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<title>A LAD OF GRIT</title>
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39490 ***</div>
<div class="document" id="a-lad-of-grit">
<h1 class="document-title level-1 pfirst title">A LAD OF GRIT</h1>
<div class="noindent vspace" style="height: 4em">
</div>
<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p>
<div class="noindent vspace" style="height: 1em">
</div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p>
</div>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
</div>
<!-- container: coverpage -->
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="width: 53%" id="figure-26">
<span id="cover-art"></span><img class="align-center" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=" " src="images/img-cover.jpg" />
<div class="caption figure">
Cover art</div>
</div>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
</div>
<!-- container: frontispiece -->
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="width: 63%" id="figure-27">
<span id="inch-by-inch-they-were-driven-back"></span><img class="align-center" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=" " src="images/img-front.jpg" />
<div class="caption figure">
"INCH BY INCH THEY WERE DRIVEN BACK"</div>
</div>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
</div>
<div class="align-None container titlepage white-space-pre-line">
<p class="center pfirst white-space-pre-line x-large">A Lad of Grit</p>
<p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">A Story of Adventure on Land<br />
and Sea in Restoration Times</p>
<div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">by</p>
<p class="center medium pnext white-space-pre-line">PERCY F. WESTERMAN</p>
<div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 3em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst small white-space-pre-line"><em class="italics white-space-pre-line">ILLUSTRATED BY EDWARD S. HODGSON</em></p>
<div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 3em">
</div>
<p class="center medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">BLACKIE & SON LIMITED<br />
LONDON AND GLASGOW<br />
1909</p>
</div>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
</div>
<div class="align-None container verso white-space-pre-line">
<p class="left medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">By Percy F. Westerman</p>
<div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="left medium pfirst white-space-pre-line">Captain Fosdyke's Gold.<br />
In Defiance of the Ban.<br />
Captain Sang.<br />
The Senior Cadet.<br />
The Amir's Ruby.<br />
The Secret of the Plateau.<br />
Leslie Dexter, Cadet.<br />
All Hands to the Boats.<br />
A Mystery of the Broads.<br />
Rivals of the Reef.<br />
A Shanghai Adventure.<br />
Pat Stobart in the "Golden Dawn".<br />
The Junior Cadet.<br />
Captain Starlight.<br />
The Sea-Girt Fortress.<br />
On the Wings of the Wind.<br />
Captured at Tripoli.<br />
Captain Blundell's Treasure.<br />
The Third Officer.<br />
Unconquered Wings.<br />
The Riddle of the Air.<br />
Chums of the "Golden Vanity".<br />
Clipped Wings.<br />
The Luck of the "Golden Dawn".<br />
The Salving of the "Fusi Yama".<br />
Winning his Wings.<br />
A Lively Bit of the Front.<br />
A Cadet of the Mercantile Marine.<br />
The Good Ship "Golden Effort".<br />
East In the "Golden Gain".<br />
The Quest of the "Golden Hope".<br />
Sea Scouts Abroad.<br />
Sea Scouts Up-Channel.<br />
The Wireless Officer.<br />
A Lad of Grit.<br />
The Submarine Hunters.<br />
Sea Scouts All.<br />
The Thick of the Fray.<br />
A Sub and a Submarine.<br />
Under the White Ensign.<br />
The Fight for Constantinople.<br />
With Beatty off Jutland.<br />
The Dispatch Riders.</p>
<div class="vspace white-space-pre-line" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="center pfirst small white-space-pre-line"><em class="italics white-space-pre-line">Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow</em></p>
</div>
<div class="center transition">
<p class="pfirst">――――</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="id1">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title">CONTENTS</h2>
<div class="container contents">
<ul class="compact simple toc-list">
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-i-how-the-tidings-of-the-restoration-came-to-rake" id="id2">CHAPTER I--How the Tidings of the Restoration Came to Rake</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-ii-of-the-arrest-and-escape-of-increase-joyce" id="id3">CHAPTER II--Of the Arrest and Escape of Increase Joyce</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-iii-concerning-my-journey-to-portsmouth" id="id4">CHAPTER III--Concerning my Journey to Portsmouth</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-iv-how-judgment-was-passed-on-the-dorset-smugglers" id="id5">CHAPTER IV--How Judgment was Passed on the Dorset Smugglers</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-v-of-my-first-ship-the-gannet" id="id6">CHAPTER V--Of my First Ship, the <em class="italics">Gannet</em></a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-vi-of-the-finding-of-pedro-alvarez-and-of-the-strange-tale-that-he-told" id="id7">CHAPTER VI--Of the Finding of Pedro Alvarez, and of the Strange Tale that he Told</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-vii-concerning-the-treasure-island" id="id8">CHAPTER VII--Concerning the Treasure Island</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-viii-of-an-encounter-with-an-algerine-corsair" id="id9">CHAPTER VIII--Of an Encounter with an Algerine Corsair</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-ix-i-lose-the-little-gannet" id="id10">CHAPTER IX--I lose the <em class="italics">Little Gannet</em></a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-x-how-i-defended-the-foretop" id="id11">CHAPTER X--How I Defended the Foretop</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-xi-of-the-manner-of-my-homecoming" id="id12">CHAPTER XI--Of the Manner of my Homecoming</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-xii-the-smugglers-cave" id="id13">CHAPTER XII--The Smugglers' Cave</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-xiii-the-escape" id="id14">CHAPTER XIII--The Escape</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-xiv-i-set-out-to-fight-the-dutch" id="id15">CHAPTER XIV--I Set Out to Fight the Dutch</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-xv-of-the-famous-sea-fight-of-four-days" id="id16">CHAPTER XV--Of the Famous Sea Fight of Four Days</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-xvi-i-meet-an-old-enemy" id="id17">CHAPTER XVI--I Meet an Old Enemy</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-xvii-showing-that-there-are-two-means-of-leaving-a-prison" id="id18">CHAPTER XVII--Showing that there are Two Means of Leaving a Prison</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-xviii-the-veil-is-partly-drawn" id="id19">CHAPTER XVIII--The Veil is Partly Drawn</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-xix-how-three-horsemen-set-out-for-the-north" id="id20">CHAPTER XIX--How Three Horsemen set out for the North</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-xx-what-we-heard-and-saw-at-holwick" id="id21">CHAPTER XX--What we Heard and Saw at Holwick.</a></p>
</li>
<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><p class="first pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#chapter-xxi-our-search-for-the-treasure" id="id22">CHAPTER XXI--Our Search for the Treasure</a></p>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
<div class="center transition">
<p class="pfirst">――――</p>
</div>
<p class="center medium pfirst">Illustrations</p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="left medium pfirst white-space-pre-line"><a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#inch-by-inch-they-were-driven-back">Inch by inch they were driven back</a> . . . . . . Frontispiece<br />
<a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#i-ran-at-my-father-s-murderer-and-rained-blow-after-blow-upon-his-head-and-body">I ran at my father's murderer and rained blow after blow upon his head and body</a><br />
<a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#they-clambered-up-our-sides-with-the-greatest-intrepidity">They clambered up our sides with the greatest intrepidity</a><br />
<a class="reference internal white-space-pre-line" href="#the-chest-is-hoisted-to-the-surface">The chest is hoisted to the surface</a></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-i-how-the-tidings-of-the-restoration-came-to-rake">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id2">CHAPTER I--How the Tidings of the Restoration Came to Rake</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">The sun was slowly sinking behind the
tree-clad Hampshire Downs. Already the long
shadows of Rake Hill lay athwart the misty
coombe, and the glimmer of the innumerable
forges in the valley beneath began to hold its
own against the rapidly fading daylight. The
cold east wind, for it was but the beginning of
March, in the year of grace 1660, whistled
through the clump of gaunt pine trees that
marked the summit of the hill, and, despite the
fact that each of us wore a thick doublet, the
chilly blast cut us like a knife.</p>
<p class="pnext">I remember that evening well; its stirring
incidents are graven on my memory as if they
had happened but yesterday, though nigh on
twoscore and ten winters and summers have
passed over my head since the eventful year of
which I write.</p>
<p class="pnext">My father and I were returning homewards
from the great fair at Petersfield. For an old
man, he being well over sixty years of age, my
father was the marvel of our village. Tall but
sparely built, his frame betokened a strength of
body that harmonized with the determination of
character that made itself known by the glance
of his steel-coloured eyes. Report says that
when he came to Rake to settle down, some
twelve or thirteen years back--I being but an
infant in arms,--he did gain a lasting reputation
by outmatching one Caleb James, a notorious
bully, at his own game, breaking his pate with
his own staff on the roadside hard by Milland Church.</p>
<p class="pnext">Moreover, as proof of his hardiness, is there
not the testimony of the worthy Master Hugh
Salesbury, the chirurgeon of Lyss--the same
whose son fell in Torrington's action off Beachy
Head,--to the effect that though practice was
slack around Lyss, yet he perforce would have
to give up if none were better patients than
honest Owen Wentworth.</p>
<p class="pnext">Despite the fact that he was on the losing
side, my father was not backward in declaring
his attachment to His Gracious Majesty King
Charles II; and although our neighbours, even
the Roundheads, were favourably disposed to
him, making allowance for his fiery temper,
yet with strangers who passed along the great
highway betwixt London Town and
Portsmouth, honest Owen's outspoken declarations
oft led to wordy strife, and on occasions ended
in blows.</p>
<p class="pnext">In defiance of the Puritan regulations against
anything tending towards the lost cause, my
father, though ruined by confiscations and
sequestration, endeavoured to maintain the
appearance of a careless and social demeanour,
ever cherishing a hope that each day seemed
nearer fulfilment.</p>
<p class="pnext">He still retained his flowing lovelocks, while
the lower part of his weather-worn face was
adorned by a greyish beard of Van Dyck cut,
which failed to hide a portion of a long, whitish
scar that extended from his left eyebrow to his
cheek bone--the legacy of a pike-thrust in the
sanguinary encounter of Cropredy Bridge. He
was dressed in a dark-blue suit, relieved by a
deep collar of Mechlin lace, while, on account
of the severity of the weather, he was further
attired in a long cloak that barely concealed the
end of a short hanger--a necessary weapon in
these troublous times. I also knew that he
carried two long dags, or Scottish pistols, yet
of these there was no outward sign.</p>
<p class="pnext">As we neared the foot of the hill, instead of
turning to the right towards our home, my father
broke the silence by saying:</p>
<p class="pnext">"I will call in at the 'Flying Bull'. Possibly
the chapman from Godalming is there. If so, I
can replenish my stock of gun flints."</p>
<p class="pnext">As we entered the doorway of the "Flying
Bull"--an old hostelry that has sheltered all
sorts and conditions of men, from kings and
queens even to the arch-traitor Old Noll himself,
and the sign of which, painted by a limner who
had learned his art in the time of the last crusade,
had swung in the breeze for nigh on four
hundred years--we were greeted with a chorus
of welcome from the score or so of persons
assembled in the large stone-flagged common room.</p>
<p class="pnext">"How goes the price of malt and barley at
Petersfield?" questioned one man in a voice that
was like to the bellowing of a bull.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Man," retorted another, "doth thy reasoning
not rise above the price of petty huckstering,
Obadiah Blow-the-trumpet-in-Zion? Heed
him not, good Master Wentworth. Hast news
of honest George Monk and his army?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"None, though rumour hath it that the fleet
at Portsmouth hath sided with Monk, and that
John Tippets, the mayor, hath called out the
train bands and manned the ordnance on the
Platform and the Square Tower. Moreover, a
trusty messenger hath reached Sir Giles Seaward
with orders to raise the countryside and to
assemble in Petersfield marketplace to-morrow
at noon. God forfend that this land be not
again drenched in blood!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ay," rejoined another, "but, as man to man,
Master Wentworth, what think ye? How blows
the wind in London?" he added darkly.</p>
<p class="pnext">"My friend, mark ye well, the wind blows
straight from the Low Country."</p>
<p class="pnext">"No," thundered a voice from a seat in the
chimney corner; "the blast of the Lord, that
destroyed Sennacherib and his host, will utterly
consume the malignants, including Charles
Stuart, the son of the enemy of the people of
England!" My father sprang to his feet, white
with fury. All eyes were centred on the speaker.
He was a short, thick-set man of about forty
years of age, with a bull-neck, huge ears, small
ferrety eyes, close-cropped hair, and a
clean-shaven face deeply pitted with smallpox. He
wore a buff-coloured jerkin, opened at the neck
for comfort's sake, and frayed and soiled from
the wearing of armour, his breast- and
back-plates of dull steel having been removed. These,
together with a steel helmet with metal guards,
and a heavy broadsword, lay on the settle within
arm's length, while a petronel and a
well-weighted bandolier hung across the back of a
chair on which the man's feet, encased in long
Spanish boots, rested.</p>
<p class="pnext">On my father striding across the room, the
stranger leisurely rose from his seat and
extended his hand in an attitude of contemptuous
reproof.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Tut, man, 'tis time thy grey hairs taught
thee wisdom! Wouldst threaten me, Increase
Joyce, trooper of Parliamentary Horse?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Draw, knave, draw!" shouted my father,
whipping out his hanger. "Either unsay those
words or else swallow them!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Instantly all was confusion. Some of the more
timid made towards the door, tables were
overturned, tankards clattered on the floor, excited
men shouted in unintelligible voices. For my
own part, I remained by my father's side, unable
to take my eyes off his antagonist, and, at the
same time, knowing that my father in his choler
would brook no interference from me.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I fight not with old men," retorted Joyce.
"But this I know: 'The axe is laid unto the root
of the trees', an' if that arch-profligate, Charles
Stuart, were to set foot in England----"</p>
<p class="pnext">He was interrupted by a violent knocking
at the door, which, being thrown wide open,
showed a man fully armed and holding the
reins of a steaming and apparently exhausted horse.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Host!" he shouted. "Where or which is the host?"</p>
<p class="pnext">Old Giles Perrin, the innkeeper, came forward
and awaited his commands.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Now, sirrah, on thy life, hasten! Provender
for my beast; a cup of spiced ale for myself.
With all dispatch, man, for I am on the service
of the State!"</p>
<p class="pnext">The stranger strode into the room, stooped
and replaced one of the overturned stools, seated
himself thereon, and, removing a cloth that
encircled his neck, wiped his heated brow
vigorously. Then he stared haughtily around at the
assembled company, seized the cup that old
Giles brought, and drained it at one gulp.</p>
<p class="pnext">I remarked that he spoke with an accent
totally different from the Southern dialect of our
part of Hampshire and Sussex, but my doubts
were soon set at rest.</p>
<p class="pnext">"How far down yon road is't to Petersfield?
And is one like to meet aught of footpads,
drawlatches, or vagrants of that condition?"</p>
<p class="pnext">It was my father who answered him, yet barely
had he opened his mouth when the stranger
clapped him on the shoulder:</p>
<p class="pnext">"By all the powers of darkness! You, S----"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Hold, man!" replied my father in a tone that
implied no denial. Then, in an undertone, I
heard him say: "I am now but Owen
Wentworth, gentleman yeoman, at your service."</p>
<p class="pnext">"I am still Ralph Slingsby, though, thanks
to my General Monk, cornet of horse no longer,
but captain in his favourite regiment. Let me
think. 'Tis but thrice that I have seen thee
since we parted at Holwick, you to join the king
at Nottingham, I to enrol under my Lord Essex.
First, at Edgehill, when I, a mere stripling, lay
under the hoofs of Rupert's horse. Secondly,
at Cropredy Bridge, when I did turn aside the pike
that would have let your soul out of the keeping
of your body. Lastly, when at the trial of----"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ssh! I would have you remember that the
rising generation hath long ears."</p>
<p class="pnext">My father spoke truly, for though the stranger
had uttered his lengthy speech but in an
undertone, yet I, with the curiosity of youth, did not
fail to hear, much to my mystification. Knowing
also that the remark about "the rising generation"
was applied to me, I must needs raise my
hands to my ears to feel if they were long, much
to Ralph Slingsby's amusement.</p>
<p class="pnext">"So this is your son, Master Wentworth?
A fitting chip of the old block! What wouldst
thou be, lad; a fighting man, like thy sire?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ay," I replied. "But I would love to go to
sea, and become famous like Admiral Blake, e'en
though he were a Roundhead!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"What knowest thou of Blake?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Henry Martin hath told me tales of his
gallant deeds, and besides, he hath shown me
his medal of bronze, inscribed: 'For eminent
service in saving ye <em class="italics">Triumph</em>, fired in fight
with ye Dutch'. That was the sea fight in
which Martin lost his leg."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ah, Master Wentworth, that's the spirit I
like! The time hath come when Englishmen
cease from flying at each other's throats. Host,
my score!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Then, shaking my father by the hand, and
patting me kindly on the head, he strode
towards the door; then, turning, he addressed
the company:</p>
<p class="pnext">"Gentlemen, I beg you take heed that yesternight
a messenger was sent to Holland to invite
His Majesty King Charles II to return to his
throne. I bear orders to the fleet at Portsmouth
that they all, with the exception of the <em class="italics">Naseby</em>,
the name of which giveth offence to His Majesty,
proceed to the Downs, there to welcome our
sovereign lord. God save the King!"</p>
<p class="pnext">While the silence that prevailed in the room,
following on this startling announcement, still
remained, I could hear the thud of horse's hoofs
as Ralph Slingsby resumed his momentous
journey towards Petersfield.</p>
<p class="pnext">When, a quarter of an hour or so later, we left
the "Flying Bull", the moon had risen,
throwing the long shadows of the dark pines athwart
the road. Our humble abode lay about a mile on
the by-road from Rake to Midhurst, and
homewards we stepped, our thick-soled shoes ringing
on the frosty road. When but half the distance
was covered, I heard the sound of the crackling
of the dry brushwood in a coppice on our left,
followed by the cry of a bird and the fluttering
of its wings as it flew over our heads.</p>
<p class="pnext">Instinctively I edged closer to my father and
grasped his left hand.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Lad, art afraid of a fox running through
the covert?" he exclaimed. "And wouldst be
a sailor, too!"</p>
<p class="pnext">In spite of my boast in the well-lit room of the
"Flying Bull", my heart throbbed painfully,
and my reply seemed like to stick in my throat.
We continued in silence, and presently came
to a spot where a large reed-fringed lake lay
on the right-hand side of the road, while on the
other a dense clump of gaunt firs threw a dismal
gloom over our path.</p>
<p class="pnext">As we neared the clump a voice, authoritative,
harsh, and yet familiar, shouted:</p>
<p class="pnext">"Stand!"</p>
<p class="pnext">And into the moonlight stepped a short,
thick-set man, whom I recognized as the soldier who
caused the turmoil at the inn, Increase Joyce.</p>
<p class="pnext">For the second time that night my father
unsheathed his hanger, and, pushing me behind
him, advanced towards the man.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Stand!" he repeated. "See here; a word
in thine ear, Master Wentworth. Less than an
hour agone I said: 'I fight not with old men'.
I recall those words. With me it is a case of
doing in Rome as do the Romans. The
Commonwealth is at an end, therefore I am a
Parliamentarian no longer. Instead, I journey
to the Rhine to join the German freebooters, or
else to the Spanish Main to throw in my lot with
the buccaneers of the Indies--it matters not
which; but ere I go I have an account to settle
with the Lord of Holwick. Little did I think to
find him hiding in an obscure Sussex village.
Dost remember twenty years aback--the trysting
place under the Holmwood Oak?--Ah! ... Nay!
Stand, at thy peril!"</p>
<p class="pnext">But my father, white with passion, still
advanced, the moonbeams dancing on his glittering
blade. Joyce unslung his petronel, and
covered his antagonist when within fifteen or
twenty paces.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Murderer!" shouted my father.</p>
<p class="pnext">"As you will; I take no risks with steel,"
and immediately the report of the weapon burst
upon my ears like a clap of thunder, while the
trees were illuminated by the flash of the
discharge. I shut my eyes and screamed in terror,
and on opening them I saw--oh, merciful
Heaven!--a convulsive form lying in the road,
while the Roundhead stood watching me
intently, the smoke from his petronel hanging
round like a pall, and slowly ascending in the
chill night air.</p>
<p class="pnext">In an instant my terror left me and I became
a demon. Grasping my oak cudgel in my hand,
I ran at my father's murderer and rained blow
after blow upon his head and body. It was but
a forlorn attempt. His headpiece and armour
received the blows as lightly as if they were from
a straw, and with an oath he smote me heavily
on the chest with the butt of his pistol, so that I
reeled, fell backward across the body of my
murdered sire, and struck my head on the frosty
road. Multitudes of lights flashed before my
eyes, followed by a red glare, and I lost all
consciousness.</p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="width: 59%" id="figure-28">
<span id="i-ran-at-my-father-s-murderer-and-rained-blow-after-blow-upon-his-head-and-body"></span><img class="align-center" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=" " src="images/img-016.jpg" />
<div class="caption figure">
"I RAN AT MY FATHER'S MURDERER AND RAINED BLOW AFTER BLOW UPON HIS HEAD AND BODY"</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ii-of-the-arrest-and-escape-of-increase-joyce">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id3">CHAPTER II--Of the Arrest and Escape of Increase Joyce</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">When I came to, the first vague impressions
of consciousness were the excited chatterings of
what seemed to me a multitude of people. Then
I saw the flashing of the light of a log fire
lightening the dark oak beams of a room. I lay
still, my temples throbbing like to burst, and
my head swimming till I felt ready to vomit.
Trying to collect my thoughts, I realized that
I was in the kitchen of our own house. Then
in an instant the whole scene of the tragedy in
the pine-shrouded lane burst upon me in all its
horror, and I raised myself on one elbow and
feebly articulated: "Father, say it is but a dream!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Gentle hands firmly put my head back upon
a pillow, and a voice, which I recognized as that
of Master Salesbury, the chirurgeon, said: "The
lad will surely recover. No more letting of blood
or cupping is needful. A hot posset will not
come amiss, good Mistress Heatherington, ere
I take my leave, for 'tis cold abroad."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Thou art right, Master Salesbury," replied
another, Sir George Lee, who, I afterwards found
out, had been summoned as a Justice of the
Peace to take down such evidence as could be
obtained. "And as for you, sir, I must ask you
to accompany me as my guest till this
unfortunate matter can fully be gone into."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Right gladly would I, worthy sir, but I ride
hot-foot on affairs of State. By ten of the clock
I must deliver a sealed packet into the hands
of Master Jack Tippets, the Mayor of Portsmouth."</p>
<p class="pnext">I started, and strove again to rise; the voice
seemed but too familiar to my ears; but once
more I was soothed into repose.</p>
<p class="pnext">"To Portsmouth, say you? Then why, may
I ask, were you so far from the highway?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"I had also to summon the Squire of Trotton----"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Trotton, say you? Then why didst take this
road, seeing that the turning at Milland is the
right and proper one?" demanded Sir George
sternly.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I must have missed the right road, and,
hearing shots, I suspected some foul crime, and
rode hither----"</p>
<p class="pnext">In an instant I connected that voice with that
of the murderer, Increase Joyce, and with what
strength yet remained I shouted: "Seize him;
he is my father's murderer!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Immediately all was commotion. Women
shrieked--men shouted. Sir George Lee sprang
to his feet and whipped out his sword. "Arrest
him," he ordered. Two men, who were attendants
at the Court Leet, placed their hands on
Joyce's shoulder.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Unhand me, men!" he exclaimed; "'tis a
mistake--a grave mistake. Would ye pay heed
to the ravings of a light-headed child?"</p>
<p class="pnext">A wave of indecision swept over the people
present; but, in spite of extreme physical pain, I
had raised myself on my elbow, and in reply
I repudiated the Roundhead's taunt. "I am
not light-headed nor is it a mistake. That
man shot my father with a petronel not a furlong
from this house."</p>
<p class="pnext">But Joyce doggedly followed up his line of
argument. "Look, worthy sir," he reiterated,
"the lad is still wandering. Why, when I came
upon them, the boy was stretched senseless on
the roadway. I pray you, order your men to
release me. I journey on the business of the
Commonwealth."</p>
<p class="pnext">The two men released their hold, but Sir
George turned on them with a rage quite
unusual to him. "Were ye told to unhand him,
dolts?" he shouted. "A messenger of the
Commonwealth or no messenger, I take the
responsibility. Bind him, and away to
Midhurst with him at once."</p>
<p class="pnext">With an oath the scoundrel shook off his two
captors and threw himself bodily on Sir George.
Taken unawares, the knight could ill defend
himself, and before the bystanders could interfere, a
knife flashed in the firelight and was buried in
his body. Then the two henchmen grappled
with the Roundhead, and all three rolled in a
heap on the floor. It was not until the miscreant
was stunned by a blow from a milking stool that
he was finally secured, and attention could be
given to Sir George Lee.</p>
<p class="pnext">The knight was leaning against the wall, his
head slightly bent, while a deadly pallor
overspread his face, on which, however, lurked a
peculiarly grim smile.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Art hurt, Sir George?" asked Master Salesbury.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Nay, Doctor, 'tis not a case for your hands
this time, thanks to Lawyer Whitehead; I am
but winded."</p>
<p class="pnext">"To Lawyer Whitehead! How?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ay, to Lawyer Whitehead! 'Tis the first
time in twenty-nine years that I have been well
served by a lawyer, and even this once it was not
as a deliberate act of kindness." And, drawing
from his pocket a thick bundle of parchment,
partly cut through by the villain's knife, he held
it up for inspection.</p>
<p class="pnext">At that moment the door opened and a sturdy
countryman entered, pulling his forelock as a
mark of respect to Sir George, and handed him
a petronel which I recognized only too well.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Zure, sir, I did find 'e but d'ree paces
from t' road where they killed Maister Wentworth."</p>
<p class="pnext">Under guard, the villain, now in a half-dazed
condition, was removed in a cart to the jail at
Midhurst. Most of those present dispersed, and,
faint and tired, I fell into a troubled sleep.</p>
<p class="pnext">A week passed ere I had sufficient strength
to be able to sit up. Under the careful nursing
of Mistress Heatherington my bodily hurts were
healed, though the mental anguish of that terrible
night still gripped me in a relentless grasp.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was on a Tuesday morning when Sir George
came to the cottage to enquire how I progressed,
and to tell me that he was taking me to the
courthouse at Midhurst on the following
Monday morning, should I be well enough to bear
the journey.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Lad," he exclaimed, "I would I could
fathom this mystery! Thy father's slayer is no
mean reaver or cutpurse; yet, though we have
him safe by the heels, manacled and leg-ironed,
and threaten him with the thumbscrews, never
a word can be wrung from him. Was there
ever a feud 'twixt thy sire and him?"</p>
<p class="pnext">I told the knight of the event that took place
at the sign of the "Flying Bull", and of the
meeting with the villain in the moonlit lane.
Sir George listened attentively, and, proud of
being privileged to talk to so exalted a
personage as the wealthiest man for miles around
Rake, I let my tongue run wild for the space
of nigh on an hour.</p>
<p class="pnext">When I had finished, Sir George, who had
never ceased to stroke his beard and play a
tattoo with his fingers on the table, remained
silent for a few minutes; then suddenly he exclaimed:</p>
<p class="pnext">"Holwick! Captain Slingsby of Monk's
Regiment of Horse! 'Tis passing strange, yet----"</p>
<p class="pnext">His remarks were cut short by the thunder of
a horse's hoofs, and a man suddenly burst in
through the door and exclaimed breathlessly:
"Oh, Sir George! Sir George!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Well, sirrah?"</p>
<p class="pnext">But the man could only stammer out: "Oh,
Sir George!"</p>
<p class="pnext">This was more than the choleric old knight
could stand. "Don't stand there babbling like
a drunken mummer at Martinmas fair!" he
shouted, with a round oath. "Deliver thy message, dolt!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Oh, Sir George! The murderer Joyce hath escaped!"</p>
<p class="pnext">With another furious outburst the knight
rushed out of the room, mounted his horse, and,
followed by his two servants and the messenger
of ill-tidings, rode furiously down the road to
Midhurst, the noise of the horses' hoofs clattering
on the frosty road testifying to the speed
at which they were urged.</p>
<p class="pnext">News travels apace, and in less than an hour
it was all over our village that Joyce had by
some means obtained a file, cut through his
fetters, and, after a murderous attack on his
jailer, had broken out of Midhurst Jail, and was
last seen making his way towards the bleak
Sussex Downs.</p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst">My father had already been laid to rest in the
quiet little churchyard of Trotton, and on
making an examination of the little house where we
dwelt, his will was discovered. The reading of
this will, though of little interest to me (on
account, I now suppose, of my youth), was the
occasion of an assembly of many of the friends
of my father, the number surprising me; for,
though highly respected, he was not one who
was fond of associating with our neighbours.</p>
<p class="pnext">There were present, besides Sir George Lee, who
appeared to take a great interest in me, Lawyer
Whitehead, Howard Hobbs and Jack Alexander
of Iping, both of whom had seen service under
Prince Rupert; Arthur Conolly, an Irish veteran
who had served in the Low Countries, and who
had come over from Chichester for the occasion;
Arthur Lewis, a gentleman of Bramshott; Percy
Young, an officer of the navy, who in his earlier
days had lost a leg in the action of La Rochelle;
Herbert Collings, a master mariner of Gosport,
who used to be a frequent visitor at our house,
and who greatly interested me with the account
of his adventures off the coast of Barbary; and
Giles Perrin, the landlord of the "Flying Bull",
who modestly seated himself on a stool in a
remote corner of the room. There were also
several others whose names I forget.</p>
<p class="pnext">Lawyer Whitehead, whose name did not belie
his appearance, adjusted his horn spectacles, and,
unfolding a parchment, read the will, which is as
follows:--</p>
<p class="pnext">"In the Name of God, Amen, I, Owen
Wentworth, late of Holwick in the countie of Yorks"
[here followed some word that had been erased
and "yeoman" written above] "being whole of
bodie and perfect of mynde, do ordaine and make
this my last will and testament in manner and
forme followinge: First, I commend my soule into
the handes of Almightie God my Creator, and my
bodie to be buried in the churchyarde at Trotton.
Item, I give to the poor of the parish of Rake
ten pounds to be divided amongst them by the
discretion of my Executors. Item, I give to Sir
George Lee, knight, in token of friendship, my
horse, alsoe a box and contents now deposited
with Master Whitehead, Lawyer of Midhurst.
Item, to my sister Margaret, now wedded to
George Anderson, Clerk of Ye Survey at the
Dockyarde neare Portesmouth, One hundred
Pounds. Item, to the said George Anderson
the sum of Twenty and five Pounds yearly,
provided that the said George Anderson doth fulfil
to the letter the instructions set forth by me and
intrusted to the keeping of the aforesaid Master
Whitehead, Lawyer of Midhurst.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Item, to all persons hereinafter named" [here
followed a long list of names, embracing all
present and many besides], "provided that they
pay me the last respects due to me, I give XX*s*.
Item, to John Alexander and Arthur Lewis, my
welbeloved friends and Executors, I give Five
Pounds apiece.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Item, to my deerly beloved sonne Aubrey
I give the residue of my estate, to be held in
trust by the aforesaid George Anderson till my
sonne attain the age of XXI yeares, if he doe
so long live.</p>
<p class="pnext">"It is my will alsoe that my sonne Aubrey
shall take charge and have and hold the metal
box that I do always carry attached to my belt,
suffering not the same to go out of hys
possession, so that it will help in a small matter whereof
he knoweth not yet.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Item, it is my will if the above named
Aubrey my sonne doth dye without heires or
before he come to the age of XXI years, the
residue shall remain to my sister Margaret
Anderson and her heires forever."</p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst">There was a buzz of suppressed excitement
when Master Whitehead had ended the reading
of this lengthy will. Clearly my father was a
far richer man than most people had wot of;
moreover, there was a cloud of mystery hanging
over the will--that was evident by the darkly
worded passage about keeping the instructions.</p>
<p class="pnext">But before there was time for discussion the
lawyer brought out another bulky packet,
fastened with a large red seal. This he broke
and withdrew the contents, revealing yet another
sealed missive and a sheet of vellum written in
my father's hand. The missive was addressed:
"In trust for my sonne Aubrey Wentworth.
To Master George Anderson, dwelling in
St. Thomas Street in Ye Burrough of Portesmouth.
Not to be opened under paine of my displeasure
till my sonne attaine the age of XXI years."</p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst">The letter gave instructions for me to be sent
to my uncle's at Portsmouth, to be provided for
until I could choose for myself what I should
be, at the same time exhorting me to serve
faithfully His Majesty King Charles II or his lawful
successor, and to abstain from vain or idle
longings to break the seals of the enclosed
package till the stipulated time limit had expired.</p>
<p class="pnext">This the lawyer gravely handed to me, expressing
his satisfaction at the prospect before
me--a statement that left me more bewildered
than before.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then Sir George Lee spoke, enquiring where
was the small metal box that my father had
mentioned.</p>
<p class="pnext">Here was another mystery. No one knew or
had seen the box. Mistress Heatherington and
both the servants, Giles and William, who had
brought home the body of my murdered sire, had
been ignorant of its existence, and, at the request
of Lawyer Whitehead, the clothes my father
wore at the time of his death were produced.
There was the belt--a highly ornamented broad
band of Spanish leather. The lawyer took and
examined it, then passed it on to Sir George,
who also looked at it closely, even bending
and shaking it in the hope that the missing
box might be hidden between the layers of leather.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ah, what has been here?" exclaimed the
knight, pointing to a series of minute holes
round a patch of leather that was not quite so
discoloured as the rest.</p>
<p class="pnext">Clearly the mysterious box was missing, and
it was evident that it had been forced away from
the leathern belt. Then arose the question, how
could it have been detached, and who was the
miscreant who had taken it?</p>
<p class="pnext">The debate lasted for a long while, but all
present were agreed that the villain Joyce must
have annexed it for some particular motive,
though 'twas evident that robbery was not
intended, the box being of some worthless metal.</p>
<p class="pnext">Master Whitehead then gave to Sir George an
oaken box which my father had mentioned in his
will. The knight opened it, disclosing a lace
handkerchief marked with a deep brown stain,
to which was fastened a piece of parchment
inscribed: "Stained with y^e blood of y^e Martyr
His M^tie King Charles", the jewelled hilt of a
sword, a ring, and several papers.</p>
<p class="pnext">The knight reverently pressed his lips to the
royal relic, then proceeded to peruse the various
papers. The first he looked at intently for some
moments, then read aloud the following words:--</p>
<p class="pnext">"To Beverley Gate on fir trees that wall
keeping from y^e 11J feete come to of mine
directions in desires I sonne having."</p>
<p class="pnext">Again he read these unmeaning words, his
brows knitting in undisguised perplexity; then
he handed the paper to the lawyer, who, after
several vain attempts to produce a proper
sentence, turned it over in his hand. Something
was written on the back; but without saying a
word he returned the paper to Sir George, first
tapping the writing with his forefinger and
clearly indicating that the knight should likewise
keep silence.</p>
<p class="pnext">My sharp wits clearly told me that Sir George
by his manner was angry with himself for
having read the paper aloud. Hastily thrusting
it back into the box, he slammed to the lid and
prepared to take his departure.</p>
<p class="pnext">The rest of the assembled company followed
his example, and, with an arm aching with the
result of vigorous handshakes, I was left alone
with Mistress Heatherington.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was the last I saw of kind Sir George Lee
for many a long year.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-iii-concerning-my-journey-to-portsmouth">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id4">CHAPTER III--Concerning my Journey to Portsmouth</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">Grief does not for long hold its sway over the
buoyant spirit of youth, and, in spite of the
heavy blow that I had sustained, my boyish
disposition speedily reasserted itself, and I
looked forward with undisguised eagerness to
my journey to my new home in Portsmouth town.</p>
<p class="pnext">Already I had heard many wondrous tales
of the happenings in that town from the lips
of old Master Herbert Collings and of Henry
Martin. In my mind I pictured my worthy
uncle taking me round the dockyard, showing
me this and that vessel, and pointing out this
captain who fought against the Dutch, and
that master mariner who repulsed the Barbary corsair.</p>
<p class="pnext">With bright visions of the future I gave little
heed to the troubles of the past, and eagerly
wished for the end of the nine long days that
must pass ere I left the quiet of our little village
of Rake for the busy life of a naval town.</p>
<p class="pnext">A day spent in Midhurst, where I was well
fitted out with clothes, helped to make the time
pass, and on the evening previous to the eventful
day of my departure, I climbed the steep ascent
of Rake Hill to bid farewell to some of my
friends who dwelt on the by-road towards Lyss.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was dark ere I set out homewards, and on
the summit of the hill I stopped to look across
the coombe, where flickered the innumerable
wood fires of the iron smelters' forges. It
reminded me strangely of that eventful day, but
a few weeks past, when I journeyed over the
selfsame road with my father, and instinctively
I breathed a prayer for vengeance against his
foul murderer.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly the distant thud of horses' hoofs
smote upon my ear, and before I reached the
foot of the hill, where stands the "Flying Bull",
I perceived a cavalcade rapidly approaching.</p>
<p class="pnext">As I drew to the side of the highway to watch
them pass, I could see in the starlight that there
was a body of horse, some dozen at least,
surrounding a carriage. The horsemen were
accoutred in breast- and back-plates and steel
helmets, and from their sour visages I knew
them to be Roundheads. Inside the carriage
a candlelamp burned, throwing a dim light on
the occupants; and, brief as was my glimpse,
I saw that they were lavishly attired, and wore
lovelocks under their plumed beaver hats.</p>
<p class="pnext">Whether they journeyed as prisoners I could
not tell, though from the careless jovial
expression of their faces it seemed otherwise; but
before I could remark much else the party had
galloped past, and were well on their way along
this southern highway towards Portsmouth.
