to comfort her, though I was but a simple mariner,

telling her that it stood upon Mr. Oxenham's honor; and that in

England nothing was esteemed so foul as cowardice, or breaking word

and troth betwixt man and man; and that better was it for him to

die seven times by the Spaniards, than to face at home the scorn of

all who sailed the seas. So, after much ado, back they went again;

I and Penberthy, and the three Plymouth men which escaped from the

pinnace, keeping the lady as before.

"Well, sirs, we waited five days, having made houses 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

very weary and wounded; and when we looked for the rest to be

behind them, behold there were no more; at which, sirs, as you may

well think, our hearts sank within us.

"And Mr. O., coming nearer, cried out afar off, 'All is lost!' and

so walked into the camp without a word, and sat himself down at the

foot of a great tree with his head between his hands, speaking

neither to the lady or to any one, till she very pitifully kneeling

before him, cursing herself for the cause of all his mischief, and

praying him to avenge himself upon that her tender body, won him

hardly to look once upon her, after which (as is the way of vain

and unstable man) all between them was as before.

"But the men were full of curses against the negroes, for their

cowardice and treachery; yea, and against high Heaven itself, which

had put the most part of their ammunition into the Spaniards'

hands; and told me, and I believe truly, how they forced the enemy

awaiting them in a little copse of great trees, well fortified with

barricades of boughs, and having with them our two falcons, which

they had taken out of the pinnace. And how Mr. Oxenham divided

both the English and the negroes into two bands, that one might

attack the enemy in front, and the other in the rear, and so set

upon them with great fury, and would have utterly driven them out,

but that the negroes, who had come on with much howling, like very

wild beasts, being suddenly scared with the shot and noise of the

ordnance, turned and fled, leaving the Englishmen alone; in which

evil strait Mr. O. fought like a very Guy of Warwick, and I verily

believe every man of them likewise; for there was none of them who

had not his shrewd scratch to show. And indeed, Mr. Oxenham's

party had once gotten within the barricades, but the Spaniards

being sheltered by the tree trunks (and especially by one mighty

tree, which stood as I remembered it, and remember it now, borne up

two fathoms high upon its own roots, as it were upon 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 seeing that they could prevail nothing, having little but

their 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 with pikes, and hardly pulled away by some,

who at last reminding him of his lady, persuaded him to come away

with the rest. Whereon the other party fled also; but what had

become of them they knew not, for they took another way. And so

they miserably drew off, having lost in men eleven killed and seven

taken alive, besides five of the rascal negroes who were killed

before they had time to run; and there was an end of the matter.*

• In the documents from which I have drawn this veracious history,

a note is appended to this point of Yeo's story, which seems to me

to smack sufficiently of the old Elizabethan seaman, to be inserted

at length.

"All so far, and most after, agreeth with Lopez Vaz his tale, taken

from his pocket by my Lord Cumberland's mariners at the river

Plate, in the year 1586. But note here his vainglory and

falsehood, or else fear of the Spaniard.

"First, lest it should be seen how great an advantage the Spaniards

had, he maketh no mention of the English calivers, nor those two

pieces of ordnance which were in the pinnace.

"Second, he saith nothing of the flight of the Cimaroons: though it

was evidently to be gathered from that which he himself saith, that

of less than seventy English were slain eleven, and of the negroes

but five. And while of the English seven were taken alive, yet of

the negroes none. And why, but because the rascals ran?

"Thirdly, it is a thing incredible, and out of experience, that

eleven English should be slain and seven taken, with loss only of

two Spaniards killed.

"Search now, and see (for I will not speak of mine own small

doings), in all those memorable voyages, which the worthy and

learned Mr. Hakluyt hath so painfully collected, and which are to

my old age next only to my Bible, whether in all the fights which

we have endured with the Spaniards, their loss, even in victory,

hath not far exceeded ours. For we are both bigger of body and

fiercer of spirit, being even to the poorest of us (thanks so the

care of our illustrious princes), the best fed men of Europe, the

most trained to feats of strength and use of weapons, and put our

trust also not in any Virgin or saints, dead rags and bones,

painted idols which have no breath in their mouths, or St.

Bartholomew medals and such devil's remembrancers; but in the only

true God and our Lord Jesus Christ, in whom whosoever trusteth, 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 weapon they will,

save paper bullets blown out of Fame's lying trumpet. Yet I have

no quarrel with the poor Portugal; for I doubt not but friend Lopez

Vaz had looking over his shoulder as he wrote some mighty black

velvet Don, with a name as long as that Don Bernaldino Delgadillo

de Avellaneda who set forth lately his vainglorious libel of lies

concerning the last and fatal voyage of my dear friends Sir F.

Drake and Sir John Hawkins, who rest in peace, having finished

their labors, as would God I rested. To whose shameless and

unspeakable lying my good friend Mr. Henry Savile of this county

did most pithily and wittily reply, 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 distance

from this realm; which challenge he hath prudently put in his pipe,

or rather rolled it up for one of his Spanish cigarros, and smoked

it, and I doubt not, found it foul in the mouth."

"But the next day, gentlemen, in came some five-and-twenty more,

being the wreck of the other party, and with them a few negroes;

and these last proved themselves no honester men than they were

brave, for there being great misery among us English, and every one

of us straggling where he could to get food, every day one or more

who went out never came back, and that caused a suspicion that the

negroes had betrayed them to the Spaniards, or, maybe, slain and

eaten them. So these fellows being upbraided, with that altogether

left us, telling us boldly, that if they had eaten our fellows, we

owed them a debt instead of the Spanish prisoners; and we, in great

terror and hunger, went forward and over the mountains till we came

to a little river which ran northward, which seemed to lead into

the Northern Sea; and there Mr. O.--who, sirs, I will say, after

his first rage was over, behaved himself all through like a valiant

and skilful commander--bade us cut down trees and make canoes, to

go down to the sea; which we began to do, with great labor and

little profit, hewing down trees with our swords, and burning them

out with fire, which, after much labor, we kindled; but as we were

a-burning out of the first tree, and cutting down of another, a

great party of negroes came upon us, and with much friendly show

bade us flee for our lives, for the Spaniards were upon us in great

force. And so we were up and away again, hardly able to drag our

legs after us for hunger and weariness, and the broiling heat. And

some were taken (God help them!) and some fled with the negroes, of

whom what became God alone knoweth; but eight or ten held on with

the captain, among whom was I, and fled downward toward the sea for

one day; but afterwards finding, by the noise in the woods, that

the Spaniards were on the track of us, we turned up again toward

the inland, and coming to a cliff, climbed up over it, drawing up

the lady and the little maid with cords of liana (which hang from

those trees as honeysuckle does here, but exceeding stout and long,

even to fifty fathoms); and so breaking the track, hoped to be out

of the way of the enemy.

"By which, nevertheless, we only increased our misery. For two

fell from that cliff, as men asleep for very weariness, and

miserably broke their bones; and others, whether by the great toil,

or sunstrokes, or eating of strange berries, fell sick of fluxes

and fevers; where was no drop of water, but rock of pumice 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, but were fain to leave them there aloft, in the sunshine,

like Dives in his torments, crying aloud for a drop of water to

cool their tongues; and every man a great stinking vulture or two

sitting by him, like an ugly black fiend out of the pit, waiting

till the poor soul should depart out of the corpse: but nothing

could avail, and for the dear life we must down again and into the

woods, or be burned up alive upon those rocks.

"So getting down the slope on the farther side, we came into the

woods once more, and there wandered for many days, I know not how

many; our shoes being gone, and our clothes all rent off us with

brakes and briars. And yet how the lady endured all was a marvel

to see; for she went barefoot many days, and for clothes was fain

to wrap herself in Mr. Oxenham's cloak; while the little maid went

all but naked: but ever she looked still on Mr. Oxenham, and seemed

to take no care as long as he was by, comforting and cheering us

all with pleasant words; yea, and once sitting down under a great

fig-tree, sang us all to sleep 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 fair and a

brave jewel.

"And so, to make few words of a sad matter, at last there were none

left but Mr. Oxenham and the lady and the little maid, together

with me and William Penberthy of Marazion, my good comrade. And

Mr. Oxenham always led the lady, and Penberthy and I carried the

little maid. And for food we had fruits, such as we could find,

and water we got from the leaves of 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 asked for

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 us with dogs, which made the lady leap up

often in her sleep, crying that the bloodhounds were upon her. And

it befell upon a day, that we came into a great wood of ferns

(which grew not on the ground like ours, but on stems as big as a

pinnace's mast, and the bark of them was like a fine meshed net,

very strange to see), where was very pleasant shade, cool and

green; and there, gentlemen, we sat down on a bank of moss, like

folk desperate and fordone, and every one looked the other in the

face for a long while. After which I took off the bark of those

ferns, for I 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, 'What hinders us from

dying like men, every man falling on his own sword?' To which I

answered that I dare not; for a wise woman had prophesied of me,

sirs, that I should die at sea, and yet neither by water or battle,

wherefore I did not think right to meddle with the Lord's purposes.

And William Penberthy 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, a weakness I never saw him in before or since;

and with many tears besought me never to desert that little maid,

whatever might befall; which I promised, swearing to it like a

heathen, but would, if I had been able, have kept it like a

Christian. But on a sudden there was a great cry in the wood, and

coming through the trees on all sides Spanish arquebusiers, a

hundred strong at least, and negroes with them, who bade us stand

or they would shoot. William Penberthy leapt up, crying 'Treason!'

and running upon the nearest negro ran him through, and then

another, and then falling on the Spaniards, fought manfully till he

was borne down with pikes, and so died. But I, seeing no thing

better to do, sate still and finished my plaiting. And so we were

all taken, and I and Mr. Oxenham bound with cords; but the soldiers

made a litter for the lady and child, by commandment of Senor Diego

de Trees, their commander, a very courteous gentleman.

"Well, sirs, we were brought down to the place where the house of

boughs had been by the river-side; there we went over in boats, and

found waiting for us certain Spanish gentlemen, and among others

one old and ill-favored man, gray-bearded and bent, in a suit of

black velvet, who seemed to be a great man among them. And if you

will believe me, Mr. Leigh, that was none other than the old man

with the gold falcon at his breast, Don Francisco Xararte by name,

whom you found aboard of the Lima ship. And had you known as much

of him as I do, or as Mr. Oxenham did 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 would have slain her, but some there

held him back. On which he turned to, and reviled with every foul

and spiteful word which he could think of, so that some there bade

him be silent for shame; and Mr. Oxenham said, 'It is worthy of

you, Don Francisco, thus to trumpet abroad your own disgrace. Did

I not tell you years ago that you were a cur; and are you not

proving my words for me?'

"He answered, 'English dog, would to Heaven I had never seen you!'

"And Mr. Oxenham, 'Spanish ape, would to Heaven that I had sent my

dagger through your herring-ribs when you passed me behind St.

Ildegonde's church, eight years last Easter-eve.' At which the old

man turned pale, and then began again to upbraid the lady, vowing

that he would have her burnt alive, and other devilish words, to

which she answered at last--

"'Would that you had burnt me alive on my 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 she have of me?'

"To which she answered only but this one word, 'Fool!' but in so

terrible a voice, though low, that they who were about to laugh at

the old pantaloon, were more minded to weep for her.

"'Fool!' she said again, after a while, '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 from your gout and your

rheumatism. Selfish and stupid, know when you bought my body from

my parents, you did not buy my soul! Farewell, my love, my life!

and farewell, senors! May you be more merciful to your daughters

than my parents were to me!' And so, catching a dagger from the

girdle of one of the soldiers, smote herself to the heart, and fell

dead before them all.

"At which Mr. Oxenham smiled, and said, 'That was worthy of us

both. If you will unbind my hands, senors, I shall be most happy

to copy so fair a 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 those of your sailors whom I have already taken,

I cannot hear that you have any letters of license, either from the

queen of England, or any other potentate. I am compelled,

therefore, to ask you whether this is so; for it is a matter of

life and death.'