When I reached my home I at once retired for
the night, and was soon dreaming of horsemen
and chariots till the rays of the morning sun,
thrown athwart my bed, awoke me.</p>
<p class="pnext">In my eagerness to start I could scarcely be
persuaded to eat anything. In vain did Mistress
Heatherington coax me--my excitement was
too great. At length the two-horsed wain
belonging to Farmer Hill drew up outside our
house. By this conveyance I was to be taken
to Petersfield, there to proceed by a chapman's
cart that journeyed thrice weekly betwixt that
town and Portsmouth.</p>
<p class="pnext">My packages and boxes were lifted into the
wagon. I climbed up beside the driver, and
with many a handwave my old home was left
behind me, and a new world lay before me.</p>
<p class="pnext">I was now fourteen years of age, and for a
country-bred lad I flattered myself that I was
no fool. Tall for my age, broad-shouldered
and supple-limbed, I possessed an unusual
amount of strength, and could bear fatigue in
a manner that could only be accounted for by
the fact that I had led an active outdoor life.</p>
<p class="pnext">Slowly the wagon ascended the steep incline
of Rake Hill. The summit gained, there was
time for a parting glance across the coombe ere
the four-mile stretch of downhill road
commenced. At first I talked excitedly with the
driver, a sour-faced, wizened man, whose short
jerky answers, spoken in broadest Sussex, did
not encourage conversation; so presently I
dropped all attempt at talking, and took note
of the various places and persons we met on
the road.</p>
<p class="pnext">At Sheet Bridge we were stopped by a toll-gate,
the driver exchanging a few angry words
with the villainous-looking man who held the gate.</p>
<p class="pnext">Beyond was a short, steep hill, up which we
both walked, the driver having thrown the reins
across his horse's back. At the summit was
a gallows, from which hung something black.
As we drew nearer I could see that the dark
object was all that remained of what was once
a man. The corpse, daubed with pitch, was
encircled with iron hoops like a cage, and as
the wind howled over the hilltop the chain that
suspended the cage creaked horribly.</p>
<p class="pnext">The corpse could not have been there for
long; it certainly was not there on the occasion
of my last journey with my father to Petersfield.
I noticed that the little finger of each hand was
missing!</p>
<p class="pnext">The driver looked at me over his shoulder,
as if to note the effect that this horrible sight
might have on a youth.</p>
<p class="pnext">"See you?" he queried, knowing full well
that I could not well miss seeing it unless I
were blind.</p>
<p class="pnext">I nodded. "Let yon be a waarning to 'e,
young maaster. Do 'e never taake to killin'.
'Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall
his blood be shed.'" And with this remarkable
discourse he slowly climbed back to his seat
on the wagon, I following him.</p>
<p class="pnext">But I was not satisfied. Those missing fingers
puzzled me, and I ventured to ask why the
hands had been mutilated. For answer he
plunged his hand into one of his many pockets
and produced a small object that looked like a
leather purse. This he opened and pulled out
a human finger, the stump being mounted with
silver! For a moment he held it before my eyes;
then, as if too precious to be exposed to the light
of day, he carefully replaced it in its wrappings.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Young maaster," he replied, "for certain
prevention of agues, fever, smallpox, plague,
and all divers illnesses, for certain proof against
the evil eye, there is nowt that can compare
with the little finger of a murderer."</p>
<p class="pnext">By this time the square tower of Petersfield
Church was in sight, and soon after we drew
up in the courtyard of the "Red Lion", where,
since it was market day, there were numbers
of carts and wagons from the countryside for
miles around.</p>
<p class="pnext">In the midst of the bustle and noise I saw
that mingled with the countryfolk were several
soldiers, while in a corner of the courtyard was
a ponderous coach, which, if I mistook not,
was the very one that passed me yesternight at
Rake Hill.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was but ten in the morning, and the two
occupants of the coach had not yet appeared.
Apparently an accident had befallen the
conveyance, for a smith was busily engaged with
hammer and cold chisel in repairing one of the
wheels.</p>
<p class="pnext">Notwithstanding their Puritanical garb, most
of the troopers had, even at this early hour,
partaken of spirituous drinks, and, judging by
their gestures and talk, were evidently anticipating
the restoration of His Majesty King Charles.</p>
<p class="pnext">Perceiving a serving maid at one of the
windows, one of the soldiers began to make
love to her in dumb show, kissing his hand and
waving his iron headpiece to the damsel, who
seemed nothing loath to accept his advances.</p>
<p class="pnext">Presently she opened the casement, and,
leaning out, threw him a flower. Few women can
throw straight, and this one was no exception.
Her missile flew far above the man's head, and,
running backwards in a vain endeavour to catch
it, he fell heavily into a large trough of pigs'
mash, where, half-stunned by the force of his
fall, he lay wallowing in the sticky mess, till he
was helped out by his comrades, to the
accompaniment of their jeers and laughter.</p>
<p class="pnext">Having carried all my belongings into the
inn, the old carter bade me farewell; and as
the sound of his footsteps was lost in the outside
din, I felt as if the last link that bound me to
the home of my childhood was severed.</p>
<p class="pnext">The host of the "Red Lion", an old soldier
by appearance, came in and asked me what I
lacked. I told him I was waiting for the
chapman who travelled between Winton, Petersfield,
and Portsmouth, and at the same time ordered
a meal, for the morning ride had made me hungry.</p>
<p class="pnext">The landlord hurried off, for callers were
many that morning, and whilst I was waiting
I took stock of the room. It was panelled, and
had thick oak rafters and low ceiling. Though
the weather was warm, a large fire blazed on
the hearth, while the wall above the chimney
corner was hung with an assortment of old
weapons.</p>
<p class="pnext">There were three other occupants of the room,
two of whom sat in the chimney corner, leaning
over the fire as if it were a winter's day, while
the third was spread out on the settle, gazing
stolidly at his companions. They had evidently
been engaged in deep conversation, but on my
arrival they stopped talking and eyed me with
no goodwill.</p>
<p class="pnext">All three were villainous-looking men,
dark-skinned and heavy-browed. One had a livid
weal across his cheek, while another was deeply
pitted with smallpox. The third had his face
nearly concealed in a dark beard that grew so
high on his cheek as almost to meet his
eyebrows. Their clothes were old and ragged;
their belongings were limited to a small bundle
that was placed by each man's side. Three large
tankards, lying upset on the floor, showed that
their refreshment had been copious, while the
reek of strong spirits hung around them like
an invisible cloud.</p>
<p class="pnext">They made no secret of the fact that my
inquisitive glances were unwelcome, and so much
did they scowl that I turned hastily away and
looked out of the window, where the brilliant
sunshine, beating down on the crowded
courtyard, made a pleasing contrast to the dismal
trio within.</p>
<p class="pnext">The arrival of another wayfarer next diverted
my thoughts. The newcomer was a burly,
good-natured farmer, who, after giving the three
men a cheery salutation, which they returned
surlily enough, sat down opposite to me.</p>
<p class="pnext">Just then the landlord reappeared, and offered
excuses for not having a better room at his
disposal. "Two officers and a troop of horse,"
said he, "have stayed here overnight. What
their business is I know not. The men are free
with everything but their own affairs. Not
even spiced ale makes their tongues wag in
that direction. Their masters say less. Still,
'tis not my business; they pay well. But even
this young gentleman has to stay here for want
of better room. Ah, bethink me! Didst pass
Carver, the chapman, on your way hither?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Are your wits wool-gathering, Master Host?"
replied the other. "Seeing that Carver gave
notice that on Tuesday he would go direct from
Winton, instead of through this town, and that
to-day happens to be Tuesday----"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Of course!" ejaculated the landlord; "I had
forgotten."</p>
<p class="pnext">For a moment I felt staggered, then I asked
if there were other means of continuing my way.</p>
<p class="pnext">"None, young sir; but there is ample
accommodation here for man and beast till
Thursday, when a wagon from Alton to Portsmouth
passes this hostel."</p>
<p class="pnext">I shook my head. The idea of spending two
days and nights in this place was out of the
question. "I must go on," I replied, "even
if I walk."</p>
<p class="pnext">"You've pluck!" exclaimed the farmer. "'Tis
a good eighteen miles. Were it any day but
this I'd take you part of the way."</p>
<p class="pnext">I thanked him, and asked the landlord to take
care of my trunks till the Thursday; and, having
finished my repast, I prepared to go.</p>
<p class="pnext">Having paid my account in gold, and received
a quantity of silver change, which the landlord
counted slowly into my hand, I bade the kindly
farmer good-bye, and set off southward along a
dusty, chalky road.</p>
<p class="pnext">After crossing a small stream, and proceeding
over a long causeway, the road began slowly,
yet gradually, to rise, evidently making for a
gap between two lofty hills. Two miles brought
me to the foot of the downs, where all signs
of cultivation terminated abruptly, and only a
treeless expanse of turf-covered hills met my eye.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was warm work that last part of the ascent,
and on gaining the summit of the road I found
that the hillside still towered on both sides,
the highway running through a steep chalk cutting.</p>
<p class="pnext">Out of breath, I sat down on a grassy bank
and looked back upon the country I had just
left. Miles and miles of well-wooded land lay
beneath me, extending far away to the North
Downs. I could see the town of Petersfield
nestling around the square tower of the old
church. I could trace the dusty road along
which I had journeyed, save the last half-mile,
which was hidden by a chalk cliff that rose
some two hundred yards away on the right.</p>
<p class="pnext">For over a quarter of an hour I sat enjoying
this magnificent view, when suddenly round the
bend of the road by the base of the cliff appeared
three men whom I had no difficulty in recognizing
as the ill-favoured visitors at the "Red Lion".</p>
<p class="pnext">Then like a lightning flash the thought swept
across my mind that, having seen the landlord
give me a sum of silver, they had followed me to
this lonesome spot.</p>
<p class="pnext">I immediately sprang to my feet, and walked
sharply onwards through the cutting. Ever and
anon I looked back, and found that they were
increasing their pace into almost a trot; so,
directly I had put the brow of the hill betwixt
them and me, I ran steadily but not too swiftly
down the road. Even as I ran I took in my
surroundings. In front was the long, white
road, still descending till it turned to the left
beyond a grassy spur of the hill that hid it from
view, though at a considerable distance from it.
Here and there were a few stunted bushes, too
scanty to afford shelter, while not a habitation
nor a human being was to be seen.</p>
<p class="pnext">Again I looked back. Notwithstanding the
climb, the men had gained on me, and were
even now running at full speed down the
incline--not two hundred yards away. One had
out-distanced the others, yet all three were keeping
up a rapid pace.</p>
<p class="pnext">Instinctively I increased my speed to the
utmost, and, with my elbows pressed closely
against my sides, swung down the road in a
vain endeavour to meet a friendly being, or at
least to outdistance my pursuers.</p>
<p class="pnext">Once round that bend, surely there would be
a house or some succour; but no, only another
stretch of chalky road. Then I thought to leave
the road and climb the steep, grassy slope on
my left, and before my pursuers had turned the
corner I was staggering madly up the bank,
where, under the frail shelter of a stunted bush,
I lay down and panted like a hunted hare.</p>
<p class="pnext">In a very short time the first of my pursuers
appeared round the bend. It was the one with
the scarred face, and, being in addition grimed
with sweat and dust, and panting heavily, he
presented a truly ferocious aspect.</p>
<p class="pnext">When he saw the open road with no sign of
his quarry he stopped, swearing and blaspheming
horribly, till his fellow rogues came up.
From my hiding place I could distinctly hear
and see all, they being but forty yards away,
and some fifty feet below me. In spite of my
terror I kept them in view, and, being weaponless,
I looked around for some means of defence.
Close to my feet was a large rabbit hole, and
knowing from past experience that these animals
frequently throw up flints and other stones from
their burrows, I plunged my hand into the
newly excavated earth, and to my delight found
a large jagged flint, and soon after my armoury
consisted of five good-sized stones. Then a
piece of wood, lying within two yards of the
bush, and evidently a part of a hurdle, met my
eye. This I seized, but the act led to my
undoing, for one of the men, happening to look
my way, saw me as I cautiously backed towards
my shelter.</p>
<p class="pnext">A volley of hideous oaths greeted my discovery,
and immediately the black-bearded fellow
and the man who had proved the fastest of the
three began to climb the hill.</p>
<p class="pnext">I retreated slowly, so as to save my breath.
Again the wealed-faced man outdistanced his
companion, and soon I could hear his deep
panting behind me.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then suddenly I turned, and, throwing one of
the largest stones, hit him fairly in the midriff.
With a loud howl he dropped on his knees and
pressed his hands to his injured part, his cudgel
rolling down the slope till stopped by the other
man.</p>
<p class="pnext">The third rogue, seeing how matters stood,
also began to climb the slope. For my part,
flushed with my success, I slowly edged away,
intending to make a detour, regain the road, and
then retrace my steps towards Petersfield; for I
knew what sort of road I had already passed, but
was in ignorance of the distance to which this
wild valley extended.</p>
<p class="pnext">Still climbing, I reached the sloping ridge
round the base of which the road bent. Once
again I could follow the highway leading to the
chalk cutting, and to my unbounded delight I
saw for the third time that ponderous coach with
its attendant troopers descending the hill at a
sharp pace.</p>
<p class="pnext">The strong wind that was blowing towards the
approaching cavalcade, and the dusty road, both
tended to deaden the sound of the horses' hoofs
and the dull rumble of the carriage, and as yet
the villains were unaware of their danger.</p>
<p class="pnext">On the summit of the ridge I turned towards
them. Instinctively they separated, yet came on
apace--the man whom I had hit with the stone
limping onward with an effort, the others, each
with a knife in his hand, working away on either
side with the intention of preventing my escape.
As the bearded ruffian came within throwing
distance I flung a stone with all my might, and
had he not quickly bounded aside, there would
have been another point in my favour.</p>
<p class="pnext">As soon as he gained the top of the ridge,
though some feet below me, I made a sudden
rush towards him, intending to make a feint and
then run towards the troopers. The man stood
on his guard, his knife glittering in the
sunlight, though evidently astonished at my
apparent rashness.</p>
<p class="pnext">When close upon him I darted to one side and
ran quickly down the hill. Suddenly my foot
caught in a rabbit hole, and I fell headlong,
rolling over and over in my descent.</p>
<p class="pnext">With a savage curse my assailant rushed
towards my prostrate body, and even as he did
so he caught sight of the troopers.</p>
<p class="pnext">His cursing changed into a howl of terror as
he vainly tried to check his descent; but ere he
could recover himself three of the horsemen had
spurred their steeds betwixt him and the rest of
the troop. He lay on the ground whining
dismally, while the soldiers hastily trussed him up
with a length of stout cord.</p>
<p class="pnext">Meanwhile the coach had stopped, and as I
approached, limping from the effects of my fall,
its two occupants looked out of the window to
enquire the cause of the disturbance.</p>
<p class="pnext">Hastily I told my story, and hardly had I
finished, when the elder of the two officers
called to the sergeant: "Quickly, Sedgewyke!
Secure those other rascals!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Half a dozen troopers were quickly out of their
saddles, and, leaving their horses in the care of
two others, made their way up the slope towards
the spot where the remaining rogues were last
seen. He of the scarred face was quickly
captured, being well-nigh winded with the effects of
the stone I had thrown; but the third was a
more determined quarry, though, in his
stupidity, instead of climbing upwards (being far
lighter than the soldiers, encumbered as they
were with breast-pieces and riding-boots), he
must needs make for the road, where he raced
off at breakneck speed.</p>
<p class="pnext">"A crown for the man who brings him down,
dead or alive!" shouted the officer, who looked
upon the pursuit with the eagerness of a sportsman.</p>
<p class="pnext">Already the soldiers had regained their horses,
and, leaving four as a guard over the prisoners,
dashed in pursuit of the fugitive. Too late the
wretch saw his mistake, and again ran from the
road towards a steep bank of chalk that towered
up for nearly fifty feet above the stretch of level
grassland at its base.</p>
<p class="pnext">Lifting me into the coach, the elder man gave
orders to follow the chase, and soon we pulled
up close to where the terror-stricken fugitive was
making a desperate effort to scale the slippery bank.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Middleton, we have some sport! I'll wager
my largest snuffbox against thine that the
rogue will outwit your eleven men."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Taken," replied the other. "Now, men,"
he shouted, "remember, a crown, dead or alive!"</p>
<p class="pnext">The troopers were drawn up in an irregular
line along the edge of the road, and had drawn
their pistols from their holsters.</p>
<p class="pnext">Bang! A man on the extreme left had fired.
The ball struck the cliff just above the fugitive's
head, bringing down a small avalanche of chalk
and dust. Digging his hands into the yielding
soil, the wretched man raised himself another
two feet. Being but thirty yards from us, his
desperate efforts were plainly visible.</p>
<p class="pnext">Bang! Bang! Two reports in quick succession
echoed down the valley. This time, whether
hit or not, the man slid some six feet downwards,
till his foot caught in a projection and
stopped his descent.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Not so fast there," grumbled the sergeant.
"If you fire like that, who can claim the
reward? Now, then, Wagstaff!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Calmly, as if at the butts, the row of men
began to fire in turn. At the sixth shot the
miserable villain made a feeble attempt to regain
his former position, but ere he had ascended
another two feet a shot struck him in the back of
the head, and he tumbled to the bottom of the
bank a hideously disfigured corpse.</p>
<p class="pnext">Striding over to the body the sergeant turned
it over on its back, made sure that life was
extinct, then returned to the door of the coach,
and, saluting, said: "Trooper Jenkins's shot,
sir, brought the rogue down."</p>
<p class="pnext">The elder man gave the sergeant the
promised reward, then, turning to his companion,
with a low bow, presented him with the
snuffbox.</p>
<p class="pnext">With this ceremonious display the tragedy
was brought to a close, and the two officers,
learning that I was on my way to Portsmouth,
consented to let me ride with them.</p>
<p class="pnext">The troopers formed up again, the prisoners
firmly bound to two of their number, and the
cavalcade passed onwards, leaving by the roadside
a motionless object that had once been a man.</p>
<p class="pnext">As we journeyed along, the officers plied me
with questions, taking a great interest in my
account of my meeting with the three footpads.
The older of the two officers was about forty
years of age, bronzed with the sun and wrinkled
with exposure to the weather. His blue eyes
twinkled in a kindly manner, while his lips,
partly concealed by his closely trimmed
moustache and beard, denoted both firmness and
discretion.</p>
<p class="pnext">His companion, apparently ten years younger,
also wore a beard of Van Dyck cut. His
appearance, however, denoted a man who was given
to perform actions on the spur of the moment
rather than to be ruled by deliberate counsel.
He was addressed as Middleton by his
companion, but I could not then gather what was
the name of the elder man. Both men wore
flowing lovelocks, and affected the rich apparel
of the Cavaliers, which contrasted vividly with
the sombre garb of their escort.</p>
<p class="pnext">When I mentioned that I was on my way
to my uncle, Master Anderson, the younger of
the twain gave his companion a wink that did
not escape me, and remarked: "Then, Master
Aubrey, we'll see more of thee anon, if I mistake not."</p>
<p class="pnext">The coach now descended a long declivity,
at the bottom of which lay a straggling village,
which, I was told, boasted of the name of
Horndean. Here we rested the horses, my two
benefactors going into the inn, from which presently
a man came out bringing me a cup of milk and
a plate of coarse brown bread and rich yellow cheese.</p>
<p class="pnext">In half an hour the journey was resumed,
the road leading up a short, steep incline and
then plunging into a dense wood, which once
formed a royal hunting-ground--the Forest of Bere.</p>
<p class="pnext">At length we entered a deep, dark hollow,
where the shade made a blinding contrast to
the glare of the sun.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly there was a shrill whistle, followed
by a sound of scuffling, a score of round oaths,
and the sharp report of firearms.</p>
<p class="pnext">The coach came to a sudden standstill,
throwing me from my seat, while the others
jumped out, unsheathing their swords as they did so.</p>
<p class="pnext">I too made for the door, and could see the
troopers preparing to fire into a thicket on the
left-hand side of the road, while one of their
number lay on the ground, his head bleeding
from a severe wound.</p>
<p class="pnext">After the next volley some of the men plunged
into the underwood, encouraged by the voice of
the sergeant shouting: "After him, men, at all
costs; he cannot be far off."</p>
<p class="pnext">A moment later there was a sound of harsh
voices, the noise of stones striking against steel,
more pistol-shots, and then quietness, broken
at length by the return of the troopers bearing
between them a man who moaned and cursed
lustily as he was carried by none too tender hands.</p>
<p class="pnext">"How now, Sedgewyke!" thundered his
officer. "Who is this? 'Tis not the man we
lost. Where is he?"</p>
<p class="pnext">The sergeant saluted, and told his story:
The troop was riding in a straggling manner,
one of the men, who had a prisoner bound
behind him (he with the scarred face), being in
the rear. Without warning a stout rope that
had been stretched between two trees on
opposite sides of the road was dropped, and,
catching the unfortunate soldier under the chin,
hurled him and his prisoner to the ground. In
a moment a party of men had run from the
cover of the brushwood, freed the captive, and,
after hamstringing the trooper's horse, had
made their escape to the depths of the forest
before the rest of the escort could realize what
had occurred.</p>
<p class="pnext">Pursued by the soldiers, they let fly a shower
of stones, and in the confusion that followed
had made good their retreat, with one exception--
a man who had received a ball in the right
ankle.</p>
<p class="pnext">Though chagrined by the loss of their prisoner,
the capture of one of his rescuers was a
redeeming feature of the fray, and the latest captive
was brought before the officers for the purpose
of being interrogated.</p>
<p class="pnext">He was a young man, scarce more than
twenty years of age, with a heavy poll of red
hair. His sinewy arms were tattooed with various
devices, while on his chest, exposed during the
scuffle, a death's-head and cross-bones were
crudely drawn. When questioned he maintained
a surly silence, only asking for water
in a dialect that, country-bred though I am, I
could not readily understand.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Methinks I have met others of this kind
before," remarked the elder officer. "A Dorset
man, I'll wager, and, that being so, he's either
smuggler or pirate. Whether he be of Poole
or Weymouth 'tis all the same. Far rather
would I meet Dutchman or Frenchman in fair
fight than be cast ashore on the devil-haunted
coast of Purbeck. Now, Sedgewyke, I pray you
dispatch that horse and let us hasten on, unless
we wish to be benighted on the highway."</p>
<p class="pnext">The sergeant saluted again and retired, while
Middleton and his friend returned to the carriage.
A shot announced that the maimed animal's
sufferings were ended, and the troopers, with
their two prisoners now safely in the centre,
broke into a trot, the coach swaying to and fro
as it rumbled over the rough road.</p>
<p class="pnext">The sun was sinking low when we reached
the summit of Portsdown, a long stretch of
chalky down, whence I saw Portsmouth for the
first time.</p>
<p class="pnext">To one living in the hilliest and most
picturesque part of Hampshire and Sussex this first
glimpse came as a disappointment. I saw below
me an island so flat as to make it appear difficult
to tell where the land ended and where the water
began. Save for a few trees and some scattered
houses there was little to break the dreariness
of it, while, the tide being out (as I afterwards
learnt), long expanses of mud on either side
increased this aspect of monotonous desolation.
At the far end of the island I could distinguish
the cluster of houses that formed the town. At
the near end was a narrow creek, which we
must needs cross to gain our destination, while
away on the right was a square tower, which,
they told me, was the castle of Portchester.</p>
<p class="pnext">This was my first view of Portsmouth, and
also of the sea, and I must confess I felt heartily
disappointed with both.</p>
<p class="pnext">We soon descended the hill, passed through
the little hamlet of Cosham, and crossed the
creek by a narrow bridge. A short three miles
now separated us from the town, and on
approaching it I saw a large mound of earth,
called the Town Mount, crowned by fortifications
and fronted by a line of bastions and
earthworks, which in turn were encircled with
a moat that communicated with the mill dam
on the right.</p>
<p class="pnext">Beyond rose the red-tiled roofs of the houses,
the whole being dominated by the massive
square tower of St. Thomas's Church.</p>
<p class="pnext">At the Landport Gate we were received by a
guard of soldiers, and as we entered the town
my first impressions were removed by the sight
of so much life and bustle.</p>
<p class="pnext">Inside the line of fortification the guard had
turned out for the purpose of doing honour to
my travelling companions. The sight of the
rows of pikemen with their eighteen-feet weapons
riveted my attention till I was recalled to my
senses by being dismissed by my benefactors,
who gave me in charge of a sour-visaged soldier,
with instructions to take me to the house of
Master Anderson in St. Thomas's Street.</p>
<p class="pnext">Soon I found myself at the door of a tall,
gabled house, where, without waiting, my guide
left me.</p>
<p class="pnext">With a feeling of timidity I knocked, and
the door was opened. I saw before me a rotund
little man with a puffy face that a well-trimmed
beard partially concealed. His face was pitted
with smallpox, but his eyes, though swollen
with the result of high living, twinkled in a
kindly manner, yet showed promise of quickly
firing up in anger.</p>
<p class="pnext">I was unable to utter a word, and stood still,
feeling considerably uneasy under his enquiring
gaze. Neither did he speak; so, driven to
desperation, I at length gathered up courage
and stammered: "Sir, I am your nephew, Aubrey Wentworth."</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-iv-how-judgment-was-passed-on-the-dorset-smugglers">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id5">CHAPTER IV--How Judgment was Passed on the Dorset Smugglers</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">I soon accustomed myself to my new home.
My Uncle George treated me with every
consideration--a fact that ill-disposed persons would
have attributed to the legacy left him under
my father's will. Though far from being in
needy circumstances--receiving as Clerk of the
Survey at the dockyard a salary of £50, paid
with more or less irregularity--it was evident
that his brother-in-law's bounty did not come amiss.</p>
<p class="pnext">I have already given a description of my
uncle. His wife, my father's sister, was tall,
sparely built, and somewhat inclined to
verbosity. It did not take me long to ascertain
that the pair were ill-assorted, and when on
certain occasions their dispute waxed hot, my
uncle was invariably driven from the house by
the unrestrained reproaches of his spouse.</p>
<p class="pnext">They had but two children, Maurice, a lad
a year older than myself, and Mercy, a child
of nine years. I was soon on capital terms
with both, though, boylike, I treated Mercy
with that sort of contempt that most boys of
my age show their female relations.</p>
<p class="pnext">I lost little time in telling my uncle the story
of my adventures on the road, and, happening to
mention the name of Middleton, he exclaimed:</p>
<p class="pnext">"Why, lad, you've made a good friend. 'Tis
none other than Colonel Thomas Middleton,
lately appointed commissioner of this dockyard,
and he who rode with him is Admiral Montague,
who comes to take the fleet to Holland."</p>
<p class="pnext">This, then, was the gallant Montague, a man
who, under the Commonwealth, had earned
renown when fighting with Blake the fleets of
Holland and of Spain, and whose prompt action
in co-operating with Monk and taking command
of the fleet sent to fetch the king from Holland
did much to earn the royal gratitude and favour.</p>
<p class="pnext">On the morrow following my arrival I, in
company with my cousin Maurice, was taken
by my uncle to the dockyard.</p>
<p class="pnext">Here all was activity and noise. Most of the
fleet--amongst which were pointed out to me
the <em class="italics">Yarmouth</em>, <em class="italics">Swiftsure</em>, <em class="italics">London</em>, and <em class="italics">Ruby</em>--lay
at anchor at some distance from the wharves,
while close alongside were the <em class="italics">Naseby</em>, her
name being changed to the <em class="italics">Royal Charles</em>, and
the <em class="italics">Montague</em>.</p>
<p class="pnext">There was but one dry dock, and in it lay
the <em class="italics">Providence</em>; and on a slip, being nearly fit
for launching, stood a large ship of seventy-six
guns, her name having but recently been
changed to the <em class="italics">Royal Oak</em>.</p>
<p class="pnext">While we were looking on with astonishment
at this busy scene, a short, thick-set man, whose
portly body was ill supported by a pair of bandy
legs, came towards the place where we stood.
He wore a blue uniform, with three-cornered
hat, and carried at his side a sword that trailed
behind him as he walked, and even threatened
to become entangled between his legs.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ha! Captain Duce of the <em class="italics">Lizard</em>! Stand
aside, boys, while I have speech with him."</p>
<p class="pnext">The captain was in a rage.</p>
<p class="pnext">"A pretty pass! Here lie I ready to weigh
and make sail, but ne'er a loaf of bread
aboard!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"I cannot help you, Captain," replied my
uncle. "I can only refer you to the Commissioner."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Hang the Commissioner!" roared the irate
officer. "First I am directed to apply to him;
he sends me to you; you thereupon give me cold
comfort by sending me again to the Commissioner.
How can I take my ship to sea lacking
bread and flour? Ah! Here, sirrah!" he broke
off, noticing a man passing by. "Here, sirrah!
You're the person I want."</p>
<p class="pnext">The man addressed came across to where the
captain and my uncle were debating. His
calling was apparent, he being covered from head to
foot with flour.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Well, Hunt, how is it Captain Duce can
get no supplies from you?"</p>
<p class="pnext">The baker shook his head. "Over a thousand
pounds are due to my partner and me," said he.
"We were to be paid monthly, but have
received nothing since September last. Verily,
I am afraid to go abroad lest I am arrested by
my creditors, whom I cannot pay, as the Navy
Commissioners will not pay me!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Without waiting to hear further, for
complaints of arrears of payment were a common
occurrence, Maurice and I stole away and
wandered towards the slip where the <em class="italics">Royal Oak</em>
was nearing completion.</p>
<p class="pnext">A noble sight she made, this immense yellow-painted
hull, with her double tier of gunports
and her towering stern, richly ornamented with
gilded quarter badges and richly carved galleries.
Little did we know that a short seven years
hence would see the ship, the pride of the king's
navy, a battered and fire-swept wreck--but I
anticipate.</p>
<p class="pnext">In the midst of strange surroundings the time
passed rapidly. Already the Restoration was an
accomplished fact. Charles II was again at
Whitehall "in the twelfth year of his reign", as
the crown document has it. The gilded effigy
of his sainted father was restored to its niche in
the Square Tower at Portsmouth, where all
persons passing were ordered to uncover. With
few exceptions the townspeople welcomed the
change, the whole place being given up to
unrestrained merrymaking.</p>
<p class="pnext">One morning in June I was called into our
living-room, and found myself confronted by a
gold-laced individual, who, drawing a paper
from his pocket, read in a sonorous voice a
summons for me to attend at the courthouse as
a witness against Dick Swyre and Caleb Keeping,
presented for committing a murderous attack
upon divers of the king's subjects on the highway.</p>
<p class="pnext">On the appointed day I attended the court,
accompanied by my uncle. There were several
cases dealt with before the one in which I had to
give evidence, and, though it was in keeping
with the times, the severity of most of the
sentences struck me as being most barbarous.</p>
<p class="pnext">One poor woman, privileged to take chips
from the dockyard, had been apprehended in the
act of stealing two iron bolts. Her punishment
was that she "should return to the Gaol from
whence she came, and there remain until
Saturday next between the hours of Eleven and Twelve
of the Clock in the forenoon, at which time she
was to be brought to the public Whipping-post,
and there receive Twenty Lashes with a
Cat-of-Nine-Tails from the hands of the Common
Beadle on her naked back till the same shall
be bloody, and then return to the said Gaol
and remain until her fees be paid!"</p>
<p class="pnext">If this were fitting punishment for a petty
theft, what, thought I, will be the corresponding
penalty for these two highwaymen?</p>
<p class="pnext">Presently Dick Swyre and Caleb Keeping
were placed in the dock. The first-named was
the bearded ruffian who had so nearly settled my
account in the valley near Petersfield, and now,
knowing full well that his neck was already in
the hangman's noose, his demeanour was one
of sullen ferocity, and, though he was heavily
manacled, his appearance was like that of a
savage beast awaiting its opportunity to spring.</p>
<p class="pnext">The other, Keeping, did not appear to be of
the same debased kind as his companion, though
his matted red hair and sunburnt face and
arms betokened a villain whose existence had
been of an out-door kind. There was a look of
haunting terror in his face that turned the bronze
of his complexion into a pale-yellowish hue,
while it could be seen that he had great difficulty
in keeping his limbs under control.</p>
<p class="pnext">I was the first witness called, and on
concluding my evidence, which dealt solely with the
first prisoner, Swyre leant across the front of
the dock, raised his fettered hands, and with
a terrible oath poured out the most frightful
imprecations against me, vowing that sooner or
later his mates would doubly avenge themselves
on my miserable carcass, till at length, by dint
of blows liberally bestowed by his custodians,
he was restrained, though his low cursing and
threats were distinctly audible during the rest of
the trial.</p>
<p class="pnext">Several of the soldiers of Colonel Middleton's
party, including Sergeant Sedgewyke, having
given evidence, it was thought that the case for
the prosecution was concluded, but a shiver of
excitement ran through the court when an order
was given: "Call Joseph Hawkes".</p>
<p class="pnext">The cry was taken up by the usher and
repeated thrice ere there hobbled into the well of
the court an object that could scarce lay claim to
being called a man. Yet there was no mistaking
the fact that Hawkes was or had been a
sailor, for a strong odour of tar, which was a
pleasant relief to the fetid atmosphere of the
crowded court, hovered around him like a cloud.