"To which Mr. Oxenham answered merrily, that so it was: but that he

was not aware that any potentate's license was required to permit a

gentleman's meeting his lady love; and that as for the gold which

they had taken, if they had never allowed that fresh and fair young

May to be forced into marrying that old January, he should never

have meddled with their gold; so that was rather their fault than

his. And added, that if he was to be hanged, as he supposed, the

only favor which he asked for was a long drop and no priests. And

all the while, gentlemen, he still kept his eyes fixed on the

lady's corpse, till he was led away with me, while all that stood

by, God reward them for it, lamented openly the tragical end of

those two sinful lovers.

"And now, sirs, what befell me after that matters little; for I

never saw Captain Oxenham again, nor ever shall in this life."

"He was hanged, then?"

"So I heard for certain the next year, and with him the gunner and

sundry more: but some were given away for slaves to the Spaniards,

and may be alive now, unless, like me, they have fallen into the

cruel clutches of the Inquisition. For the Inquisition now,

gentlemen, claims the bodies and souls of all heretics all over the

world (as the devils told me with their own lips, when I pleaded

that I was no Spanish subject); and none that it catches, whether

peaceable merchants or shipwrecked mariners, but must turn or

burn."

"But how did you get into the Inquisition?"

"Why, sir, after we were taken, we set forth to go down the river

again; and the old Don took the little maid with him in one boat

(and bitterly she screeched at parting from us and from the poor

dead corpse), and Mr. Oxenham with Don Diego de Trees in another,

and I in a third. And from the Spaniards I learnt that we were to

be taken down to Lima, to the Viceroy; but that the old man lived

hard by Panama, and was going straight back to Panama forthwith

with the little maid. But they said, 'It will be well for her if

she ever gets there, for the old man swears she is none of his, and

would have left her behind him in the woods, now, if Don Diego had

not shamed him out of it.' And when I heard that, seeing that

there was nothing but death before me, I made up my mind to escape;

and the very first night, sirs, by God's help, I did it, and went

southward away into the forest, avoiding the tracks of the

Cimaroons, till I came to an Indian town. And there, gentlemen, I

got more mercy from heathens than ever I had from Christians; for

when they found that I was no Spaniard, they fed me and gave me a

house, and a wife (and a good wife she was to me), and painted me

all over in patterns, as you see; and because I had some knowledge

of surgery and blood-letting, and my fleams in my pocket, which

were worth to me a fortune, I rose to great honor among them,

though they taught me more of simples than ever I taught them of

surgery. So I lived with them merrily enough, being a very heathen

like them, or indeed worse, for they worshipped their Xemes, but I

nothing. And in time my wife bare 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 was taken

from me, else had I lived and died as the beasts which perish; for

one night, after we were all lain down, came a noise outside the

town, and I starting up saw armed men and calivers shining in the

moonlight, and heard one read in Spanish, with a loud voice, some

fool's sermon, after their custom when they hunt the poor Indians,

how God had given to St. Peter the dominion of the whole earth, and

St. Peter again the Indies to the Catholic king; wherefore, if they

would all be baptized and serve the Spaniard, they should have some

monkey's allowance or other of more kicks than pence; and if not,

then have at them with fire and sword; but I dare say your worships

know that devilish trick of theirs better than I."

"I know it, man. Go on."

"Well--no sooner were the words spoken than, without waiting to

hear what the poor innocents within would answer (though that

mattered little, for they understood not one word of it), what do

the villains but let fly right into the town with their calivers,

and then rush in, sword in hand, killing pell-mell all they met,

one of which shots, gentlemen, passing through the doorway, and

close by me, struck my 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 of them, and their dogs with them in

leashes, which was yet worse, I knew all was lost, and sat down

again by the corpse with the babe on my knees, waiting the end,

like one stunned and in a dream; for now I thought God from whom I

had fled had surely found me out, as He did Jonah, and the

punishment of all my sins was come. Well, gentlemen, they dragged

me out, and all the young men and women, and chained us together by

the neck; and one, catching the pretty babe out of my arms, calls

for water and a priest (for they had their shavelings with them),

and no sooner was it christened than, catching the babe by the

heels, he dashed out its brains,--oh! gentlemen, gentlemen!--

against the ground, as if it had been a kitten; and so did they to

several more innocents that night, after they had christened them;

saying it was best for them to go to heaven while they were still

sure thereof; and so marched us all for slaves, leaving the old

folk and the wounded to die at leisure. But when morning came, and

they knew by my skin that I was no Indian, and by my speech that I

was no Spaniard, they began threatening me with torments, till I

confessed that I was an Englishman, and one of Oxenham's crew. At

that says the leader, 'Then you shall to Lima, to hang by the side

of your captain the pirate;' by which I first knew that my poor

captain was certainly gone; but alas for me! the priest steps in

and claims me for his booty, calling me Lutheran, heretic, and

enemy of God; and so, to make short a sad story, to the Inquisition

at Cartagena I went, where what I suffered, gentlemen, were as

disgustful for you to hear, as unmanly for me to complain of; but

so it was, that being twice racked, and having endured the water-

torment as best I could, I was put to the scarpines, whereof I am,

as you see, somewhat lame of one leg to this day. At which I could

abide no more, and so, wretch that I am! denied my God, in hope to

save my life; which indeed I did, but little it profited me; 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. And there, gentlemen, ofttimes I thought that it had been

better for me to have been burned at once and for all: but you know

as well as I what a floating hell of heat and cold, hunger and

thirst, stripes and toil, is every one of those accursed craft. In

which hell, nevertheless, gentlemen, I found the road to heaven,--I

had almost said heaven itself. For it fell out, by God's mercy,

that my next comrade was an Englishman like myself, a young man of

Bristol, who, as he told me, had been some manner of factor on

board poor Captain Barker's ship, and had been a preacher among the

Anabaptists here in England. And, oh! Sir Richard Grenville, if

that man had done for you what he did for me, you would never say a

word against those who serve the same Lord, because they don't

altogether hold with you. For from time to time, sir, seeing me

altogether despairing and furious, like a wild beast in a pit, he

set before me in secret earnestly the sweet promises of God in

Christ,--who says, 'Come to me, all ye that are heavy laden, and I

will refresh you; and though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be

as white as snow,--till all that past sinful life of mine looked

like a dream when one awaketh, and I forgot all my bodily miseries

in the misery of my soul, so did I loathe and hate myself for my

rebellion against that loving God who had chosen me before the

foundation of the world, and come to seek and save me when I was

lost; and falling into very despair at the burden of my heinous

sins, knew no peace until I gained sweet assurance that my Lord had

hanged my burden upon His cross, and washed my sinful soul in His

most sinless blood, Amen!"

And Sir Richard Grenville said Amen also.

"But, gentlemen, if that sweet youth won a soul to Christ, he paid

as dearly for it as ever did saint of God. For after a three or

four months, when I had been all that while in sweet converse with

him, and I may say in heaven in the midst of hell, there came one

night to the barranco at Lima, where we were kept when on shore,

three black devils of the Holy Office, and carried him off without

a word, only saying to me, 'Look that your turn come not next, for

we hear that you have had much talk with the villain.' And at

these words I was so struck cold with terror that I swooned right

away, and verily, if they had taken me there and then, I should

have denied my God again, for my faith was but young and weak: but

instead, they left me aboard the galley for a few months more (that

was a whole voyage to Panama and back), in daily dread lest I

should find myself in their cruel claws again--and then nothing for

me, but to burn as a relapsed heretic. But when we came back to

Lima, the officers came on board again, and said to me, 'That

heretic has confessed naught against you, so we will leave you for

this time: but because you have been seen talking with him so much,

and the Holy Office suspects your conversion to be but a rotten

one, you are adjudged to the galleys for the rest of your life in

perpetual servitude.'"

"But what became of him?" asked Amyas.

"He was burned, sir, a day or two before we got to Lima, and five

others with him at the same stake, of whom two were Englishmen; old

comrades of mine, as I guess."

"Ah!" said Amyas, "we heard of that when we were off Lima; and they

said, too, that there were six more lying still in prison, to be

burnt in a few days. If we had had our fleet with us (as we 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 we do with one ship?"

"Would to God you had, sir; for the story was true enough; and

among them, I heard, were two young ladies of quality and their

confessor, who came to their ends for reproving out of Scripture

the filthy and loathsome living of those parts, which, as I saw

well enough and too well, is liker to Sodom than to a Christian

town; but God will avenge His saints, and their sins. Amen."

"Amen," said Sir Richard: "but on with thy tale, for it is as

strange as ever man heard."

"Well, gentlemen, when I heard that I must end my days in that

galley, I was for awhile like a madman: but in a day or two there

came over me, I know not how, a full assurance of salvation, both

for this life and 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 after we had laden the

'Cacafuogo') I cast in my mind how to escape, and found no way: but

just as I was beginning to lose heart again, a door was opened by

the Lord's own hand; for (I know not why) we were marched across

from Panama to Nombre, which had never happened before, and there

put all together into a great barranco close by the quay-side,

shackled, as is the fashion, to one long bar that ran the whole

length of the house. And the very first night that we were there,

I, looking out of the window, spied, lying close aboard of the

quay, a good-sized caravel well armed and just loading for sea; and

the land breeze blew off very strong, so that the sailors were

laying out a fresh warp to hold her to the shore. And it came into

my mind, that if we were aboard of her, we should be at sea in five

minutes; and looking at the quay, I saw all the soldiers who had

guarded us scattered about drinking and gambling, and some going

into taverns to refresh themselves after their journey. That was

just at sundown; and half an hour after, in comes the gaoler to

take a last look at us for the night, and his keys at his girdle.

Whereon, sirs (whether by madness, or whether by the spirit which

gave Samson strength to rend the lion), I rose against him as he

passed me, without forethought or treachery of any kind, chained

though I was, caught him by the head, and threw him there and then

against the wall, that he never spoke word after; and then with his

keys freed myself and every soul in that room, and bid them follow

me, vowing to kill any man who disobeyed my commands. They

followed, as men astounded and leaping out of night into day, and

death into life, and so aboard that caravel and out of the harbor

(the Lord only knows how, who blinded the eyes of the idolaters),

'with no more hurt than a few chance-shot from the soldiers on the

quay. But my tale has been over-long already, gentlemen--"

"Go on till midnight, my good fellow, if you will."

"Well, sirs, they chose me for captain, and a certain Genoese for

lieutenant, and away to go. I would fain have gone ashore after

all, and back to Panama to hear news of the little maid: but that

would have been but a fool's errand. Some wanted to turn pirates:

but I, and the Genoese too, who was a prudent man, though an evil

one, persuaded them to run for England and get employment in the

Netherland wars, assuring them that there would be no safety in the

Spanish Main, when once our escape got wind. And the more part

being of one mind, for England we sailed, watering at the Barbadoes

because it was desolate; and so eastward toward the Canaries. In

which voyage what we endured (being taken by long calms), by

scurvy, calentures, hunger, and thirst, no tongue can tell. Many a

time were we glad to lay out sheets at night to catch the dew, and

suck them in the morning; and he that had a noggin of rain-water

out of the scuppers was as much sought to as if he had been

Adelantado of all the Indies; till of a hundred and forty poor

wretches a hundred and ten were dead, blaspheming God and man, and

above all me and the Genoese, for taking the Europe voyage, as if I

had not sins enough of my own already. And last of all, when we

thought ourselves safe, we were wrecked by southwesters on the

coast of Brittany, near to Cape Race, from which but nine souls of

us came ashore with their lives; and so to Brest, where I found a

Flushinger who carried me to Falmouth and so ends my tale, in which

if I have said one word more or less than truth, I can wish myself

no worse, than to have it all to undergo a second time."

And his voice, as he finished, sank from very weariness of soul;

while Sir Richard sat opposite him in silence, his elbows on the

table, his cheeks on his doubled fists, looking him through and

through with kindling eyes. No one spoke for several minutes; and

then--

"Amyas, you have heard this story. You believe it?"

"Every word, sir, or I should not have the heart of 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 treat him as if he were their own

father."

But Yeo lingered.

"If I might be so bold as to ask your worship a favor?--"

"Anything in reason, my brave fellow."

"If your worship could put me in the way of another adventure to

the Indies?"

"Another! Hast not had enough of the Spaniards already?"

"Never enough, sir, while one of the idolatrous tyrants is left

unhanged," said he, with a right bitter smile. "But it's not for

that only, sir: but my little maid--Oh, sir! my little maid, that I

swore to Mr. Oxenham to look to, and never saw her from that day to

this! I must 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 wake there is my oath lying on my

soul, like a great black cloud, and I no nearer the keeping of it.

I told that poor young minister of it when we were in the galleys

together; and he said oaths were oaths, and keep it I must; and

keep it I will, sir, if you'll but help me."

"Have patience, man. God will take as good care of thy little maid

as ever thou wilt."

"I know it, sir. I know it: but faith's weak, sir! and oh! if she

were bred up a Papist and an idolater; wouldn't her blood be on my

head then, sir? Sooner than that, sooner than that, I'd be in the

Inquisition again to-morrow, I would!"

"My good fellow, there are no adventures to the Indies forward now:

but if you want to fight Spaniards, here is a gentleman will show

you the way. Amyas, take him with you to Ireland. If he has

learnt 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 few matters I can't turn my hand

to: and maybe you'll be going to the Indies again, some day, eh?

and take me with you? I'd serve your turn well, though I say it,

either for gunner or for pilot. I know every stone and tree from

Nombre to 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

gold coasts, will you now?"

Amyas laughed, and nodded; and the bargain was concluded.

So out went Yeo to eat, and Amyas having received his despatches,

got ready for his journey home.

"Go the short way over the moors, lad; and send back Cary's gray

when you can. You must not lose an hour, but be ready to sail the

moment the wind goes about."

So they started: but as Amyas was getting into the saddle, he saw

that there was some stir among the servants, who seemed to keep

carefully out of Yeo'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!" whispered he: "and you ben't going

by the moor road all alone with that chap?"

"Why not, then? I'm too big for him to eat, I reckon."

"Oh, Mr. Amyas! he's not right, I tell you; not company for a

Christian--to go forth with creatures as has flames of fire in

their inwards; 'tis temptation of Providence, indeed, then, it is."

"Tale of a tub."

"Tale of a Christian, sir. There was two boys pig-minding, seed

him at it down the hill, beside a maiden that was taken mazed (and

no wonder, poor soul!) and lying in screeching asterisks now down

to the mill--you ask as you go by--and saw the flames come out of

the mouth of mun, and the smoke out of mun's nose like a vire-

drake, and the roaring of mun like the roaring of ten thousand

bulls. Oh, sir! and to go with he after dark over moor! 'Tis the

devil's devices, sir, against you, because you'm going against his

sarvants the Pope of Room and the Spaniard; and you'll be Pixy-led,

sure as life, and locked into a bog, you will, and see mun vanish

away to fire and brimstone, like a jack-o'-lantern. Oh, have a

care, then, have a care!"

And the old man wrung his hands, while Amyas, bursting with

laughter, rode off down the park, with the unconscious Yeo 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 to draw in, and the

western wind to sweep more cold and cheerless every moment, when

Amyas, knowing that there was not an inn hard by around for many a

mile ahead, took a pull at a certain bottle which Lady Grenville

had put into his holster, and then offered Yeo a pull also.

He declined; he had meat and drink too about him, Heaven be

praised!

"Meat and drink? Fall to, then, man, and don't stand on manners."

Whereon Yeo, seeing an old decayed willow by a brook, went to it,

and took therefrom some touchwood, to which he set a light with his

knife and a stone, while Amyas watched, a little puzzled and

startled, as Yeo's fiery reputation came into his mind. Was he

really a salamander-sprite, and going to warm his inside by a meal

of burning tinder? But now Yeo, in his solemn methodical way,

pulled out of his bosom a brown leaf, and began rolling a piece of

it up neatly to the size of his little finger; and then, putting

the one end into his mouth and the other on the tinder, sucked at

it till it was a-light; and drinking down the smoke, began puffing

it out again at his nostrils with a grunt of deepest satisfaction,

and resumed his dog-trot by Amyas's side, as if he had been a

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 you never see it before?"

"Never, though we heard talk of it along the coast; but we took it

for one more Spanish lie. Humph--well, live and learn!"

"Ah, sir, no lie, but a blessed truth, as I can tell, who have ere

now gone in the strength of this weed three days and nights without

eating; and therefore, sir, the Indians always carry it with them

on their war-parties: and no wonder; for when all things were made

none was made better than this; to be a lone man's companion, a

bachelor's friend, a hungry man's food, a sad man's cordial, a

wakeful man's sleep, and a chilly man's fire, sir; while for

stanching of wounds, purging of rheum, and settling of the stomach,

there's no herb like unto it under the canopy of heaven."

The truth of which eulogium Amyas tested in after years, as shall

be fully set forth in due place and time. But "Mark in the

meanwhile," says one of the veracious chroniclers from whom I draw

these facts, writing seemingly in the palmy days of good Queen

Anne, and "not having" (as he says) "before his eyes the fear of

that misocapnic Solomon James I. or of any other lying Stuart,"

"that not to South Devon, but to North; not to Sir Walter Raleigh,

but to Sir Amyas Leigh; not to 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, when the age of brass

shall have vanished like those of iron and of gold; for whereas Mr.

Lane is said to have brought home that divine weed (as Spenser well

names it) from Virginia, in the year 1584, it is hereby

indisputable that full four years earlier, by the bridge of Putford

in the Torridge moors (which all true smokers shall hereafter visit

as a hallowed spot and point of pilgrimage) first twinkled that

fiery beacon and beneficent lodestar of Bidefordian commerce, to

spread hereafter from port to port and peak to peak, like the

watch-fires which proclaimed the coming of the Armada or the fall

of Troy, even to the shores of the Bosphorus, the peaks of the

Caucasus, and the farthest isles of the Malayan sea, while

Bideford, metropolis of tobacco, saw her Pool choked with Virginian

traders, and the pavement of her Bridgeland Street groaning beneath

the savory bales of roll Trinadado, leaf, and pudding; and her

grave burghers, bolstered and blocked out of their own houses by

the scarce less savory stock-fish casks which filled cellar,

parlor, and attic, were fain to sit outside the door, a silver pipe

in every strong right hand, and each left hand chinking cheerfully

the doubloons deep lodged in the auriferous caverns of their trunk-

hose; while in those fairy-rings of fragrant mist, which circled

round their contemplative brows, flitted most pleasant visions of

Wiltshire farmers jogging into Sherborne fair, their heaviest

shillings in their pockets, to buy (unless old Aubrey lies) the

lotus-leaf of Torridge for its weight in silver, and draw from

thence, after the example of the Caciques of Dariena, supplies of

inspiration much needed, then as now, in those Gothamite regions.

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's surgeon Mr. Wafer after him), when they will

deliberate of war or policy, sit round in the hut of the chief;

where being placed, enter to them a small boy with a cigarro of the

bigness of a rolling-pin and puffs the smoke thereof into the face

of each warrior, from the eldest to the youngest; while they,

putting their hand funnel-wise round their mouths, draw into the

sinuosities of the brain that more than Delphic vapor of prophecy;

which boy presently falls down in a swoon, and being dragged out by

the heels and laid by to sober, enter another to puff at the sacred

cigarro, till he is dragged out likewise; and so on till the

tobacco is finished, and the seed of wisdom has sprouted in every

soul into the tree of meditation, bearing the flowers of eloquence,

and in due time the fruit of valiant action." With which quaint

fact (for fact it is, in spite of the bombast) I end the present

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,

the deformed beautiful, the sick whole, the weak strong, the most

miserable most happy. There are two principal and peculiar gifts

in the nature of man, knowledge and reason; the one commandeth, and

the other obeyeth: these things neither the whirling wheel of

fortune can change, neither the deceitful cavillings of worldlings

separate, neither sickness abate, neither age abolish."--LILLY's

Euphues, 1586.

It now falls to my lot to write of the foundation of that most

chivalrous brotherhood of the Rose, which after a few years made

itself not only famous in its native country of Devon, but

formidable, as will be related 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 and

fantastical, let them recollect that the generation who spoke and

acted thus in matters of love and honor were, nevertheless,

practised and valiant soldiers, and prudent and crafty politicians;

that he who wrote the "Arcadia" was at the same time, in spite of

his youth, one of the subtlest diplomatists of 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 by asking--Have they ever

read it? For if they have done so, I pity them if they have not

found it, in spite of occasional tediousness and pedantry, as

brave, righteous, and pious a book as man need look into: and wish

for no better proof of the nobleness and virtue of the Elizabethan

age, than the fact that "Euphues" and the "Arcadia" were the two

popular romances of the day. It may have suited the purposes of

Sir Walter Scott, in his cleverly drawn Sir Piercie Shafton, to

ridicule the Euphuists, and that affectatam comitatem of the

travelled English of which Languet complains; but over and above

the anachronism of the whole character (for, to give but one

instance, the Euphuist knight talks of Sidney's quarrel with Lord

Oxford at least ten years before it happened), we do deny that

Lilly's book could, if read by any man of common sense, produce

such a coxcomb, whose spiritual ancestors would rather have been

Gabriel Harvey and Lord Oxford,--if indeed the former has not

maligned the latter, and ill-tempered Tom Nash maligned the

maligner in his turn.

But, indeed, there is a double anachronism in Sir Piercie; for he

does not even belong to the days of Sidney, but to those worse

times which began in the latter years of Elizabeth, and after

breaking her mighty heart, had full license to bear their crop of

fools' heads in the profligate days of James. Of them, perhaps,

hereafter. And in the meanwhile, let those who have not read

"Euphues" believe that, if they could train a son after the fashion

of his Ephoebus, to the great saving of their own money and his

virtue, all fathers, even in these money-making days, would rise up

and call them blessed. Let us rather open our eyes, and see in

these old Elizabeth gallants our own ancestors, showing forth with

the luxuriant wildness of youth all the virtues which still go to

the making of a true Englishman. Let us not only see in their

commercial and military daring, in their political astuteness, in

their deep reverence for law, and in their solemn sense of the

great calling of the English nation, the antitypes or rather the

examples of our own: but let us confess that their chivalry is only

another garb of that beautiful tenderness and mercy which is now,

as it was then, the twin sister of English valor; and even in their

extravagant fondness for Continental manners and literature, let us

recognize that old Anglo-Norman teachableness and wide-heartedness,

which has enabled us to profit by the wisdom and civilization of

all ages and of all lands, without prejudice to our 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 pasturage which suits him better.

Amyas could not sail the next day, or the day after; for the

southwester freshened, and blew three parts of a gale dead into the

bay. So having got the "Mary Grenville" down the river into

Appledore pool, ready to start with the first shift of wind, he

went quietly home; and when his mother started on a pillion behind

the old serving-man to ride to Clovelly, where Frank lay wounded,

he went in with her as far as Bideford, and there met, coming down

the High Street, a procession of horsemen headed by Will Cary, who,

clad cap-a-pie in a shining armor, sword on thigh, and helmet at

saddle-bow, looked as gallant a young gentleman as ever Bideford

dames peeped at from door and window. Behind him, upon country

ponies, came four or five stout serving-men, carrying his lances

and baggage, and their own long-bows, swords, and bucklers; and

behind all, in a horse-litter, to Mrs. Leigh's great joy, Master

Frank himself. He deposed that his wounds were only flesh-wounds,

the dagger having turned against his ribs; that he must see the

last of his brother; and that with her good leave he would not come

home to Burrough, but take up his abode with Cary in the Ship

Tavern, close to the Bridge-foot. This he did forthwith, and

settling himself on a couch, held his levee there in state, mobbed

by all the gossips of the town, not without white fibs as to who

had brought him into that sorry 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's orders a bustle of roasting,

boiling, and frying, unparalleled in the annals of the Ship Tavern;

and next by Amyas himself, who, going out into the market, invited

as many of his old schoolfellows, one by one apart, as Frank had

pointed out to him, to a merry supper and a "rowse" thereon

consequent; by which crafty scheme, in came each of Rose Salterne's

gentle admirers, and found himself, to his considerable disgust,

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 Leighs discern as much; and they (though, of course, they

knew all) settled their guests, Frank on his couch lying at the

head of the table, and Amyas taking the bottom: and contrived, by

filling all mouths with good things, to save them the pain of

speaking to each other till the wine should have loosened their

tongues and warmed their hearts. In the meanwhile both Amyas and

Frank, ignoring the silence of their guests with the most provoking

good-humor, chatted, and joked, and told stories, and made

themselves such good company, that Will Cary, who always found

merriment infectious, 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 him frown; and unabashed nevertheless, began

playing his light artillery upon the waiters, till he drove them

out 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 with all the honors, Frank tried a fresh move, and--

"I have a toast, gentlemen--here it is. 'The gentlemen of the

Irish wars; and may Ireland never be without a St. Leger to stand

by a Fortescue, a Fortescue to stand by a St. Leger, and a

Chichester to stand by both.'"