He was about fifty years of age, wizened and
bent. His face, burnt by exposure to all
weathers, was of a deep mahogany hue. One
eye was covered with a patch, the other appeared
to be fixed in its socket, inasmuch as
whenever he looked he had to turn his head straight
in that direction. A mass of lank hair,
terminating in a greasy pigtail, covered his head.</p>
<p class="pnext">His left arm was missing, the empty sleeve
being fastened to his coat; and, as if these
deficiencies were not enough, his left leg had
been cut off at the knee joint, and was replaced
by a wooden stump. The fingers of his right
hand were dried like a mummy's, the nails being
blackened with hard work at sea and the
continual use of tobacco, and I noticed that one of
his fingers was also missing.</p>
<p class="pnext">Having been administered the oath, his
examination commenced.</p>
<p class="pnext">"You are Joseph Hawkes?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Yes, your Honour."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Do you know either of the prisoners?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Yes, saving your presence, that red-haired
villain yonder!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Now, sirrah," exclaimed the prosecuting
lawyer, addressing Caleb Keeping, "methinks
you know this witness!"</p>
<p class="pnext">But the prisoner replied not, except to shake
his head sheepishly.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Proceed with your evidence, Master Hawkes."</p>
<p class="pnext">The man hitched at his nether garments,
pulled his forelock, and without further delay
plunged into his story, which, stripped of its
peculiarities of dialect, was as follows:--</p>
<p class="pnext">"Two years ago last May I shipped as mate
of the bark <em class="italics">Speedie</em>, of Poole, outward bound for
the Tagus. The same night as we cleared Poole
harbour we were overtaken by a gale from the
south'ard, and soon got into difficulties close to
the Purbeck coast. Seven times did we 'bout
ship to try and claw off the shore, but at
daybreak we struck close to Anvil Point."</p>
<p class="pnext">Here the younger prisoner began to show
signs of terrified interest--a fact that most of
those present were not slow to note.</p>
<p class="pnext">"The masts went by the board, our boats
were carried away, and the old <em class="italics">Speedie</em> began to
break up. One by one the crew were swept
overboard, and at last a heavy sea took me, and
I remember fighting for life in the waves till I
lost consciousness.</p>
<p class="pnext">"When I came to I was lying on a flat ledge
or platform of rock with the hot sun streaming
down on me. The gale had now abated, but there
were plenty of signs of its results. Numbers of
bales and barrels, that had formed our cargo,
were being collected on the platform by a number
of villainous-looking, half-naked men. A slight
tingling pain in my hand made me look down,
and I saw that one of my fingers had been cut
off, so that one of the wretches could steal a
paltry silver ring I was wearing.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Just then I heard a shout, and, keeping perfectly
still, I looked under my half-closed eyelids
and saw two of the wreckers dragging a body
up the rocks. It was the master of the <em class="italics">Speedie</em>,
poor old John Cartridge of Hamworthy. The
wretches began to hack his fingers off, as they
had done mine, and even tore a pair of ear-rings
forcibly from his ears. Old John wasn't dead,
for this treatment revived him. Seeing this, one
of the men, who is none other than that
red-haired devil yonder, plunged a knife into his
back and toppled his body into the sea."</p>
<p class="pnext">At this the younger prisoner yelled in a
terror-stricken voice: "No, no! You are mistaken.
'Twill be my brother as done it. 'Twas not I."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Liar!" retorted the old seaman. "I'll prove
it. Let your men bare his back, good sir, and
if he hath not the sign of the Jolly Roger
tattooed there, I'll take back my word."</p>
<p class="pnext">The justice nodded his assent, and the
tip-staves proceeded to remove the clothing from
the prisoner's back. Sure enough, there was
a death's-head and cross-bones indelibly
impressed there.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Continue your evidence, Master Hawkes."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Well, your Honour, as I was a-saying,
after they had rid themselves of the master's
body, the wretches began to carry their plunder
into a cave that opened from the back of the
flat rock. Presently one of them stops by me.
'What shall us do with 'e?' he shouts. I kept
very still, feigning death, yet expecting every
moment to have a knife betwixt my ribs. 'Is
'e done with?' asked another. 'Then overboard
with 'im.' Next minute I felt myself
being dragged across the platform and pushed
off the edge. I fell about a score of feet,
striking the water with a heavy splash. When I
came to the top I struck out, and found myself
close to a shelf of rock which the overhanging
ledge hid from the villains above. Here
I remained till the coast was clear, then I
scrambled up, in spite of my wounds, and made
my way across some downs till I met with a
kindly farmer, who took me to Wareham.</p>
<p class="pnext">"When I reported the matter to the
authorities a body of men were sent from Wareham
and Poole; but though they discovered the
caves, not a trace of the wreckers, their spoils,
or the remains of the <em class="italics">Speedie</em> was to be found."</p>
<p class="pnext">The rest of the evidence was soon concluded,
proving without doubt that both men were
members of a notorious band of Dorset smugglers,
whose misdeeds had caused the utmost consternation
for years past; and the case was settled
by sending both prisoners to the assizes at
Winchester.</p>
<p class="pnext">It is unnecessary to dwell upon the account of
my journey to Winton to repeat my evidence;
but on the return journey (having heard both
men sentenced to death), as we were passing
through a wood between Twyford and Waltham,
a pistol was fired at our coach, the ball
shattering the glass and passing close to my uncle's
head.</p>
<p class="pnext">This outrage was put down to the highwaymen
of Waltham Chase; but in my own mind
I attributed it to the vengeance of the smugglers'
gang, which surmise I afterwards found was correct.</p>
<p class="pnext">The two men suffered the extreme penalty
of the law. I was taken to see them gibbeted
on Southsea beach. Such occasions are
invariably regarded as a kind of holiday, and
thousands of townsfolk and people from the
surrounding country came to see the sentence
carried out.</p>
<p class="pnext">Caleb Keeping died like an arrant coward,
whining like a whipped cur as the executioner
bound him. Already half-dead with fear, he
submitted to being compelled to mount the ladder,
whence he was thrown violently, and in a few
moments all was over. But with Dick Swyre
it was different. Heedless of death, and
accustomed to scenes of violence, he strove to the
last, cursing the crowd and endeavouring to
burst his bonds.</p>
<p class="pnext">While most of the onlookers jeered, it was
evident that some of his friends were present,
and at one time it looked as if a rescue was
about to be attempted; but the soldiers kept
back the press, and in spite of his violent
struggles the prisoner was brought underneath
the gallows, where a rope was deftly passed
round his neck. Still cursing and struggling,
the wretch was hoisted, and five minutes
elapsed ere his last convulsive motions ceased.</p>
<p class="pnext">Though the crowd looked upon this incident
as a diversion, to me it seemed otherwise. True,
two deep-dyed criminals had got their deserts;
but I felt that my share in the affair had gained
me many unknown enemies. This impression
grew after an attempt had been made to burn
my uncle's house, and I had been deliberately
pushed from the quayside into the Camber by
a seaman; and these incidents so preyed upon
my mind that I was unfeignedly glad when
I was asked if I should like to go to sea.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-v-of-my-first-ship-the-gannet">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id6">CHAPTER V--Of my First Ship, the <em class="italics">Gannet</em></a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">Once it had been settled that I should go to
sea, my uncle lost no time in getting me a ship.
Through his influence, his intimacy with Sir
Thomas Middleton, and also through the interest
which Sir Thomas showed towards me, the
matter was an easy one, and before August was
out I found myself being escorted down to the
dockyard to join the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>.</p>
<p class="pnext">This stout craft I must describe. She was
of six hundred tons burthen and pierced for
fifty guns. She had three masts, besides a
small one at her bowsprit-head. When first
I saw her she was having a new mizzen fitted,
her old mast having been lost in a gale outside
the Wight.</p>
<p class="pnext">Her figurehead represented a man on horseback
trampling on a Dutchman, a Frenchman,
a Spaniard, and an Algerine. I was told that
the horseman was supposed to be the
arch-traitor, Old Noll, but a clever hewer of wood
had caused all likeness of the great rebel to
disappear, and had graven instead the features
of honest George, now created Duke of Albemarle.</p>
<p class="pnext">Her stern gallery was upheld by a row of
gilt figures representing that hero of mythology,
Master Atlas, of whom my father used to speak;
while over the gallery towered three enormous
lanterns, and above everything was a maze of
spars and rigging that confused me not a little,
though before long I was well acquainted with
the names of all of them.</p>
<p class="pnext">This much did I see from the dockyard wall,
for the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was lying at anchor in the
harbour. One of the seamen on the quay hailed her
through a speaking-trumpet, and presently a
longboat came off for us, manned by ten lusty
rowers, while a boy of about my own age sat
in the stern-sheets steering the boat and giving
orders to the men as if the commanding of the
boat had been his life-long business.</p>
<p class="pnext">Directly we embarked--that is, my uncle, my
cousin Maurice, and myself--the boat pushed
off, and urged by long strokes soon covered the
distance betwixt the shore and the ship. As she
neared the latter the youngster shouted: "Oars!"
in such a loud voice that I thought something
had happened. The rowers immediately tossed
their oars, while the boat ran alongside the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>.</p>
<p class="pnext">We climbed by a steep ladder up the rounding
side of the ship, my uncle performing the
feat with surprising agility, though he was
puffing heartily when he gained the deck and took
off his hat to the royal arms that graced the
quarterdeck at the break of the poop.</p>
<p class="pnext">We were received by the captain, one Adrian
Poynings, said to be a descendant of the fiery
governor of Portsmouth who bore the same
name, and whose will was the terror of the
inhabitants of Portsmouth in the days of Queen Bess.</p>
<p class="pnext">The captain did not appear to bear the same
reputation as did his ancestor. He seemed, for
a king's officer, a very mild-mannered
gentleman, for when speaking to his subordinates he
would say: "Desire Master So-and-so to do
this", or "Desire the bos'n to be sent to me";
and so on.</p>
<p class="pnext">Having been introduced to him, I was sent
off in charge of a midshipman to be shown
round the ship. This youngster, whose name
was Greville Drake (a remote relation of the
immortal Sir Francis Drake), was one of the six
gentlemen midshipmen serving on the ship. He
appeared to be a keen young officer, knowing
the ins and outs of everything, yet withal he was
of a roguish disposition, and given to skylarking.
Before long we were excellent friends.</p>
<p class="pnext">Having inspected the waist of the ship, the
main and upper gundecks, he led me below to
the orlop deck, where right aft was situated the
gunroom or midshipmen's mess.</p>
<p class="pnext">Here, illuminated by the glimmer of a couple
of purser's dips, or tallow candles, was the place
where for the next two or three years I was to
live and sleep--otherwise my floating home.
The heavy beams were so low that I was obliged
to stoop when passing underneath them.
Innumerable cockroaches crawled across the floor
or attempted to climb the sides of the cabin, till
pinked by a well-directed thrust with a sail-needle.</p>
<p class="pnext">There were four other midshipmen, taking
things as easily as their surroundings would
permit, and on our entry I was warmly greeted
with a volley of remarks that were both
good-natured and humorous.</p>
<p class="pnext">But my tour of the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was by no means
finished, my mentor evidently meaning to make
me thoroughly acquainted with the ship. Below
the orlop deck we went, passing down a steep
ladder to the flats, or part of the ship
immediately above the ballast. The amidship portion
of this space is termed the cockpit, and, though
nearly empty, it did not require much
imagination on my part to see the forms of mangled
seamen dimly outlined in the feeble glimmer
of the lantern, young Drake telling me of some
of the ghastly sights of the cockpit during action
in a highly-worded and realistic style.</p>
<p class="pnext">I could discern the heels of the fore and main
masts, and the well of the ship's pump, while
farther away was a stack of imperishable ship's
stores, from which a number of rats darted,
seemingly unmindful of our presence.</p>
<p class="pnext">When we gained the daylight once more I
blinked like an owl, breathing in the fresh air
with a relish that the stifling atmosphere of
between decks had caused; but short was my
respite, for my new friend asked me whether
I would be bold enough to go to the foretopmast head.</p>
<p class="pnext">Not wishing to be thought a coward, and
having had plenty of experience of tree-climbing,
I assented; and Drake, kicking off his shoes,
immediately sprang into the shrouds, making
his way aloft with marvellous rapidity.</p>
<p class="pnext">I followed, clinging tenaciously to the shrouds
with my hands, while my bare feet were tortured
by the contact with the sharp ratlines.
However, I stuck to it, followed Drake over the
futtock shrouds, where for a space I felt like
a fly on a ceiling, and at length gained the
foretop.</p>
<p class="pnext">Without pausing for breath my guide literally
jumped into the topmast shrouds, and before I
had attempted to follow he was perched upon
the crosstrees. Five minutes later I was by his
side, and I must confess that on looking down I
experienced a feeling of giddiness that required
a strong effort on my part to overcome. Eighty
feet below, the deck looked like a long, narrow
strip of dazzling white planks, the crew
appearing no larger than manikins.</p>
<p class="pnext">"You have pluck, Aubrey," remarked Drake.
"I thought you would have shrunk from the
task, or, in any case, have climbed no farther
than the foretop. And you didn't crawl through
the lubber's hole, either!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"The lubber's hole! What's that?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Those openings on the tops. Greenhorns
generally scramble through those instead of
going over the futtock shrouds. I say, can you swim?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"No," I replied. "An old shipman whom I
know, one Master Collings, of Gosport, used to
say that swimming was a useless art, for when
a man fell overboard his agony was only unduly
prolonged."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ah! Many an old seaman thinks the same,
but nevertheless to be able to swim comes in
very handy. Supposing you fell overboard;
well, in nine cases out of ten you would be
picked up again if you could swim. I've been
knocked overboard as often as four times and I
am still here. Now, take the first opportunity
and let me teach you."</p>
<p class="pnext">I thanked my newly-found friend for his
offer, and, now thoroughly rested, I began my
descent to the deck, grasping the shrouds tightly
and feeling very gingerly with one foot till I
found a secure foothold.</p>
<p class="pnext">On gaining the deck I saw that my uncle and
the captain had been watching my manoeuvres,
both being well satisfied with my maiden efforts
at going aloft.</p>
<p class="pnext">The time of parting had come, and dry-eyed,
though with a curious feeling in my throat, I
bade farewell to my uncle and cousin Maurice.</p>
<p class="pnext">I watched them row ashore, waving my
handkerchief as they went, and when they reached
the wharf they waited to see the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> get
under way.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was a busy scene, and an operation in which
I could take no part. The captain gave the
ship in charge to the master; the red cross of
St. George was struck at the gaff and run up to
the peak. The shrill notes of the bosn's whistle
had hardly died away when the rigging was
alive with men; the canvas was spread from the
yards as if by magic, and all that remained was
to break the anchor out, the cable already being
hove short.</p>
<p class="pnext">A part of the crew manned the capstan bars,
a fiddler being perched on the capstan head.
"Heave round the capstan," came the order,
and with a patter of bare feet, the clanking of the
pawls, and the merry lilt of the fiddle, the cable
came inboard.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Up and down," shouted a man stationed
for'ard, meaning the anchor has left its muddy
bed. "Now, then, my hearties, heave and
away!" And to an increased pace the anchor
came home.</p>
<p class="pnext">A medley of other orders, unintelligible to me,
followed; the sheets were hauled well home, the
braces and bowlines made taut, and by the
peculiar gliding sensation that followed I knew
the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was under way.</p>
<p class="pnext">The old town of Portsmouth appeared to slip
past our larboard quarter, and presently the ship
was lifting to the gentle swell, as, close-hauled,
we headed towards the English Channel.</p>
<p class="pnext">Thus commenced the three years' cruise of my
first ship, His Majesty's ship <em class="italics">Gannet</em>, and I soon
accustomed myself to the routine, showing a
keen interest in the duties of a midshipman; and
ere long I could vie with my messmates in the
most hazardous tasks that fell to their lot.</p>
<p class="pnext">The <em class="italics">Gannet</em> first sailed through the Straits of
Gibraltar to the Mediterranean Sea, for the
purpose of keeping an eye on the Algerine rovers,
who had again begun, in spite of the sharp
lesson taught them by Admiral Blake, to molest
peaceful traders. From the Mediterranean we
sailed across the Atlantic to the Indies, to make
our headquarters the town of Port Royal in
Jamaica, an island that Penn and Venables had
seized from the Spaniards some five years before.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-vi-of-the-finding-of-pedro-alvarez-and-of-the-strange-tale-that-he-told">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id7">CHAPTER VI--Of the Finding of Pedro Alvarez, and of the Strange Tale that he Told</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">On arriving at Port Royal Captain Poynings
decided that the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> should be refitted.
Accordingly preparations were made to overhaul
the ship thoroughly ere she joined her consorts
in a cruise amongst the Antilles for the purpose
of destroying those hornets' nests of buccaneers
that made the Caribbean Sea a terror to
law-abiding seamen.</p>
<p class="pnext">Our task was rendered doubly difficult, first
by the oppressive heat, and secondly by the fact
that, like the Mediterranean, these waters are
practically tideless, so that the difference between
the rise and fall can be measured by the span of
a man's hand.</p>
<p class="pnext">On this account it is impossible for a vessel to
be left high and dry, so the operation of cleaning
her hull below the waterline is performed by
"careening", or allowing her to lie on one
bilge, so that the other side is raised above the water.</p>
<p class="pnext">All heavy gear, including the guns, was taken
ashore, the manual work being performed by
gangs of negro slaves, who toiled and groaned
under the lash of their relentless taskmasters.</p>
<p class="pnext">To me the sight was a terrible one, unaccustomed
as I was to scenes of cruelty, and I
unburdened myself to the master.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Heart alive, lad!" he replied with a careless
laugh, "they are but niggers, and know naught
else of life but to toil. Treat them kindly,
and they'll take care to work still less. And,
mark my words, lad, if ever it comes to pass that
these blackamoors are freed, as Master Penn
would persuade us to do, then these islands are
doomed. Never a stroke will they do save under
compulsion---- There, look at that!"</p>
<p class="pnext">A crash, a loud shriek, and a babel of shouts
showed that a disaster had occurred. One of
the largest guns was being hoisted over the side
by a combination of tackle between the lower fore
and main yards. Just as it swung outboard the
sling on the chase parted, and the huge mass of
metal fell into a barge alongside, crushing two
negroes and tearing through the bottom of the
shore-craft. Instantly all was confusion; the
master gunner was cursing at the loss of his
piece of ordnance, his voice raised high above
the shouts of the terrified negroes, the bos'n
receiving the brunt of his attack. "Dost want
me to teach thee thy trade, landlubber? Is it
not time that ye learned to tie aught but a
slippery hitch?"</p>
<p class="pnext">This aspersion on the boatswain's workmanship
caused a fierce dispute, but this had not
lasted long when it was suddenly stopped by
another yell of terror.</p>
<p class="pnext">There was another rush to the ship's side,
and I saw a dozen dark forms struggling in a
smother of foam-lashed water under our quarter,
while the triangular fins of several sharks showed
that the culminating tragedy had occurred.</p>
<p class="pnext">Two negroes, in addition to those killed by
the fall of the gun, were lost in the sudden and
brief incident, yet the only remark the overseer
deigned to make was: "And they cost a hundred
pieces of eight but a month ago!"</p>
<p class="pnext">In less than three days the work of dismantling
the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was complete, and only the hull
and the lower masts remained. Floating some
five feet above her usual loadline, the ship was
towed into the mouth of a muddy creek, and
there careened till the whole of the bottom on the
larboard side, with the exception of the keel and
a few of the lower planks, was clear of the water,
disclosing a sloping wall of barnacle-covered
timbers.</p>
<p class="pnext">As the next few weeks would be spent in
scraping, breaming, and pitching the hull, the
officers were allowed to take up quarters ashore,
and right glad was I to have the chance of
having a spell on dry land after so long and
arduous a time afloat.</p>
<p class="pnext">Port Royal was at that time in a state of
considerable excitement, for in the castle, heavily
ironed, lay five notorious buccaneers, who a
week before our arrival had been brought in by
the <em class="italics">Assurance</em>, of thirty-eight guns, after a
desperate resistance. They had been condemned to
die; but, owing to a slight difference between the
admiral and the governor of Jamaica, their fate
was yet undecided, the former wishing to send
them to England to grace Execution Dock, the
latter desiring to gratify the inhabitants of Port
Royal by stringing up the prisoners in front of
the castle. So hot had waxed the dispute that
the matter was referred home, and already a
swift vessel had left for England to obtain His
Majesty's decision on the matter.</p>
<p class="pnext">On the third evening of our spell ashore we
were walking across the plaza, or open square,
fronting the quay. The sun had set, and, with
tropical suddenness, daylight had given place to
darkness.</p>
<p class="pnext">"What is that--guns or thunder?" suddenly
exclaimed Drake, pointing seaward. The
horizon at one particular spot was illuminated by
distant yet bright flashes of light, while a
subdued rumbling smote our ears. Other passers-by
were also attracted by the sound, and knots
of people quickly began to collect on the side of
the quay, gazing intently towards the south.</p>
<p class="pnext">For over half an hour the flashes continued,
and it was soon evident that an engagement
was taking place, the noise of the firing
gradually coming closer.</p>
<p class="pnext">Several of the more timid inhabitants made
for their homes, where, we afterwards learned,
they began to hide their valuables. Others,
arming themselves with a medley of weapons,
hurried to the fortress, from which a gun was
fired and then lanterns hoisted as a signal when
a vessel was expected.</p>
<p class="pnext">In response to the gun, three companies of
musketeers, with drums beating and matches
burning, marched from their quarters to the fort,
followed ten minutes later by a large body of
pikemen, their arms glittering in the light as
they passed by the huge wood fires that had
been hastily kindled on the battlements.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Hasten, Aubrey! Our place is on board
the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>," quoth Drake, and alternately
running and walking we hurried out of the town,
crossed the causeway over the marsh, and arrived
at the mud dock, where the vessel lay.</p>
<p class="pnext">Here, too, was activity and commotion.
Captain Poynings was already on board, directing
his officers, while gun after gun was dragged
over greased planks to the ship's side, there to
be "whipped" aboard by heavy tackle.</p>
<p class="pnext">All night we worked like slaves, sending up
topmasts, yards, and rigging, shipping stores
and ammunition. In eleven hours of darkness
the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was almost her former self, for,
being the only warship on the station (the rest
being, as I have mentioned, away amongst the
Antilles), the governor had sent orders that no
exertion was to be spared in getting her ready
for sea.</p>
<p class="pnext">While we worked, all kinds of rumours and
reports reached us. First one would come with
a tale that war was declared with the Spaniards,
or the French, or the Dutch, or else all three.
Another would arrive breathless, saying that
all the buccaneers of the Indies were off the
port, and that our fleet had been worsted. Yet
another came with the information that only
one battered and shattered ship had arrived
during the night, the sole remnant of an English
squadron, and that a hostile force had landed
at a spot a few miles to the east of the town.</p>
<p class="pnext">To all these wild rumours Captain Poynings
paid but slight heed. Work was to be done,
and pressing work too; yet with such a spirit
did the men take to the task, without need of
threats of rope-ends, such as the masters of other
king's ships are wont to use, that our record
has never yet been equalled.</p>
<p class="pnext">At break of day we could gather some true
facts of the state of affairs. Under the guns
of Port Royal lay a small armed merchant
vessel, the <em class="italics">Whitby</em>, of ten guns, sadly shattered
about the hull. In the offing were five ships
that many recognized as belonging to one
Lewis, a renegade king's officer, who, attracted
by the glamour of easily acquired wealth, had
seduced his crew from their allegiance and
turned buccaneer. Joined by several others of
like nature, Lewis had collected a squadron of
seven swift vessels; but the <em class="italics">Assurance</em> had
captured two of the ships, and Lewis, with four
of his fellow rogues, formed the party of captives
whose fate now hung in the balance as they lay
in irons in the castle.</p>
<p class="pnext">The <em class="italics">Gazelle</em>, a consort of the <em class="italics">Whitby</em>, had
been captured and sunk by the buccaneers that
night; but after a long running fight the latter
ship had managed to make Port Royal in the
darkness, this being the cause of the firing we
had heard.</p>
<p class="pnext">Captain Poynings lost no time in preparing
to float the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> out of her mud dock, though
it was evident from his puckered brows that he
had doubts as to whether the increased weight
on board would prevent the ship from coming off.</p>
<p class="pnext">Nevertheless he could not have completed the
task of fitting out so hurriedly if every piece
of ordnance had to be brought off to the ship
in barges or lighters after she was afloat, so he
resorted to the hazardous expedient of
careening her still more.</p>
<p class="pnext">Our best bower anchor, with its great twenty-inch
hempen cable, was carried out towards the
centre of the harbour, the tail of the cable
remaining on board. All the guns were run over
to the larboard side, so that the <em class="italics">Gannet's</em>
lower-deck ports were within a few inches of the
surface of the water, her draught being thereby
lessened. Two additional cables were carried
from the quarters to opposite sides of the creek,
where gangs of negroes were directed to pull
their hardest.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was an anxious time. The capstan clanked
slowly round as the main cable tautened and
came in foot by foot; the negroes, the sweat
glistening on their ebony arms and backs, bent
to their task, encouraged or goaded by the
shouts of their overseers.</p>
<p class="pnext">Slowly the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> moved towards the open
water and freedom, her keel ploughing through
the liquid mud and causing a regular turmoil
of yellow foam within the little dock.</p>
<p class="pnext">Gradually she gathered way till her bow
projected beyond the entrance to the creek, then,
as if gripped by a powerful hand, she brought
up and stopped immovable.</p>
<p class="pnext">The master, wild with rage, called upon the
seaman to take soundings, and, this being done,
it was found that the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was held by the
heel, the forepart being well afloat.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Give the men breathing space, Master
Widdicombe," said the captain, as he saw the
panting forms of his men. "Another effort
and we are free."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Not I, by your leave, sir," retorted the
master. "Let the vessel settle but a minute
and this mud holds her. Pipe the men aft,"
he shouted, and in obedience to the shrill cry
of the bosn's mate's whistle the whole ship's
company, including the officers, assembled at
the waist, save the men who manned the capstan bars.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Now, ye blackamoors, haul away!" yelled
the master to the crowd on the banks. "More
beef into it, bullies," urged the bos'n to the
capstan men, and, as the strain on the cables
increased, the rest of the crew, in obedience to
an order, doubled along the sloping decks, as
well as they were able, towards the bows, the
whole vessel trembling with the motion.</p>
<p class="pnext">This manoeuvre was successful. Hardly had
the body of men reached the foremast when the
<em class="italics">Gannet</em> glided forward and entered the deep
waters of the harbour, the two ropes on her
quarter trailing astern, and the mob of excited
negroes who had manned them were shouting
and dancing on the banks of the creek.</p>
<p class="pnext">The <em class="italics">Gannet</em> brought up on her shortened
cable, sail was hastily made, and away we went
southward in chase of the buccaneers.</p>
<p class="pnext">As we cleared the mouth of the harbour we
perceived their ships nearly hull down; but with
every stitch of canvas set, and withal a newly
cleaned hull, we rapidly lessened the distance
between us.</p>
<p class="pnext">That they suspected not the presence of a
king's ship in Port Royal was evident in that
they made no attempt to sheer off; instead, they
beat up towards us till we could clearly make
them out.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then, as if aware of our formidable character,
they turned, two making away to the north-west,
two to the south-east, while the fifth,
though she showed her heels for a time, backed
her main-topsail and hove to.</p>
<p class="pnext">She was a long, rakish, yellow-sided craft,
evidently built for speed, and her audacity
puzzled us mightily; but knowing the diabolical
cunning of these freebooters, we were determined
to take no chance of a surprise.</p>
<p class="pnext">We were almost within range when her maintopsail
filled and she was off, following the
direction of her two consorts who had made
towards Hispaniola.</p>
<p class="pnext">As we watched her there were signs of a
struggle taking place on board--pistol-shots
rang out, and a heavy form plunged over her
taffrail. Instantly several men rushed to the
stern and opened fire on the object, which, so
many of our crew declared, was a man swimming.
This it turned out to be. Amid a hail
of shots that churned up the placid water all
around him a man's head appeared, and the
swimmer, using powerful strokes, made directly
towards us.</p>
<p class="pnext">"It seemeth strange that he escapes their
fire," remarked the bos'n, as the swimmer
bobbed up and down amid the splash of the
shot. "We may pick him up. Away
there--prepare a bowline."</p>
<p class="pnext">"I believe they do not try to hit him,"
replied the master; "or their gunnery is far
worse than yesterday, when they hulled the
<em class="italics">Whitby</em>. But he will never reach this ship
alive. Look!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Following the direction of his finger, we
perceived the dorsal fins of two enormous sharks
as they cleft their way towards the swimmer;
but, frightened by the splash of the shots, they
contented themselves by swimming in large
semicircles between us and the fugitive.</p>
<p class="pnext">Interest in the buccaneering vessel was for
the time being entirely lost, all our crew watching
the efforts of the swimmer, as with tireless
stroke he quickly lessened his distance from the
<em class="italics">Gannet</em>.</p>
<p class="pnext">In obedience to an order from the captain
our men cast loose a pair of swivel guns, for
it was evident that the buccaneer was getting
out of range, and her shots no longer disturbed
the water. Far from destroying the man, the
discharge of her ordnance had proved his salvation;
so our captain resolved to act likewise and
plant shot after shot close to him, so as to
frighten off these tigers of the deep, while our
men waved encouragingly to the swimmer.</p>
<p class="pnext">Through the drifting smoke from our ordnance
I caught momentary glimpses of the fugitive.
He was swimming strongly, yet easily, and
without any sign of either physical or mental
discomfort. By this time he was so close that
I could see the flash of his eyes between the
matted clusters of dark hair that covered his brows.</p>
<p class="pnext">The sharks still kept off; our gunners ceased
to fire, and the running bowline was dropped
from our catheads for the man to be hauled on
board, when, within fifty yards from us, he
suddenly disappeared, and over the spot darted
yet another huge shark that, unobserved, had
lurked under our bows.</p>
<p class="pnext">We could see the monster turn on its back
to seize its prey. There was a snapping of jaws,
and the sea around it was discoloured with
blood. An involuntary cry of horror broke
from us; then, to our surprise, we saw the man
reappear, brandishing a sheath-knife, while the
shark, in its last throes, floated belly uppermost,
a skilful thrust of the knife having practically
disembowelled it.</p>
<p class="pnext">In another minute the man had grasped the
bowline, and with the knife between his teeth
he was drawn up to the fo'c'sle.</p>
<p class="pnext">He was a short, ungainly personage, probably
a Dago, judging by his dark, olive skin and
raven hair. Unconcernedly he drank a dram
which was given him; then, with the moisture
draining from his clothes as he hobbled across
the deck, he was led off to be questioned by
our captain.</p>
<p class="pnext">During this episode the buccaneer had shown
us a remarkably clean pair of heels, so that
nothing short of an accident to the crowd of
canvas she was carrying could ever make us
hope to overhaul her.</p>
<p class="pnext">But in spite of enquiries Captain Poynings
gathered little from the rescued man.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Me Portugee, me Portugee; me honest;
me no rogue. Me see Senhor Capitan alone,
den me tell him ebberything," he reiterated.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I will not talk with you alone," replied
Captain Poynings sternly. "You are a pirate
or an accomplice of that rascally crew. Now,
give an account of yourself, or a taste of the
cat will make you speak."</p>
<p class="pnext">At the mention of the "cat" the man's eyes
glittered ominously, then, instantly relapsing
into his subservient manner, he jabbered in
broken English:</p>
<p class="pnext">"Me no rogue. Me Pedro Alvarez of Habana.
By de Virgin me speak truth!" And holding a
small wooden crucifix that hung from his neck,
the man kissed it with exaggerated fervour.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Me speak only to Senhor Capitan. Tell
him ebberything. Senhor Capitan much please
wid my tale."</p>
<p class="pnext">"No!" roared Captain Poynings, knitting his
brows in that manner peculiar to him when
aught vexes him.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Vell, den, me speak to Senhor Capitan an'
three odder. Pedro's tale too 'portant for odders
to hear."</p>
<p class="pnext">To this the captain assented, and the
Portuguese, having been deprived of his knife, and
searched for any concealed weapons he might
have had, was taken below to the stateroom,
whither repaired the captain, two lieutenants,
and the master.</p>
<p class="pnext">For over an hour they remained, and on
coming on deck we noticed that Captain
Poynings and his officers looked highly pleased,
though the Portuguese still wore an impassive look.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Send the ship's company aft," said the
captain. "'Tis but right that they should know."</p>
<p class="pnext">Eagerly the men clustered in the waist, while
from the poop their gallant leader addressed them.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Hearken, my men," quoth he. "It has
come to our knowledge that a vast amount of
treasure lieth hidden on a cay the bearing
whereof is known only to this Portuguese. He
is willing to guide us to the spot in consideration
of a safe conduct to Europe and one-seventh
of the spoil. By my commission His Majesty
gives me power to engage in such enterprise,
whereof one-tenth reverteth to our sovereign
lord, the king. Be it understood that I will
deal fairly with all men, dividing the residue
into shares according to the regulations
pertaining to treasure trove. For your part do your
work with a will. Let no stranger learn and
forestall our mission, and I warrant ye the
purser shall pay in gold where heretofore ye
had but silver."</p>
<p class="pnext">Cheers greeted the announcement, and the
men retired to discuss this matter amongst
themselves. We, however, learned still more.
Briefly, the Portuguese's tale was this:--</p>
<p class="pnext">Less than ninety years ago a Spanish treasure-ship
left Vera Cruz, richly laden with plate and
specie. A few days after leaving port yellow
fever decimated the crew, and the survivors,
unable to handle the ship, ran her aground on
a small cay in the Rosario Channel, between
the Isla de Pinos and Cuba. The treasure was
landed and hidden, but bickerings and disease
still further reduced their number, till only one
man remained. He was rescued by a galliot
the owner of which was Pedro's grandfather.
In gratitude, the Spaniard showed his rescuer a
plan of where the specie lay, the men agreeing
to share the spoil. Both men were lost in an
attempt to reach the island in a small craft in
which they had sailed alone, so as to keep their
secret, and thus all trace of the spot vanished
till five years ago, when Pedro came across
the rough chart and an account of the matter,
which had been hidden in the rafters of his hut.
Pedro himself visited the cay, saw the treasure,
but was unable to carry off the stuff
single-handed. He returned to Habana, entrusted six
others with the secret, and fitted out a small
felucca to secure the spoil.</p>
<p class="pnext">On the voyage the little craft was seized by
the buccaneers, and all his companions were
murdered. Pedro alone was kept a prisoner,
the pirate intending that he should pilot them
when occasion served.</p>
<p class="pnext">Never a word concerning the treasure did he
say to the buccaneers, but, taking a favourable
opportunity, he had left the ship under the
circumstances that we had observed.</p>
<p class="pnext">Captain Poynings eagerly examined the chart.
Already the lust for gold had entered into his
soul, and he was ready to hazard everything
for the sake of that which had cost the lives of
hundreds of men in these seas--the quest of
hidden treasure.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Bring out a larger chart, Master Widdicombe,"
he exclaimed, "and let us see where
this island should be."</p>
<p class="pnext">The chart was produced, and the latitude and
longitude carefully pricked off, whereat Captain
Poynings turned purple with rage and swore
horribly.</p>
<p class="pnext">"The villain would send us on a fool's errand,"
he declared, bringing his fist down on the table
with tremendous force. "The position he would
have us believe to be an island is in the midst
of the Yucatan Passage, with nothing less than
eighty fathoms."</p>
<p class="pnext">For the moment we were all dumbfounded
Visions of untold wealth were rudely dispelled.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Bring out that rascally Portuguese, trice him
up, and give him five dozen!" cried the captain,
a strain of his choleric ancestor betraying itself.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Stay!" replied the master. "I have it!
This position is shown by our longitude,
whereas this rough chart is of Spanish draughtsmanship.
Now, taking the longitude of Madrid as
zero, we find that----"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Good, Widdicombe, you have hit it! Yet,
forsooth, 'twas but your duty. Prick out, then,
a fresh position, and pray 'twill be better than
the last!"</p>
<p class="pnext">A few minutes' calculation enabled the master
to announce that 22° 4' N., 82° 46' W. was the
corrected position, and to the unbounded
satisfaction of us all it was found that it marked a
small island almost in the centre of the Rosario
Channel, agreeing with the description which
Pedro Alvarez had given.</p>
<p class="pnext">As there was now no sign of the buccaneering
craft, the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> put about and returned to Port
Royal, there to wait until the return of the
cruising squadron should set us free to pursue our
adventure. For nearly two weeks we remained
in suspense, Captain Poynings refusing leave
for fear that a man's tongue might get the better
of his discretion, till early one morning we
perceived to our great joy the sails of our consorts
approaching the port.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-vii-concerning-the-treasure-island">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id8">CHAPTER VII--Concerning the Treasure Island</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">Hardly had the fleet anchored when Captain
Poynings boarded the flagship and obtained,
with little ado, permission to part company.