Which toast of course involved the drinking the healths of the

three representatives of those families, and their returning

thanks, and paying a compliment each to the other's house: and so

the ice cracked a little further; and young Fortescue proposed the

health 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 than to sail round the world again with the present

company as fellow-adventurers, and so give the Spaniards another

taste of the men of Devon."

And by this time, the wine going down sweetly, caused the lips of

them that were asleep to speak; till the ice broke up altogether,

and every man began talking like a rational Englishman to the man

who sat next him.

"And now, gentlemen," said Frank, who saw that it was the fit

moment for the grand assault which he had planned all along; "let

me give you a health which none of you, I dare say, will refuse to

drink with heart and soul as well as with lips;--the health of one

whom beauty and virtue have so ennobled, that in their light the

shadow of lowly birth is unseen;--the health of one whom I would

proclaim as peerless in loveliness, were it not that every

gentleman here has sisters, who might well challenge from her the

girdle of Venus: and yet what else dare I say, while those same

lovely ladies who, if they but use their own mirrors, must needs be

far better judges of beauty than I can be, have in my own hearing

again and again assigned the palm to her? Surely, if the goddesses

decide among themselves the question of the golden apple, Paris

himself must vacate the judgment-seat. Gentlemen, your hearts, I

doubt not, have already bid you, as my unworthy lips do now, to

drink 'The Rose of Torridge.'"

If the Rose of Torridge herself had walked into the room, she could

hardly have caused more blank astonishment than Frank's bold

speech. Every guest turned red, and pale, and red again, and

looked at the other as much as to say, "What right has any one but

I to drink her? Lift your glass, and I will dash it out of your

hand;" but Frank, with sweet effrontery, drank "The health of the

Rose of Torridge, and a double health to that worthy gentleman,

whosoever he may be, whom she is fated to honor with her love!"

"Well done, cunning Frank Leigh!" cried blunt Will Cary; "none of

us dare quarrel with you 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; and so we are bound to believe that you

have drunk our healths all round."

"And so I have: and what better thing can you do, gentlemen, than

to drink each other's healths all round likewise: and so show

yourselves true gentlemen, true Christians, ay, and true lovers?

For what is love (let me speak freely to you, gentlemen and

guests), what is love, but the very inspiration of that Deity whose

name is Love? Be sure that not without reason did the ancients

feign Eros to be the eldest of the gods, by whom the jarring

elements of 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 cockatrice's egg? or the soul be filled

with love, the likeness of the immortals, to burn with envy and

jealousy, division and distrust? True, the rose has its thorn: but

it leaves poison and stings to the nettle. Cupid has his arrow:

but he hurls no scorpions. Venus is awful when despised, as the

daughters of Proetus found: but her handmaids are the Graces, not

the Furies. Surely he who loves aright will not only find love

lovely, but become himself lovely also. I speak not to reprehend

you, gentlemen; for to you (as your piercing wits have already

perceived, to judge by your honorable blushes) my discourse tends;

but to point you, if you will 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 be washed off again

by the next tide."

Frank's rapid and fantastic oratory, utterly unexpected as it was,

had as yet left their wits no time to set their tempers on fire;

but when, weak from his wounds, he paused for breath, there was a

haughty murmur from more than one young gentleman, who took his

speech as an impertinent interference with each man's right to make

a fool of himself; and Mr. Coffin, who had sat quietly bolt

upright, and looking 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 the Lapithae might have come true.

But Frank's heart and head never failed him.

"Mr. Coffin!" said he, in a tone which compelled that gentleman to

turn round, and so brought him under the power of a face which none

could have beheld 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 moment the bounds of courtesy, let me

entreat you to forgive me. Do not add to my heavy griefs, heavy

enough already, the grief of losing a friend. Only hear me

patiently to the end (generously, I know, you will hear me); and

then, if you are still incensed, I can but again entreat your

forgiveness a second time."

Mr. Coffin, to tell the truth, had at that time never been to

Court; and he was therefore somewhat jealous of Frank, and his

Court talk, and his Court clothes, and his Court company; and

moreover, being the eldest of the guests, and only two years

younger than Frank himself, he was a little nettled at being

classed in the same category with some who were scarce eighteen.

And if Frank had given the least hint which seemed to 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 had known

Frank ever since either of them could walk, had nothing to do but

to sit down again and submit, while Frank went on more earnestly

than ever.

"Believe me; believe me, Mr. Coffin, and gentlemen all, I no more

arrogate to myself a superiority over you than does the sailor

hurled on shore by the surge fancy himself better than his comrade

who is still battling with the foam. For I too, gentlemen,--let me

confess it, that by confiding in you I may, perhaps, win you to

confide in me,--have loved, ay and do love, where you love also.

Do not start. Is it a matter of wonder that the sun which has

dazzled you has dazzled me; that the lodestone which has drawn you

has drawn me? Do not frown, either, gentlemen. I have learnt to

love you for loving what I love, and to 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 close communion

between subjects than allegiance to the same queen? 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 likewise a bond of love between the worshippers? and each

lover see in his rival not an enemy, but a fellow-sufferer? You

smile and say in your hearts, that though all may worship, but one

can enjoy; and that one man's meat must be the poison of the rest.

Be it so, though I deny it. Shall we anticipate our own doom, and

slay ourselves for fear of dying? Shall we make ourselves unworthy

of her from our very eagerness to win her, and show ourselves her

faithful knights, by cherishing envy,--most unknightly of all sins?

Shall we dream with the Italian or the Spaniard that we can become

more amiable in a lady's eyes, by becoming hateful in the eyes of

God and of each other? Will she love us the better, if we come to

her with hands stained in the blood of him whom she loves better

than us? Let us recollect ourselves rather, gentlemen; and be sure

that our only chance of winning her, if she be worth winning, is to

will what she wills, honor whom she honors, love whom she loves.

If there is to be rivalry among us, let it be a rivalry in

nobleness, an emulation in virtue. Let each try to outstrip the

other in loyalty to his queen, in valor against her foes, in deeds

of courtesy and mercy to the afflicted and oppressed; and thus our

love will indeed prove its own divine origin, by raising us nearer

to those gods whose gift it is. But yet I show you a more

excellent way, and that is charity. Why should we not make this

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 of those ancient knights, who having but one grief, one

desire, one goddess, held that one heart was enough to contain that

grief, to nourish that desire, to worship that divinity; and so

uniting themselves in friendship till they became but one soul in

two bodies, lived only for each other in living only for her,

vowing as faithful worshippers to abide by her decision, to find

their own bliss in hers, and whomsoever she esteemed most worthy of

her love, to esteem most worthy also, and count themselves, by that

her choice, the bounden servants of him whom their mistress had

condescended to advance to the dignity of her master?--as I (not

without hope that I shall be outdone in generous strife) do here

promise to be the faithful friend, and, to my ability, the hearty

servant, of him who shall 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 and hearty servant (even if you have not borne off

the bell already while we have been asleep), that the bargain is

hardly fair between such a gay Italianist and us country swains."

"You undervalue yourself and your country, my dear sir. But set

your mind at rest. I know no 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 years are past. Dixi?"

Mr. Coffin rose.

"Gentlemen, I may submit to be outdone by Mr. Leigh in eloquence,

but not in generosity; if he leaves these 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-washy elm-board, but right heart-of-oak. I am going, too, as

Amyas here can tell, to Ireland away, to cool my 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 charity to mankind. Can I have the

pleasure of begging pardon 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 horse of him, which

will be as good as giving him ten? Come along! Join hands all

round, and swear eternal friendship, as brothers of the sacred

order of the--of what. Frank Leigh? Open thy mouth, Daniel, and

christen us!"

"The Rose!" said Frank quietly, seeing that his new love-philtre

was working well, and determined to strike while the iron was hot,

and carry the matter too far to carry it back again.

"The Rose!" cried Cary, catching hold of Coffin's hand with his

right, and Fortescue's with his left. "Come, Mr. Coffin! Bend,

sturdy oak! 'Woe to the stiffnecked and stout-hearted!' says

Scripture."

And somehow or other, whether it was Frank's chivalrous speech, or

Cary's fun, or Amyas's good wine, or the nobleness which lies in

every young lad's heart, if their elders will take the trouble to

call it out, the whole party came in to terms one by one, shook

hands all round, and vowed on the hilt of Amyas's sword to make

fools of themselves no more, at least by jealousy: but to stand by

each other and by their lady-love, and neither grudge nor grumble,

let her dance with, flirt with, or marry with whom she would; and

in order that the honor of their peerless dame, and the brotherhood

which was named after her, might be spread through all lands, and

equal that of Angelica or Isonde of Brittany, they would each go

home, and ask their fathers' leave (easy enough to obtain in those

brave times) to go abroad wheresoever there were "good wars," to

emulate there the courage and the courtesy of Walter Manny and

Gonzalo Fernandes, Bayard and Gaston de Foix. Why not? Sidney was

the hero of Europe at five-and-twenty; and why not they?

And Frank watched and listened with one of his quiet smiles (his

eyes, as some folks' do, smiled even when his lips were still), and

only said: "Gentlemen, be sure that you will never repent this

day."

"Repent?" said Cary. "I feel already 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 door behind, he

returned, dragging out by the head Mr. John Brimblecombe.

Who was Mr. John Brimblecombe?

If you have forgotten him, you have done pretty nearly what every

one else in the room had done. But you recollect a certain fat

lad, son of the schoolmaster, whom Sir Richard punished for tale-

bearing three years before, 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 such things as were taught

in those days, with more or less success; and he was now hanging

about Bideford once more, intending to return after Christmas and

read divinity, that he might become a parson, and a shepherd of

souls in his native land.

Jack was in person exceedingly like a pig: but not like every pig:

not in the least like the Devon pigs of those days, which, I am

sorry to say, were no more shapely than the true Irish greyhound

who pays Pat's "rint" for him; or than 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--

strange mud-colored creatures, four feet high and four inches

thick, which look as if they had passed their lives, as a collar of

Oxford brawn is said to do, between two tight boards. Such were

then the pigs of Devon: not to be compared with the true wild

descendant of Noah's stock, high-withered, furry, grizzled, game-

flavored little rooklers, whereof many a sownder still grunted

about Swinley down and Braunton woods, Clovelly glens and Bursdon

moor. Not like these, nor like the tame abomination of those

barbarous times, was Jack: but prophetic in face, figure, and

complexion, of Fisher Hobbs and the triumphs of science. 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 was Jack. The same plump mulberry complexion,

garnished with a few scattered black bristles; the same sleek skin,

looking always as if it was upon the point of bursting; the same

little toddling legs; the same dapper bend in the small of the

back; the same cracked squeak; the same low upright forehead, and

tiny eyes; the same round self-satisfied jowl; the same charming

sensitive little cocked nose, always on the look-out for a savory

smell,--and yet while watching for the best, contented with the

worst; a pig of self-helpful and serene spirit, as Jack was, and

therefore, like him, fatting fast while other pigs' ribs are

staring through their skins.

Such was Jack; and lucky it was for him that such he was; for it

was little that he got to fat him at Oxford, 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 preparations for Amyas's supper. The innkeeper was a

friend of his; for, in the first place, they had lived within three

doors of each other all their lives; and next, Jack was quite

pleasant company enough, beside being a learned man and an Oxford

scholar, to be asked in now and then to the innkeeper's private

parlor, when there were no gentlemen there, to crack his little

joke and tell his little story, sip the leavings of the guests'

sack, and sometimes help the host to eat the leavings of their

supper. And it was, perhaps, with some such hope that Jack trotted

off round the corner to the Ship that very afternoon; for that

faithful little nose of his, as it sniffed out of a back window of

the school, had given him warning of Sabean gales, and scents of

Paradise, from the inn kitchen below; so he went round, and asked

for his pot of small ale (his only luxury), and stood at the bar to

drink it; and looked inward with his little twinkling right eye,

and sniffed inward with his little curling right nostril, and

beheld, in the kitchen beyond, salad in stacks and fagots: salad of

lettuce, salad of cress and endive, salad of boiled coleworts,

salad of pickled coleworts, salad of angelica, salad of scurvy-

wort, and seven salads more; for potatoes were not as yet, and

salads were during eight months of the year the only vegetable.

And on the dresser, and before the fire, whole hecatombs of

fragrant victims, which needed neither frankincense nor myrrh;

Clovelly herrings and Torridge salmon, Exmoor mutton and Stow

venison, stubble geese and woodcocks, curlew and snipe, hams of

Hampshire, chitterlings of Taunton, and botargos of Cadiz, such as

Pantagruel himself might have devoured. And Jack eyed them, as a

ragged boy eyes the cakes in a pastrycook's window; and thought of

the scraps from the commoners' dinner, which were his wages for

cleaning out the hall; and meditated deeply on the unequal

distribution of human bliss.

"Ah, Mr. Brimblecombe!" said the host, bustling out with knife and

apron to cool himself in the passage. "Here are doings! Nine

gentlemen 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: but still there's crumbs, Mr. Brimblecombe, crumbs; and

waste not want not is my doctrine; so you and I may have a somewhat

to stay our stomachs, about an eight o'clock."

"Eight?" said Jack, looking wistfully at the clock. "It's but four

now. Well, it's kind of you, and perhaps I'll look in."

"Just you step in now, and look to this venison. There's a breast!

you may lay your two fingers into the say there, and not get to the

bottom of the fat. That's Sir Richard's sending. He's all for

them Leighs, and no wonder, they'm brave lads, surely; and there's

a saddle-o'-mutton! I rode twenty miles for mun yesterday, I did,

over beyond Barnstaple; and five year old, Mr. John, it is, if ever

five years was; and not a tooth to mun's head, for I looked to

that; and smelt all the way home like any apple; and if it don't

ate so soft as ever was scald cream, never you call me Thomas

Burman."

"Humph!" said Jack. "And that's their dinner. Well, some are born

with a silver spoon in their mouth."

"Some be born with roast beef in their mouths, and plum-pudding in

their pocket to take away the taste o' mun; and that's better than

empty spunes, eh?"

"For them that get it," said Jack. "But for them that don't--"

And with a sigh he returned to his small ale, and then lingered in

and out of the inn, watching the dinner as it went into the best

room, where the guests were 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've grown!" and passed

on;--what had Jack Brimblecombe to do with Rose Salterne?

So Jack lingered on, hovering around the fragrant smell like a fly

round a honey-pot, till he found himself invisibly attracted, and

as it were led by the 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 passed inside; till Rose

Salterne's name fell on his ear. So, as it was ordained, he was

taken in the fact. And now behold him brought in red-hand to

judgment, not without a kick or two from the wrathful foot of Amyas

Leigh. Whereat there fell on him a storm of abuse, which, for the

honor of that gallant company, I shall not give in detail; but

which abuse, strange to say, seemed to have no effect on the

impenitent and unabashed Jack, who, as soon as he could get his

breath, made answer fiercely, amid much puffing and blowing.

"What business have I here? As much as any of you. If you had

asked me in, I would have come: but as you didn't, I came without

asking."

"You shameless rascal!" said Cary. "Come if you were asked, where

there was good wine? I'll warrant you for that!"

"Why," said Amyas, "no lad ever had a cake at school but he would

dog him up one street and down another all day for the crumbs, the

trencher-scraping spaniel!"

"Patience, masters! "said Frank. "That Jack's is somewhat of a

gnathonic and parasitic soul, or stomach, all Bideford apple-women

know; but I suspect more than Deus Venter has brought him hither."

"Deus eavesdropping, then. We shall have the whole story over the

town by to-morrow," said another; beginning at that thought to feel

somewhat ashamed of his late enthusiasm.

"Ah, Mr. Frank! You were always the only one 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 he did 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 then I heard her name; and I couldn't help

listening then. Flesh and blood couldn't."

"Nor fat either!"

"No, nor fat, Mr. Cary. Do you suppose fat men haven't souls to be

saved as well as thin 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 but beer?"

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 purple isle 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 fat but what I can see what's fair as well as

you."

"Oh, Jack, naughty Jack, dost thou heap sin on sin, and luxury on

gluttony?"

"Sin? If I sin, you sin: I tell you, and I don't care who knows

it, I've loved her these three years as well as e'er a one of you,

I have. I've thought o' nothing else, prayed for nothing else, God

forgive me! And then you laugh at me, because I'm a poor parson's

son, and you fine gentlemen: God made us both, I reckon. You?--you

make a deal of giving her up to-day. Why, it's what I've done for

three miserable years as ever poor sinner spent; ay, from the first

day I said to myself, 'Jack, if you can't have that pearl, you'll

have none; and that you can't have, for it's meat for your masters:

so conquer or die.' And I couldn't conquer. I can't help loving

her, worshipping her, no more than you; and I will die: but you

needn't laugh 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 was firm and manly, his

pig's eyes flashed very fire, his gestures were so free and

earnest, that the ungainliness of his figure was forgotten; and

when he finished with a violent burst of tears, Frank, forgetting

his wounds, sprang up and caught him by the 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, which we have used as an

excuse for many a sin of our own, excuse his listening to a

conversation in which he well deserved to bear a part."

"Ah," said Jack, "you make me one of your brotherhood; and see if I

do not dare to suffer as much as any of you! You laugh? Do you

fancy none can use a sword unless he has a baker's dozen of

quarterings in his arms, or that Oxford scholars know 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 somewhat disgusted at the notion

of fighting a man of Jack's rank; 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 sword so fiercely, and called so loudly to

Coffin to come on, that all present found it necessary, unless they

wished blood to be spilt, to turn the matter off with a 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 will fight: and that's flat."

"You see, gentlemen," said Amyas, "we must admit him or die the

death; so we needs must go when Sir Urian drives. Come up, Jack,

and take the oaths. You admit him, gentlemen?"

"Let me but be your chaplain," said Jack, "and pray for your luck

when you're at the wars. If I do stay at home in a country curacy,

'tis not much that you need be jealous of me with her, I reckon,"

said Jack, with a pathetical glance at his own stomach.

"Sia!" said Cary: "but if he be admitted, it must be done according

to the solemn forms and ceremonies in such cases provided. Take

him into the next room, Amyas, and prepare him for his initiation."

"What's that?" asked Amyas, puzzled by the word. But judging from

the corner of Will's eye that initiation was Latin for a practical

joke, he led forth his victim behind the arras again, and waited

five minutes while the room was being darkened, till Frank's voice

called to him to bring in the neophyte.

"John Brimblecombe," said Frank, in a sepulchral tone, "you cannot

be ignorant, as a scholar and bachelor of Oxford, of that dread

sacrament by which Catiline bound the soul of his fellow-

conspirators, in order that both by the daring of the deed he might

have proof of their sincerity, and by the horror thereof astringe

their souls by adamantine fetters, and Novem-Stygian oaths, to that

wherefrom hereafter the weakness of the flesh might shrink.

Wherefore, O Jack! we too have determined, following that ancient

and classical example, to fill, as he did, a bowl with the

lifeblood of our most heroic selves, and to pledge each other

therein, with vows whereat the stars shall tremble in their

spheres, and Luna, blushing, veil her silver cheeks. Your blood

alone is wanted to fill up the goblet. Sit down, John

Brimblecombe, and bare your arm!"

"But, Mr. Frank!--"said Jack, who was as superstitious as any old

wife, and, what with the darkness and the discourse, already in a

cold perspiration.

"But me no buts! or depart as recreant, not by the door like a man,

but up the chimney like a flittermouse."

"But, Mr. Frank!"

"Thy vital juice, or the chimney! Choose!" roared Cary in his ear.

"Well, if I must," said Jack; "but it's desperate hard that because

you can't keep faith without these barbarous oaths, I must take

them too, that have kept faith these three years without any."

At this pathetic appeal Frank nearly melted: but Amyas and Cary had

thrust the victim into a chair and all was prepared for the

sacrifice.

"Bind his eyes, according to the classic fashion," said Will.

"Oh no, dear Mr. Cary; I'll shut them tight 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 look lusty--I can't

indeed; sure, a pin would do--I've got one here, to my sleeve,

somewhere--Oh!"

"See the fount of generous juice! Flow on, fair stream. How he

bleeds!--pints, quarts! Ah, this proves him to be in earnest!"

"A true lover's blood is always at his fingers' ends."

"He does not grudge it; of course not. Eh, Jack? What matters an

odd gallon for her sake?"

"For her sake? Nothing, nothing! Take my 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! Pat his back, Cary.

Courage, man! it will be over in a minute. Now, Frank!--"

And Frank spoke--

"If plighted troth I fail, or secret speech reveal,

May Cocytean ghosts around my pillow squeal;

While Ate's brazen claws distringe my spleen in sunder,

And drag me deep to Pluto's keep, 'mid brimstone, smoke, and thunder!"

"Placetne, domine?"

"Placet!" squeaked Jack, who thought himself at the last gasp, and

gulped down full three-quarters of the goblet which Cary held to

his lips.

"Ugh--Ah--Puh! Mercy on us! It tastes mighty like wine!"

"A proof, my virtuous brother," said Frank, "first, of thy

abstemiousness, which has thus forgotten what wine tastes like; and

next, of thy pure and heroical affection, by which thy carnal

senses being exalted to a higher and supra-lunar sphere, like those

Platonical daemonizomenoi and enthusiazomenoi (of whom Jamblichus

says that they were insensible to wounds and flame, and much more,

therefore, to evil savors), doth make even the most nauseous

draught redolent of that celestial fragrance, which proceeding, O

Jack! from thine own inward virtue, assimilates by sympathy even

outward accidents unto its own harmony and melody; for fragrance

is, as has been said well, the song of flowers, and sweetness, the

music of apples--Ahem! Go in peace, thou hast conquered!"

"Put him out of the door, Will," said Amyas, "or he will swoon on

our hands."

"Give him some sack," said Frank.

"Not a blessed drop of yours, sir," said Jack. "I like good wine

as well as any man on earth, and see as little of it; but not a

drop of yours, sirs, after your frumps and flouts about hanging-on

and trencher-scraping. When I first began 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 red Alicant wine in

him (more, poor fellow, than he had tasted 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, and

parted like good friends and sensible gentlemen of devon, thinking

(all except Frank) Jack Brimblecombe and his vow the merriest jest

they had heard for many a day. After which they all departed:

Amyas and Cary to Winter's squadron; Frank (as soon as he could

travel) to the Court again; and with him young Basset, whose father

Sir Arthur, being in London, procured for him a page's place in

Leicester's household. Fortescue and Chicester went to their

brothers in Dublin; St. Leger to his uncle the Marshal of Munster;

Coffin joined Champernoun and Norris in the Netherlands; and so the

Brotherhood of the Rose was scattered far and wide, and Mistress

Salterne was 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 light was fading down;

the even-song was done; and the good folks 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's plays, and all the happy sports of Christmas night. One

lady only, wrapped close in her black muffler and followed by her

maid, walked swiftly, yet sadly, toward the long causeway and

bridge which led to Northam town. Sir Richard Grenville and his

wife caught her up and stopped her courteously.