We then revictualled, took in fresh powder, and
weighed, steering a westerly course till Negrille
Point was well abeam. Thereupon we stood
nor'-westward, passing close to Grand Cayman.
Here misfortune dogged us. For days we were
becalmed, the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> wallowing motionless in
the oily sea within one hundred leagues of our
destination. Then the dreaded "yellow jack"
made its appearance amongst us, and forty men
lay sick to death on the ballast, of whom, I
grieve to relate, more than half died.</p>
<p class="pnext">When the pestilence would have ended it
would be hard to say, had not a favourable
breeze sprung up, and on the eighteenth day
after leaving Port Royal we brought up off the
cay shown in the chart.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was an island some three miles in extent,
and about half that distance in breadth, a line of
rugged hills running from east to west, terminating
in low cliffs. Viewed from the north'ard,
where we lay, the shore appeared to be flat and
lined with breakers, but Pedro told us that a
little creek opened out close to the western end,
where a boat could make a landing in safety.</p>
<p class="pnext">No sign of a human being could be seen,
even as the Portuguese had said, yet it is
passing strange how easily even a trained seaman
can be deceived.</p>
<p class="pnext">Being late in the day when we arrived off the
cay, it was decided not to land till the morrow.
Nevertheless, we made preparations for the
expedition, provisioning the longboat and the like.</p>
<p class="pnext">Early on the morrow we weighed anchor, and,
under the guidance of Pedro, towed the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>,
there being no wind, through a gap in the reef,
so that her new berth was within half a league of
the landingplace--though there was an inner
reef close inshore, on which the sea brake,
though not with such violence as on the outer reef.</p>
<p class="pnext">In his eagerness, Captain Poynings himself
took command of the landing party, though
it was his duty to remain aboard. With him
went the bos'n, three midshipmen, whereof
Greville Drake and I were included, and
twenty-five men. Between us we had but five
musketoons and three pistols, the men carrying, on
account of the heat, nothing but their mattocks
and spades. Pedro also went as a guide, so
that our party numbered thirty-one men, sufficient,
indeed, to carry off the treasure--if treasure
it were--in one journey.</p>
<p class="pnext">After rowing for nearly a league, viz. a quarter
of a league towards the shore, and the same
distance parallel to it, the breakers preventing us
from going nearer, we espied the mouth of the
little cove or creek, and ten minutes labour at
the oars sufficed to beach the boat in very
sheltered water, the trees overhanging the banks and
almost meeting those on the opposite side.</p>
<p class="pnext">We landed and formed up on a small stretch
of sand, the only clear space that was to be seen.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Hark ye, Dommett," said the captain. "Do
you stay here with the boat, and keep her off if
needs be we must embark in a hurry. 'Tis now
nine o' the clock; by five we will return. If
peradventure we fail to do so, signal to the ship
for more men. Keep eyes and ears open, and if
any man shall come upon you, push off and fire
your piece. Now, Senhor Pedro, lead on."</p>
<p class="pnext">It was an exciting moment. The Portuguese
led, pressing forward with marvellous agility and
with the air of a man who is following a familiar
track. We followed in straggling order, for the
way was rough, merely allowing two men to
walk abreast. Dense foliage enclosed us on
either side, and, save for the noise of the men's
footsteps, and the occasional crackle of dry
underwood, not a sound either of man or beast
broke the stillness of the forest.</p>
<p class="pnext">The path led gradually upwards, till we
emerged into a clearing, the ground rising still
steeper to the foot of a low, precipitous cliff. At
the base of this cliff we halted for breath,
observing that all around lay masses of broken rock
that had at some time fallen from the heights
above. Looking backwards we could see over
the tops of the trees to the sea, the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>
looking like a cockboat in the distance.</p>
<p class="pnext">On resuming our march we had to scale the
cliff, which, though steep, was jagged with
projections of rock, which, with strong tendrils of
tropical vegetation, afforded plenty of foothold
for any ordinary climber to make use of.</p>
<p class="pnext">"A pest on these Spaniards!" exclaimed the
captain angrily. "Why did they take the
treasure so far inland; eh, Pedro?"</p>
<p class="pnext">The Portuguese shrugged his shoulders.
"<em class="italics">Qual sabe, Senhor?</em>" he replied nonchalantly.</p>
<p class="pnext">The men, strapping their spades on their
backs, began the ascent, the Portuguese being
told to remain till half the party had gained
the summit.</p>
<p class="pnext">When my turn came I leapt with all the
buoyancy of youth on to the lowermost crag,
grasping an overhanging tuft of reeds and
grass to gain the next step; but the reeds were
as sharp as a razor, and before I realized it the
palm of my hand was cut to the bone, and the
blood poured in a stream down my arm and
over my doublet.</p>
<p class="pnext">The sudden pain and the loss of blood caused
me to slip to the foot of the cliff, and for a time
everything became blank and my head swam.
Someone forced my head betwixt my knees, so
that in a short space of time I felt better.</p>
<p class="pnext">"You would do well to return to the boat,"
said Captain Poynings in a tone that meant no
refusal. "Can you manage to find the path, or
shall I send a man with you?"</p>
<p class="pnext">I replied that I was well enough to go, and
reluctantly I turned back.</p>
<p class="pnext">Drake laid a hand on my shoulder. "Never
heed, Aubrey," said he sympathetically. "'Tis
better to return with a gashed hand like yours.
But I'll tell you all when we come back."</p>
<p class="pnext">Slowly I went till I reached the edge of the
wood. Then I lingered, watching the party
make the ascent, which they did speedily and
without further mishap. Then I heard their
footsteps die away as they plunged through the
thick underwood, and I was alone.</p>
<p class="pnext">The path, by reason of the numbers that had
but recently passed, was now well-defined, and I
had no difficulty in finding it. Dommett, the
boatkeeper, received me without signs of
surprise, and on telling him of my misadventure, he
merely ejaculated a loud "Well done", which
was a favourite expression of his, no matter what
caused him to make it, insomuch that on board
he was dubbed by his messmates "Well done Dommett".</p>
<p class="pnext">However, he bathed my hand in seawater,
although the salt did make it smart mightily,
and, tying it with a strip of wet linen, he told
me to keep quiet, so as not unduly to excite my
head, which was by now throbbing like to burst.</p>
<p class="pnext">Throughout the forenoon Dommett smoked
a short black pipe incessantly, though he kept
his eyes shifting, looking frequently for signals
from the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> and the island, both towards
the path and along the shore.</p>
<p class="pnext">There was no sign or sound till about one
hour after noon, when we both heard a faint
noise like a musket being fired afar off. We
listened alertly, but no other sound was heard.</p>
<p class="pnext">"'Tis one of the men who has fallen over
his piece, perchance," remarked the sailor as
he refilled his pipe, ramming the weed down
with his little finger.</p>
<p class="pnext">Hardly had he made the flint and steel to
work when there was another noise, like the
distant crashing of brushwood. The sound
came nearer, so we both stood up, the boat-keeper
thrusting an oar into the water so as to
keep the longboat off shore.</p>
<p class="pnext">Nearer came the sound, till at length a man
appeared, torn and bleeding, and spent with
running. It was one of the <em class="italics">Gannet's</em> men--the
bos'n's mate,--and, throwing himself into
the boat, he lay like a log.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Pull yourself together, man," shouted
Dommett, shaking the man in his anxiety.
"What's amiss? What's amiss?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Push off for your life!" he panted. "It's
all up; we are all undone!"</p>
<p class="pnext">This was all he could say. Nevertheless we
shoved off, and waited at about a boat's length
from the mouth of the creek--waited for any
stragglers who might appear.</p>
<p class="pnext">Nevertheless no more of our men appeared,
though a musket was fired at us from the
brushwood, followed by an irregular volley. At the
whiz of the bullets, though they passed well
above us, I threw myself on the bottom of the
boat; but the firing had the opposite effect
on the bos'n's mate, for, cursing horribly, he
raised himself and seized an oar. Dommett
had already done likewise, and before the volley
could be repeated we were well out of range,
though throughout the whole time we were
under fire the man still kept his pipe firmly
between his teeth.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then they called upon me to take an oar,
and feeling miserably ashamed of myself I got
up, and, as well as my hand would allow, I rowed
with them. By a special providence we made
the gap between the reef in safety, then rowed
slowly, for the longboat was an unwieldy craft,
towards the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>.</p>
<p class="pnext">The master, perceiving that something was
amiss, sent a boat to meet us, and on going
on board we were surrounded by the anxious
remainder of the crew.</p>
<p class="pnext">The bos'n's mate told his tale, how that the
expedition came across a flat piece of ground
surrounded by steep rocks, like a basin. Here,
the Portuguese said, was the spot where the
treasure was buried. The men laid aside their
arms, took their spades, and began to dig.
Three feet down in the hard soil they went, but
there was no sign of the treasure. Suddenly
they heard a mocking laugh, and, looking up,
saw that Pedro had slipped away and was
jeering at them from the top of the rocks,
and, what was more, he spoke like an Englishman,
without any of his former accent. Captain
Poynings, maddened by the man's treachery,
fired a pistol at him, but without effect. The
seamen looked around for their arms to give
pursuit, but these had been stealthily removed,
and instead they found themselves surrounded
by at least a hundred armed scoundrels, who
demanded that they should yield themselves.
The bos'n's mate, however, having separated
himself from the rest, took to his heels and fled
for the boat, hotly pursued by half a dozen of
the villains. He gained the longboat in safety,
as I have said, and the fate of Captain Poynings
and his men was still a mystery.</p>
<p class="pnext">Shouts and threats came from the crew of the
<em class="italics">Gannet</em> when they heard that their beloved
captain and their comrades had been treacherously
trapped. Some proposed that all hands should
form an avenging landing party, but of this our
lieutenant would not hear, as the nature of the
island would be against open attack.</p>
<p class="pnext">Several plans were discussed, with no good
result, till there came a seaman, who offered to
track the villains and try and discover the fate
of our comrades. He was of New England,
having joined us at the Bermudas on our voyage
hither, and was skilled in savage warfare and
woodcraft, for at one time he had been a member
of the trainband of Salem, in New England,
which town had oft been in jeopardy from the savages.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Let me but land after it is night," said he,
"and I'll warrant ye'll see me with news of
some sort by noon to-morrow. If so be I do
not return by that time, let the purser mark me
off the books, 'D.D.' (Discharged--dead), and
send what money should be owing to me to my
wife at Providence, in Rhode Island."</p>
<p class="pnext">This man's offer being accepted, and assurances
given that his wishes should be carried
out if he failed to return, we could do nothing
but wait for nightfall.</p>
<p class="pnext">Directly darkness set in we lowered a boat,
the oars and tholes being muffled to deaden
all sound. The New Englander had stripped,
and had anointed himself from head to foot with
a dark, offensive-smelling grease, which, he
assured us, would keep him immune from
insect bites, and at the same time render him
nearly invisible.</p>
<p class="pnext">Nimbly he lowered himself into the boat,
where the men were waiting with tossed oars.
Silently they shoved off, and were lost in the
darkness; but in a quarter of an hour the boat
returned, having gone as close as possible to
the inner line of breakers, so that the man
could with little difficulty swim ashore.</p>
<p class="pnext">All night double watches were set, and the
guns, double-shotted, were run out ready for
instant use. Still, not a sound was heard to
cause us alarm, only the dull roar of the surf
both ahead and astern of us. It was a miserable,
anxious night, for the disaster to our shipmates
(we not knowing whether they were dead or
alive) threw a gloom over the whole ship.</p>
<p class="pnext">For my part I could not sleep, my hand
paining me greatly, while I troubled deeply for
my comrades, particularly my friend Greville
Drake; so by choice I paced the deck the entire
night, till with extraordinary suddenness day
broke and the sun rose above the horizon.</p>
<p class="pnext">The whole of the forenoon passed without
incident, but just at midday the lookout
perceived a man leaping across the rocks by the
tree-fringed shore. It was the New England seaman.</p>
<p class="pnext">Instantly a boat was lowered, and urged by
lusty strokes headed straight for the shore. The
man had thrown himself into the sea, and we
could make out his head and shoulders as from
time to time he appeared between the white
masses of foam. He was an active and powerful
swimmer, and gained the boat in safety, though
probably it was well that the breakers had
subsided somewhat.</p>
<p class="pnext">His tale was soon told. Fearing to follow
the path from the cove, since the villain might
have set a guard there, he made his way through
the undergrowth directly towards the centre and
highest part of the island. Over and over
again he had to attempt a fresh passage, the
thickets proving too dense even for his
accustomed skill. At length he came across a
small stream, which he followed to its source,
which afterwards proved to be not far from the
spot where our men were surprised.</p>
<p class="pnext">Here he concealed himself till daybreak, when
he found himself practically overlooking the
whole island. On the south side, opposite to
where we were lying, he espied a cove, off which
was anchored a craft which he declared was
the same vessel as we had chased, and from
which Pedro had thrown himself. Another
hour's careful tracking brought him close to the
creek, where he saw our comrades being escorted
on board by the buccaneers in gangs, twenty-seven
all told, so that they were apparently all
alive and well. Then he made out a party of
men coming down from the hillside, where they
had been posted as rearguard, and with them
was Pedro. They passed quite close to where
he lay hid, and he could swear that Pedro was
no more a Portuguese than he was.</p>
<p class="pnext">Directly this last body of men embarked the
sails were shaken out, and the swift buccaneering
craft stood seaward. Having made sure that
they had all embarked, the man returned by the
beaten path, striking the north side of the island
at the cove where we had landed. Thence he
skirted the shore till we perceived him and sent
off a boat.</p>
<p class="pnext">The officers now debated as to the best course
to pursue--whether to follow the buccaneer,
which, undermanned as we were, was hazardous
and reckless, or to return with all haste to Port
Royal, report our loss, and join with the rest of
the fleet in the capture of the insolent pirates.</p>
<p class="pnext">The latter course was decided upon, but again
ill fortune looked upon us. A strong southerly
wind suddenly sprang up, and, though protected
by the outer reef, we were on a lee shore.
The master would not attempt to beat out
through the gap in the reef, as his knowledge
of the passage was none too good, neither could
we kedge nor tow the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> against the wind.
So we had perforce to remain weatherbound
for seven long days, knowing full well that the
same breeze that kept us prisoners within the
reef was bearing the buccaneers away in safety.</p>
<p class="pnext">When at length the wind veered sufficiently to
enable the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> to sail close-hauled through
the surf-encompassed passage, all plain sail was
set, and back to Port Royal we sped.</p>
<p class="pnext">Four days later the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> dropped anchor
in the harbour, and with despondent mien the
remaining officers went ashore to report the loss
of the captain and his men. To their unbounded
astonishment and delight they heard that
Captain Poynings and his twenty-six companions
were alive and well on board the <em class="italics">Lizard</em>,
man-of-war, then lying off the castle.</p>
<p class="pnext">Their adventures can best be described in the
story that Drake told to me on the evening of
the day that they rejoined the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>:</p>
<p class="pnext">"You must know, Aubrey," said he, after
telling me of their capture and forced embarkation
on board the buccaneer's ship, "that this
Pedro was in reality a Cornishman, and second
in command to the renegade Captain Lewis,
then lying under sentence of death at Port
Royal. The whole of this bad business had
been carefully planned by the villain, and easily
we fell into the trap. Three days after we left
the island the <em class="italics">Sea Wolf</em>, for such is the name of
the buccaneer's ship, hove to in sight of Port
Royal, and with the greatest audacity Pedro,
or Red Peter, to give him the name he is
generally known by, went ashore under a flag of
truce, taking me with him as hostage. Would
you believe it, he went straight to the castle and
demanded to see the governor! Oddsfish! And
his impudence took even the governor aback.
'I have on board,' quoth Red Peter, 'twenty-five
officers and men of his Britannic Majesty's
ship <em class="italics">Gannet</em>, not including this youngster
(meaning me) and another; you have Captain Lewis
and four other of our men. So, my lord, I think
you'll see we hold a good balance in hand.
Now, sink me! 'tis a fair exchange: give us
the five and take your enterprising' (how he
sneered when he said this) 'king's men unhurt,
or else, for every man of ours who dances at the
end of a rope, five of yours shall dangle from
our yardarm. Come now, your answer?'</p>
<p class="pnext">"What could the governor say? He gave
way so easily that Red Peter spoke again. 'And,
taking into consideration our great magnanimity,
'twould not be amiss to grant a free pardon to us
all; then, for our part, we do agree to cease from
plundering and fighting, and become honest
men once more. Right glad would I be to
see Falmouth once more other than with a
hempen rope round my neck, or with gyves and
manacles to prevent my full enjoyment of my
native place. How say you, my lord?'</p>
<p class="pnext">"After all, I verily believe the governor was
content, for he had succeeded in ridding the
Indies of these buccaneers, even as it was
ordered, though the manner of the fulfilment
thereof was hardly as he had wished. So he
sent for his secretary, ordered him to write out
a general pardon, which he sealed and delivered
to Red Peter with an elaborate bow, whereat the
rogue as courteously took his leave.</p>
<p class="pnext">"The same day the <em class="italics">Sea Wolf</em> came into the
harbour and landed our people, Lewis and his
companions were released, and, after a general
carouse on shore, the ship sailed to communicate
the news to her consorts. All the same, the
trick was neatly done, and little harm came of it."</p>
<p class="pnext">Such was the tale that Greville told. Years
later I learned that both Captain Lewis and Red
Peter returned to England and were received by
His Majesty, who, with the same generosity as
he showed towards Captain Morgan, Colonel
Blood, and other cutthroats of like nature,
restored to Lewis his commission; while Red
Peter, under his real name of Peter Tregaskis,
became a red-hot Tory squire in his native Cornwall.</p>
<p class="pnext">However, to resume my story, Captain Poynings
rejoined the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> without delay, and
after a year or so of comparatively uneventful
sojourning in the Caribbean Sea, we received
orders to proceed again to the Mediterranean.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-viii-of-an-encounter-with-an-algerine-corsair">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id9">CHAPTER VIII--Of an Encounter with an Algerine Corsair</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">The <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was bowling along under easy sail
some fifty miles south of Majorca. Three years
of seatime had made a great difference in her
appearance. Her speed was retarded by the
presence of a thick vegetable growth on her
bottom, her sails had lost their pristine beauty,
while her sides, though often repainted, bore
signs of the effect of torrid heat and the
buffeting of the waves. Her crew, too, had
undergone considerable changes; wounds and disease
had reduced the number of her gallant men,
while those who were left were now well-seasoned
and disciplined.</p>
<p class="pnext">Of the ship's officers only three had gone to
their last account--the master, who had fallen
a victim to the dreaded "yellow jack", and two
of the midshipmen. Thus, including myself,
there were but five midshipmen on board, all of
whom were as efficient as Captain Poynings
could desire.</p>
<p class="pnext">I was now nearly seventeen years of
age--bronzed, hardy, and well-grown--and would
easily have passed for twenty.</p>
<p class="pnext">On this particular day it was about noon when
the lookout reported a sail hull down on our
starboard bow. In less than an hour she had
apparently sighted us, for she altered her course
so as to make straight for us. Now this was an
unusual occurrence, as the stranger must either
be a hostile craft or else a ship in distress and
wishing to communicate. Her speed was too
great to justify the assumption that she was
requiring assistance, so all hands were piped to
quarters. After months of inaction the prospect
of a fight acted like magic.</p>
<p class="pnext">The officers held a consultation, and as it was
well known that a Barbary corsair had been
committing several acts of exceptional violence,
hopes were entertained that the stranger would
prove to be that particular vessel.</p>
<p class="pnext">Our captain showed himself to be a tactician
as well as a fighter. "If this be the Algerine,"
he said, "her speed will enable her to make off
when she finds out who we are. It remains,
therefore, to trick and entice her to us. See
that all our ordnance is run in and the ports
closed. Keep nearly all the men out of sight,
and run the flag of Sicily up to the peak. And
you, Master Bennet," he added, addressing our
newly made master, "lay me the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> close
alongside the stranger and your duty will be
done. Now, gentlemen, to your stations, and
God save His Majesty King Charles!"</p>
<p class="pnext">The work of transforming the man-of-war into
a seemingly peaceful merchantman was quickly
performed, and long before the corsair (for such
there was no doubt she was) came within range
the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was floundering along with yards
badly squared, for all the world like a
helpless trader, her course having been previously
altered as if she were intent on running away.</p>
<p class="pnext">But on board everything was different. At
each of her guns on the starboard side were men
lying prone on the deck, waiting for the signal
to trice up the ports, run the guns out, and
deliver a crushing broadside. Powder, shot,
and buckets of water were placed close at hand,
while boarding axes, pikes, cutlasses, muskets,
and pistols were lying about ready to be seized
when required.</p>
<p class="pnext">The men themselves were in a state of suppressed
excitement, talking softly to one another,
and with difficulty restraining themselves from
taking a view of their enemy and thus exposing
our strength.</p>
<p class="pnext">The officers, hidden under the break of the
poop, had donned their buff coats, head- and
back-plates, and plumed hats, and were as
impatient as the men to get to quarters.</p>
<p class="pnext">My station, with young Drake, was on the
gundeck, yet I could not resist the inclination
of creeping aft and looking at the Algerine
through one of our stern ports.</p>
<p class="pnext">She was now tearing along at a tremendous
pace, barely a quarter of a mile astern. There
was a stiff breeze blowing, and she was being
propelled by oars as well as by sails; yet a
stern chase is always a long one.</p>
<p class="pnext">Thinking us an easy prey, she made no hesitation
in showing her true colours, while groups
of dark-skinned men, the sweepings of the
Barbary ports, clustered on her high foc's'le, yelling
and waving their arms in a truly terrifying
manner. The sounds of the oars, the rattling
of the chains of the miserable galley slaves, and
the sharp crack of the whip of the merciless
taskmaster could be distinctly heard, while ever
and anon a gun would be fired, merely to
impress upon us the fruitlessness of resistance.</p>
<p class="pnext">At length she drew up about fifty yards from
our starboard quarter, and even at that short
distance they did not scent danger, their
eagerness blinding them to the fact that
twenty-five closed ports separated them from a
death-dealing hail of iron.</p>
<p class="pnext">I ran back to my station. The word was
passed round to fire high and spare the slaves.
All along the main deck there were groups of
men standing in almost total darkness, waiting
at the gun tackles for the signal to run out the
guns. The feeble glimmer of the fighting-lanterns
shone on the glistening arms and
bodies of half-naked seamen, who stood in
almost deathlike silence listening to the shouts
of their unseen foes.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly came the order to fire. The ports
were triced up, and brilliant sunshine flooded
the gundeck. With the creaking of the tackles
and the rumbling of the gun-carriage wheels,
the muzzles of the iron monsters were run
through the ports. There was no need to take
aim, for the vessels were almost side by side.
The volley that followed shook the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> from
keel to truck and filled the deck with clouds of smoke.</p>
<p class="pnext">Back ran the guns with the recoil, sponges
and rammers did their work, and again the guns
roared--this time in an irregular broadside.</p>
<p class="pnext">Four times was this repeated, the guns' crews
working as calmly as if at practice. How it
fared with the pirate we knew not. Occasionally,
between the clouds of smoke, we could catch a
glimpse of her black sides, crushed and torn
by our broadsides. A musket ball came in
through an open port and struck a seaman fairly
between the eyes. He fell without a sound,
and this was the only casualty on the main
deck. Seeing he was dead, two seamen dragged
him across to the other side and pushed his
body through a port. A bucketful of sand was
sprinkled on the spot where he fell, and the gun
at which he was stationed was run out again.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly there was a crashing, grinding
sound. The master had laid us alongside the corsair.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Boarders, away!" was the order, and, hastily
closing the ports, to prevent our being boarded
in turn, the whole of the men below poured
on deck, armed with whatever weapon came
first to their hands.</p>
<p class="pnext">The vessels lay side by side, locked in an
unyielding embrace. Our ordnance had wrought
havoc on the corsair, her huge lateen yards
lying athwart her decks, while heaps of dead
and dying men encumbered her slippery planks.
But the remnant still resisted, and for us the
completion of our victory was to be dearly
bought. We had already suffered considerably,
many men having been slain on our fo'c'sle and
poop, and now, headed by our gallant Captain
Poynings, we threw ourselves upon the
foemen's deck, where we met with a desperate
resistance. The corsairs knew that surrender
meant an ignominious death, and fought with
the courage of despair, calling on Allah and
Mohammed as they slew or were slain.</p>
<p class="pnext">Inch by inch they were driven back, pistolled
or cut down or thrust overboard, till there
remained but one Moslem, a tall, wiry villain,
armed with pistol and scimitar. Two of our
men went down before him, one having his
skull cloven by a lightning sweep of the corsair's
razorlike blade, the other having his sword
arm cut completely through at the wrist. Two
more rushed at him; one he shot, the second
received the discharged pistol full in the face.
With that several men made ready to shoot
him down; but our lieutenant called on them
to desist, and he himself advanced on the
redoubtable Moslem.</p>
<p class="pnext">The combat was watched with breathless
interest, for Geoffrey Weaver was a past master
in the art of fencing, having acquired both the
French and Italian methods, as well as having
seen active service against Spaniards and Turks,
and also in the Low Countries. In a measure
he had an advantage, wearing his breastplate;
yet as the scimitar is rarely used save for cutting,
the armour did not serve him as readily as it
would have done if he had been pitted against
a man armed with a pointed sword.</p>
<p class="pnext">Their blades met, and so quick was the swordplay
that none could follow it. In a few seconds
both were wounded, the blood trickling down
the lieutenant's face from a nick on the forehead.
Then, quicker than words, Weaver escaped a
sweeping blow from the scimitar by jumping
nimbly backwards, and the next moment
his blade had passed through the Moslem's shoulder.</p>
<p class="pnext">With this, thinking the fight at an end, we
began to cheer lustily; but our triumph was
shortlived, for, ere the lieutenant could
disengage his weapon, the corsair seized him round
the waist and sprang with him into the sea.</p>
<p class="pnext">We rushed to the side, but only a few bubbles
came to the surface. Carried down by the
weight of his armour, Weaver sank like a
stone, and his implacable foe, holding on with
a relentless grip, shared his fate.</p>
<p class="pnext">However, there was no time for vain regrets,
and all hands were set to work to repair the
damage done by the fight. Our losses were
heavy: besides the lieutenant, two midshipmen,
the bos'n, and sixteen men were killed, and the
purser and thirty-three men wounded.</p>
<p class="pnext">On the Algerine all her crew were accounted
for, not one surviving; while, in spite of our
care, the losses amongst the galley slaves were
fearful. A few stray shots and a shower of
splinters had wrought destruction on these
helpless chained-up wretches, and the gratitude of
the survivors when we knocked their fetters off
was touching to witness. There were Spaniards,
Genoese, Venetians, French, and Dutch, negroes,
and one Englishman, a man from Hull--twenty-three
all told, most of whom were wounded.</p>
<p class="pnext">The prize was badly shattered, but little
damage was done near the waterline. The
<em class="italics">Gannet</em> suffered hardly at all, the corsairs, being
unprepared for resistance, having neglected to
use their two pieces of brass ordnance.</p>
<p class="pnext">The bodies of the dead were committed to the
deep, the wounded attended to, and the decks
cleaned of their ghastly stains, while a party of
seamen were placed on board the prize to rig
jury masts.</p>
<p class="pnext">When I went down below, to clean the grime
of the powder from my face and hands, I found
that I had received a slight cut on the calf of my
leg. How or when it was done I could not
remember, but it was too trifling to be attended
to by the surgeon, so I dressed it myself.</p>
<p class="pnext">While thus engaged I was sent for by the
captain, and on reporting myself he said:</p>
<p class="pnext">"Master Wentworth, I have been fully satisfied
with your conduct in the fight, and although
you are young in years you have a man's head
on your shoulders. You will now have your
first command, for I propose to put you in
charge of the prize with seven men to work her.
You must keep in company with the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> till
off the Barbary coast, where you will have to
shape a course for Tangier, which now belongs
to His Majesty King Charles. Should we be
compelled to part company, I will rely on
you to work the ship into that port. You can,
of course, use a sextant?"</p>
<p class="pnext">I assented.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Very well, here is a plan of the harbour of
Tangier. This place," indicating the mole, "is
where you must bring up. Now go to the
master and get the necessary charts and instruments,
and take charge of the prize as soon as possible."</p>
<p class="pnext">I saluted and left his cabin, feeling inclined
to dance for joy, yet having sufficient dignity
left to walk sedately across the quarterdeck.</p>
<p class="pnext">When I gained the gunroom I told the news
with unrestrained enthusiasm, and my remaining
companions, now reduced to two in number,
Greville Drake and Alan Wood, though not
slow in offering their congratulations, did not
conceal the fact that my good fortune was their
disappointment.</p>
<p class="pnext">By nightfall the fitting of the jury masts was
completed, the shot holes were plugged, and
the working party was recalled. Then, with my
seven men, together with two of the liberated
slaves, I took possession of the prize, having,
with Captain Poyning's permission, named her
the <em class="italics">Little Gannet</em>.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ix-i-lose-the-little-gannet">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id10">CHAPTER IX--I lose the <em class="italics">Little Gannet</em></a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">Throughout the first part of the night we held
on our course, the poop lights of the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>
acting as a guide. Watches were set, five men
in each, I taking my turn in the first watch.
Towards morning the wind veered round and
blew freshly from the west'ard, and when the
sun rose, a watery orb, the wind increased into
half a gale.</p>
<p class="pnext">We saw the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> shorten sail, bowling
along on the starboard tack under easy canvas
to enable us to keep up with her. I ordered
additional preventers to be rove, had the hatches
battened down, and took every possible
precaution to ensure the safety of my vessel.</p>
<p class="pnext">By midday it blew a furious gale, accompanied
by showers of blinding rain, and before
long the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was nowhere to be seen. Even
with her jury rig the <em class="italics">Little Gannet</em> gave a good
account of herself, though it was necessary to
take an occasional spell at the pumps to keep
down the water that made its way through her
hastily patched seams.</p>
<p class="pnext">From her build and rig my craft would lay
closer to the wind than the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>, so I ordered
her to be kept on the starboard tack for two
hours, then on the larboard tack for another two
hours, and so on, hoping by these means to
keep within sight of our escort when the gale
moderated.</p>
<p class="pnext">There were, as I have mentioned, five men in
each watch--one of the two liberated slaves, a
Genoese, who spoke no English, being in mine,
while the other, a negro, was placed in the second.</p>
<p class="pnext">This negro was of a gigantic stature, with
powerful limbs, yet of a timorous disposition,
so that directly the gale came on he could with
difficulty be made to do any work at all, but lay
in a heap in the weather scuppers, moaning and
muttering in broken English, Spanish, and his
native tongue.</p>
<p class="pnext">All that day the gale continued, but on the
morrow the wind moderated, leaving us rolling
in the trough of a heavy swell, with no sign of
the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>.</p>
<p class="pnext">About nine in the morning we spied a sail on
our starboard quarter. This we concluded was
the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>, which we had evidently passed
during the night; but three hours afterwards
we could see that it was not our parent ship, but
a smaller and speedier craft.</p>
<p class="pnext">She had already perceived us, and had altered
her course slightly to come up with us, and,
with every stitch of canvas set, she ploughed her
way rapidly towards us.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was without doubt a hostile craft, but the
knowledge that the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was somewhere close
to us, though where we knew not, spurred us to
make every preparation for flight or fight.</p>
<p class="pnext">By four in the afternoon the stranger was a
mile astern, and with the aid of a glass I could
see her colours--they were black, and bore the
emblem of the Jolly Roger.</p>
<p class="pnext">I gathered my slender crew aft and exhorted
them to make a desperate resistance, telling
them that a tame surrender would be as futile
as capture after a determined fight. In either
case the result would be death to us all, but
the longer we held out the greater chance there
was of a timely rescue by the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>.</p>
<p class="pnext">They one and all expressed their willingness
to resist to the last, and now commenced one
of those despairing fights against overwhelming
odds that were only of too frequent occurrence.
Many a gallant English vessel has met her fate
in a glorious but unrecorded effort in similar
circumstances, her end unknown at home and
her disappearance soon forgotten, save by those
bloodthirsty scoundrels who have felt the fangs
of an Englishman at bay.</p>
<p class="pnext">We immediately manned one of the long brass
guns, training it right aft on the advancing
pirate. I directed the gunner to aim at the
foeman's spars, endeavouring to cripple her aloft.
With a flash and a roar the iron missile sped
on its way, striking the pirate's topsail yard.
There was a shower of splinters and the broken
spar fell, till brought up by the strain on the
topsail and t'gallant sail, and at the same time
the halyards of the foresail parted, bringing that
sail down to the deck with a run.</p>
<p class="pnext">Notwithstanding our danger a cheer broke
from us; but before we could reload our gun
the pirate yawed and let fly with her larboard guns.</p>
<p class="pnext">The result was disastrous to us. Two of our
men were killed on the spot and two wounded,
while both our jury masts went by the board,
and the <em class="italics">Little Gannet</em> lay helpless on the waves.</p>
<p class="pnext">The end was not long in coming. After
another broadside the pirate backed her main
topsail and hove to at less than a cable's length
off. Two of her boats were lowered, and a
swarm of bearded ruffians tumbled into them
and pushed off towards us.</p>
<p class="pnext">Resistance was hopeless, but the pirate
appeared anxious to take us alive, and, partially
stunned by a blow from a handspike, I was
thrown into one of the boats and taken on board
our captor, where, together with five survivors,
I was placed under guard on her quarterdeck.</p>
<p class="pnext">The pirate ship was called the <em class="italics">Friend of the
Sea</em>, but she was the enemy of all who sailed
upon it. She was heavily armed and manned,
her crew comprising a ruffianly assortment of
every nation of south-western Europe, and,
judging by the gold ornaments that every man
wore, their cruise had been highly successful
for these rogues.</p>
<p class="pnext">They were busily engaged in transferring the
cargo of the <em class="italics">Little Gannet</em> to their own vessel.
Much of this consisted of valuable stores that
the Algerine had on board when we took her,
and the satisfaction of the lawless freebooters
was unbounded.</p>
<p class="pnext">The two brass guns were also taken on board,
the work of slinging them from the <em class="italics">Little Gannet</em>
to the boats, and thence to the pirate ship, being
performed with a celerity and skill that would
have drawn an expression of admiration from
the lips of Captain Poynings himself.</p>
<p class="pnext">When the whole of the valuable stores were
safely on board, the pirates fired their prize, and
an hour later, burned to the water's edge, my
first command sank in a cloud of smoke and steam.</p>
<p class="pnext">The pirates worked unceasingly. Their next
task was to repair the splintered foreyard, which
they did by fishing it with capstan bars and small
spars. While this work was in progress there
was a shout from the lookout, and from the
hurrying scrambles of the crew I guessed that
another sail was sighted.</p>
<p class="pnext">Hastily sending the spliced spar aloft, the
crew squared the yards once more, and the
<em class="italics">Friend of the Sea</em> gathered way. From where
I was I could not tell whether we were chasing
or in chase; but in a few moments we had other
things to think about, for the pirate captain and
his lieutenant approached us.</p>
<p class="pnext">The former was a short, broad-shouldered
man, with a heavy, black beard. He was dressed
in typical buccaneering rig, with a red sash
round his waist, in which were stuck a whole
armoury of pistols and a short Turkish dagger.