"You will come home with us, Mrs. Leigh," said Lady Grenville, "and

spend a pleasant Christmas night?"

Mrs. Leigh smiled sweetly, and laying one hand on Lady Grenville's

arm, pointed with the other to the westward, and said:

"I cannot well spend a merry Christmas night while that sound is in

my ears."

The whole party around looked in the direction in which she

pointed. Above their heads the soft blue sky was fading into gray,

and here and there a misty star peeped out: but to the westward,

where the downs and woods of Raleigh closed in with those of

Abbotsham, the blue was webbed and turfed with delicate white

flakes; iridescent spots, marking the path by which the sun had

sunk, showed all the colors of the dying dolphin; and low on the

horizon lay a long band of grassy green. But what was the sound

which troubled Mrs. Leigh? None of them, with their merry hearts,

and ears dulled with the din and bustle of the town, had heard it

till that moment: and yet now--listen! It was dead calm. There

was not a breath to stir a blade of grass. And yet the air was

full of sound, a low deep roar which hovered over down and wood,

salt-marsh and river, like the roll of a thousand wheels, the tramp

of endless armies, or--what it was--the thunder of a mighty surge

upon the boulders of the pebble ridge.

"The ridge is noisy to-night," said Sir Richard. "There has been

wind somewhere."

"There is wind now, where my boy is, God help him!" said Mrs.

Leigh: and all knew that she spoke truly. The spirit of the

Atlantic storm had sent forward the token of his coming, in the

smooth ground-swell which was heard inland, two miles away. To-

morrow the pebbles, which were now rattling down with each

retreating wave, might be leaping to the ridge top, and hurled like

round-shot far ashore upon the marsh by the force of the advancing

wave, fleeing before 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 that has no heart just now

but to go home and pray."

And so Mrs. Leigh went onward up the lane, and spent all that night

in listening between her prayers to the thunder of the surge, till

it was drowned, long ere 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 stern in Smerwick bay, with

the spray whistling through his curls, as he shouts cheerfully--

"Pull, and with a will, my merry men all, and never mind shipping a

sea. Cannon balls are a cargo 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 western gale has been roaring for the last twelve hours

upon the Irish coast.

The short light of the winter day is fading fast. Behind him is a

leaping line of billows lashed into mist by the tempest. Beside

him green foam-fringed columns are rushing up the black rocks, and

falling again in a thousand cataracts of snow. Before him is the

deep and sheltered bay: but it is not far up the bay that he and

his can see; for some four miles out at sea begins a sloping roof

of thick gray cloud, which stretches over their heads, and up and

far away inland, cutting the cliffs off at mid-height, hiding all

the Kerry mountains, and darkening the hollows of the distant

firths into the blackness of night. And underneath that awful roof

of whirling mist the storm is howling inland ever, sweeping before

it the great foam-sponges, and the gray salt spray, till all the

land is hazy, dim, and dun. Let it howl on! for there is more mist

than ever salt spray made, flying before that gale; more thunder

than ever sea-surge wakened echoing among the cliffs of Smerwick

bay; along those sand-hills flash in the evening gloom red sparks

which never came from heaven; for that fort, now christened by the

invaders the Fort Del Oro, where flaunts the hated golden flag of

Spain, holds San Josepho and eight hundred of the foe; and but

three nights ago, Amyas and Yeo, and the rest of Winter's shrewdest

hands, slung four culverins out of the Admiral's main deck, and

floated them ashore, and dragged them up to the battery among the

sand-hills; and now it shall be seen whether Spanish and Italian

condottieri can hold their own on British ground against the men of

Devon.

Small blame to Amyas if he was thinking, not of his lonely mother

at Burrough Court, but of those quick bright flashes on sand-hill

and on fort, where Salvation Yeo was hurling the eighteen-pound

shot with deadly aim, and watching with a cool and bitter smile of

triumph the flying of the sand, and the crashing of the gabions.

Amyas and his party had been on board, at the risk of their lives,

for a fresh supply of shot; for Winter's battery was out of ball,

and had been firing stones for the last four hours, in default of

better missiles. They ran the boat on shore through the surf,

where a cove in the shore made landing possible, and almost

careless whether she stove or not, scrambled over the sand-hills

with each man his brace of shot slung across his shoulder; and

Amyas, leaping into the trenches, shouted cheerfully to Salvation

Yeo--

"More food for the bull-dogs, Gunner, and plums for 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'm a sinner."

"Down with it, then; nobody wants you to shoot crooked. Take good

iron to it, and not footy paving-stones."

"I believe, sir, that the foul fiend is there, a turning of my shot

aside, I do. I thought I saw him once: but, thank Heaven, here's

ball again. Ah, sir, if one could but cast a silver one! Now,

stand by, men!"

And once again Yeo's eighteen-pounder roared, and away. And, oh

glory! the great yellow flag of Spain, which streamed in the gale,

lifted clean into the air, flagstaff and all, and then pitched

wildly down head-foremost, far to leeward.

A hurrah from the sailors, answered by the soldiers of the opposite

camp, shook the very cloud above them: but ere its echoes had died

away, a tall officer leapt upon the parapet of the fort, with the

fallen flag in his hand, and rearing it as well as he could upon

his 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 daring foeman: but

Amyas behind shouted--

"Shame, lads! Stop and let the gallant gentleman have due

courtesy!"

So they stopped, while Amyas, springing on the rampart of the

battery, took off his hat, and bowed to the flag-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 began to slacken

on all sides; Salvation and his brother gunners, having covered up

their slaughtering tackle with 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 scanty supper of biscuit

(for provisions were running very short) lay down under arms among

the sand-hills, and grumbled themselves to sleep.

He had paced up and down in the gusty darkness for some hour or

more, exchanging a passing word now and then with the sentinel,

when two men entered the battery, chatting busily together. One

was in complete armor; the other wrapped in the plain short cloak

of a man of pens and peace: but the talk of both was neither of

sieges nor of sallies, catapult, bombard, nor culverin, but simply

of English hexameters.

And fancy not, gentle reader, that the two were therein fiddling

while Rome was burning; for the commonweal of poetry and letters,

in that same critical year 1580, was in far greater danger from

those same hexameters than 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

hexameter translations from the Latin and Greek epics, which seem

to have been doggerel enough; and ever and anon some youthful wit

broke out in iambics, sapphics, elegiacs, and what not, to the

great detriment of the queen's English and her subjects' ears.

I know not whether Mr. William Webbe had yet given to the world any

fragments of his precious hints for the "Reformation of English

poetry," to the tune of his own "Tityrus, happily thou liest

tumbling under a beech-tree:" but the Cambridge Malvolio, Gabriel

Harvey, had succeeded in arguing Spenser, Dyer, Sidney, and

probably Sidney's sister, and the whole clique of beaux-esprits

round them, into following his model of

"What might I call this tree? A laurel? O bonny laurel!

Needes to thy bowes will I bowe this knee, and vail my bonetto;"

after snubbing the first book of "that Elvish Queene," which was

then in manuscript, as a base declension from the classical to the

romantic school.

And now Spenser (perhaps in mere melancholy wilfulness and want of

purpose, for he had just been jilted by a fair maid of Kent) was

wasting his mighty genius upon doggerel which he fancied antique;

and some piratical publisher (bitter Tom Nash swears, and with

likelihood that Harvey did it himself) had just given to the

world,--"Three proper wittie and familiar Letters, lately past

between two University men, touching the Earthquake in April last,

and our English reformed Versifying," which had set all town wits

a-buzzing like a swarm of flies, being none other than a

correspondence between Spenser and Harvey, which was to prove to

the world forever the correctness and melody of such lines 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 bad hexameters since. But

then the matter was serious. There is a story (I know not how

true) that Spenser was half bullied into re-writing the "Faerie

Queene" in hexameters, had not Raleigh, a true romanticist, "whose

vein for ditty or amorous ode was most lofty, insolent, and

passionate," persuaded him to follow his better genius. The great

dramatists had not yet arisen, to form completely that truly

English school, of which Spenser, unconscious of his own vast

powers, was laying the foundation. And, indeed, it was not till

Daniel, twenty years after, in his admirable apology for rhyme, had

smashed Mr. Campian and his "eight several kinds of classical

numbers," that the matter was finally settled, and the English

tongue left to go the road on which Heaven had started it. So that

we may excuse Raleigh's answering somewhat waspish to some

quotation of Spenser's from the three letters of "Immerito and G. H."

"Tut, tut, Colin Clout, much learning has made thee mad. A good

old fishwives' ballad jingle is worth all your sapphics and

trimeters, and 'riff-raff thurlery bouncing.' Hey? have I you

there, old lad? Do you mind that precious verse?"

"But, dear Wat, Homer and Virgil--"

"But, dear Ned, Petrarch and Ovid--"

"But, Wat, what have we that we do not owe to the ancients?"

"Ancients, quotha? Why, the legend of King Arthur, and Chevy Chase

too, of which even your fellow-sinner Sidney cannot deny that every

time he hears it even from 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 such a dame

as Una in old Ovid? No more than you did your Pater and Credo, you

renegado baptized heathen, you!"

"Yet, surely, our younger and more barbarous taste must bow before

divine antiquity, and imitate afar--"

"As dottrels do fowlers. If Homer was blind, lad, why dost not

poke out thine eye? Ay, this hexameter is of an ancient house,

truly, Ned Spenser, and so is many a rogue: but he cannot make way

on our rough English roads. He goes hopping and twitching in our

language like a three-legged terrier over a pebble-bank, tumble and

up again, rattle and crash."

"Nay, hear, now--

'See ye the blindfolded pretty god that feathered archer,

Of lovers' miseries which maketh his bloody game?'*

True, the accent gapes in places, as I have often confessed to

Harvey, but--"

• Strange as it may seem, this distich is Spenser's own; and the

other hexameters are all authentic.

Harvey be hanged for a pedant, and the whole crew of 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 with the queen's English, racking one word till its joints be

pulled asunder, and squeezing the next all a-heap as the

Inquisitors do heretics in their banca cava? Out upon him and you,

and Sidney, and the whole kin. You have not made a verse among

you, and never will, which is not as lame a gosling as Harvey's

own--

'Oh thou weathercocke, 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 comforting his soul with a

ballad. You will hear rhyme and reason together here, now. He

will not miscall 'blind-folded,' 'blind-fold-ed, I warrant; or make

an 'of' and a 'which' and a 'his' carry a whole verse on their

wretched little backs."

And as he spoke, Amyas, who had been grumbling to himself some

Christmas carol, broke out full-mouthed:--

"As Joseph was a-walking

He heard an angel sing--

'This night shall be the birth night

Of Christ, our heavenly King.

His birthbed shall be neither

In housen nor in hall,

Nor in the place of paradise,

But in the oxen's stall.

He neither shall be rocked

In silver nor in gold,

But in the wooden manger

That lieth on the mould.

He neither shall be washen

With white wine nor with red,

But with the fair spring water

That on you shall be shed.

He neither shall be clothed

In purple nor in pall,

But in the fair white linen

That usen babies all.'

As Joseph was a-walking

Thus did the angel sing,

And Mary's Son at midnight

Was born to be our King.

Then be you glad, good people,

At this time of the year;

And light you up your candles,

For His star it shineth clear."

"There, Edmunde Classicaster," said Raleigh, "does not that simple

strain go nearer to the heart of him who wrote 'The Shepherd's

Calendar,' than all artificial and outlandish

'Wote ye why his mother 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 rhymer than the rhyme. Good

heaven! how that brave lad shames me, singing here the hymns which

his mother taught him, before the very muzzles of Spanish guns;

instead of bewailing unmanly, as I have done, the love which he

held, I doubt not, as dear as I did even my Rosalind. This is his

welcome to the winter's storm; while I, who dream, forsooth, of

heavenly inspiration, can but see therein an image of mine own

cowardly despair.

'Thou barren ground, whom winter's wrath has wasted,

Art made a mirror to behold my plight.'*

Pah! away with frosts, icicles, and tears, and sighs--"

• "The Shepherd's Calendar."

"And with hexameters and trimeters too, I hope," interrupted

Raleigh: "and all the trickeries of self-pleasing sorrow."

"--I will set my heart to higher work than barking at the hand

which chastens me."

"Wilt put the lad into the 'Faerie Queene,' then, by my side? He

deserves as good a place there, believe me, as ever a Guyon, or

even as Lord Grey your Arthegall. Let us hail him. Hallo! young

chanticleer of Devon! Art not afraid of a chance shot, that thou

crowest so lustily upon thine own mixen?"

"Cocks crow all night long at Christmas, Captain Raleigh, and so do

I," said Amyas's cheerful voice; "but who's there with you?"

"A penitent pupil of yours--Mr. Secretary Spenser."

"Pupil of mine?" said Amyas. "I wish he'd teach me a little of his

art; I could fill up my time here with making verses."

"And who would be your theme, fair sir?" said Spenser.

"No 'who' at all. I don't want to make sonnets to blue eyes, nor

black either: but if I could put down some of the things I saw in

the Spice Islands--"

"Ah," said Raleigh, "he would beat you out of Parnassus, Mr.

Secretary. Remember, you may write about Fairyland, but he has

seen it."

"And so have others," said Spenser; "it is not so far off from any

one of us. Wherever is 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; for you represent love, and

Leigh loyalty; while, as for great purposes and lofty souls, who so

fit to stand for them as I, being (unless my enemies and my

conscience are liars both) as ambitious and as proud as Lucifer's

own self?"

"Ah, Walter, Walter, why wilt always slander thyself thus?"

"Slander? Tut.--I do but give the world a fair challenge, and tell

it, 'There--you know 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 peacock, as

selfish as a fox, as imperious as a bona roba, and ready to make a

cat's paw of him or any man, if there be a chestnut in the fire:

and yet the poor fool cannot help loving me, and running of my

errands, and taking all my schemes and my dreams for gospel; and

verily believes now, I think, that I shall be the man in the moon

some day, and he my big dog."

"Well," said Amyas, half apologetically, "if you are the cleverest

man in the world what harm in my thinking so?"

"Hearken to him, Edmund! He will know better when he has outgrown

this same callow trick of honesty, and learnt of the great goddess

Detraction how to show himself wiser than the wise, by pointing out

to the world the fool's motley which peeps through the rents in the

philosopher's cloak. Go to, lad! slander thy equals, envy thy

betters, pray for an eye which sees spots in every sun, and for a

vulture's nose to scent carrion in every rose-bed. If thy friend

win a battle, show that he has needlessly thrown away his men; if

he lose one, hint that he sold it; if he rise to a place, argue

favor; if he fall from 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 clothed in 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 this world'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 tree as 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. But come in, lad. We were sent from the

lord deputy to bid thee to supper. There is a dainty lump of dead

horse waiting for thee."

"Send me some out, then," said matter-of-fact Amyas. "And tell his

lordship that, with his 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. We know it by their

deserters."

"Seeing's believing. I never trust runaway rogues. If they are

false to their masters, they'll be false to us."

"Well, go thy ways, old honesty; and Mr. Secretary shall give you a

book to yourself in the 'Faerie Queene'--'Sir Monoculus or the

Legend of Common Sense,' eh, Edmund?"

"Monoculus?"

"Ay, Single-eye, my prince of word-coiners--won't that fit?--And

give him the Cyclops head for a device. Heigh-ho! They may laugh

that win. I am sick of this Irish work; were it not for the chance

of advancement I'd sooner be driving a team of red Devons on

Dartside; and now I am angry with the dear lad because he is not

sick of it too. What a plague business has he to be paddling up

and down, contentedly doing his duty, like any city watchman? It

is an insult to the mighty aspirations of our nobler hearts,--eh,

my would-be Ariosto?"

"Ah, Raleigh! you can afford to confess yourself less 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 blast that was! Hold on

by me, Colin Clout, and I'll hold on by thee. So! Don't tread on

that pikeman's stomach, lest he take thee for a marauding Don, and

with sudden dagger slit Cohn's pipe, and Colin's weasand too."

And the two stumbled away into the darkness, leaving Amyas to

stride up and down as before, puzzling his brains over Raleigh's

wild words and Spenser's melancholy, till he came to the conclusion

that there was some mysterious connection between cleverness and

unhappiness, and thanking his stars that he was neither scholar,

courtier, nor poet, said grace over his lump of horseflesh when it

arrived, devoured it as if it had been venison, and then returned

to his pacing up and down; but this time in silence, for the night

was drawing on, and there was no need to tell the Spaniards that

any one was awake and watching.

So he began to think about his mother, and how she might 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 his brother there far away on the dark Atlantic shore;

and then he said his prayers and his creed; and then he tried not

to think of Rose Salterne, and of course thought about her all the

more. So on passed the dull 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 monotonous tramp of

the two sentinels beside him, and now and then a grunt from the

party who slept under arms some twenty yards to the rear.

So he paced to and fro, looking carefully out now and then over the

strip of sand-hill which lay between him and the fort; but all was

blank and black, and moreover it began to rain furiously.

Suddenly he seemed to hear a rustle among the harsh sand-grass.

True, the wind was whistling through it loudly enough, but that

sound was not altogether like the wind. Then a soft sliding noise;

something had slipped down a bank, and brought the sand down after

it. Amyas stopped, crouched down beside a gun, and laid his ear to

the rampart, whereby he heard clearly, as he thought, the noise of

approaching feet; whether rabbits or Christians, he knew not, but

he shrewdly guessed the latter.

Now Amyas was of a sober and business-like turn, at least when he

was not in a passion; and thinking within himself that if he made

any noise, the enemy (whether four or two-legged) would retire, and

all the sport be lost, he did not call to the two sentries, who

were at the opposite ends of the battery; neither did he think it

worth while to rouse the sleeping company, lest his ears should

have deceived him, and the whole camp 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 something gently 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 soldier follows, I suppose. I can only humbly thank them

for giving my embrasure the preference. There he comes! I hear

his feet scuffling."

He could hear plainly enough some one working himself into the

mouth of the embrasure: but the plague was, that it was so dark

that he could not see his hand between him and the sky, much less

his foe at two yards off. However, he made a pretty fair guess as

to the whereabouts, and, rising softly, discharged such a blow

downwards as would have split a yule log. A volley of sparks flew

up from the hapless Spaniard's armor, and a grunt issued from

within it, which proved that, whether he was killed or not, the

blow had not improved his respiration.

Amyas felt for his head, seized it, dragged him in over the gun,

sprang into the embrasure on his knees, felt for the top of the

ladder, found it, hove it clean off and out, with four or five men

on it, and then of course tumbled after it ten feet into the sand,

roaring like a town bull to her majesty's liege subjects in

general.

Sailor-fashion, he had no armor on but a light morion and a

cuirass, so he was not too much encumbered to prevent his springing

to his legs instantly, and setting to work, cutting and foining

right and left at every sound, for sight there was none.

Battles (as soldiers know, and newspaper editors do not) are

usually fought, not as they ought to be fought, but as they can be

fought; and while the literary man is laying down the law at his

desk as to how many troops should be moved here, and what rivers

should be crossed there, and where the cavalry should have been

brought up, and when the flank should have been turned, the

wretched man who has to do the work finds the 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 show

on paper.

So with this skirmish; "according to Cocker," it ought to have been

a very pretty one; for Hercules of Pisa, who planned the sortie,

had arranged it all (being a very sans-appel in all military

science) upon the best Italian precedents, and had brought against

this very hapless battery a column of a hundred to attack directly

in front, a company of fifty to turn the right flank, and a company

of fifty to turn the left 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 de Soto,

who commanded the sortie, ought to have taken the work out of hand,

and annihilated all therein. But alas! here stern fate interfered.

They had chosen a dark night, as was politic; they had waited till

the moon was up, lest it should be too dark, as was politic

likewise: but, just as they had started, on came a heavy squall of

rain, through which seven moons would have given no light, and

which washed out the plans of Hercules of Pisa as if they had been

written on a schoolboy's slate. The company who were to turn the

left flank walked manfully down into the sea, and never found out

where they were going till they were knee-deep in water. The

company who were to turn the right flank, bewildered by the utter

darkness, turned their own flank so often, that tired of falling

into rabbit-burrows and filling their mouths with sand, they halted

and prayed to all the saints for a compass and lantern; while the

centre body, who held straight on by a trackway to within fifty

yards of the battery, so miscalculated that short distance, 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 could be found was the very one which Amyas threw down again.

After which the clouds broke, the wind shifted, and the moon shone

out merrily. And so was the deep policy of Hercules of Pisa, on

which hung the fate of Ireland and the Papacy, decided by a ten

minutes' squall.

But where is Amyas?

In the ditch, aware that the enemy is tumbling into it, 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 on things in general, whereat the Spaniards are swearing

like Spaniards (I need say no more), and the Italians spitting like

venomous cats; while Amyas, not wishing to be riddled by friendly

balls, has got his back against the foot of the rampart, and waits

on Providence.

Suddenly the moon clears; and with one more fierce volley, the

English sailors, seeing the confusion, leap down from the

embrasures, and to it pell-mell. Whether this also was "according

to Cocker," I know not: but the sailor, then as now, is not

susceptible of highly-finished drill.

Amyas is now in his element, and so are the brave fellows at his

heels; and there are ten breathless, furious minutes among the

sand-hills; and then the trumpets blow a recall, and the sailors

drop back again by twos and threes, and are helped up into the

embrasures over many a dead and dying foe; while the guns of Fort

del Oro open on them, and blaze away for half an hour without

reply; and then all is still once more. And in the meanwhile, the

sortie against the deputy's camp has fared no better, and the

victory of the night remains with the English.

Twenty minutes after, Winter and the captains who were on shore

were drying themselves round a peat-fire on the beach, and talking

over the skirmish, when Will Cary asked--

"Where is Leigh? who has seen him? I am sadly afraid he has gone

too far, and been slain."

"Slain? Never less, gentlemen!" replied the voice of the very

person in question, as he stalked out of the darkness into the

glare of the fire, and shot down from his shoulders into the midst

of the ring, 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 you had 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 say he 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 between Admiral Winter

and Amyas; and Amyas might certainly have reported himself in a

more ceremonious manner. So Winter, whom Amyas either had not

seen, or had not chosen to see, asked him pretty sharply, "What the

plague he had to do with bringing dead men into camp?"

"If he's dead, it's not my fault. He was alive enough when I

started with him, and I kept him right end uppermost all the way;

and what would you have more, sir?"

"Mr. Leigh!" said Winter, "it behoves you 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 steaming and smoking off his armor; "but I was

bred in a school where getting good service done was more esteemed

than making fine speeches."

"Whatsoever school you were trained in, sir," said Winter, nettled

at the hint about Drake; "it does not seem to have been one in

which you learned to obey orders. Why did you not come in when the

recall was sounded?"

"Because," said Amyas, very coolly, "in the first place I did not

hear it; and in the next, in my school I was taught when I had once

started not to come home empty-handed."

This was too pointed; and Winter sprang up with an oath--"Do you

mean to insult me, sir?"

"I am sorry, sir, that you should take a compliment to Sir Francis

Drake as an insult to yourself. I brought in this gentleman

because I thought he might give you good information; if he dies

meanwhile, the loss will be yours, or rather the queen's."

"Help me, then," said Cary, glad to create a diversion in Amyas's

favor, "and we will bring him round;" while Raleigh rose, and

catching Winter's arm, drew him aside, and began talking earnestly.

"What a murrain have you, Leigh, to quarrel with 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 own way."