Cruelty and viciousness were stamped upon
every outline of his face, but at the same time
there were signs of a courageous nature and
resource. He was apparently a Genoese or
a Tuscan, and did not, or would not, speak
English, though he understood our replies in
the subsequent discourse we had with him.</p>
<p class="pnext">His lieutenant was a taller man, also heavily
bearded, and bronzed with the sun. In spite
of myself I gave an exclamation of surprise,
for he was none other than the man with the
scarred face who had tried to rob me on the
Portsmouth road over three years ago, and who
had escaped from Colonel Middleton's troopers
in the Forest of Bere.</p>
<p class="pnext">The recognition was mutual, and from the
look of intense hatred on the man's features I
knew that my fate was sealed. The two pirates
conversed volubly in an unknown tongue, then
the renegade Englishman turned towards us again.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Listen, men," he said, addressing my
companions in adversity. "Join us and you'll have
a life that cannot be beaten. Light work, a fair
share of fighting, and plenty of booty. In two
years you'll be rich enough to buy the best inns
in England, and can live like gentlemen to the
end of your days. Refuse, and----" Here
he jerked his thumb significantly in the direction
of the entry port.</p>
<p class="pnext">"And as for you, you white-livered young
cub," he added, addressing me, "our captain
here has given you to me, and, let me say,
Dick Swyre will be avenged. I'll have a little
way of my own that will make you wish that
his end at the hands of the hangman were
yours. Now, my lads, what do you say? Wilt
join our merry crew?"</p>
<p class="pnext">The men who were appealed to were not long
in making up their minds. Tom Black and
George Wilson firmly and emphatically refused,
and their example was followed by the two
remaining Gannets--Dick Blake and a man whose
name I knew not, he being always called Old
Shellback. The fifth was the blackamoor who
had been a galley slave. He, miserable cur
that he was, assented with alacrity, and was
sent for'ard to join the rascally crew.</p>
<p class="pnext">My four men were led away, and for a time
I was left to myself. I was still dizzy from the
effects of the blow I had received, and this
probably accounted for the complete indifference
that I felt with regard to my fate. My wrists
and ankles were tied, making it impossible for
me to move, save by crawling and worming
along the deck.</p>
<p class="pnext">The pirates were still busily engaged in
making preparations for the coming fight, and from
the general direction of the glances that they
made I came to the conclusion that the <em class="italics">Friend
of the Sea</em> was in this case the fugitive. So
busy were they that I edged towards an
arm-rack, and, placing my bound wrists against a
sharp cutlass, I succeeded in freeing them from
the cords that bound them. This done, it was
an easy matter to loose the ropes that fastened
my ankles; then, lying in a position that hid
my limbs from any passing pirate, I tried to
form a plan of escape.</p>
<p class="pnext">I could, of course, leap through a port into
the sea, taking my chance of being picked up
by the pursuing craft, which I fondly hoped
would be the avenging <em class="italics">Gannet</em>; but I did not
know what distance separated us, and even
then, in the eagerness of the chase, there was
little likelihood of their noticing me, still less
of heaving to and picking me up.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly I thought of the foretop. If only
I could reach that I could defy the whole of
the pirate crew, and at the same time render
material assistance to their foes. Now that I
was free, my lethargy vanished, and I was the
personification of active revenge.</p>
<p class="pnext">Taking advantage of the confusion I ran
for'ard, and before I was recognized I had
gained the nettings and was well on my way
up the shrouds. A hoarse shout announced
that my escape was discovered, and a pistol
bullet buzzed close to my head, quickly followed
by another, that flattened itself against a
chainplate.</p>
<p class="pnext">I redoubled my efforts, and, racing over the
futtock shrouds, I gained the top, where I threw
myself down, panting and almost exhausted.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-x-how-i-defended-the-foretop">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id11">CHAPTER X--How I Defended the Foretop</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">For full five minutes I lay motionless, listening
to the zip of the bullets as the pirates kept up
a hot fire on my perilous position. Then I
raised myself and peered cautiously over the
edge of the top.</p>
<p class="pnext">The situation was a grave one, but I had a
fighting chance. I was on a platform some ten
feet square, but the lubber's holes reduced the
standing room by nearly a quarter. The after
side of the top was protected by a mantlet of
stout wood, while the sides were fitted with a
low breastwork.</p>
<p class="pnext">Where I was lying was thus fairly secure.
The only danger was that I might be picked
off by musketeers in the maintop or crosstrees,
the foremast itself protecting me from any shots
from for'ard. The planking of the top also was
stout enough to resist a musket ball, though the
thud of shots as they struck the under side of
the top at first filled me with misgiving.</p>
<p class="pnext">After firing for some time the rascally crew
apparently came to the conclusion that they were
doing too much damage to their own sails and
rigging, the fore-topsail being holed in many
places; so I could look around in comparative
security.</p>
<p class="pnext">The tops were to be utilized by sharpshooters
in the coming fight, for to my delight I found
a whole armoury stowed away on the foretop--muskets,
pistols, cutlasses, and two sharp
axes, with plenty of powder and ball. Had I
delayed my desperate plan much longer the
top would have been filled with men. I
examined the muskets and the pistols and found
them already loaded. I next turned my
attention to the deck of the pirate ship. The guns'
crews were at their stations, and were either
looking astern or else regarding my position.
The captain and his scarred-faced lieutenant
were almost speechless with rage, for they knew
that for the time being I held the trump card.</p>
<p class="pnext">Not a sign could I see of my four men, but
presently the wretched negro was hauled out,
a knife was thrust into his hand, and by shouts
and dumb-show he was ordered to go into the
rigging and bring me down.</p>
<p class="pnext">The recreant blackamoor was almost mad with
terror, his skin turned a dusky-greyish hue, and
his eyes rolled about in an agony of fright.
Behind and below him were the knives and
pistols of the pirates, above him was I, covering
his trembling body with a pistol that I steadied
against the edge of the lubber's hole.</p>
<p class="pnext">Slowly he climbed till, urged on by the shouts
of the fiendish crew, he reached the futtock
shrouds. Here he stopped, and in a low,
agonized voice he whispered: "No shoot, Massa;
only pretend to shoot! Me come to you; me
help you! No shoot me!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Seeing that this man would be useful in the
defence of the top, I fired, the bullet passing
well over his head. He then climbed up
hurriedly, till his head and shoulders were
through the lubber's hole. Then with a yell
of triumph the treacherous black seized my
right wrist in his powerful grip, and his knife
flashed in the air.</p>
<p class="pnext">But he reckoned not on the other weapons that
I had. Seizing another pistol in my left hand,
I fired point-blank at his head.</p>
<p class="pnext">Through the smoke I saw the gaping hole cut
by the ball, his grip relaxed, and he fell. For
a brief space his body hung suspended on the
inside of the futtock shrouds, then it slowly
over-balanced and crashed with a heavy thud across
a gun carriage on the deck below.</p>
<p class="pnext">A loud yell came from the pirate crew, and
once more a heavy fire was opened on the
foretop, but, lying snugly under the shelter of the
mantlet, I remained in perfect safety. The only
chance they had of bringing me down was by
training a piece of ordnance on the top; but
either they did not possess a cannon capable of
being elevated to that height, or else they feared
that the damage done would be greater than the
success of getting rid of me.</p>
<p class="pnext">When the firing ceased I again looked over
the edge of the breastwork, the deadeye
lanyards making me practically invisible from the
deck. Cautiously taking a musket, I thrust its
muzzle over the edge and aimed at my particular
enemy, the scarred-faced pirate and smuggler.
I fired, and though I missed him, the bullet
struck the pirate captain in the back, and he
fell to the deck. Leaving him where he was
lying, the lieutenant took refuge on the aft
side of the mainmast, cursing at me in a lusty voice.</p>
<p class="pnext">Encouraged by my success, I opened a steady
fire on the crew, and in a few moments the whole
of the deck that was visible from the foretop was
deserted.</p>
<p class="pnext">But only for a time. Groups of men made
their way towards the foremast shrouds, holding
thick planks of wood over their heads. Under
these rude mantlets they made preparations for
storming the foretop, some making for the
weather shrouds, others for the lee.</p>
<p class="pnext">Seizing one of the axes, I attacked the lower
rigging vigorously, cutting through shrouds,
slings, braces, and halyards, everything that
came within reach, thus making my position
secure from escalade.</p>
<p class="pnext">The <em class="italics">Friend of the Sea</em> was sailing close hauled
on the starboard tack, and as I continued my
work of destruction I could see the head sails
coming down, while, deprived of its principal
supports, the foremast swayed and creaked
ominously.</p>
<p class="pnext">In spite of the frantic efforts of the helmsman,
the pirate ship flew up into the wind, her
maintopsail was taken aback, and she was hove to in
a helpless state.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then for the first time I could see the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>
coming down on the <em class="italics">Friend of the Sea</em>, the
sun shining on her clouds of weatherworn
canvas.</p>
<p class="pnext">Having the weather gauge, she soon ranged
up and opened fire. Why she had not done so
before I could not understand, till a crowd of the
pirates came for'ard, dragging with them my
four men. While the chase lasted they had, so
I afterwards learned, suspended their prisoners
over the stern, thus preventing our humane
captain from opening fire; but, now the chase
was at an end, there was no further use for the
doomed men.</p>
<p class="pnext">Blindfolded, and with their arms tied behind
their backs, the unfortunate men were marched
to the entry port and pushed into the sea in
sight of their comrades, who were powerless to
prevent yet ready to avenge their deaths.</p>
<p class="pnext">Both ships were firing rapidly, the shot from
the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> whistling through the pirate's
rigging and crashing through her hull at every
broadside.</p>
<p class="pnext">Though overmatched both in number and
weight of guns, the <em class="italics">Friend of the Sea</em> fought
bravely, and from my elevated position I could
see the men stricken down by dozens, yet their
fire was vigorously kept up.</p>
<p class="pnext">Being sure that escape was impossible, the
<em class="italics">Gannet</em> devoted all her attention to the hull of
her foe, at the same time shortening the distance
between them.</p>
<p class="pnext">Now through the drifting smoke I could
distinguish the crew of the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>. There was
Captain Poynings standing unmoved amid the
crash and din of the fight, the master standing by
the wheel, his head bound with a blood-stained
scarf, several men, still in death, encumbering
her decks, while amid the throng of excited
fighters a continuous procession of wounded was
winding its way towards the main hatch.</p>
<p class="pnext">Finally both vessels came within a few yards
of each other, and I heard the order given:
"Prepare to board!"</p>
<p class="pnext">The pirates had now abandoned their guns,
and had begun to cluster for'ard, under the
shelter of the bulwarks, each man armed with
pistol and cutlass. They knew what the issue
meant, and each man prepared to sell his life
dearly.</p>
<p class="pnext">As the crash came, and the two ships were
interlocked, the Gannets, headed by their gallant
captain, poured over the hammock nettings and
gained their enemy's deck. Every inch was
grimly contested, several of the <em class="italics">Gannets</em> falling
between the two vessels and meeting a miserable
fate by being ground between the heaving sides.</p>
<p class="pnext">Captain Poynings singled out the scarred-faced
lieutenant, and, being well ahead of his
men, his position was for a time one of considerable
danger. I watched the fight without fear of
being made a mark by the pirates, who were too
hard pressed to heed me. The sight held me
spellbound, till I observed one of the pirates
covering our captain with a musket. The man
waited, with finger on trigger, till the position of
the combatants would give him an opportunity
to fire without injuring his leader.</p>
<p class="pnext">Seeing this, I grasped a loaded musket, and at
fifteen yards' distance put a ball through the
villain's head. Almost at the same time Captain
Poynings ran his opponent through the arm,
and the latter, jumping backwards, turned and
ran towards the hatchway.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then came a cry, from which side I knew not:
"The magazine! the magazine!" and immediately
the captain shouted: "Back, men, for your lives!"</p>
<p class="pnext">There was a rush for the shelter of the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>,
and, realizing the danger, I crept along the
foot-rope of the foreyard, gained the foreyard of the
<em class="italics">Gannet</em>, and thence made for her foretop. Once
there I lost no time in descending to the deck,
heartily thankful at treading the planks of a
British man-o'-war once more, though my return
in the confusion was unnoticed.</p>
<p class="pnext">The fighting was practically at an end, the
<em class="italics">Gannet</em> being busily engaged in trying to free
herself from the pirate's embrace, and keeping
back the frenzied rushes of the doomed crew.</p>
<p class="pnext">When the last grappling was severed, the
<em class="italics">Gannet</em> swung slowly round, her flying jibboom
still entangled in the pirate's bowsprit shrouds.
Suddenly there was a blinding flash, followed
by an appalling roar--the desperate villain had
fired the magazine.</p>
<p class="pnext">Luckily the <em class="italics">Friend of the Sea</em> had by this time
used nearly all her ammunition, so that the
explosion, though disastrous to herself, did us
very little damage.</p>
<p class="pnext">Before the debris flung high in the air by
the explosion had fallen, the pirate ship had
sunk beneath the waves, taking our flying
jibboom and part of the jibboom with her, while
a heavy pall of smoke covered the place where
a moment before she was lying like a wounded
animal at bay.</p>
<p class="pnext">Now that all danger was past, the effects of the
hardships I had undergone began to tell. I was
faint, weary, and hungry; my clothes were in
rags, my hands blistered, and my face
blackened with powder. However, I made my way
aft to report myself.</p>
<p class="pnext">There was no sign of Captain Poynings on
the quarterdeck, so I went towards his cabin.
As I passed underneath the break of the poop
I came face to face with young Greville Drake.</p>
<p class="pnext">He stood stockstill for a moment, his eyes
starting from his head in terror, till, realizing
that I was flesh and blood, and not a phantom,
he gasped: "Good heavens, 'tis Aubrey Wentworth
back from the dead!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Seeing I was like to fall, he took me by the
arm and led me below. "But I must report
myself," I said.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then report to me, Aubrey."</p>
<p class="pnext">"You? Why not the captain?"</p>
<p class="pnext">His answer was a suggestive jerk of his thumb
towards the cockpit hatch, where the grim
procession of mangled seamen still continued.</p>
<p class="pnext">"What!" I exclaimed. "Is Captain Poynings down?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Yes; struck down at the last of the fight,
and so are all the other officers. In me you see
the senior unwounded officer, and as such I
am in command of the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>."</p>
<p class="pnext">It was only too true. Our gallant captain had
been hurled to the deck by a piece of falling
timber from the doomed ship. The lieutenants
were all either killed or dangerously wounded;
the master, though he remained at his post
during the engagement, had fallen through loss
of blood; and the purser, who took his part
in the fight as bravely as the rest, had had his
left arm shattered above the elbow.</p>
<p class="pnext">With the crew the mortality had been fearful,
while hardly forty men were uninjured. With
an undermanned, severely damaged ship, it was
a question whether we should ever reach port
again. Only a continued spell of fine weather
would guarantee our safety.</p>
<p class="pnext">Having washed, changed my ragged garments,
and eaten a hearty meal, I went below
to the cockpit.</p>
<p class="pnext">Here, lighted by the dismal glimmer of a few
ship's lanterns, a ghastly sight met my eyes,
while a hot, fetid stench filled the gloomy region
like a cloud. Stretched upon rough wooden
trestles, or huddled in rows upon the bare
deck, were dozens of human beings, some
moaning, others shrieking and cursing in their agony.</p>
<p class="pnext">Our surgeon was about to operate upon a
little powder-monkey, a lad of about fifteen
years of age, who had received a ball in
the shoulder. Lying by the lad's side was
his father, whose leg had just been removed,
the pitch with which the stump had been
smeared still smoking. In spite of the pain
caused by the rough-and-ready surgery, the
father grasped his son's hand, encouraging and
comforting the boy, as the surgeon probed for
the bullet.</p>
<p class="pnext">At length I found Captain Poynings. He,
refusing the comfort of his own cabin, preferred
to share with his gallant crew the horrors of the
cockpit, and lay, with his head and shoulders
swathed in bandages, on a rough mattress, as
if he had been an ordinary mariner.</p>
<p class="pnext">Added to the dismal noises came the dull
thud of the carpenters' hammers and mallets
as they drove plugs into the shot holes betwixt
wind and water, while the creaking of the
ship's pumps betokened that she was leaking freely.</p>
<p class="pnext">On going on deck I found that, as the next
officer fit for duty after Drake, I was put in
charge of the starboard watch, and had to take
my share in the responsibility of navigating
the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> to the nearest port.</p>
<p class="pnext">This happened to be Gibraltar, which we
reached after thirty-six hours of anxiety and
arduous labour, and when the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> dropped
anchor off the mole our feelings were those of
relief and thanksgiving.</p>
<p class="pnext">I accompanied Drake on shore to pay a visit
to the Spanish authorities, asking them to afford
us assistance in refitting. This request was
readily and courteously granted, and during our
stay, extending over three weeks, we had
frequent opportunities of visiting the famous
rock.</p>
<p class="pnext">My companion often called my attention to
the fact that military discipline seemed very lax
at this great fortress; so when, forty-one years
later, it was captured by a <em class="italics">coup de main</em> by
Admirals Rooke and Shovel, the news of its
falling an easy prey to us did not come as a
great surprise.</p>
<p class="pnext">At length the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was again fit for sea;
our captain was well enough to take command,
and on the tenth day of September, 1663, we
sailed for the shores of Old England.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xi-of-the-manner-of-my-homecoming">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id12">CHAPTER XI--Of the Manner of my Homecoming</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">Bad weather dogged us during our homeward
voyage. Crossing the Bay of Biscay we were
battened down for three days, and, save on one
occasion, I did not go on deck the whole time
the storm raged.</p>
<p class="pnext">That occasion called for every available hand,
for the securing bolts of two of our deck guns
had broken adrift, and the huge ungainly
weapons charged to and fro across the ship,
carrying destruction in their passage. After
strenuous efforts the guns were secured, but
at a cost of four men washed overboard and
five injured, either by the heavy seas that came
tumbling inboard, or else by the wild career
of the derelict weapons. After the gale came
a fog, so thick and continuous that for two days
we could scarce see the end of our jibboom.</p>
<p class="pnext">Captain Poynings, after deliberating with the
master, came to the conclusion that land was
not far off, but the weather did not allow of the
use of either sextant or quadrant. The lead,
then, was our only guide; so a man was
stationed in the chains, and minute-guns were
fired in the hope that we might hear an
answering and reassuring sound.</p>
<p class="pnext">With the first cast a depth of thirty fathoms
was obtained, and shortly afterwards the fog
cleared, disclosing a bold headland on our
larboard bow.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Land! land!" was the cry, and amongst the
men for'ard there was almost a wrangle, some
affirming that the headland was the Start, others
the Lizard or "The Bill", while a few sanguine
men expressed their belief that it was the coast
of the Wight.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Keep the lead going," shouted the master,
as the fog again swept down upon us like a
pall, shutting us out of the sight of the land
we so eagerly desired.</p>
<p class="pnext">With great regularity the lead gave a
gradual shoaling till twenty-four fathoms were
announced.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly we were startled by the lookout
shouting: "Breakers ahead!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"'Bout ship!" ordered the master, and with
a creaking of blocks and a slatting of sails the
<em class="italics">Gannet</em> stood off on the other tack.</p>
<p class="pnext">We could hear the dull roar of rushing
water, but how far the sound came we could
not determine..</p>
<p class="pnext">"Keep her as she is, bos'n's mate,"
commanded the master. "Faith, as if I did not
know; this is none other than the Race of
Portland!"</p>
<p class="pnext">As night came on, the wind, hitherto steady,
increased into a gale, and before midnight it
blew a hurricane such as had not been known
for years; and to sheer off a dangerous coast
we had to keep under storm canvas, though had
we had searoom the master would have had
the ship to lay to.</p>
<p class="pnext">An hour after midnight our mainsail, though
treble-reefed, parted with a report that was heard
above the storm, the torn canvas streaming out
to lee'ard like so many whips; and
simultaneously our bowsprit carried away close to
the gammonings, with the result that the ship
yawed, then shot up into the wind.</p>
<p class="pnext">With a shuddering crash the foremast went
by the board, and we were helpless in the midst
of the raging sea.</p>
<p class="pnext">I kept close to Captain Poynings, who gave
no sign of the presentiment that the <em class="italics">Gannet's</em>
last hour had come.</p>
<p class="pnext">Rapidly we drifted shorewards, where, in the
inky blackness, a line of phosphorescent light
denoted the breaking of the boiling water upon
an ironbound coast.</p>
<p class="pnext">The master came aft and shouted in the
captain's ear. What he said I could not tell, the
noise of the elements deadening all other sound,
but to his question the captain merely shook his
head. Again the master appealed, pointing to
the now rapidly nearing cliffs. A deprecatory
shrug was the reply, and Captain Poynings,
turning on his heel, walked to the shelter of
the poop.</p>
<p class="pnext">The master made his way for'ard, and,
turning out some of the seamen, bade them let go
the anchor. With a rush and a roar the stout
hempen cable ran through the hawsepipe, the
vessel snubbed, swung round, and the next
moment the cable parted as if made of pack thread.</p>
<p class="pnext">Anticipating the worst, we all gripped the
first object that came to our hands and awaited
the shock.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was not long in coming. There was a
crash that shook the ship from stem to stern;
her keel had struck a rock. Again she swung
till her bows pointed inshore. Then came
another crash, the main and mizzen masts went
over the side, and after one or two violent
motions the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> remained hard and fast, the
heavy seas pouring right over her.</p>
<p class="pnext">By this time the day had dawned, and we
could see that the ship's bows were close
inshore, so that had our bowsprit and jibboom
remained they would have been touching the
rocks, up which the broken water dashed in a
terrific manner that made any attempt to swim
ashore a matter of utter impossibility.</p>
<p class="pnext">The after part of the ship was now breaking
up fast. Our gallant captain still remained on
the quarterdeck, having buckled on his sword
as if going into action. Grasping his
speaking-trumpet he shouted his last order: "Look
to yourselves, men, and God have mercy on
us all!" Then came a huge, tumbling,
white-crested wave that swept the doomed vessel from
the stern as far for'ard as the foremast.</p>
<p class="pnext">When it had passed, not a sign was to be seen
of the brave and ill-fated captain, who, with a
score of his men, had been swept against the
pitiless rocks.</p>
<p class="pnext">Clustered in blank despair on the fo'c'sle were
all that remained of the once smart crew of the
<em class="italics">Gannet</em>. I remember seeing the lieutenant, the
bos'n, Greville Drake, and about a score of the
men, but, huddled on the lee side of the
bulwarks, I remained, chilled to the bone and
drenched by the drifting spray, hardly conscious
of my peril or the presence of my shipmates in
distress.</p>
<p class="pnext">Above the slight motion caused by the heavy
seas striking the hull there came a greater shock
--the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> had parted amidships.</p>
<p class="pnext">The bos'n's voice was heard faintly above
the roar of the elements, and looking up I saw
that, by the breaking of the ship, the forepart
of the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> was raised in consequence of
the 'midship portion subsiding, and that her
bows were nearly level with a flat, rocky ledge
but twenty feet away.</p>
<p class="pnext">At the same time several men appeared on
shore, looking at us intently, yet making no
offer of assistance. We waved, making signs to
them to throw a rope, but, to our astonishment,
our appeals were met with a callous indifference.
"You miserable wretches!" yelled the bos'n,
shaking his fist in the direction of the
inhospitable men. "Would I could get at you, ye
cowardly landlubbers!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Then a seaman close to me cried out: "Never
a helping hand will we get from they, bos'n.
I know where we be, for yon's the Tilly Whim
Caves, and nought but smugglers and wreckers
bide hereabouts."</p>
<p class="pnext">Smugglers and wreckers! Instantly my mind
harked back to the scene in the court at Winton,
when Master Joseph Hawkes gave testimony
against the two rascally Dorset smugglers.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Now, men, bestir yourselves," said the
bos'n, turning towards us. "Bear a hand with
that spar, and with the help of Providence we'll
save our skins yet."</p>
<p class="pnext">The prospect of safety lashed the worn-out
crew to action. By their combined efforts a
fore-t'gallant spar was dragged to the spot where
the broken bowsprit formed a secure support.
With a hoarse "Yo ho!" the spar was thrust
forward, and just as its weight was on the point
of overbalancing the weight of the seamen on
the inboard part, the extremity touched the edge
of the rocks. With another effort it was thrust
securely on to the ledge, and the bos'n, with
a line round his waist, crawled carefully ashore.</p>
<p class="pnext">The rope served as a guideline to the rest,
and without further mishap the twenty-two
survivors of the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> made the perilous passage,
though after three years' knocking about on the
high seas it was a sorry homecoming.</p>
<p class="pnext">The inhuman spectators of our plight had
vanished, and not a single being was to be seen.
In our wretched and half-starved condition we
were nearly exhausted; in fact, many of the
seamen dropped on the ground from sheer want
of strength.</p>
<p class="pnext">The bos'n, who was the life and soul of the
survivors, then picked out the more active men
to explore the locality. The old seaman who
had recognized the coast said that two villages
were within easy distance--Worth Matravers
and Swanage--though a lofty barren line of
rugged hills separated us from both of them.</p>
<p class="pnext">By this time I had recovered sufficiently to
look around. We were on a flat ledge some
fifty yards in length and about ten broad, thirty
feet from the water, and close on a hundred from
the top of the cliffs that towered above us.
Running back into the cliff were two or three small
caves, but there was nothing in them save a
few broken barrels and a coil of rope. The ledge
itself, though level, was encumbered by
numerous massive boulders that had at one time fallen
from the beetling cliffs, while to the left ran a
path which undoubtedly led to the top of the
dizzy heights above us.</p>
<p class="pnext">All the while the spray dashed over us, while
swiftly the irresistible breakers were grinding
to pieces the wreck of the ill-fated <em class="italics">Gannet</em>.</p>
<p class="pnext">But there was no time for mournful reveries
on the untimely end of our noble craft and her
gallant captain, for already the exploring party
had returned with the news that the cliff path
had been found, and that a village was not far
distant.</p>
<p class="pnext">The sorry remnant moved forward, those
whose strength failed them supported by the
arms of their stronger companions.</p>
<p class="pnext">The path was steep and rugged. After
having been so long on board, and being weak in
body through the hardships I had undergone,
I felt weary and ill before half the ascent was
completed; so, while my shipmates proceeded,
I was obliged to sit down to recover my breath.</p>
<p class="pnext">In a few moments I felt better; then, starting
to my feet, I hurried after them, half running,
half walking up the path.</p>
<p class="pnext">I had not gone farther than twenty paces when
my ankles turned under me, and I fell sideways,
crashing into a thick bush.</p>
<p class="pnext">Vainly endeavouring to save myself, I clutched
at the bush, but the ground all around seemed
to be flying upwards. The daylight gave way
to pitch darkness, and I was falling, falling,...</p>
<p class="pnext">Then I dimly remember striking on some
hard substance, and with that I lost consciousness.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xii-the-smugglers-cave">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id13">CHAPTER XII--The Smugglers' Cave</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">How long I remained insensible I cannot say,
but with the return of my senses I found myself
lying on some warm, soft substance, though what
the object was the gloom did not permit me to
ascertain.</p>
<p class="pnext">The darkness was intense, and for some time
I imagined it to be night, till the remembrance
of my fall gradually dawned upon me. Once I
thought I was dead, and pinched my limbs to
make sure that I was not. My head throbbed
terribly, while my wet clothes struck a chill that
was still more striking by reason of the coldness
of the hole or cave into which I had fallen.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then I moved my hands around to try and
discover my surroundings. The object on which
I was lying was an animal, which, though
motionless, was either stunned or recently dead,
for its body was still warm.</p>
<p class="pnext">As far as my arms could reach I could touch
nothing else save the floor, which appeared to
be of smooth rock. Then I looked upwards,
where, far above, a dim light flickered through
a hole which was wellnigh covered with brushwood.
The light was not sufficient to illuminate
the bottom of the pit, the hole being, I imagined,
some thirty feet in depth.</p>
<p class="pnext">Here I was, then, in a kind of natural bottle
dungeon or "oubliette", such as I have often
seen since, both on the Spanish Main and in
our own country. In fact, it can be well likened
to the dungeons of the castle at Newark (which
was dismantled by the rebels), where a dismal
hole some twenty feet below ground is only
accessible by a rope ladder dropped through a
narrow opening above.</p>
<p class="pnext">How, then, could I escape? Climbing was
an impossibility, so I staggered to my feet and
began a round of exploration, carefully shuffling
one foot in front of the other for fear of some
hidden pitfall, making towards the sound of
water trickling from the roof, a sound that
seemed a long way off.</p>
<p class="pnext">Presently my outstretched hand touched a
wall of rock. Turning to the left, I followed
the direction of the wall, which, for a cave,
was very regular. At length my left hand
touched a rock; either I had reached a corner
of the cave, or this was a pillar of detached
stone.</p>
<p class="pnext">Carefully feeling with both hands, I discovered
that I was standing in an angle, and right in the
corner my hand came in contact with an object
that, on inspection, proved to be a gun; also, by
the smoothness of the barrel I knew that it had
recently been in use, there being no rust on the
ironwork.</p>
<p class="pnext">This discovery cheered me, as the cave would
before long be visited by the owner of the piece.
Taking the musket in my hand I felt the pan,
removed the powder from it, then cocked the
hammer. On pulling the trigger the flash of
the flint gave a tolerable illumination. This
action I repeated several times, till I could
form some idea of the cave.</p>
<p class="pnext">In the part opposite where I was standing
I saw more weapons, several large casks, and
bundles of what looked like woollen and silk goods.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then the truth flashed across my mind: I
was in one of the storehouses of the Tilly
Whim smugglers!</p>
<p class="pnext">Replacing the musket where I found it, I
made my way cautiously towards the barrels.
Here I felt about carefully, till my hand alighted
on an opened box of coarse biscuits, which
served as a meal, as I was wellnigh spent with
hunger. Then, after a drink from the water
that trickled through the roof of the cave, I
resumed my tour of inspection.</p>
<p class="pnext">Groping on, my knees came in contact with
a large wooden box. Its contents were
apparently hay and straw, but curiosity prompted
me to plunge my hand through the upper
surface, and it was no surprise to me to find that
underneath was a thick layer of silk. The box
or crate was some six or seven feet in length and
three in breadth, the depth being about the same
as the breadth; so its contents must have been
worth several hundreds of pounds.</p>
<p class="pnext">While engaged in my investigations I heard
the sound of footsteps and voices. The
smugglers were coming to their storehouse!</p>
<p class="pnext">There was not a moment to be lost, and
rapidly making up my mind, I burrowed
underneath the hay and straw, and concealed myself
on the layers of silk.</p>
<p class="pnext">The sound of shuffling feet drew nearer, there
was a noise like the throwing back of a
curtain, and the cave was flooded with a subdued
daylight.</p>
<p class="pnext">The men feared no interruption, for they were
singing a lusty song in broad Dorset dialect, the
chorus of which ran:</p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line">"He used to laugh a horrible laugh,</div>
<div class="line">His fav'rite cry was 'Priddys',</div>
<div class="line">His life he held in his own right arm,</div>
<div class="line">His soul was Cap'n Kiddie's!"</div>
</div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst">Often in my younger days had old Henry
Martin and Master Collings told me tales of a
buccaneering Captain Kidd and his bloodthirsty
henchman, a renegade Scotsman called Angus
Priddys, whose career was ended at Execution
Dock; so I formed a conclusion that these
smugglers were men whose illicit dealings
were not the worst of their accomplishments.</p>
<p class="pnext">Through a knot hole in the side of the box
I could see the whole of the rascally crew.</p>
<p class="pnext">There were about thirty, all well armed and
dressed in usual mariner's style, save that two
or three wore smocks. Several carried beakers
on their shoulders, while two bore between them
a small but heavy chest. They had evidently
had a successful haul, for all were in high spirits,
and the chorus of their gruesome song echoed
along the walls of the cavern. The refrain was
interrupted by one of the men exclaiming that
their stores had been disturbed, and a search
commenced which might have ended with my
discovery but for the fact that in the far end
of the cave, immediately underneath the funnel
through which I had fallen, lay the dead body
of a fox, whose body had broken my headlong
descent. Deeming this a satisfactory explanation
for this interruption, the rogues resumed
their carousing.</p>
<p class="pnext">I could now see how near I had been to
regaining my freedom, for just beyond the place
where my tour of exploration had abruptly
terminated was the entrance to the cave, skilfully
hidden by a heavy screen of painted canvas
that, even at a short distance, would deceive
all who were not acquainted with the secret.</p>
<p class="pnext">For nearly an hour the smugglers devoted
themselves to a reckless carouse, till at length
their leader called for silence. With a discipline
that is rare amongst such people, the gang sat
down on barrels and rough stools and awaited
their captain's orders.</p>
<p class="pnext">In the broad Dorset dialect their leader
recounted the various successful runs they had
made, as if vainglorious of their deeds, and
finished by demanding: "Be there any of ye
as be not content with his share?"</p>
<p class="pnext">Their answer, with one voice, was "No".
"Then," resumed the speaker, "if so be as
that ye are all content, how comes it that one
of ye must needs taake bloodmoney from the
gaugers? And how comes it that dree[1] of our'n
have been stuck wi' a Bridport dagger?"[2]</p>
<!-- vspace: 2 -->
<p class="left pnext small">[1] Dree=three, still used in Wilts and Dorset.</p>
<p class="pnext">[2] "Stuck wi' a Bridport dagger".--A local witticism meaning to be
hanged, Bridport being noted for the manufacture of hempen rope.</p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
</div>
<p class="pfirst">The smugglers looked at one another in amazement.
Clearly there was a Judas amongst them.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Stand out, Ned Crocker!"</p>
<p class="pnext">There was a scuffling in the farther corner of
the cavern, and presently a man was roughly
hauled out into the centre of the assembly. I
could see him distinctly; he was a little,
under-sized apology for a man, with sharp, pointed
features, a nose resembling a bird's beak, a
loose, weak-natured mouth, and small, shifty
eyes. His complexion was dark, almost of a
dirty yellow, while his face was covered with
blotches and pimples.</p>
<p class="pnext">In his terror his skin turned almost a greyish
white, while his thin legs, which struck me as
being too weak for even his undersized body,
were bent and shaking like a reed in a March gale.</p>
<p class="pnext">Several of the rogues hurled imprecations at
him, but their leader silenced them by raising
his hand.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I bain't a done nothin'!" cried the miserable
wretch.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I don't know as 'ow ye've been taxed wi'
aught," ejaculated the captain, "but I'll do
it now. Look you, Ned Crocker, have ye at
any time been unfairly done by? No? Then
why did ye blab on the run we made nigh
Dancing Ledge, when Thompson, John Light,
and Long Will of Corfe were taken?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"'Tweren't me, maaster!" answered the rogue
sturdily and doggedly, though his bearing did
not fit with his manner of speech.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Not ye? Ah, now harken! Know'st Jim
Harker, the court-leet man and king's officer
at Wareham?"</p>
<p class="pnext">A shake of the head was the only reply,
though the accused man shook more violently
than before.</p>
<p class="pnext">"No? Then methinks ye'll know him no
more on this earth, for he's dead!"</p>
<p class="pnext">The speaker paused to mark the effect of his
words, then he continued:</p>
<p class="pnext">"An', what's more, we killed him close to
Arishmell Gap. 'Twas his own doin'. But on
him we found this. Now, being no scholard, I
ax Master Fallowfield to read what's on this
paaper."</p>
<p class="pnext">Master Fallowfield, who, as I afterwards
learned from the conversation, was the parish
clerk of Worth Matravers church on Sabbaths
and holydays, and an arrant smuggler at other
times, took the paper and read in a sonorous
voice a message from a neighbouring justice
to the ill-fated James Harker, telling him that
the reward due to the informer Crocker would
be paid at any time after Martinmas.</p>
<p class="pnext">A deathly silence, broken only by the short
gasps of the doomed wretch, followed this
announcement.</p>
<p class="pnext">"And the sentence is----?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Death! Death!" shouted the smugglers with
no uncertain voice. Crocker made a desperate
effort, shook off the men who advanced to hold
him, and, flinging himself down before the
captain, clasped his knees and begged for mercy.