There was more than one captain sitting in the ring, but

discipline, and the degrees of rank, were not so severely defined

as now; and Amyas, as a "gentleman adventurer," was, on land, in a

position very difficult to be settled, though at sea he was as

liable to be hanged as any other person on board; and on the whole

it was found expedient to patch the matter up. So Captain Raleigh

returning, said that though Admiral Winter had doubtless taken

umbrage at certain words of Mr. Leigh's, yet that he had no doubt

that Mr. Leigh meant nothing thereby but what was consistent 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 to dissent;

whereon Raleigh went back, and informed Winter that Leigh had

freely retracted his words, and fully wiped off any imputation

which Mr. Winter might conceive to have been put upon him, and so

forth. So Winter returned, and Amyas said frankly enough--

"Admiral Winter, I hope, as a loyal soldier, that you will

understand thus far; that naught which has passed to-night shall in

any way prevent you finding me a forward and obedient servant to

all your commands, be they what they may, and a supporter of your

authority among the men, and honor against the foe, even with my

life. For I should he ashamed if private differences should ever

prejudice by a grain the public weal."

This was a great effort of oratory for Amyas; and he therefore, in

order to be safe by following precedent, tried to talk as much as

he could like Sir Richard Grenville. Of course Winter could answer

nothing to it, in spite of the plain hint of private differences,

but that he should not fail to show himself a captain worthy of so

valiant and trusty a gentleman; whereon the whole party turned

their attention to the captive, who, thanks to Will Cary, was by

this time sitting up, standing much in need of a handkerchief, and

looking about him, having been unhelmed, in a confused and doleful

manner.

"Take the gentleman to my tent," said Winter, "and let the surgeon

see to him. Mr. Leigh, who is he?--"

"An enemy, but whether Spaniard or Italian I know not; but he

seemed somebody among them, I thought the captain of a company. He

and I cut at each other twice or thrice at first, and then lost

each other; and after that I came on him among the sand-hills,

trying to rally his men, and swearing like the mouth of the pit,

whereby I guess him a Spaniard. But his men ran; so I brought him

in."

"And how?" asked Raleigh. "Thou art giving us all the play but the

murders and the marriages."

"Why, I bid him yield, and he would not. Then I bid him run, and

he would not. And it was too pitch-dark for fighting; so I took

him by the ears, and shook the wind out of him, and so brought him

in."

"Shook the wind out of him?" cried Cary, amid the roar of laughter

which followed. "Dost know thou hast nearly wrung his neck in two?

His vizor was full of blood."

"He should have run or yielded, then," said Amyas; and getting up,

slipped off to find some ale, and then to sleep comfortably in a

dry burrow which he scratched out of a sandbank.

The next morning, as Amyas was discussing a scanty breakfast of

biscuit (for provisions were running very short in camp), Raleigh

came up to him.

"What, eating? That's more than I have done to-day."

"Sit down, and share, then."

"Nay, lad, I did not come a-begging. I have set some of my rogues

to dig rabbits; but as I live, young Colbrand, you may thank your

stars that you are alive to-day to eat. Poor young Cheek--Sir John

Cheek, the grammarian's son--got his quittance last night by a

Spanish pike, rushing headlong on, just as you did. But have you

seen your prisoner?"

"No; nor shall, while he is in Winter's tent."

"Why not, then? What quarrel have you against the admiral, friend

Bobadil? Cannot you let Francis Drake fight his own battles,

without thrusting your head in between them?"

"Well, that is good! As if the quarrel was not just as much mine,

and every man's in the ship. Why, when he left Drake, he left us

all, did he not?"

"And what if he did? Let bygones be bygones is 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

just hold his tongue, mumchance, and swim with the stream."

"But that's just what makes me mad; to see this fellow, after

deserting us there in unknown seas, win credit and rank at home

here for being the first man who ever sailed back through the

Straits. What had he to do with sailing back at all! As well make

the fox a knight for being the first that ever 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 ever wish to be. An

honest man's my friend, and a rogue's my foe; and I'll tell both as

much, as long as I breathe."

"And die a poor saint," said Raleigh, laughing. "But if Winter

invites you to his tent himself, you won't refuse to come?"

"Why, no, considering his years and rank; but he knows too well to

do that."

"He knows too well not to do it," said Raleigh, laughing as he

walked away. And verily in 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's service, sir," said Winter,

who had for some good reasons changed his tone. "Your prisoner is

found to be a gentleman of birth and experience, and the leader of

the assault last night. He has already told us more than we had

hoped, for which also we are beholden to you; and, indeed, my Lord

Grey has been asking for you already."

"I have, young sir," said a quiet and lofty voice; and Amyas saw

limping from the inner tent the proud and stately figure of the

stern deputy, Lord Grey of Wilton, a brave and wise man, but with a

naturally harsh temper, which had been soured still more by the

wound which had crippled him, while yet a boy, at the battle of

Leith. He owed that limp to Mary Queen of Scots; and he did not

forget the debt.

"I have been asking for you; having heard from many, both of your

last night's prowess, and of your conduct and courage beyond the

promise of your years, displayed in that ever-memorable voyage,

which may well be ranked with the deeds of the ancient Argonauts."

Amyas bowed low; and the lord deputy went on, "You will needs wish

to see your prisoner. You will find him such a one as you need not

be ashamed to have taken, and as need not be ashamed to have been

taken by you: but here he is, and will, I doubt not, answer as much

for himself. Know each other better, gentlemen both: last night

was an ill one for making acquaintances. Don Guzman Maria

Magdalena Sotomayor de Soto, know the hidalgo, Amyas Leigh!"

As he spoke, the Spaniard came forward, still in his armor, all

save his head, which was bound up in a handkerchief.

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 small and white as a woman's; his lips were

delicate but thin, and compressed closely at the corners of the

mouth; and his pale blue eye had a glassy dulness. In spite of his

beauty and his carriage, Amyas shrank from him instinctively; and

yet he could not help holding out his hand in return, as the

Spaniard, holding out his, said languidly, in most sweet and

sonorous Spanish--

"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 express myself therein than in

English, though I am not altogether ignorant of that witty and

learned language) the expression of my pleasure at having fallen

into the hands of one so renowned in war and travel; and of one

also," he added, glancing at Amyas's giant bulk, "the vastness of

whose strength, beyond that of common mortality, makes it no more

shame for me to have been overpowered and carried away by him than

if my captor had been a paladin of Charlemagne's."

Honest Amyas bowed and stammered, a little thrown off his balance

by the unexpected assurance and cool flattery of his prisoner; but

he said--

"If you are satisfied, illustrious senor, I am bound to be so. I

only trust that in my hurry and the darkness I have not hurt you

unnecessarily."

The Don laughed a pretty little hollow laugh: "No, kind senor, my

head, I trust, will after a few days have become united to my

shoulders; and, for the present, your company will make me forget

any slight discomfort."

"Pardon me, senor; but by this daylight I should have seen that

armor before."

"I doubt it not, senor, as having been yourself also in the

forefront of the battle," said the Spaniard, with a proud smile.

"If I am right, senor, you are he who yesterday held up the

standard after it was shot down."

"I do not deny that undeserved honor; and I have to thank the

courtesy of you and your countrymen for having permitted me to do

so with impunity."

"Ah, I heard of that brave feat," said the lord deputy. "You

should consider yourself, Mr. Leigh, honored by being enabled to

show courtesy to such a warrior."

How long this interchange of solemn compliments, of which Amyas was

getting somewhat weary, would have gone on, I know not; but at that

moment Raleigh entered hastily--

"My lord, they have hung out a white flag, and are calling for a

parley!"

The Spaniard turned pale, and felt for his sword, which was gone;

and then, with a bitter laugh, murmured to himself--"As I

expected."

"I am very sorry to hear it. Would to Heaven they had simply

fought it out!" said Lord Grey, half to himself; and then, "Go,

Captain Raleigh, and answer them that (saving this gentleman's

presence) the laws of war forbid a parley with any who are leagued

with rebels against their lawful sovereign."

"But what if they wish to treat for this gentleman's ransom?"

"For their own, more likely," said the Spaniard; "but tell them, on

my part, senor, that Don Guzman refuses to be ransomed; and will

return to no camp where the commanding officer, unable to infect

his captains with his own cowardice, dishonors them 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 you of your sword," said

Winter.

"I don't wish to pain you, sir," said Amyas, "but I fear that we

were both careless enough to leave it behind last night."

A flash passed over the Spaniard's face, which disclosed terrible

depths of fury and hatred beneath that quiet mask, as the summer

lightning displays the black abysses of the thunder-storm; but like

the summer lightning it passed almost unseen; and blandly as ever,

he answered:

"I can forgive you for such a neglect, most valiant sir, more

easily than I can forgive myself. Farewell, sir! One who has lost

his sword is no fit company for you." And as Amyas and the rest

departed, he plunged into the inner tent, stamping and writhing,

gnawing his hands with rage and shame.

As Amyas came out on the battery, Yeo hailed him:

"Master Amyas! Hillo, sir! For the love of Heaven, tell me!"

"What, then?"

"Is his lordship stanch? Will he do the Lord'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 from Raleigh, 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 carry away a straw!" said

Lord Grey. "Make short work of it, sir!"

"I do not know how that will be, my lord; as I came up a captain

shouted to me off the walls that there were mutineers; and, denying

that he surrendered, would have pulled down the flag of truce, but

the soldiers beat him off."

"A house divided against itself will not stand long, gentlemen.

Tell them that I give no conditions. Let them lay down their arms,

and trust in the Bishop of Rome who sent them hither, and may come

to save them if he wants them. Gunners, if you see the white 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 pleasanter errand, my lord."

So Cary went, and then ensued an argument, as to what should be

done with the prisoners in case of a surrender.

I cannot tell whether my Lord Grey meant, by offering conditions

which the Spaniards would not accept, to force them into fighting

the quarrel out, and so save himself the responsibility of deciding

on their fate; or whether his mere natural stubbornness, as well as

his just indignation, drove him on too far to retract: but the

council of war which followed was both a sad and a stormy one, and

one which he had reason to regret to his dying day. What was to be

done with the enemy? They already outnumbered the English; and

some fifteen hundred of Desmond's wild Irish hovered in the forests

round, ready to side with the winning party, or even to attack the

English at the least sign of vacillation or fear. They could not

carry the Spaniards away with them, for they had neither shipping

nor food, not even handcuffs enough for them; and as Mackworth told

Winter when he proposed it, the only plan was for him to make San

Josepho a present of his ships, and swim home himself as he could.

To turn loose in Ireland, as Captain Touch urged, on the other

hand, seven hundred such monsters of lawlessness, cruelty, and

lust, as Spanish and Italian condottieri were in those days, was as

fatal to their own safety as cruel to the wretched Irish. All the

captains, without exception, followed on the same side. "What was

to be done, then?" asked Lord Grey, impatiently. "Would they have

him murder them all in cold blood?"

And for a while every man, knowing that it must come to that, and

yet not daring to say it; till Sir Warham St. Leger, the marshal of

Munster, spoke out stoutly: "Foreigners had been scoffing them too

long and too truly with waging these Irish wars as if they meant to

keep them alive, rather than end them. Mercy and faith to every

Irishman who would show mercy and faith, was his motto; but to

invaders, no mercy. Ireland was England's vulnerable point; it

might be some day her ruin; a terrible example must be made of

those who dare to touch the sore. Rather pardon the Spaniards for

landing in the Thames than in Ireland!"--till Lord Grey became much

excited, and turning as a last hope 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

soldier was surprised to find himself so much wiser a man than he

had thought; and finished by one of his rapid and passionate

perorations upon his favorite theme--the West Indian cruelties of

the Spaniards, ". . . by which great tracts and fair countries are

now utterly stripped of inhabitants by heavy bondage and torments

unspeakable. Oh, witless Islanders!" said he, apostrophizing the

Irish, "would to Heaven that you were here to listen to me! What

other fate awaits you, if this viper, which you are so ready to

take into your bosom, should be warmed to life, but to groan like

the Indians, slaves to the Spaniard; but to perish like the

Indians, by heavy burdens, cruel chains, plunder and ravishment;

scourged, racked, roasted, stabbed, sawn in sunder, cast to feed

the dogs, as simple and more righteous peoples have perished ere

now by millions? And what else, I say, had been the fate of

Ireland had this invasion prospered, which God has now, by our weak

hands, confounded and brought to naught? Shall we then answer it