In a second, however, his executioners sprang
upon him and bound him hand and foot, and
a scarf was fastened over his eyes. One of the
men drew a pistol. I watched the scene, for the
moment unmindful of my dangerous position,
but drawn by an indescribable feeling to watch
the last moments of a doubly-dyed rogue.</p>
<p class="pnext">Slowly the pistol was raised till its muzzle was
level with the doomed man's temple. I could
even see the smuggler's finger resting lightly on
the trigger, while his eyes were turned towards
the leader as if awaiting the signal to fire. The
remainder of the rascals looked on impassively,
as if thoroughly used to this kind of rough-and-ready
justice.</p>
<p class="pnext">But the fatal signal never came. The captain
signed for the pistol to be lowered, the bandage
was removed, and the culprit, already half-dead
with fear, was told that he was pardoned
conditionally.</p>
<p class="pnext">Without waiting to hear the conditions,
Crocker lurched forward and fell heavily to the
ground in a dead faint.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Hark ye, George Davies! When yon lubber
comes to himself, tell him to make hotfoot for
Lyme, and put hundreds of leagues of sea
betwixt him and us. If he says nay, keep him
safely till we return."</p>
<p class="pnext">Once more the drunken revels were resumed,
and again the rollicking chorus, for the men
would sing naught else, echoed through the cave:</p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line">"He used to laugh a horrible laugh,</div>
<div class="line">His fav'rite cry was 'Priddys'!"</div>
</div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst">Gradually the dim light of the cave
diminished, and I knew that night was falling.
Torches and lanterns were lighted, and still the
smugglers kept high carnival.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly, above the noise of the revellers,
came a shrill whistle, and as if by magic the
din of merrymaking gave place to an almost
oppressive silence.</p>
<p class="pnext">Again the whistle was repeated--like the cry
of some bird of night--and one of the smugglers
replied with a sound like the hooting of an owl.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then came the noise of brushwood being
removed, and a block and tackle were lowered
through the chimneylike aperture.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Now, my lads, look alive; casks first."</p>
<p class="pnext">The smugglers worked with a will. The casks
were rolled under the tackle, and whipped up
to the open air. Six in all were sent up, and
then the men began to handle the bales. At
length two of the rogues laid hands on the
box of silks wherein I lay concealed. I had a
difficulty in restraining myself from springing
up; but with a great effort I remained perfectly
quiet, though expecting every moment to find
a knife passed through my body, or a dozen
rough hands seize me in their merciless grip.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Be this one to go?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Bide a bit. I'll ax."</p>
<p class="pnext">The footsteps died away and came again.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Yes, Charlie, up with it!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"What a weight!" muttered one man with an
oath. "Here, Dick, come here a moment and
bear a hand. Who'd a thought as that silk be
so weighty?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Is the straw agoin' too?"</p>
<p class="pnext">My heart was literally in my mouth.</p>
<p class="pnext">"No; but stop! P'raps it'll save questions
being axed, and straw's cheap enow."</p>
<p class="pnext">I felt myself being lifted with my luxurious
bed and carried across the floor of the cave.
Then slings were fastened round the crate, the
tackle creaked, and I was on my way to the
open air, the box rubbing and grinding against
the sides of the shaft in its ascent.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xiii-the-escape">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id14">CHAPTER XIII--The Escape</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">Strong hands seized the box and lifted it on to
a cart, the rough springs of which shook
alarmingly as they felt the weighty load.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then came a hurried discussion as to the
destination of the booty, some, including the
parish clerk, Fallowfield, who had gained the
upper regions by means of the tackle, urging
that it had best be taken and placed in the
tower of Worth Church, the others insisting that
it would be best to make one journey do, and
convey it as close to Wareham as possible,
where their accomplices could make arrangements
for its distribution.</p>
<p class="pnext">The latter argument prevailed; a heavy
tarpaulin was thrown over the cart, a whip cracked,
and we were off. I could hear the sound of the
brushwood being replaced and the rough
farewell greetings of the smugglers, and, by the
jolting of the cart and the muffled noise of the
wheels, I knew that the route lay across a grassy
down.</p>
<p class="pnext">Presently I became emboldened sufficiently to
clear away the material that prevented an
outlook through the hole in the woodwork of the
box. But my task was unavailing, for it was
night, and the darkness so intense that nothing
could be distinguished.</p>
<p class="pnext">For quite half an hour the cart jolted over the
sward, then the wheels struck the hard surface of
a road, and the pace became quicker but more even.</p>
<p class="pnext">There were but two men with the cart, and
their conversation was carried on in a series of
short sentences spoken in the broadest Dorset dialect.</p>
<p class="pnext">Presently a low oath came from one of the men,
and the cart was dragged off the roadway and
hidden in a hollow, or such I thought it to be.</p>
<p class="pnext">Wondering at the cause of this, I heard the
sound of horse's hoofs coming nearer and
nearer; then, with a deafening clatter on the
stony road, the animal passed by, and the
sounds died away in the distance.</p>
<p class="pnext">"It be 'e, sure enow," muttered one of the men.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Yes, it be. Howsoever 'e bain't seen we, so
let's get the cart back to t' roaad."</p>
<p class="pnext">Who the mysterious "'e" might be I could
not discover; one of the king's officers,
perchance, though in this lawless district they rarely
ride alone.</p>
<p class="pnext">The task of getting the cart back to the
roadway was longer than the men had reckoned
upon, and when at length they succeeded, one
remarked in a breathless voice that dawn was
breaking.</p>
<p class="pnext">Soon the light was sufficient for me to see out
of my spyhole. We were descending a steep
hill, and on one side towered a lofty down,
round which the white mists of morning still
hung like fleecy clouds.</p>
<p class="pnext">"'Tis no use to go to Wareham," remarked
one of the men. "We'd be stopped, sure as faate."</p>
<p class="pnext">"That's so," replied the other. "There's but
one thing to do."</p>
<p class="pnext">"What's that?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Leave the stuff at Carfe and take caart home."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Where?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Where! Why, in the castle, ye dolt!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Soon the cart was being driven through a
village street. I could see the houses distinctly.
They were all built of stone, and most of them
were roofed with stone as well. This, then, was
Corfe, or Carfe, as the inhabitants call it.</p>
<p class="pnext">Here a thought occurred to me to spring from
my hiding place and make a dash for freedom,
but the weight of the tarpaulin, which was
securely lashed down, prevented me; so I was
perforce obliged to remain, though firmly
resolved to free myself at the first favourable
opportunity.</p>
<p class="pnext">The cart proceeded on its way, and passed
through a wide marketplace in the centre of
which stood a cross. Then it rumbled over a
stone bridge and entered the courtyard of the castle.</p>
<p class="pnext">Corfe Castle was well known by reason of its
stubborn defence against the malignants during
the Great Rebellion, Lady Banks having all but
successfully withstood a lengthy siege when rank
treachery did its fell work.</p>
<p class="pnext">On the fall of the fortress it was "slighted"
by order of Old Noll himself, and the keep and
walls were blown up with powder. So strong
was the construction of the masonry that the
work of destruction was only partially done,
though the keep was riven from base to summit,
and several of the smaller towers were thrown
bodily out of plumb.</p>
<p class="pnext">This much I had heard from report, and now,
in spite of my cramped position, and faintness
from want of food, I could not help looking
with interest on the shattered walls, which still
showed the black marks of the powder, though
now, after a lapse of twenty years, their barrenness
was beginning to be hidden by a kindly garb of ivy.</p>
<p class="pnext">The fear of sorcery and witchcraft was firmly
fixed in the minds of the Dorset peasantry, and
in consequence few would venture amid the
grim ruins by day, still less by night, so the
smugglers' hiding place was practically free
from interruption.</p>
<p class="pnext">The cart came to a sudden stop in an
archway under the keep, and, with a hurried
warning: "Look alive; the sun's nearly up", the
men proceeded to unfasten the tarpaulin. This
was done, the canvas fell in a heap on the ground,
and the men began to unload the straw.</p>
<p class="pnext">The time for action had arrived. With a
bound I sprang from the cart, nearly
overthrowing the astonished men, who yelled with
terror, as if his Satanic Majesty had suddenly
appeared.</p>
<p class="pnext">I did not stop to think in which direction I
should run, but started off towards a gap in the
walls. Passing through this, I found myself
on a steep bank, at the bottom of which a white
chalky road led towards a town some miles away,
the towers of whose churches were plainly visible
in the morning light, while away to the right was
a large expanse of water which I guessed
correctly was the harbour of Poole.</p>
<p class="pnext">Descending the steep, grassy mound at a
breakneck pace, I gained the road and headed
northwards, keeping the sun on my right hand. After
running a quarter of a mile or so, and finding
no signs of pursuit, I slackened my pace and
walked, the effect of my prolonged fast being
very evident.</p>
<p class="pnext">An hour later I was crossing a long causeway
close to the town. Here I met a cowherd, who
looked at me in astonishment, my clothes being
in rags and covered with wisps of straw, while
my face, blackened with dirt, was surmounted
by a crop of ruffled hair that did duty for a hat.</p>
<p class="pnext">In answer to my question he told me that I
was in Wareham, and a few minutes afterwards
I was sitting in a bakery, eagerly devouring a
half-loaf and a cup of milk that a kindly baker
provided for me.</p>
<p class="pnext">Seeing that I was utterly exhausted, he allowed
me to lie down in front of his oven, and, in spite
of the hardness of my couch, I slept soundly till
midday, when I was aroused by Greville Drake
and some of the late crew of the <em class="italics">Gannet</em>, who
were being entertained in the town till they
could be conveyed to their homes.</p>
<p class="pnext">I was, however, too ill to be moved; so the
kindly baker, hearing my story, and being
informed of my rank, had me put to bed in his
own house, where later in the day a magistrate
attended to take down my depositions as to the
gang of smugglers.</p>
<p class="pnext">That night I got worse, and for three weeks
I lay betwixt life and death with an ague brought
about by the cold and exposure.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then one morning I awoke to find my Uncle
George sitting by my bedside. The kindly little
man had heard of my being ill at Wareham,
and had immediately travelled posthaste to my side.</p>
<p class="pnext">From that day my recovery became rapid,
and in less than a fortnight I could sit up.</p>
<p class="pnext">One afternoon, as the late autumnal sun was
sinking in the west, I heard the tramping of feet
and the clanking of fetters. My uncle helped
me to the window, and on looking out I saw
the whole gang of smugglers, save two who
had preferred death to capture, being led through
the town on the way to Dorchester Jail.</p>
<p class="pnext">Fortunately I was spared the ordeal of attending
the trial, but I heard that the gallows or
transportation to the West Indies accounted for
the whole of the rascally crew, against whom
the barbaric crime of wrecking, as well as
smuggling, was proved right up to the hilt.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was late in December, in clear, frosty
weather, that we started on our homeward
journey, proceeding by easy stages through
Wimborne, Ringwood, and the New Forest to
Southampton, and on the last day of December
of the year 1663 I arrived at Portsmouth again,
after an absence of over three years.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xiv-i-set-out-to-fight-the-dutch">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id15">CHAPTER XIV--I Set Out to Fight the Dutch</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">I must now pass over a space of a year, there
being but little of interest to record. All this
time it must not be imagined that I had given
up the quest for my father's murderer; indeed,
as I grew older, my thoughts of bringing the
villain to justice waxed hotter instead of waning.
My uncle, Sir George Lee, and Lawyer Whitehead
had each prosecuted vigorous enquiries,
but all attempts to run the felon to earth had
proved fruitless.</p>
<p class="pnext">The loss of the mysterious metal box also
caused me considerable misgivings, and the
vague hints thrown out by my uncle at sundry
times did much to increase my uneasiness on
that score.</p>
<p class="pnext">Meanwhile it seemed as if the earth had opened
and swallowed both Increase Joyce and the box
(for in my mind the two were inseparably
associated), though I had a presentiment that I
should obtain satisfaction in the end.</p>
<p class="pnext">But to resume my story. Twelve months
sped swiftly by ere my physical condition
became as good as before my malady, and with
the lengthening days of January I entertained
great hopes of going again to sea.</p>
<p class="pnext">Rumours of a rupture with the States of
Holland were in the air, and, taking the
aggressive action of the Dutchmen in mercantile
matters into consideration, the prospect of a
war was hailed with delight.</p>
<p class="pnext">One day early in February I went to call on
my benefactor, Sir Thomas Middleton, in the
hope that he would get me appointed to a ship.</p>
<p class="pnext">He received me kindly, but held out little
hope of my desire being fulfilled.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Would that I could, Aubrey," he remarked
sorrowfully. "My whole time is spent in
writing to Master Samuel Pepys praying for money
to pay the arrears of both seamen and workmen.
God knows, the poor wretches are hard put; but
the money that should go for the defence of
the realm finds its way into the hands of His
Majesty's favourites. There is a new ship to
be launched this month, but there is not a man
belonging to her except the officers, whose
work is to look about them. Never did we
require cordage and hemp more than we do now.
Fifteen ships now in port are making demands
for rope, and what we have in store signifies
nothing. The blockmakers and joiners have
gone away, refusing to work any longer without
money; the sawyers threaten to do the same.
I am even now going the rounds of the yard,
so if you will bear me company you can see for
yourself to what straits we are put."</p>
<p class="pnext">So saying, the commissioner led the way to
the dockyard, past the ropehouse to the
building slips, where a tall vessel lay ready for
launching, yet hardly a workman was to be
seen. Instead, a mob of women and children
followed Sir Thomas at a distance, reviling and
cursing the king, the commissioner, and the
navy in general by reason of the non-payment
of their husbands' and fathers' wages.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Faith, 'tis hard on them," remarked Sir
Thomas; "but for foulness of tongue they
out-vie the daughters of Billingsgate. Now, we'll
make for yonder workshop, for there will be
found the only reliable men working in the
dockyard."</p>
<p class="pnext">But alas for the commissioner's hopes! On
entering the shop he found that, instead of being
diligently employed, the men were listening to
a heated discourse from a malcontent from
another part of the dockyard. This last straw
raised Sir Thomas's ire. Seizing a stout cudgel
from one of the men, he struck out right and
left at the astonished party till bruised and cut
pates became the order of the day. Then,
having thoroughly cowed the malcontents by taking
more pains in the use of the stick than in any
business for the last twelve months (as he
afterwards expressed it), he sent for the guard and
clapped three of the ringleaders in the stocks.</p>
<p class="pnext">"You see, Aubrey," he exclaimed on our
return to his house, "how I am put upon.
Though I would gladly serve His Majesty in
great and small matters, yet how can I when
the lack of money hangeth like a millstone
round my neck? As for you, the moment I
can get you a vessel I'll do my utmost, but, as
things are, I can hold out but little hope."</p>
<p class="pnext">I thanked him and withdrew, feeling sick at
heart at the prospect of a life of idleness when
I might be serving the king at sea.</p>
<p class="pnext">Towards the end of February news came that
war had been proclaimed against the Dutch, and
the beating of drums and the firing of cannons
welcomed the announcement. What ships there
were in the harbour weighed and sailed for the
Downs, to join the fleet that lay there under the
command of the Duke of York. Disconsolately
I watched their departure, regretting the fact
that I was unable to take a part in the coming
struggle.</p>
<p class="pnext">As time wore on, news of sanguinary naval
engagements reached us, while occasionally a
Dutch vessel would be brought into the
harbour, her ensign hoisted beneath the cross of
St. George, and her crew battened down in
the hold.</p>
<p class="pnext">The captives were invariably taken to
Porchester Castle, a building of immense strength
that lay on the shores of Portsmouth harbour,
some four miles away by water.</p>
<p class="pnext">Spring came and went, yet to my great
mortification I was not sent to join a ship, though
in the interval I engaged in a private venture--a
few gentlemen of Hampshire having fitted
out a small vessel to prey upon Dutch
merchantmen. But the task was not to my liking;
little renown was to be gained, and after three
weeks I was glad to return home.</p>
<p class="pnext">One evening in June I went down to the
Sally Port, as was my wont, to look towards
Spithead, in the hope of seeing part of our
victorious fleet return. The guard had been
doubled since the declaration of hostilities, and
every vessel and boat that made for the harbour
was vigorously searched.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ah, Master Wentworth," remarked the captain
of the guard, who dwelt not far from us in
St. Thomas's Street, and whose acquaintance
I had made some time back, "our town hath
other enemies to fight besides the Hollanders!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Oh!" I ejaculated, in a manner that implied
that I wanted to be further enlightened.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Yes, 'tis true. The Dutchmen we can fight
man to man in a straightforward manner, but
our latest foe is not to be conquered by strength
of arms--'tis the plague!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"The plague?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Yea. From Southampton comes news that
the plague is in that town, and eight houses are
shut up. Sir Thomas Middleton hath given
orders that the shipwrights who dwell there
are not to be allowed to go home, and those
already living there are not to be readmitted
to the dockyard. Furthermore, the poor there
will not suffer the rich to leave, neither doth
our governor permit ships from Southampton
to land their cargoes here."</p>
<p class="pnext">Here was grave news. I hurried homewards
and communicated the captain's information to
my uncle. He shook his head sorrowfully.</p>
<p class="pnext">"The plague is rampant in London. In
Chichester eleven persons have died. At Newport
there have been two cases, yet in this town we
are free, though in dire straits. Still, Aubrey,
let not a word escape to alarm your aunt. I
must see that we lay in a goodly store of brimstone."</p>
<p class="pnext">Throughout the long sultry summer we were
mercifully preserved from the contagion; then,
as autumn came, and still the plague did not
appear amongst us, people began to think that
with the approach of the cold weather all danger
was past.</p>
<p class="pnext">But this was not the case. Winter drew on,
and with it the cold was intense, a sharp frost
lasting for over six weeks.</p>
<p class="pnext">Towards the end of December the <em class="italics">Essex</em>,
man-of-war, came into port, and hardly had
she moored alongside the jetty when the report
spread about that she was infected with the
dread disease. Immediately there was a panic
amongst the workmen, and, throwing down
their tools, they betook themselves off, vowing
that neither the king nor the king's enemies
would make them resume work till the <em class="italics">Essex</em>
had gone.</p>
<p class="pnext">Finding threats and entreaties useless, the
commissioner ordered the <em class="italics">Essex</em> to moor in
the centre of the harbour. This was done, but
rumour had it that at midnight the bodies of
eight men, victims of the plague, were taken
ashore and buried secretly in the Pest House
fields.</p>
<p class="pnext">Two days afterwards it was known that three
more of her crew had died, and were buried
on the foreshore at Gosport; while, to disinfect
the ship, great quantities of brimstone were
burnt, but to no purpose.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then, strange to relate, the plague broke out
in Gosport town, whither some three hundred
men pass over every day to work in the dockyard,
so it was not surprising to learn that at
length the dreaded scourge had appeared in
our own town.</p>
<p class="pnext">With fierce violence it spread. Many houses
were shut up, their doors marked by a cross
with the words "God have mercy upon us"
written underneath. At first passers-by would
cross in fear and trembling to the other side
of the street whenever this mournful sign met
their eyes, but as the number of cases increased
people became hardened to the danger.</p>
<p class="pnext">Many put the cause of the disease, rightly
enough, to the filthy habits of the poorer people,
and hearing that salt water was a preventive,
scores of the inhabitants repaired daily to the
seashore, plunging into the bitterly cold waves
in the hope of staving off the malady.</p>
<p class="pnext">Day and night large fires were lighted in
the streets, while, to add to the misery, the
silent watches of the night were broken by
the hoarse shout of the watchmen, who, ringing
their bells, cried out in solemn tones: "Bring
out your dead."</p>
<p class="pnext">All the time the war with the Dutch was
waged unceasingly, till it was reported that the
French, apprehensive of our supremacy at sea,
joined forces with the States of Holland and
declared war against us.</p>
<p class="pnext">Early in April, to my great joy, Sir Thomas
Middleton informed me that I was to join the
<em class="italics">Prince Royal</em>, a ship of 100 guns, then lying at
Chatham with the rest of the fleet under the
command of the Duke of Albemarle and Prince Rupert.</p>
<p class="pnext">"As the pestilence rages in London town,"
said he, "it is not meet that a man should
risk an inglorious death when he would serve
His Majesty better by dying for his country
while fighting the Dutch. Therefore, instead
of going by coach to London, and thence to
Chatham by river, we are sending a shallop
to Dover, whence you can travel through the
county of Kent to Chatham. Several officers
and men are making the passage, to bring up
the crew of the <em class="italics">Prince Royal</em> to full strength,
for she has had some hard knocks, and
promotion is sure to be rapid should she again
meet with the Dutch."</p>
<p class="pnext">I thanked the commissioner heartily and
withdrew. Having bade farewell to my friends, and
gathered together my few personal belongings, I
retired for the night, as the shallop was to sail
at six the next morning.</p>
<p class="pnext">On going aboard I found that not less than
four officers and thirty men were packed in
this little craft. To my surprise and delight
Greville Drake was amongst the former, he
having been promoted to lieutenant. There
were also several of the old Gannets, and
to me it seemed as if the glorious doings in
the stout old craft would be worthily followed
by the crew of the <em class="italics">Prince Royal</em>.</p>
<p class="pnext">The shallop was but fifty feet over all,
unarmed save for the muskets and swords carried
by the men, and relied on her speed only for
safety in case of attack.</p>
<p class="pnext">With a fair wind the little craft tore eastwards,
passing through the Looe before nine o'clock.
Then the wind fell lighter as the sun rose higher,
and midday found us forging slowly along off
Littlehampton, on the Sussex coast.</p>
<p class="pnext">Four hours later we had Brighthelmstone on
our larboard bow, the master of the shallop
keeping close inshore for fear of being attacked
by a French or Dutch man-of-war. Finding,
however, that there was more wind offshore, he
altered the helm and stood more to the south-east.</p>
<p class="pnext">At sunset a thick mist came on, which caused
our careful and anxious master to lose his
bearings. Most of us remained on deck, though the
weather was exceedingly cold. As darkness set
in our position became still more uncertain, and
even the oldest seamen began to look alarmed.</p>
<p class="pnext">Drake and I stood side by side conversing in
low tones as we clung to the weather rails, the
lively motion of the little craft making it a
difficult matter to keep one's feet.</p>
<p class="pnext">Between the gusts of wind I thought I heard
a sound. Drake listened, but could hear nothing.
In a few minutes the noise was repeated, several
of the crew hearing it besides myself. It was
the roll of a drum.</p>
<p class="pnext">Again the sound was heard, this time nearer;
but almost immediately it was answered by
another faint beating, another, and yet another,
till the sea seemed to echo with the rapid roll of
drums.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Stand by, lads, to 'bout ship!" shouted the
master, slacking off the tiller lines. "We are
across the bows of a large fleet, if I mistake not."</p>
<p class="pnext">"God forfend 'tis not the French!" remarked
Greville. "'Tis not to my liking to see the
inside of a French prison."</p>
<p class="pnext">We peered through the mist and darkness of
the night, but nothing could be distinguished.
Sea met mist in an undefined blur at less than
twenty yards from us.</p>
<p class="pnext">Half an hour passed in breathless suspense,
then the noise broke out again, this time close
ahead and far away on both quarters as well.</p>
<p class="pnext">"'Tis no use to go about now," said I to my
companion. "We are sailing right across the
van of a great fleet."</p>
<p class="pnext">The master was of the same mind, for in a few
minutes he put the shallop's head more before
the wind, so that she lay in the supposed
direction of the invisible squadron.</p>
<p class="pnext">Now we could hear the rush of the water from
the vessels' cutwaters, the straining of the ropes
and the creaking of the blocks, while the ships
were continually hailing one another so as to
keep in touch.</p>
<p class="pnext">In what language they were talking we could
not make out, but it did not sound like an
English hail. Anxiety was stamped on all our faces,
for we had to run the risk not only of collision
with a vessel ten times our size, but of being
taken by a French or Dutch man-of-war.</p>
<p class="pnext">By this time the moon had risen, dispelling
the darkness, though the fog hung around as
thick as ever; but withal there was enough light
to see the length of our craft.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly, with a swirl of beaten water, a
huge vessel loomed out of the mist, her flying
jibboom seeming to project right over our stern.
Our master and one of the seamen flung
themselves on the tiller and put it hard down. The
shallop ran up into the wind and lost way, and
as she did so the man-of-war thrashed by us so
near that we could see the gunports of her lofty
tumble-home sides, though her spars and sails
were lost in the mist.</p>
<p class="pnext">We were seen by those on board. Shouts
followed the discovery, and every moment we
expected to find some heavy weight crashing
down upon us, or a discharge from some of her
lower-deck guns; but beyond the shouting we
were not molested.</p>
<p class="pnext">We rubbed sides with the hulking ship as
she shot past, and when clear of her quarter we
read the name <em class="italics">Jeanne d' Arc</em> emblazoned on her
stern gallery, with an elaborate embellishment
of gilded eagles and fleurs-de-lis.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Oh for a barrel of powder and a slow match
lashed to her rudder pintle!" exclaimed Drake.
"But stand by, here comes another!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Such was the case, and before the <em class="italics">Jeanne
d' Arc</em> was lost in the mist the bows of another
vessel loomed up. By this time the shallop
was wearing and gathering way, so the master
ordered both sails to be lowered, a manoeuvre
that was smartly executed, and as the second
Frenchman passed us our craft was lying
motionless on the water.</p>
<p class="pnext">This time fortune did not smile on us, for as
the shallop was on the Frenchman's lee a spurt
of flame burst from the man-of-war, immediately
followed by a deafening roar, and with it our
mizzen mast went by the board with a terrific crash.</p>
<p class="pnext">The shot was replied to by the nearest Frenchman,
and for the space of a quarter of an hour
a spirited pitched battle occurred between the
various ships of the squadron, friend firing into
friend in the confusion and excitement.</p>
<p class="pnext">Though several shots pitched close to us, we
escaped without further injury, and ere the
echoes of the last report had died away we
were far behind the now invisible fleet.</p>
<p class="pnext">The anxiety of the master on account of the
fog had vanished utterly on meeting with the
Frenchmen, and with spirited promptness he
set the crew to clear away the wreckage and
parbuckle the broken mast.</p>
<p class="pnext">"My men," he cried, "that fleet is none other
than the forty sail of the Duke of Beaufort, who
seeks to effect a junction with the Dutch! Yo
ho! Straight for the nearest land we'll make
now. Whether we beach the shallop on an
exposed coast or bring her into port I care
not, but land we must, and bear tidings
hot-foot to His Grace the Duke of Albemarle."</p>
<p class="pnext">So saying, he turned the shallop's head due
north, and as daylight dawned the mist
dispersed, and we found ourselves a few miles
from the Kentish coast, with Rye plainly visible.</p>
<p class="pnext">An hour later and the shallop was making
her way cautiously into the sand-encumbered
harbour, and, the moment we landed, the officers,
myself included, obtained horses and set out for
Chatham, leaving the men to follow afoot as
best they might. Meanwhile the news that the
Duke of Beaufort's squadron was really in the
Channel had spread abroad, causing the timid
inhabitants of Rye to make preparations for a
hurried exodus, while the trainbands were called
out by beat of drum, and had assembled in the
marketplace.</p>
<p class="pnext">Our journey to Chatham was performed
without incident, though the heavy rains had made
the roads a perfect quagmire in many places.
Tenterden we reached in an hour, and two hours
later we were clattering through the streets of
Maidstone.</p>
<p class="pnext">At four in the afternoon five weatherworn and
mud-bespattered travellers arrived at Chatham,
where a rowboat took us to Albemarle's flagship,
which lay at anchor in Gillingham Reach.</p>
<p class="pnext">Honest George, as the seamen still loved to
call the gallant duke, was now getting on in
years and weighed down by physical infirmity,
yet in time of danger his energy and fearless
determination would have put to shame many
a younger man. If he had had but a free hand,
I warrant the disgrace of the Dutch in the
Medway would never have occurred; but the
baneful influence of the court beauties drove
His Majesty almost to poverty, so that when
retrenchment had to come it was the fleet that
suffered.</p>
<p class="pnext">The admiral received us kindly, and on receipt
of our news ordered a signal to be flown
recalling all officers and men belonging to the
fleet who were on shore, and ere sunset the
English squadron was making its way towards
the Nore to chase and destroy the Hollanders' ally.</p>
<p class="pnext">On joining the <em class="italics">Prince Royal</em> I was surprised
at her size, equipment, and smartness.
Practically a new ship, she was commanded by the
veteran Sir George Ascue, and her crew were
all men who had seen active service against
the Dutch, the Spaniards, or the Barbary
pirates. Compared with the <em class="italics">Gannet</em> the <em class="italics">Prince
Royal</em> was as a mastiff by the side of a lapdog,
while the smallest of her 100 guns was larger
than the heaviest piece of ordnance in my first ship.</p>
<p class="pnext">With a favourable wind the fleet arrived off
the Forelands and thence beat up for the Downs,
where we were in a position to meet either the
Dutch or the French squadrons; but off Dover
we learned from a fishing boat that Beaufort was
seen heading back towards Brest in order to
refit some of his ships, so that for the time our
chances of smelling powder were very remote.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xv-of-the-famous-sea-fight-of-four-days">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id16">CHAPTER XV--Of the Famous Sea Fight of Four Days</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">During the whole of the month of May the
English fleet remained cruising betwixt
Gravelines and Dover, till Albemarle began to revile
the Dutch for their cowardice in fearing to leave
their harbours, while of de Beaufort we had
neither signs nor tidings.</p>
<p class="pnext">At length, on the last day of May, news was
brought that the French fleet was actually in
the Channel once more, and that de Ruyter
and Van Tromp, with eighty sail, were already
on the way to effect a union with de Beaufort.</p>
<p class="pnext">A hurried council of war was held on board
the flagship, and here Albemarle made the first
great mistake of his life; for it is reported he
held the Dutch so cheaply that he ordered
Prince Rupert to take twenty vessels of our
fleet and make to the westward to find and
engage the French, while he relied on his
remaining fifty-four ships to meet the formidable
array of Dutchmen.</p>
<p class="pnext">This counsel our captain, Sir George Ascue,
ventured to oppose, but honest George in his
wrath bade him hold his tongue, and Prince
Rupert hastened on board his ship to detach
the squadron of twenty ships in order to seek
de Beaufort. Before nightfall we saw them
hull down, and we set sail so as to arrive off
the coast of Holland and destroy de Ruyter's
craven fleet.</p>
<p class="pnext">Craven we dubbed them; but when, on the
morning of the 1st of June, we found the Dutch
fleet lying at anchor, to our surprise they
immediately slipped their cables and stood out
to meet us, with a courage and determination
that made Albemarle bitterly regret his lack
of caution.</p>
<p class="pnext">On board the <em class="italics">Prince Royal</em> all was bustle and
excitement, yet our preparations were made
without untoward confusion. Sir George made a
stirring speech, the drums beat to quarters, and
then came that irksome interval before opening
fire that tells so acutely on the nerves of even
the most hardened veteran.</p>
<p class="pnext">The action began in a strong wind that, blowing
athwart the tide, raised such a steep sea that
most of our ships were unable to open their
lee'ard lower-deck ports, a misfortune that more
than outbalanced our advantage in having the
weather gauge.</p>
<p class="pnext">When within a mile of the enemy a signal
was made to shorten sail, but the hot-headed
vice-admiral, Sir William Berkeley, kept on
till, half a mile ahead of the rest of us, he
encountered the fire of over twenty of the
Dutchmen.</p>
<p class="pnext">We watched the gallant though unequal
conflict. Unflinchingly his ship received the
tremendous broadsides of the enemy, and,
undaunted, Sir William returned the fire, till at
length the combatants were lost in a heavy pall
of smoke. Gradually the noise of the struggle
ceased and the smoke cleared away. Then, to
our dismay, we saw the gallant vessel a helpless,
dismasted wreck in the possession of the Dutch.</p>
<p class="pnext">Now came our turn, and before we were
within a comfortable distance our spars and
rigging began to fall on the deck in a manner
that none of us had previously experienced.
The solution of the mystery was afforded shortly
afterwards by three seamen being cut in two
apparently by one shot, which finished up its
career of death by splintering the base of the
mainmast.</p>
<p class="pnext">The bos'n, who was standing close to me,
hastened to where the missile lay, and lifting it
up he exclaimed: "That's where they have
us! 'Tis a chain shot--a new invention of
that stubborn fiend de Wit!"</p>
<p class="pnext">We were soon hotly engaged. Dead and
wounded encumbered our decks, while the new
and stately appearance of the <em class="italics">Prince Royal</em>
altered till our ship resembled a butcher's
shambles. Nevertheless, against tremendous
odds, we kept up a hot fire, and had the
satisfaction of seeing more than one of the towering
sides of the Dutchmen crumbled into a shapeless
mass of charred and splintered timbers.</p>
<p class="pnext">With the approach of night both fleets withdrew;
but for us there was little rest, as all
hands were employed reeving fresh rigging,
splicing spars, and plugging shot holes, while
our dead were committed to the deep, and the
wounded transhipped to one of the smaller vessels.</p>
<p class="pnext">As the sun rose we descried the enemy lying
a mile from us. Without hesitation both sides
made ready to renew the sanguinary combat.
The wind was now much lighter, and in
consequence our ships triced up our lower-deck
ports and ran out their formidable array of
guns--a sight that gave us additional courage,--and
the result was not lost upon the Dutch.</p>
<p class="pnext">In spite of their number we stuck closely to
them, the flagship of Van Tromp, who fought
in a manner worthy of our former foeman, his
redoubtable sire, being singled out as a prize
worth taking. Three vessels engaged his ship,
and were within an ace of making him haul
down his flag, when de Ruyter threw seven of
his largest vessels between Van Tromp and
our shattered ships. Then through the smoke
we perceived that sixteen ships had reinforced
the already superior number of the Dutchmen,
and, to save ourselves from total destruction,
Albemarle hoisted a signal for the English
to retreat slowly towards the mouth of the Thames.</p>
<p class="pnext">Smarting under the disgrace, we obeyed,
firing as we went. Scarce thirty English ships
remained out of the fifty-four that commenced
the fight. Keeping close together, and yawing
from time to time in order to deliver a broadside
at our pursuers, we held doggedly on our
course, till at length a flat calm set in, and both
fleets lay inactive at a mile apart, in which
situation darkness again overtook us.</p>
<p class="pnext">Through sheer exhaustion our men were
unable to execute even the smallest, necessary
repairs, and throughout the short summer's
night they slept heavily at their posts.</p>
<p class="pnext">As daylight dawned upon the third day of the
fight we continued our retreat, and as a faint
southerly wind sprang up the enemy drew near
with the intention of renewing the fight,
concentrating their efforts on Albemarle's ship,
which, covering the retreat, presented an
undaunted spectacle to our relentless foes.</p>
<p class="pnext">The <em class="italics">Prince Royal</em> was next in line ahead,
and so close were we that one of Albemarle's
officers hailed us to the effect that the admiral
had expressed his intention of firing the
magazines should things come to the worst.</p>
<p class="pnext">Shortly after midday a loud shout rose from
the Dutch ships, and their rigging was alive
with men gazing southward and frantically
waving their arms.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Send a man aloft there," ordered Sir George
Ascue, his face crimson with excitement, "and
see what those beggars are clamouring over."</p>
<p class="pnext">The command was obeyed with alacrity, and
several of our vessels also sent a seaman to the
masthead on a similar errand.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Sail, ho!" sang out the lookout. "There's
a fleet hull down to the south'ard."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Heaven grant 'tis Rupert's squadron!"
ejaculated our captain; "though methinks by
their noise those scurvy Dutchmen are sure
'tis de Beaufort."</p>
<p class="pnext">A few hours would decide whether the
English ships would be hopelessly trapped betwixt
the two fleets, or whether Prince Rupert's
vessels would arrive to turn a retreat into a
decisive victory.</p>
<p class="pnext">The suspense was far more trying than the
heat of the engagement had been, but about
six o'clock Albemarle hoisted a signal that
decided the matter. It was: "Fleet turn four
points to the south'ard to effect junction with
Prince Rupert."</p>
<p class="pnext">Eagerly was the manoeuvre executed, and our
shattered fleet bore up to meet our welcome
reinforcements; but at this juncture an accident
occurred that, as far as we were concerned,
threw us into the direst misfortune.</p>
<p class="pnext">The <em class="italics">Prince Royal</em>, on the new course, was the
leemost vessel, and to bring her more into line
the master sailed her more off the wind than
the rest.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly a heavy thud shook us from stem to
stern, and our damaged mizzen mast went by
the board. Shouts and execrations arose, and
all was confusion; we were hard and fast
aground on the Galloper Sands, while we had
the mortification of seeing the rest of the fleet
stand off and leave us to our fate.</p>
<p class="pnext">With the falling tide the <em class="italics">Prince Royal</em> listed
heavily to starboard, so that her guns were
for the most part unworkable, and her great
sides were exposed an easy target for the enemy.</p>
<p class="pnext">Above the din we heard Sir George's voice
ordering the men to fall into their stations
quietly and orderly. "We're safe enough for
the present, my lads," he exclaimed, "for the
rascally Dutchmen cannot approach us save in
their pinnaces. These we can easily drive off.
At this range, too, their fire will be ineffective.
They themselves will be too busy with our
ships, and with the next tide we'll float easily
enough."</p>
<p class="pnext">His example animated the men, who immediately
began to load their muskets and serve
out boarding pikes and broadswords, while the
master took steps to lay out a couple of anchors
in readiness to warp the ship into deep water
directly the floodtide should release her.</p>
<p class="pnext">Meanwhile our consorts were miles away,
though probably the desired junction had been
made, and we expected to see their topsails fill
as they turned to renew the combat. But our
attention was drawn by the near approach of the
Hollanders. Four large vessels hove to at a
quarter of a mile to windward of us and opened
a furious fire. Their shots punished us terribly,
though, as if hoping to take possession of us,
they spared us betwixt wind and water, and
directed their fire on our upper works and spars.
An hour we lay thus, receiving their combined
storm of shot, yet unable to reply. Splinters
flew, ropes, blocks, and spars came tumbling
down from aloft, men fell dead or wounded, and
shrieks and groans rent the air, while all we
could do was to shake our fists in useless rage
at our unapproachable foes.</p>
<p class="pnext">Presently we saw boatloads of armed men
leaving the Dutch ships, and we realized that an
attempt was to be made to carry us by boarding.
This spurred us to action, and directly the boats
came within musket range a hot fire was opened
on them, though in this act many of our men,
exposing themselves recklessly, were shot down
by the fire from the guns of the ships.</p>
<p class="pnext">Several of the boats were sunk by a well-directed
fire from our swivel guns, but eight
or nine gained the side of the <em class="italics">Prince Royal</em>,
and, passing under the comparative shelter
afforded by our lofty stern, boarded us on the
starboard side, where, owing to the list, our
bulwarks were much lower than on the other side.</p>
<p class="pnext">They clambered up our sides with the greatest
intrepidity, but were met with equal resolution
and courage. More boats were sunk alongside
by dropping heavy shot into them, those of their
crew who wore breastplates perishing miserably
in the sea. Evidently the Dutchmen thought our
losses under fire had been greater than they
actually were; but they soon realized their mistake,
and with thrust of pike, swordthrusts, musket
and pistol shots, they were swept aside as fast
as their heads appeared above the bulwarks.</p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="width: 60%" id="figure-29">
<span id="they-clambered-up-our-sides-with-the-greatest-intrepidity"></span><img class="align-center" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=" " src="images/img-176.jpg" />
<div class="caption figure">
"THEY CLAMBERED UP OUR SIDES WITH THE GREATEST INTREPIDITY"</div>
</div>
<p class="pfirst">Only one of the enemy reached our deck, and
he was dragged on board by the clever cast
of a running bowline thrown by a seaman,
who, seizing his captive in his powerful grasp,
demanded and obtained his surrender at the
point of a gleaming knife, while his comrades
roared with laughter at the hapless Dutchman's
discomfiture.</p>
<p class="pnext">The attempt to board us failed dismally, only
four boats, filled with more or less wounded
men, getting clear from our sides, their retreat
being hailed with shouts of derision from our
exultant seamen.</p>
<p class="pnext">But our joy was turned to feelings of dismay
when we perceived that two small ships had
joined the Dutch men-of-war, and that they
were brought to with reduced canvas
immediately to windward of us, and were held by
stern moorings only, so that their bows were
pointed straight at our luckless vessel. Most
of us knew too much of the art of war to need
to have these new tactics explained: we were
to be attacked by fire ships!</p>
<p class="pnext">In our helpless position we were doomed.
Not a boat did we carry that was in a condition
to float, otherwise volunteers would not have been
lacking who would have risked their lives in an
attempt to tow these furnaces clear of us. The
officers held a consultation--Sir George Ascue
was not one of them; whether he was killed or
wounded I did not at that time know--and the
opinion of the council was that if we were
grappled by the fire ships our fate would no
doubt be a glorious one, but of little use to
His Majesty the King. On the other hand, if
we surrendered, there was a possibility of being
recaptured by our consorts, and thus our services
would be still at His Majesty's command.</p>
<p class="pnext">The latter alternative was accepted, and, amidst
the furious and indignant shouts of the seamen,
the Cross of St. George was struck, and a
white flag fluttered from our mainmast truck.</p>
<p class="pnext">The Dutchmen immediately sent boats to take
possession of the unfortunate <em class="italics">Prince Royal</em>, but
ere the first boat came alongside, most of the
crew had secured their personal belongings.
I, for my part, went below and placed all the
money I had in a leather pouch, which I strapped
to my waist with a belt underneath my
clothing--though it is reported the Hollanders always
respect personal property. Then I came on
deck and joined my comrades, who stood in a
disconsolate group awaiting the arrival of our
captors.</p>
<p class="pnext">We were curtly ordered over the side, and
hurriedly the whole of the crew were transferred
to the various Dutch ships. The officers were
taken on board the admiral's, where de Ruyter
himself accepted our surrender, complimenting
us on our gallant defence, and permitting the
senior officers to retain their swords.</p>
<p class="pnext">This done, we were sent on board a frigate
and placed in a dark, stuffy hole below the
waterline. Faintly we could hear the dull booming
of the guns, which told us that the fleets were
re-engaged, but gradually the sound died away.</p>
<p class="pnext">Greville Drake had a pocket compass, which
showed us that the vessel was heading eastward.
Our captors had taken good care that we should
not fall into the hands of our friends: we were
on our way to Holland and captivity.</p>
<p class="pnext">How the engagement would end we knew not,
but our spirits were greatly depressed with our
misfortunes, and one and all, having seen that
the courage and fortitude of our enemies had
been unduly depreciated by our leaders, were far
from sanguine as to the prospects of a victory
of our hitherto redoubtable fleet.</p>
<p class="pnext">Our reveries were cut short by the appearance
of a stolid Dutchman, who brought us a liberal
supply of food that, compared with our hard fare
of the last month, was a bounteous feast. We
plied him with eager questions, but his only
reply was an expressionless shake of his massive
head, and for the time being vague surmises had
to suffice.</p>
<p class="pnext">At length, worn out with bodily fatigue, we
threw ourselves down on our rough and hard
pallets, and slept soundly till we were awakened
by the unmistakable sounds that accompany the
action of a ship taking in sail.</p>
<p class="pnext">We had arrived in the land of our captivity.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xvi-i-meet-an-old-enemy">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id17">CHAPTER XVI--I Meet an Old Enemy</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">Directly our prison ship was moored alongside
a quay we were summoned on deck, where an
escort of soldiers was in waiting to convey us to
a place of confinement on shore.</p>
<p class="pnext">Some of our officers immediately recognized
the port as Rotterdam, which to me appeared
a city of lofty buildings beset with canals and
waterways.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was soon evident that we were to be separated,
and seeing this to be the case I kept close
to Drake and another young lieutenant, Hubert
Felgate by name, who had been slightly wounded
in the right arm during the first day's
engagement. He was of a somewhat taciturn
disposition, though, when properly understood, he was
a good-hearted and reliable friend.</p>
<p class="pnext">To our great satisfaction the three of us were
taken to a magistrate's office. As none of us
could speak their language, a Dutchman was
called in to act as interpreter, but so quaint was
his attempt at speaking English that it was with
the greatest difficulty that we could understand
what was required of us.</p>
<p class="pnext">At length we discovered that if we gave our
parole we should be allowed comparative freedom
within the city; if not, well--a meaning shrug
of the shoulders completed the unspoken sentence.</p>
<p class="pnext">We were permitted to reason the proposition
out among ourselves, which we did in an
undertone. Young and hot-headed, the idea of
a possible exchange of prisoners never entered
our heads, but on the other hand the excitement
of an attempt at escape held out an inducement
to refuse our parole. We quickly decided on the
latter course. The magistrate closed a book in
front of him in a manner that denoted a feeling
of disappointment, then, signing to our guards,
he motioned us to be removed.</p>
<p class="pnext">We were conducted along a stone passage
and down a spiral staircase, the weapons of our
guards clanking dismally as they struck the
stone steps. At the bottom of the staircase we
proceeded along another passage, which was
lighted by a few feeble lamps, while water
trickled through the roof in such a manner as
to suggest that we were passing under some
canal. At the end an iron door barred the way.
This the sergeant of the guard unlocked and
threw open, disclosing a large room with a
vaulted stone roof, lighted only by two small
grated windows some twelve feet from the
ground. The atmosphere was rank, while
moisture was everywhere--on the walls, floor, and
even on the top of a massive oak table, the
polish of which was cut and scraped till it
resembled a butcher's block.</p>
<p class="pnext">As our eyes grew accustomed to the dim light
we perceived that the room was a torture
chamber. In one corner stood a ponderous
rack, its rollers still glistening with a coating
of oil. Other instruments of torture were placed
round the walls in an orderly manner, showing
by their brightness that they were still kept in use.</p>
<p class="pnext">I must confess the sight turned us, though we
had never yet had accounts of prisoners of war
being put to the torture. We were not left long
in suspense, for the soldiers, having carefully
searched us (though they left us our money),
went out and locked and barred the door.</p>
<p class="pnext">Left to ourselves, we began to discuss our
situation. Escape from this horrible hole was
out of the question, but we began a tour of the
room to ascertain our bearings.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I almost wish that we had given the burgomaster
our parole," remarked Felgate dolefully.
"To eke out an existence for a few months, or
even weeks or days, in this den would almost
drive one to madness."</p>
<p class="pnext">"What do they mean by putting us in here?"
asked Drake. "Surely they don't mean to put us
to the torture as if we were political prisoners?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"I don't think that," I remarked, "otherwise
those rascals would have relieved us of our money."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Well, they took my knife," grumbled
Felgate. "Ah! What fools these Dutchmen are!
Look! Why should we not take some small
articles that might aid our escape?"</p>
<p class="pnext">He pointed to the walls, where hung several
small knives. We immediately secured one
each, and in addition concealed a few iron spikes
under our clothing, chuckling to ourselves at the
folly of our captors in searching us before we
were left alone amid so terrible yet useful an
array of instruments.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then, having completed our inspection, we
seated ourselves on the framework of the rack,
relapsing into a silence that was broken only by
the occasional scamper of a swarm of rats across
the floor, and the rippling of a stream of water
outside the thick stone walls of our prison.</p>
<p class="pnext">The solitude was unbearable, though we never
stopped to consider what it would have been
like had we been placed in separate rooms. At
length Felgate stood up, and, seizing a hammer
that was used apparently to drive the wedges
into the boot, he strode across to the door and
began to thunder a rain of blows upon it. Then
he waited, but for all the good it did he might
well have saved himself the trouble. No one
came to see who was the cause of the clamour,
and silence again reigned supreme.</p>
<p class="pnext">The hours rolled slowly by, and just as the
daylight that filtered through the narrow
windows began to fade, our prison door was thrown
open and the guards reappeared. Hardly able
to repress a smile that flitted across his grim
features, the sergeant deliberately walked up
to Felgate, relieved him of the knife and two
spikes that he had concealed, and replaced them.
Greville and I were served in the same manner,
our crestfallen faces plainly showing our dismay.
We had been watched through some secret
spy-hole during the whole time we were left, as we
had imagined, alone.</p>
<p class="pnext">Once more we were taken into the presence of
the magistrate, who, phlegmatic as ever, merely
raised one eyebrow slightly and tapped the
book in front of him with the feathered end of
his pen.</p>
<p class="pnext">The gesture was impressive with its silent
enquiry, but with the obstinacy of our race we
again refused to give any pledge that would
debar us from making any attempt at escape.
A sign, and we were hurried from the burgomaster's
presence, and, with a file of pikemen
surrounding us, we were taken, not to that
loathsome dungeon, but into the open air.</p>
<p class="pnext">Through crowds of silent spectators we were
marched, along a broad street planted with tall
trees, the light of the buildings on the far side
being reflected in the placid waters of a canal.
Then we crossed a drawbridge, and a hundred
yards farther our guards halted outside a
building the entrance to which was gained by a
double flight of broad stone steps.</p>
<p class="pnext">A challenge and a password were exchanged,
and we were handed over to another armed
guard, who escorted us to a small room, which,
though roughly furnished, was a surprisingly
comfortable prison. Some bundles of straw
were thrown on the floor, a plain though ample
meal was provided, and we were left to ourselves
once more.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was now late, but for several hours we
tossed uneasily on our straw couches, till, worn
out with the excitement and fatigue, we fell
asleep, to be awakened only too soon by the
entry of our jailers.</p>
<p class="pnext">By signs they informed us that we were to
start on a long journey, and providing us with
blankets and klompen, or wooden shoes similar
to the sabots of the French, they left us to enjoy
another meal of porridge, rusk bread, and cheese.</p>
<p class="pnext">An hour later they returned, and rolling our
blankets they fastened them bandolier fashion
across one shoulder and under the other. Our
shoes, though admirable for wear on board ship,
were useless on a rough road, so these were
slung round our necks and the klompen were
placed upon our feet. Our captors were of
a mind to treat us kindly, but I must admit
that walking in these clumsy wooden shoes
occasioned us no little discomfort.</p>
<p class="pnext">Where our destination was we could not
discover. Our guards would not, or could not,
understand the enquiries we made in dumb-show,
but when clear of the city our route lay
to the north.</p>
<p class="pnext">For miles we marched between the files of our
escort of pikemen, and we had ample opportunities
of studying the nature of the land, which
in no small measure well deserves the name of
the Low Countries. The road was bordered
with an avenue of trees that served to break
the monotony that the broad expanse of flat
country affords. There were scores of
windmills all busily engaged, not in grinding wheat,
but in pumping water from the drains and
throwing it over the dykes.</p>
<p class="pnext">These dykes, which were cut by the Hollanders
to such good purpose during their desperate
resistance against the might of Spain, were
massive embankments planted with sedge and
reeds, and faced in places with straw so as to
resist the sea better. As we progressed we saw
nothing of the ocean, though it was said that
the place where we were walking was well below
the sea level.</p>
<p class="pnext">We passed through numerous villages, the
inhabitants of which flocked out to see us, though
they behaved courteously, and refrained from
insulting us, a contrast to the behaviour of our
own countrymen to their Dutch prisoners.</p>
<p class="pnext">After marching for over two hours we arrived
at a town called Delft, where the curiosity caused
by our progress was somewhat alienated by a
sight that greatly astonished us. A crowd of
townspeople was approaching us, and in the
centre walked a portly <em class="italics">vrouw</em>, wearing a weighty
vessel not unlike a butter churn, her head
appearing through a hole, the rest of her being
hidden inside the wooden barrel. Her miserable
plight made her the butt of the crowd. But
for what reason she was undergoing this punishment
we could not discover, though I doubt not
that she was a scold, such as we in England
place in the ducking stool.</p>
<p class="pnext">We halted for an hour at Delft, the pikemen
refreshing themselves by taking enormous
quantities of ale, while we were fain to be content
with a loaf of bread, cheese, and a pitcher of
water. A woman, taking compassion on us,
however, sent a little girl to us with a jug
brimming with fresh milk.</p>
<p class="pnext">We talked freely, none of the soldiers
apparently understanding our conversation, and
discussed the possibility of making our escape.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Could we but once slip between the men, I
think we should be swift-footed enough to shake
them off," remarked Felgate. "What with
their breastplates and headpieces their
running would be like to that of Goliath of Gath."</p>
<p class="pnext">"True!" replied Drake. "But with these
wretched wooden shoes----" and he pointed
meaningly at his feet.</p>
<p class="pnext">"We can make out that they gall our heels,
and take them off for a while; then at the
favourable moment--you, Drake, can give the
word--we'll make a dash for freedom."</p>
<p class="pnext">"And after----?" I enquired.</p>
<p class="pnext">"That remains to be seen," rejoined Felgate.</p>
<p class="pnext">While we conversed I could not help noticing
that the sergeant eyed us sharply more than
once; and whether it was merely fancy or not,
I could not help thinking that I had seen him
before. But as very few Dutchmen had made
my acquaintance (and these only as enemies)
I dismissed the idea from my mind.</p>
<p class="pnext">The man was short, thick-set, with a heavy
beard that concealed most of his features, but
the look in his eyes betokened that he was no
infant in the art of war, and could, if occasion
served, prove a harsh taskmaster.</p>
<p class="pnext">At length the order was given to proceed. At
a mile from Delft, Felgate began to limp. His
example was quickly followed by Drake, and
shortly after I adopted the same ruse, though in
reality I had good cause to do so, the
unaccustomed nature of my footgear beginning to have
an ill effect.</p>
<p class="pnext">Soon Drake stopped, pointed to his shoes,
and made signs that he could not walk farther.
The pikemen came to a halt and looked at
us sympathetically, while the sergeant talked
volubly. We seized the opportunity of pulling
off the klompen and replacing our own shoes,
and the march was resumed.</p>
<p class="pnext">The country was perfectly flat, as hitherto, but
the dykes were at a greater distance from the
road. Though they shut in our range of vision
we knew that dry land lay beyond, as we could
discern several windmills, roofs of houses, and
trees on the other side.</p>
<p class="pnext">The pikemen struggled on, apparently fatigued
by the heat of the day. Drake touched my
arm and whispered: "Be ready!" I was all
alertness, waiting for the signal to break away.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly Felgate staggered, as if seized with
faintness, and fell on his hands and knees. The
soldier immediately behind, unable to check
himself, fell over him; then, with a loud cry of
"Now!" Felgate jumped to his feet, and,
followed by us, rushed off towards the nearest dyke.</p>
<p class="pnext">Our guards, to our surprise, did not attempt
to follow us; instead, they stood looking at us,
till, at a command from the sergeant, they spread
out, some remaining still, the rest marching
slowly in both directions along the road.</p>
<p class="pnext">Wondering at this manoeuvre we still ran,
looking backwards at intervals. When close
to the dyke we saw that the pikemen had
extended over a distance of one hundred yards,
and were now making their way in a long
straggling line straight for the dyke.</p>
<p class="pnext">We redoubled our efforts, climbed up the soft
sandy embankment, and gained the top. Here
we found that a broad ditch barred our progress.
"On, lads, on!" cried Felgate. "These scurvy
pikemen will never dare cross this with the
weight of their accoutrements."</p>
<p class="pnext">Carried away by his words, we dashed down
the slope of the dyke, only to find, too late, that
a broad belt of liquid mud, thickly interspersed
with sedge, lay betwixt us and the water. In a
moment we were all struggling up to our waists
in the impenetrable ooze.</p>
<p class="pnext">At length, worn out by our fruitless endeavours
to extricate ourselves, we waited motionless in
the slime till the grinning faces of the pikemen
appeared above the bank. By this time we had
sunk nearly to our shoulders; but by the aid
of the men's pikes we were hauled on to dry
land, amid the coarse jests and laughter of our
rescuers.</p>
<p class="pnext">We were in a truly miserable plight, the mud
clinging to our wet garments like pitch, while
the stench was abominable. To complete our
discomfiture, the sergeant tapped his petronel
significantly and exclaimed in perfect English:
"Now, sirrahs, you will perceive that escape
is no easy matter. Another attempt and I'll
warrant ye will not fare half so lightly."</p>
<p class="pnext">We gazed on him in amazement; then Drake
exclaimed: "My man, if thou'rt not a renegade,
then may I not see England again!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"As you will," rejoined the sergeant, and
ordered the men to fall in. Then we regained
the highway and resumed our weary way.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was late in the evening ere we arrived at
our destination, which proved to be the town
of Haarlem, of which I had heard much with
reference to its stubborn defence against the
Spaniards. This was to be our prison for many
dreary months.</p>
<p class="pnext">We were placed in separate rooms, though
during the day we were permitted to take exercise
together. For a long time we hardly dared
mention the possibilities of escape, with the
thought of our previous attempt fresh in our
minds. We frequently discoursed on the
probable events that were occurring at home, but
our guards refrained from giving us any
information on the subject, though one or two of
our new custodians spoke a few words of broken
English at intervals.</p>
<p class="pnext">Thus we knew not of the glorious victory of
Albemarle over de Ruyter on the 25th of July
following our capture; but by the sullen
demeanour of the soldiers we guessed that once
more the States of Holland were suffering for
their audacity in questioning our supremacy on
the sea.</p>
<p class="pnext">Autumn passed, and winter, with intense cold,
drew on apace. About this time I made an
important discovery, which served to throw a
little light on the mystery that enshrouded my
existence.</p>
<p class="pnext">One day the renegade sergeant came into my
apartment. He had grown somewhat communicative
of late, talking freely of the country in
whose service he was, though very reserved in
matters pertaining to the land of his birth. The
feeling that I had seen him before grew apace,
till on this occasion I asked him bluntly why
he took service with our enemies.</p>
<p class="pnext">His reply was a hideous scowl, and like a
flash the truth came to my mind--it was Increase
Joyce, my father's murderer!</p>
<p class="pnext">For a moment I could scarce refrain from
throwing myself upon him; but reflecting that
little would be gained thus, and that much might
be obtained by strategy, I refrained, and,
shrugging my shoulders indifferently, I turned from
him and walked to the farther part of the room.</p>
<p class="pnext">I saw him no more that day, but on the day
following he again entered my apartment or
cell--call it which you will. Though feigning
to avoid conversation with him, I found that
his moody fit had passed, and that he was
willing to talk.</p>
<p class="pnext">Little by little I gathered his history, which,
though mostly lies, gave me an insight into his
movements and plans.</p>
<p class="pnext">He had, he said, fled the country at the
Restoration for political reasons, a price having
been set upon his head. (I smiled grimly at
this, knowing only too well why his head was
thus valued.) He had served as a soldier of
fortune on the Rhine and in the Low Countries,
finally joining the army of the States of Holland
and rising to his present rank; though, in justice
to the Dutch be it said, he was never allowed to
take up arms against his own countrymen.</p>
<p class="pnext">I had heard enough for once, and for the time
being I resolved not to mention the matter either
to Drake or to Felgate.</p>
<p class="pnext">Of what was taking place betwixt England
and Holland we learned little. Occasionally we
had a visit from the governor of the fortress, a
Major Van der Wycke, a courteous and honest
soldier, who carefully refrained from hurting our
susceptibilities with reference to the war, though
he told us of the great fire that practically
destroyed the best part of London. This we were
told on Christmas Day, over three months after
its occurrence.</p>
<p class="pnext">Very slowly the days passed. Winter gave
place to spring, yet no sign of our being
released was given us, neither did any loophole
of escape present itself. One day Joyce came
into my room with the news that he was leaving
the service of the States of Holland, and had a
good offer for his sword from the King of France.
He seemed very elated, and now was the time to
obtain what information I could.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Thou art a Yorkshireman, perchance?" I
enquired offhandedly, interrupting him in the
midst of a rambling statement.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I a Yorkshireman? Never, young sir!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then from Lincolnshire, doubtless?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Nor from Lincolnshire. Why didst think so?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"From thy manner of speech, Sergeant," I
replied, forcing a laugh. "It savours much of
the north."</p>
<p class="pnext">"I have travelled much, and know both those
counties well."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then perchance Midgley is known to you, Sergeant?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"I cannot recall the name. Where is it?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"It is my native village," I asserted, with a
slight deviation from the truth. "It lies betwixt
Pontefract and Holwick."</p>
<p class="pnext">At the mention of Holwick he started, yet,
retaining command over his feelings, he
remarked: "I know it not. But, beshrew me!
the name of Holwick reminds me---- Dost
know Holwick well?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Passably," I replied offhandedly. "There
is a market cross, a church, a score or so of
stone houses, a castle more or less in ruin, and
a----"</p>
<p class="pnext">"A castle, sayest thou?" he interrupted
excitedly. "And who lives there?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"I cannot say."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ah! Now, concerning this castle," he
remarked, tapping his clay pipe on his heel with
such vehemence that the stem broke in three
places, "I have heard that a goodly store of
treasure lies hidden there. In fact, an old
comrade of mine, who lay stricken to death on the
field of Marston Moor, did bestow upon me a
paper whereby the treasure should be mine.
But either he was befooling himself or me, for
I could find nothing."</p>
<p class="pnext">Here was a piece of good fortune.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Where did you look?" I enquired disinterestedly.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Where did I look? Now, out on me for a
dolt! I delved every night for more than a
fortnight, till the countryside rang with tales
of the ghost of Holwick, and none would
venture near o' nights, and hardly by day."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Were the directions fully adhered to?"</p>
<p class="pnext">He looked fixedly at me for a moment, as if
suspecting my thoughts, then from his pocket
he produced the identical metal box that he had
filched from my father's corse. Again I could
hardly refrain from springing upon him; but
discretion is ever the better part of valour.</p>
<p class="pnext">From the box he drew a folded paper, yellow
with age, and discoloured and torn with frequent
usage.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Mark you, what a jargon! 'Without ye
two tall of ye thirty-two paces right dig
Holwick may the treasure give full out mine
whereas my----' Did ever a man have such
a frail clue?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then what did you do?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Do? I dug thirty-two paces from the castle
walls on all sides save the west, for at that
distance there was naught but a muddy stream.
It might be thirty-two paces from the church,
the cross, or what not. But I have a mind to
make one more attempt ere I go to France. If
that fails, then my right I'll sell to the first Jew
that makes me an offer."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Let me see if I can make aught of it," I said,
carelessly stretching out my hand. To my
delight Joyce handed it to me, and I saw the
writing I knew so well.</p>
<p class="pnext">For over an hour we talked, I, for my part,
throwing out idle suggestions and listening to
Joyce's explanations, trying at the same time
to commit the apparently senseless words to memory.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly the door was flung open and the
governor appeared. With a motion of his hand
he signed for Joyce to withdraw, and the villain
went out, leaving the precious document in my
hands. Major Van der Wycke used to do the
rounds in a somewhat erratic fashion, and for
this once I thanked his eccentricity. When he
went he desired the sergeant to accompany him,
and for the time being I was at liberty to copy
the mysterious message.</p>
<p class="pnext">I had not quill nor crayon nor paper. I
had read of men writing with their blood, but
this method appeared very unsatisfactory. At
length I bethought me of the fire, and taking a
piece of charcoal I scrawled the words on the
under side of my table. This I did, promising
myself to ask for pens and paper at the first
opportunity, and barely had I finished my task
when the renegade reappeared.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Where's that paper?" asked he. "I'll
venture that your wits are no sharper than mine."</p>
<p class="pnext">I handed it back to him with the remark that
it conveyed nothing, and wished him all the
luck he deserved. This double-barrelled
compliment he took as favourable to himself, and
after a short further conversation he left.</p>
<p class="pnext">That night Joyce quitted Haarlem, and I was
not fated to see him again for some time.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xvii-showing-that-there-are-two-means-of-leaving-a-prison">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id18">CHAPTER XVII--Showing that there are Two Means of Leaving a Prison</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">With the lengthening days our hopes of effecting
an escape increased. The vigilance of our
guards had somewhat relaxed, and we were
allowed to remain in one another's company for
a much longer period.</p>
<p class="pnext">Felgate and Greville discussed innumerable
plans with me, but in every case a serious
obstacle arose that necessitated the abandonment
of that particular scheme, till one day the
long-hoped-for opportunity arrived.</p>
<p class="pnext">In the middle of the month of June--I had
just celebrated my twentieth birthday in a very
despondent style--Van der Wycke came to us
one morning with a beaming face that showed
that something very unusual had occurred to
upset the stolidity of this typical Dutchman.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ah, Mynheer Drake," he said in his very
broken English, "I must tell you ze goot news
for us, but bad news for you. Our ships have
broken all ze Englischman, Chatham is burnt,
and ve vill even now take London." And in
this style he told us the heartbreaking news of
the never-to-be-forgotten disgrace at Chatham,
of the burning or sinking of the <em class="italics">Royal Oak</em>, the
<em class="italics">James</em>, the <em class="italics">London</em>, and several other smaller
vessels. He also said that His Majesty and the
Court and Parliament had removed to Bristol,
though this latter information afterwards proved
to be false.</p>
<p class="pnext">For days we remained too sick at heart to
attempt an escape; but early in the month of
July we were informed that our prison was to
be limewashed, and that for a few days at least
we were to be kept in one room at the farther
side of the building.</p>
<p class="pnext">I had long before this secured a careful copy
of the paper that Increase Joyce had shown me,
and this I kept concealed on my person, so that
in any case I should still retain what might
subsequently prove a valuable piece of information.</p>
<p class="pnext">Our new quarters overlooked the town walls,
and, the windows being lower and larger than
those of our former prison, we could easily
observe what was going on.</p>
<p class="pnext">The Hollanders were evidently making preparations
to celebrate their victory, for garlands
and decorated masts were being displayed. This
served to increase our bitterness at heart, and,
curiously enough, our guards became particularly
lax in their duties. In fact, but for the purpose
of supplying us with food, we were practically
ignored.</p>
<p class="pnext">We soon discovered that the bars of one of
the windows could easily be wrenched from their
fastenings, and with these removed only a
ten-foot drop lay between us and freedom.</p>
<p class="pnext">Carefully setting apart a portion of our rations,
we soon secured enough food to last us for a
couple of days, and one evening, directly the
guards had visited us for the last time that
night, Greville climbed on Felgate's shoulders
and attacked the crumbling mortar that kept
the bars in position.</p>
<p class="pnext">In less than an hour we succeeded, by dint of
plenty of hard work, in removing the bars, and
all was ready for our flight.</p>
<p class="pnext">The night was dark, the stars being constantly
hidden by dense masses of drifting clouds, while
the wind howled mournfully amid the trees that
lined the roadway within the ramparts.</p>
<p class="pnext">The steady tramp of a sentry showed the
necessity of extreme caution, and the clocks
chimed ten ere the man was visited by the
rounds. Half an hour later he left his post
and disappeared--in all probability to enjoy a
quiet sleep.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Now is our time," whispered Drake, and
squeezing his body through the aperture he
dropped lightly upon the pavement. His
example was quickly and cautiously followed, and
in less time than we expected we were creeping
along in the darkest shadows towards the open
country.</p>
<p class="pnext">Instinct took us towards the sea, from which
blew a stinging, salt-laden breeze that caused
a sensation of freedom, and when at length we
gained the summit of the last rush-grown dyke,
we could see the waves lashing the beach in
so violent a manner as to make an attempt to
escape by boat an absolute impossibility.</p>
<p class="pnext">However, the hours of darkness were fleeting
fast, so we pressed on along the shore, peering
through the darkness to try and secure a safe
shelter. Soon we came upon a small hamlet,
of which every house was in darkness, though
the occasional barking of dogs warned us that
the place was to be avoided. A short distance
beyond was a small haven, wherein we could
see several boats of all sizes riding easily at
anchor.</p>
<p class="pnext">The wind had now veered more to the north-'ard,
and with it a heavy rain came on. This
decided us, and, trusting that the downpour
would deaden the force of the wind, we launched
a small boat and pulled off to a galliot of about
twenty tons burthen.</p>
<p class="pnext">We approached her cautiously, for fear that
she might have someone sleeping on board.
On coming alongside we fended off our frail
cockle shell, while Felgate climbed softly up
her sides and gained the deck. She was open
amidships, but had a cuddy for'ard and a small
cabin under her poop.</p>
<p class="pnext">Felgate made his way aft, and we saw him
disappear under the shadow of the poop. A
moment later and he reappeared, glided across
the deck, and explored the cuddy. Everything
appeared satisfactory, so we joined him, sending
the dinghy adrift.</p>
<p class="pnext">The galliot carried two masts, the after one
only being set up. The foremast was housed
in a tabernacle and lay on the deck. We
manned a windlass, and with a dismal creaking,
that alarmed us mightily, the mast slowly rose
to an upright position. Then it was an easy
matter to spread the great tanned sail, and
having slipped the cable we stood westwards
towards England and freedom.</p>
<p class="pnext">Once clear of the haven we felt the lift of the
ocean as the vessel heeled to the breeze. Drake
and I stood by the tiller, while Felgate went
for'ard to keep a bright lookout.</p>
<p class="pnext">There was no longer need for silence, and
our tongues wagged merrily at the thought of
our escape. The galliot was, like all Dutch
craft, of great beam, with bluff bows and an
ugly square stern. She would, we had little
doubt, prove a good sea boat, but sluggish in
a light wind. As it was, the steady breeze was
just strong enough to make her lively, and it
was with satisfaction that we saw the dim
outline of the low-lying coast get fainter and
fainter.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly a massive post, crowned by a
triangle, loomed out on our starboard bow.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Steady there!" shouted Felgate; "there's
a beacon ahead."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Which side shall we make for?" asked Greville.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Quick, Aubrey, try a cast!" said Felgate,
and I picked up a heavy piece of metal which
happened to be lying near, fastened a line to
it, and threw it overboard. Less than three
fathoms! Again I tried, and touched the bottom
in little more than two.</p>
<p class="pnext">"'Bout ship!" shouted Drake, bearing down
on the long tiller, and the galliot, her sails
flapping in the wind like the wings of a
wounded bird, came about slowly yet surely,
the breeze filled her sails as she lay on the
other tack, and once more she slipped into
deep water.</p>
<p class="pnext">But the result of this manoeuvre was bewildering.
The blackness that precedes the dawn is
always greatest; the shore was invisible, and
our sole guide as to direction was the wind,
which we hoped still blew from the same quarter.
All around were the short, steep, white-crested
waves that are so typical of the shallow waters
around the Dutch coasts, while our range of
vision on all sides was limited to a space of
about a hundred yards of heaving water.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Keep the lead going!" ordered Greville,
and feverishly I made cast after cast with my
rough-and-ready leadline.</p>
<p class="pnext">For some time I found no bottom with four
fathoms, which was the available length of the
line, and I was on the point of giving up the
task with a feeling that we were clear of the
shallows, when I felt the sinker touch bottom.</p>
<p class="pnext">The boat was once more put about and the
lead kept going, but still the depth remained
the same, or, rather, slightly shoaling. Again
we tacked, but our efforts to find deeper water
were unavailing, and at last the galliot ran
aground with a slight shock on a bed of soft sand.</p>
<p class="pnext">With a falling tide our position was hopeless,
and when daylight dawned and objects became
visible, we found to our dismay that we were
within half a mile of the shore, and in full view
of the hamlet from which we had taken the galliot.
As we had been sailing for over two hours, we
must have doubled backwards and forwards for
want of keeping a proper course, our numerous
tacks having completely bewildered us.</p>
<p class="pnext">The inhabitants of the town of Haarlem
were abroad early, and it was evident that our
ignominious situation had come to their knowledge,
for crowds lined the shore looking steadfastly
in our direction.</p>
<p class="pnext">At about six in the morning the tide had left
us high and dry, and the boundless expanse of
sandbanks showed us how hopeless was our task
on a dark night. Thoroughly disheartened and
ashamed, we withdrew to the cabin, where we
awaited the arrival of the soldiers who were to
take us back to captivity.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ah, goot-morning, Mynheer!" was the
greeting of the governor, as he made his way
across the sloping deck of the galliot, his usually
grave visage puckered with a thousand wrinkles,
while his eyes twinkled with grim humour.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Take us and do whatever you will," replied
Felgate savagely, "but for any sake taunt us not!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Van der Wycke bowed in well-feigned gravity.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Pardon, Mynheer," he replied, "but you
yourselves haf put to much trouble for nothing.
You are now free!"</p>
<p class="pnext">And to our astonishment we learned how that
peace had been proclaimed at Breda on the
previous day, and that our futile attempt might
well not have taken place.</p>
<p class="pnext">Needless to say, our further stay in the Low
Countries was hurried as quickly as possible,
and next day a stout little brig conveyed us
from Rotterdam to London. The joys of
seeing our native land once more were somewhat
damped by the pitiful sight of the blackened
hulls of our men-of-war that had been sunk off
the mouth of the Thames.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xviii-the-veil-is-partly-drawn">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id19">CHAPTER XVIII--The Veil is Partly Drawn</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">Directly I set foot once more on English soil
I hastened to Portsmouth, though on my journey
thither I did stay a while at Rake, for the sake
of old memories. On my arrival at Portsmouth
I found my uncle looking careworn and haggard,
due to the constant strain and worry that his
duties in the dockyard entailed, for discontent
amongst the workmen had almost grown into
open mutiny. So ill paid were they that in
some cases families were starving while work
was plentiful.</p>
<p class="pnext">As the 23rd day of April, 1668, drew near,
that being my twenty-first birthday, I found
that I was becoming more and more excited
over the vague rumours that I had heard from
time to time respecting the remarkable
disclosures that were to be made under the terms
of my father's will.</p>
<p class="pnext">Nor was the excitement confined to myself.
My uncle busied himself till all traces of his
worry lost themselves in his activity; my aunt
bustled about the house, driving the servants
hither and thither, bringing linen from the huge
oak chest, furbishing the massive furniture, and
causing a huge supply of viands to be prepared
for the entertainment of our guests--for the
invited company numbered close on a score, so
that our house would be filled to overflowing,
and rooms had to be engaged at "The Bell Inn"
and "The Blue Posts".</p>
<p class="pnext">On the Monday preceding the eventful day
the guests began to arrive. There were Sir
George Lee, greyer and more bent than of
yore, Master Hugh Salesbury, Lawyer Whitehead,
all from the neighbourhood of Rake; my
old shipmates, Greville Drake and Felgate, the
latter accompanied by his young wife, whom
he had lately wedded, and several others who
had been friends of my father long before I
could remember.</p>
<p class="pnext">My birthday eve they kept in high style, the
men smoking long clay pipes, till our
dining-room was enveloped in a cloud of tobacco smoke,
so that my aunt declared that her best hangings
would reek for days like a London coffee tavern,
whereat Sir George pacified her by saying that
the weed of Virginia is ever a sovereign
safeguard against the plague!</p>
<p class="pnext">My twenty-first birthday came at last, and
at ten in the morning we all assembled in our
largest room, where, after I had received the
congratulations of my friends, the long-expected
legal formality began.</p>
<p class="pnext">I sat at the head of the long oak table, with
Lawyer Whitehead on my right and Sir George
on my left, the others being seated at the sides.
Before the lawyer was placed a heavy
brass-bound box, which, besides being locked, was
fastened with a formidable-looking red seal.</p>
<p class="pnext">With a solemn bow Master Whitehead stood
up, and, clearing his throat with a professional
cough, began in a dry, legal manner:</p>
<p class="pnext">"In accordance with the instruction laid down
by my late client, Master Owen Wentworth, I
have to make the announcement that his son,
who this day attains his majority, can now take
upon himself his rightful title, Sir Aubrey
Wentworth of Holwick, in the county of Yorks."</p>
<p class="pnext">At this astounding information my senses
became numb, and I could but dimly see the
faces of my friends and hear the indistinct
murmur of astonishment and congratulation
from those of my guests who up to the present
were not in the secret.</p>
<p class="pnext">"The late Owen Wentworth, by reason of
his excessive loyalty to His Majesty the King,
and of his careful thought for the proper
upbringing of his son during the past troublous
times, did part with a portion of his family
estates and personal property in order to furnish
His Majesty with such aid as all loyal cavaliers
were bound by their duty to give. The residue,
which is no inconsiderable amount, he hid in a
secure place, taking good care that it should come
to his son on his attaining the age of twenty-one,
provided that he showed great promise of filling
his position in a right and proper manner. The
recovery of the hidden treasure will depend on
certain conditions imposed by Sir Owen (to give
him his rightful title), and these conditions were
written and entrusted to my keeping." Here
the lawyer tapped the box with his finger and
proceeded to break the seal. This done, he
produced a small key and unlocked the box. The
hinges creaked as he threw back the lid and
disclosed a number of parchments all neatly
tied with faded ribbon.</p>
<p class="pnext">Placing the documents on the table, the lawyer
continued. "I have here," he said, "a third
part of a sheet of writing, which, when united
to its fellows, will disclose the exact position of
the hidden riches of Holwick. Another portion
worthy Sir George hath, while you, Sir Aubrey,
must in truth produce the third part."</p>
<p class="pnext">At this the knight laid down a paper which
I recognized as the one that had been read by
him under such strange circumstances at Rake,
some eight years before, and the light flashed
across me--the senseless jargon that he had
read was part of a secret code whereby I should
inherit my fortune.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Now, Sir Aubrey, where is your share of
the document?"</p>
<p class="pnext">I stammered that I had not such a paper.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then----"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Stay one moment, Master Whitehead," said
Sir George; "if I remember aught, Sir Aubrey
never had his part of the document delivered
to him. His father expressly stated that a
metal box was to be given to him, and under
pains and penalties he was not to open it to
this day. But, as we know, that box was
filched, and therefore Sir Aubrey could not
possibly have opened it, neither can he be held
accountable for its contents."</p>
<p class="pnext">"True, true! Sir George," replied Master
Whitehead; "but unfortunately, though Sir
Aubrey is not to be held accountable, the fact
remains that the complete solution is missing,
and, as my late client refused to make a
duplicate, the secret is as far off as ever."</p>
<p class="pnext">Here I could not forbear from interrupting the
argument betwixt the knight and the lawyer.</p>
<p class="pnext">"But I have a copy of the part that should
have been entrusted to me!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Heaven bless the boy!" ejaculated Sir George.
"Where is it, and how came you by it?"</p>
<p class="pnext">In answer I rushed off to my own room, laid
hold of the precious copy, and returned.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Here it is!" I shouted triumphantly, handing
it to Master Whitehead, and straightway I told
them of my meeting with Increase Joyce, and
how I secured the temporary possession of the
filched document.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Now for the test," remarked Sir George
when I had finished my tale, and straightway
the three papers were placed side by side on
the table, everyone crowding round to read
what the joint document would reveal.</p>
<p class="pnext">The paper which I produced did not correspond
with the others, and the lawyer twisted
and turned them about for some considerable
time. At length a puckered frown overspread
his wizened face, and he beat upon the table
with his fingers with the air of a man who has
sustained a momentary check.</p>
<p class="pnext">"'To Beverley without ye gate on ye highway----'
that reads aright; but the next line
doth not seem in keeping with the rest. How
now, Sir George, if thy wits are as sharp as
thy sword----"</p>
<p class="pnext">But Sir George Lee shook his head. "Troth!"
he ejaculated, "if a man of law cannot frame the
wording of a document, how can I, a country
gentleman, hope to do it?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Methinks I can help you," spoke a soft,
sweet voice, and looking up I saw Mistress
Felgate, who, hand in hand with her husband,
had been a silent yet interested listener to the
discussion.</p>
<p class="pnext">The lawyer rose, and with great courtesy
placed his hand over his heart and bowed, yet
his manner betokened a professional scorn for
feminine advice.</p>
<p class="pnext">"At your service, madam."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then begin with the bottommost line and
read upwards."</p>
<p class="pnext">"'Whereas my sonne having trulie carried
out mine desires----'"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Faith, sweetest, thy wits have proved better
than the lawyer's!" interrupted Felgate, bringing
his fist down heavily on the table in his excitement.</p>
<p class="pnext">"'----Mine desires'" resumed Master Whitehead,
receiving the interruption with a deprecatory
cough, "'I doe hereby give full directions
in soe that the treasures of mine house at Holwick
may come to him by right. Digge IIJ feet down
at XXXII paces from y^e west side of y^e wall,
keeping in line II tall fir trees that doe lie
without y^e gate on y^e highway to Beverley.'"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Nothing particularly difficult about these
instructions," remarked my uncle.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I think so too," I replied; "and even now
that villain Joyce may be making a second and
possibly successful attempt to recover what is
mine by rights. Indeed, from what he told
me, he must have been very near the spot."</p>
<p class="pnext">"There is little time to be lost," replied Sir
George. "My advice to you is that you travel
hotfoot to Holwick, and leave nothing undone
till you lay hands on the treasure. Would I
were a score or so of years younger and I would
bear you company with the greatest of pleasure."</p>
<p class="pnext">"I'll start to-morrow!" I exclaimed resolutely.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I am with you, Aubrey," said Drake,
grasping my hand.</p>
<p class="pnext">"And I cannot desert my old shipmates,"
added Felgate. "So I hoist the signal for
permission to part company; and if my senior
officer will comply, I'll weigh anchor with you
to-morrow."</p>
<p class="pnext">Mistress Felgate gave her permission with
the stipulation that her husband must run no
needless risks, the compact was sealed by a kiss
bestowed by her gallant and unabashed bridegroom,
and the conversation was resumed, while
mirth and gaiety reigned supreme.</p>
<p class="pnext">My mind, however, was too full of feverish
anxiety for me to enjoy the festivities, and
drawing Greville aside, I discussed our forthcoming
journey.</p>
<p class="pnext">"And if you find that Joyce has forestalled
you?" he asked.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then I'll track him to the utmost end of the earth."</p>
<p class="pnext">"And then----?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Greville, you know that I am not a revengeful
man by nature, but I swear that that villain
dies by my hand."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then why didn't you kill him at Haarlem?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"And get hanged for my pains? No, no!
'Tis a waiting game."</p>
<p class="pnext">Presently Felgate joined us, and together we
slipped out of the house, crossed the street, and
entered the establishment that Nicholas Wade
ran under the designation of posting stables.</p>
<p class="pnext">The owner, bald-headed, high-shouldered, and
bow-legged like many of his class, came forth
and mincingly asked what we required.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Horses, man, horses! The best you have
in your stables.</p>
<p class="pnext">"For how long, your honour?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"As long as it serves us. This bay will suit me."</p>
<p class="pnext">"And I take a fancy to that black mare,"
added Drake.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Nay, you've forestalled me," rejoined
Felgate laughingly. "But no matter, the brown
nag will serve me, for of a verity I feel more at
home in a jollyboat than on the back of that
beast."</p>
<p class="pnext">The question of terms was quickly settled, and
the mounts were ordered to be brought round at
nine the next morning. Then we went back to
enjoy the festivities, longing the while for the
morrow to come.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xix-how-three-horsemen-set-out-for-the-north">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id20">CHAPTER XIX--How Three Horsemen set out for the North</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">Punctually to the minute our steeds were
brought round, the farewells were said, and
with a loose rein we cantered down the narrow
cobble-paved street towards the Landport Gate.
The horses' hoofs echoed under the dark
gateway and clattered across the drawbridge, the
town of Portsmouth was left behind, and the
dense cluster of timbered and red-tiled houses
gave place to verdant fields and clumps of tall
trees that even now were beginning to burst
into leaf.</p>
<p class="pnext">We were each armed with sword and pistols,
for the highways were far from safe, and we wot
not what awaited us at our journey's end. The
fine spring morning told on our spirits and we
were in good humour. Conversation, mingled
with laugh and jest, flowed fast, and one would
have imagined we were setting out for a
holiday rather than on an expedition on which
fortune, nay life and death, depended.</p>
<p class="pnext">At the summit of Portsdown we halted to
look back upon the good old seaport once more,
then we cantered easily down the long slope
to the village of Purbrook. Then came the
steady climb through the Forest of Bere, where
memories of a journey seven years before rose
before my mind.</p>
<p class="pnext">At Butser we reined our horses while I
pointed out the scene of my encounter with the
three Dorset smugglers. Then we reached the
lofty summit of the road, from which the
magnificent view of the valley of the Rother could be
seen under its fairest conditions.</p>
<p class="pnext">At Petersfield we stopped for our midday
meal, and after giving our horses a well-earned
rest, we resumed our way northward till the bold
headline of Hindhead loomed up in front of us.</p>
<p class="pnext">At Rake we stopped to visit the scenes of old
associations, calling in at the "Flying Bull",
where Giles Perrin, now grey-haired, bent, and
decrepit, still followed his calling.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Lord ha' mercy on me if 'tis not young
Master Wentworth!" he exclaimed, showing that,
though grown in stature, I had not outgrown
the appearance of my boyhood; and when
Drake told him of my newly found title, the old
man tottered away to let the frequenters of the
inn know the news; whereat we, unwilling to
tarry longer, pushed on towards the towering
heights of Hindhead.</p>
<p class="pnext">Presently we crossed a heath beyond which we
could perceive the village of Liphook. In the
distance we could make out a crowd of people
whose infuriated shouts were plainly audible.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Come on, lads, let's see what this uproar
means!" shouted Felgate, and, setting spur to
our steeds, we soon covered the distance that lay
between us and the howling mob.</p>
<p class="pnext">The cause of the tumult was soon plain. At
the outskirts of the village was a small stagnant
pond, by the side of which was erected a post
with a swinging beam. At one end of the beam
was a rough chair in which was bound a
miserable old woman of repulsive appearance, whose
face bore a look of mute despair. Around her
the crowd surged, yelling: "Duck her! Duck
the witch!" while eggs and filth were thrown
with no uncertain aim at the unhappy specimen
of humanity whom the mob had seen fit to bait.</p>
<p class="pnext">As we approached, the crowd, too intent to
notice our coming, had seized the beam and
were swinging it over the pond with the object
of immersing the occupant of the ducking stool.</p>
<p class="pnext">We reined in for a moment to take counsel
amongst ourselves.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Rescue her by all means," said Felgate.</p>
<p class="pnext">"But she is a witch; beware of the evil eye,"
demurred Drake, who, like all West-countrymen,
deeply believed in witchcraft and sorcery,
far more so than dwellers in other parts of
England.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Witch or no witch, she is a woman," retorted
Felgate, "and it behoves all true gentlemen to
protect a woman in danger."</p>
<p class="pnext">With that we spurred forward and reached the
outskirts of the crowd just as the great beam was
being slowly lowered into the water.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Hold!" shouted Felgate authoritatively,
forcing his horse into the press. The mob gave
way, still shouting fierce imprecations against
the terrified old woman, and making hostile
demonstrations against the interrupters of their
fiendish sport.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Who is responsible for this conventicle?"
he continued, urging his horse towards the
ducking stool.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I am, worthy sir," replied a short, stout man
with heavy, beetling brows, who stood his
ground doggedly.</p>
<p class="pnext">"And who are you, sirrah?" demanded
Felgate, giving him a fierce look that cowed him
for the time. "And where is your warrant for
this deed?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"By virtue of the act passed in the reign of
His Majesty King James the First, of blessed
memory, concerning the punishment of sorcerers,
witches, warlocks, and the like."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Tut, tut, man, the statute is dead! Have
you a magistrate's warrant, Form 226, giving
you authority for this? Quick, answer me!
I am a King's officer, so on your peril speak truly!"</p>
<p class="pnext">The man shook his head.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then let her go free!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Here the mob redoubled its cries, and a few
missiles came hurtling through the air towards us.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Draw, comrades, draw!" shouted Felgate,
and, unsheathing our swords, we urged our
horses through the crowd till we reined up
abreast of our chivalrous friend.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Would ye have 'em take a witch out of your
hands?" cried the officious man, appealing to the
crowd.</p>
<p class="pnext">"No! No! Down with them, and death to
the witch!" came like a hoarse roar from the
excited crowd.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ay, ay, down with them!" repeated their
incautious leader, seizing Felgate's horse by the
bridle and attempting to force it on its haunches.</p>
<p class="pnext">His ill-advised action soon earned its
reward, for Felgate struck him a heavy blow with
the hilt of his sword, then, clutching at him as
he fell, he backed his horse through the crowd
till he reached the edge of the pond. Then with
a mighty effort he flung the man into the slimy
water, where he fell with a heavy splash. A
moment later he reappeared, clambered to the
bank, and made his way towards the village,
cursing us at the top of his voice.</p>
<p class="pnext">But the danger was not yet over, for the mob
showed signs of a combined and active
resistance. Fortunately we were together by the
side of the pool, so that none of our attackers
could get behind us.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Draw your pistols and fire at the first man
who steps forward!" said Felgate, loud enough
for all to hear him.</p>
<p class="pnext">At the sight of six levelled weapons the crowd
drew back; then, satisfied that the cowards were
properly cowed, Felgate jumped from his horse,
made his way to the ducking stool, and cut the
bonds that held the old crone to the chair.</p>
<p class="pnext">Baulked of their prey, the mob still surged
round us, and with a shout of: "Let 'em have
the cat!" a great black object was sent flying
towards us, and, striking my horse on the
crupper, resolved itself into an enormous black
cat, that spat and howled, digging its claws into
the horse's hide, and arching its back like the
demon cat that is the reputed companion of every
witch.</p>
<p class="pnext">A word from the old woman caused the animal
to jump towards her, and, climbing on her
shoulders, it mewed and purred with a
fearsome delight.</p>
<p class="pnext">Lifting the beldam to his horse, Felgate
placed her pillionwise behind him. We closed
in on either side, and, forcing our way through
the mob, our pistols still pointed ominously at
them, we gained the highroad once more, and
trotted unmolested through the village of Liphook.</p>
<p class="pnext">Now that the danger was past, Drake and
I could not help laughing at our cavalier
companion and his fair burden, for the hag had
clasped him tightly round the waist with her
skinny arms, while the cat, perched on her
shoulders, was rubbing its head against the
back of Felgate's plumed hat, so that it was
being continually thrust over his eyes despite
his frequent attempts to place it firmly on his
head.</p>
<p class="pnext">"How far do you journey with your gentle
burden?" quoth Greville.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Bless me for a landlubber if I thought of it
at all!" replied Felgate. "Say, mistress, where
shall we set you down?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"At the top of the Devil's Punch Bowl, if it
pleases you, sir," replied the old woman in a
quavering voice, "for then I shall be safe."</p>
<p class="pnext">"'Tis a big request, Felgate," I remarked,
knowing that the summit of Hindhead, close
to which the Bowl is situated, was a good six
miles off, and an uphill road the whole way.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Never mind; a good deed but half done is
a sorry performance." And with this we set
spurs to our horses and trotted briskly up the
long slope that led to the towering heights that
showed clearly before us.</p>
<p class="pnext">Although I had oft journeyed across this
bleak hill, never before had I seen it under such
depressing circumstances. The sun had long
vanished behind a bank of dark-grey, undefined
clouds, while a cold wind howled across our
path, moaning through the treetops and raising
clouds of choking dust on the sun-dried highway.</p>
<p class="pnext">Just as we reached the summit, where the
road makes a vast horseshoe curve round the
dark, forbidding cavity known as the Devil's
Punch Bowl, a heavy rainstorm came on,
blotting out the horizon, while a vivid flash of
lightning, followed at a short interval by a
tremendous clap of thunder, startled our horses,
and, be it confessed, ourselves as well.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Thunder in April! And in company with
a witch! This smacks of His Satanic Majesty
with a vengeance!" muttered Drake, drawing
closer to me.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Set me down here, sir," whined the hag,
and Felgate having done so, she turned towards us.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I have not far to go now--my home is down
there," indicating with a skinny finger the
rain-blotted heathery pit beneath us.</p>
<p class="pnext">"And now," she continued, "take an old
dame's blessing for your kindness in helping
the helpless, and may success reward your search."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Our search?" exclaimed Greville, astonished
at her words.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ay, your search," mumbled the old crone.</p>
<p class="pnext">"And shall we succeed?" I asked.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Not till the waters run dry!" she replied
mysteriously, and with that another flash of
lightning left us blinking in semi-darkness.
When we looked round the witch had gone.
A moment later we saw her making her way
with great agility down the steep slope of the
Bowl, till she disappeared from our view behind
a large clump of heather and gorse.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Well, I'm----," and here Felgate broke off
for want of a word to express his surprise.</p>
<p class="pnext">"How did she know we were on a treasure hunt?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"That's more than I can tell," replied Drake,
and drawing our cloaks tighter around our
shivering bodies, we rode down the hill, silent
and depressed, through the driving rain,
towards the town of Godalming.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xx-what-we-heard-and-saw-at-holwick">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id21">CHAPTER XX--What we Heard and Saw at Holwick.</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">The rest of our journey northward passed almost
without incident. The day after our arrival at
Godalming we rode quickly through Guildford
to London, where we tarried no longer than we
could possibly help, staying that night in the
village of Highgate.</p>
<p class="pnext">Four days later, following the seemingly
endless Great North Road, we arrived at the village
of Bawtry, from which it is said most of our
New England colonists had come. This place
is just over the Yorkshire border, and to our
unaccustomed ears the broad dialect seemed
almost a foreign tongue.</p>
<p class="pnext">Here we stayed the night, intending to make
an early start, so as to be at Holwick before
sunset. An old farmer advised us to go by
Thorne rather than by Doncaster, and, taking
his advice, we rode over a fairly level road,
which in three hours brought us in sight of the
former place.</p>
<p class="pnext">Here we followed a broad, sluggish river,
whereon lay many broad-bottomed craft not
unlike those we had seen on the inland waters of
the Dutch Republic. This river they call the
Don. When we left it we crossed another--the
Aire--at a place called Snaith.</p>
<p class="pnext">We were now but a few miles from our
destination, and our hopes and fears ran high.
At Carleton we left the main road, and after a
few miles of a narrow winding lane the gaunt
tower of Holwick rose before us.</p>
<p class="pnext">The village was a straggling one, consisting
of a few stone cottages, an indifferent inn, and
a small church, its square tower, blackened by
fire, a silent witness to a long-forgotten Scottish
raid. From its lead-covered summit Old Noll
himself had directed the attack upon my father's
stronghold.</p>
<p class="pnext">Poverty, through manorial neglect, was only
too apparent, and I could not help exclaiming
despondently: "Look, friends! What a heritage,
and hardly a scrap of paper to prove my
right to it!"</p>
<p class="pnext">We halted at the old inn, and enquired in
a seemingly casual tone whether we could be
accommodated there. "For," quoth Felgate
to the servile landlord, "we have a desire to
know more of this old castle, and methinks that
good fishing is obtainable in this stream."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Eh, my masters," replied he, "'tis not to
be beaten in all Yorkshire for good sport--trout,
dace, chub, and even the lordly salmon;
and as for t'old castle--well, 'tis said that spooks
be about. Leastwise I never care to go yonder
missen, for strange noises affright the whole
countryside!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Oh!" I ejaculated. "And is that so?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ay, young sir. With the disappearance of
Sir Owen, the owner of Holwick, after the taking
of the castle some two-and-twenty years ago by
the malignants--and a curse be on 'em all--Sir
Owen was last seen fighting his way through
the rebel foot. They say he was killed, and his
body buried in the dry moat by the rebels; and
ever since that time we often hear most fearsome
cries and noises."</p>
<p class="pnext">When we had arranged for a few days' stay,
a serving man led our horses away, and we
entered the best room of the place. It was an
oak-panelled, wainscoted room, with a low,
smoke-grimed ceiling that was traversed by
a massive beam. The floor was paved with
large stones, while an ingle nook and settle
imparted a cheerful aspect to the apartment. But
what attracted my attention most was a mattock
and a couple of spades, with the rich red clay still
sticking to them, lying in a corner of the room.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Is our host a gravedigger as well as an
innkeeper?" asked Drake, his eye following the
glance I gave at the implements.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Nay, Greville, it means that we are forestalled;
someone is already at work here."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Who?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"I'll wager 'tis none other than that villain
Increase Joyce."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ho, landlord!" shouted Felgate, in a voice
that sounded like the bellowing of a bull.</p>
<p class="pnext">Our host soon appeared, cringing and bowing
like the menial that he was.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Where is the man that uses these things?"
I demanded, pointing to the spades and mattock.</p>
<p class="pnext">Our host, taken aback, stammered some inaudible reply.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Speak up, man!" I commanded sternly.</p>
<p class="pnext">"'Tis but a king's officer making a survey of
the castle."</p>
<p class="pnext">"King's officer, forsooth! Now, listen! As
you value your hide, answer truly. We are
king's officers; he is an arrant rogue and villain.
For aught I know you may be his accomplice.
Now, where is he?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"He rode off this morning to Selby."</p>
<p class="pnext">"And he returns----?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"Sir, I know not--on my honour!"</p>
<p class="pnext">Whether the man lied or not I could not tell.
His crafty face was expressionless.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Now, listen, sirrah! Say not one word that
we are here, but directly he returns let us know.
Fail us, or play us false, and you'll answer to
the king's justices at York."</p>
<p class="pnext">The landlord, thoroughly cowed, promised
compliance, and we withdrew to a remote room
to await events.</p>
<p class="pnext">Twilight was drawing in as the sound of
horse's hoofs was heard on the hard road. We
made our way to a window where we could
overlook the front of the inn, and the horseman
proved without doubt to be the rogue Joyce,
though he was arrayed more gaily than of yore,
and a close-trimmed beard hid the lower part
of his face.</p>
<p class="pnext">The landlord took his horse to the stables
where ours were kept, and Joyce made to follow,
but with some inaudible remark the former
succeeded in inducing the villain to enter the house.</p>
<p class="pnext">In a few minutes we heard him calling for
food and drink, and the clattering of knives
and platters showed that he was appeasing his
appetite with zest.</p>
<p class="pnext">It was a pitch-dark night; a keen easterly
wind whistled through the trees, while rain-laden,
murky, ill-defined clouds drifted across
the sky.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Hist!" whispered Felgate, laying his hand
on my arm.</p>
<p class="pnext">Cautiously out of the doorway crept the figure
of a man, his form muffled in a dark cloak,
while a broad-brimmed hat was pulled down
over his face. In his hand he carried a horn
lantern, while the jangle of steel showed that
the spades were to be brought to work. It was
Increase Joyce.</p>
<p class="pnext">With a stealthy tread he vanished down the
road, hugging the buildings as if fearful of
meeting a benighted stranger in the now
deserted village.</p>
<p class="pnext">Without a word we buckled on our swords
and left the inn, following carefully in his track,
pausing ever and anon to try and detect the
sound of his footsteps.</p>
<p class="pnext">At length we came to the confines of the
castle grounds, where a thick belt of trees
added to the already overpowering darkness.
Groping blindly forward, stumbling over roots
and colliding with unseen trunks of trees, we
continued our quest, fearful lest the crackling
of a dry twig or the clanking of our weapons
should betray our whereabouts.</p>
<p class="pnext">Just as we reached the far side of the wood
the sudden gleam of a lantern being lit arrested
us. Simultaneously we dropped on the
dew-sodden grass and awaited further developments.</p>
<p class="pnext">The ghostly light of the lantern flickered
upon the grey walls of the tower, casting the
long shadow of the man upon it in grotesque
shapes. For a moment Joyce paused, then,
turning towards us, began to walk, counting the
paces as he went. At the thirty-second he set
the lantern down, and, plying his spade with
great vigour, sent the soil in all directions,
some of the dirt falling close to us.</p>
<p class="pnext">For over an hour he delved, till his laboured
breathing showed how great his efforts were.
Five feet down he dug, till the heap of soil hid
him from us.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Now!" whispered Felgate, laying his hand
on his swordhilt.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Nay! He has found naught. Let him
enjoy his disappointment for a while."</p>
<p class="pnext">Muttering curses at his want of success, Joyce
dragged himself out of the pit and walked
towards the castle, leaving the lantern on the
ground. Then he began to pace afresh, but in
a different direction, till his form was lost in
the darkness.</p>
<p class="pnext">For a while no sound save the occasional hoot
of an owl and the rapidly dying breeze broke
the stillness as we waited for some signs of the
renewed efforts of the treasure seeker.</p>
<p class="pnext">Suddenly a hideous cry, so terrifying that it
caused the blood to freeze in our veins, echoed
through the silence of the night. Accustomed
though we were to scenes of bloodshed and
violence, this weird outburst, the concentrated
expression of mortal agony, held us spellbound.</p>
<p class="pnext">Drake was the first to recover himself, and,
springing to his feet with a shout, he drew his
sword and dashed across the open space of
grass, while we followed close at his heels.</p>
<p class="pnext">Stopping but for a moment to possess himself
of the lantern, he made his way in the direction
from which the sound had come.</p>
<p class="pnext">Something compelled him to halt, and we
stopped too. At our feet flowed the stream,
its weed-encumbered waters looking black and
forbidding in the dim light of the lantern, as
with silent eddies it swirled between the steep
rush-lined banks.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Aubrey, that man is beyond your vengeance;
a Higher Power has claimed him," exclaimed
Greville, pointing with his weapon at a dark
object that, arrested by a dense growth of
weeds, floated in the centre of the stream. It
was the hat of the doomed man, but not a
bubble marked the spot where he had sunk.</p>
<p class="pnext">In the presence of Death, that great leveller
of rank and persons, we removed our hats and
stood in silence, our eyes riveted on the spot
under which the remains of my mortal enemy
lay hidden from our view.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then, extinguishing the lantern, we made our
way through the wood, regained the road, and
returned to the inn.</p>
</div>
<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xxi-our-search-for-the-treasure">
<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref" href="#id22">CHAPTER XXI--Our Search for the Treasure</a></h2>
<p class="pfirst">The excitement of the previous night banished
sleep from our eyes, and rising betimes we
formed our plans for the day's work. Now that
Joyce had gone to his last account there was no
longer need for caution or concealment of our
plans, and to the utmost astonishment of the
crafty host of the Wentworth Inn, I was
presented to him as the rightful lord of Holwick.</p>
<p class="pnext">We thereupon breakfasted, and then made our
way to the castle grounds. Viewed by daylight
the whole scene was changed. The grey old
tower, blackened by powder and fire, was so
badly damaged as to be useless as a place of
abode, little tendrils of ivy already serving to
clothe the ruin with a kindly garb. The stream
that looked so black in the darkness now glittered
in the warm sunlight, as if unmindful of the
tragedy that had been enacted but a few hours before.</p>
<p class="pnext">A careful search amid the dense masses of
weed failed to give any clue to the mysterious
disappearance of the double-dyed villain, so we
concluded that his body must have escaped the
tenacious grip of the thick vegetable growth.</p>
<p class="pnext">On all sides rose little mounds of excavated
earth, showing how vigorously Joyce had
pursued his quest for the hidden treasure, each
mound being thirty-two paces from the wall.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Now, Aubrey, let's to work," exclaimed
Felgate, throwing off his cloak and vest and
rolling up his sleeves in a manner that showed
his enthusiasm.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Here, take the document and apply the
directions to the actual place," I remarked.
"This is the west side; yonder are two tall
fir trees. Now, measure off thirty-two paces."</p>
<p class="pnext">Felgate commenced to do so, Drake following
at his heels.</p>
<p class="pnext">"... Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty---- Ha!"</p>
<p class="pnext">For the thirtieth pace had brought him to the
edge of the stream, and the thirty-second would
be as near as anything right in the centre of the
river bed.</p>
<p class="pnext">For a moment we stood aghast. Surely there
must be some mistake! Then Drake, slapping
me soundly on the back, exclaimed in excited
tones: "Bethink thee, Aubrey, the old hag's
words: 'Till the waters run dry'!"</p>
<p class="pnext">"And what of that?" I replied, dull of comprehension.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Simply that the treasure lies in the bed of
the stream. We must divert its course and the
hiding place will be revealed."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Let me try," exclaimed the impetuous
Felgate, and in spite of our protests he waded into
the water, which seemingly rose no higher than
his knees.</p>
<p class="pnext">At the third step he suddenly lurched forward,
threw out his arms in a frantic effort to regain
his balance, then disappeared beneath the surface.</p>
<p class="pnext">The next instant he reappeared; but though
he kept his head above the water, his legs were
held by the weeds, and a look of horror
overspread his face when he realized the danger of
his position.</p>
<p class="pnext">Had we not been there, his fate would have
been sealed; but, cautiously wading in, Drake
holding my left hand, I extended my right arm
towards him.</p>
<p class="pnext">I grasped him with a great effort, and we
dragged him out of the hole, his jack boot being
wrenched from his foot by the unrelenting grip
of the tendrils.</p>
<p class="pnext">"You are right, Drake," he panted. "There's
a deep hole there, and the treasure lies in it."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Come, then, at once," said Drake, "to the
village, and enrol every man who can use
mattock and spade. We'll have a channel cut here"
(indicating a semicircle of about forty yards in
diameter), "and dam the stream on each side of
this hole."</p>
<p class="pnext">There was no need to go as far as the village.
Already the strange tidings had spread, and a
motley throng of villagers were gathered around
the entrance to the estate, curious, yet loath to
come nearer.</p>
<p class="pnext">They raised a cheer at our approach, and
when we told them of our wants there was a
general stampede on the part of the men folk
for digging implements.</p>
<p class="pnext">While we awaited their return, a man having
the air of petty authority stepped up to us and,
addressing me, said:</p>
<p class="pnext">"You are Sir Aubrey Wentworth, I am told."</p>
<p class="pnext">I assented, and at the same time asked the
fellow his business.</p>
<p class="pnext">"In me you see the lawful representative of
the sheriff of York. Before you delve, or take
possession of, any portion of this land, I must
have his authority. For aught I know, saving
your presence, ye may be adventurers of low
degree, outlaws, or the like."</p>
<p class="pnext">"And where is your authority?" I demanded,
wroth at being interfered with on my own land.</p>
<p class="pnext">For answer he pulled a parchment from his
pouch and held it up for my inspection.</p>
<p class="pnext">"And have you any proof, sir, that you are
lord of Holwick?" he continued.</p>
<p class="pnext">Save for a few papers relating to the finding
of the treasure I had none; even the title deeds,
though close at hand, were not to be produced
till the stream had been diverted; so I shook my
head. Surely it was a pretty pass--a knight
without a scrap of script to prove himself such!</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then, till you get authority from the sheriff
I cannot allow you to tarry here," said the bailiff
in a deferential yet decisive tone.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then there remains but for me to journey to
York," I replied. "How far lies the city?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"One hour's ride by Fulford will bring you
to Walmgate Bar. The sheriff, methinks, will
be found at Clifford's Tower."</p>
<p class="pnext">Ten minutes later Drake and I were spurring
hotly towards York, Felgate, by reason of having
but one jack boot and wet clothes, being
compelled to stay behind, and before long the
massive towers of the Minster showed above the
skyline.</p>
<p class="pnext">So strong was our pace that in less than the
hour our horses' hoofs clattered under the
archway of the Bar.</p>
<p class="pnext">On our being ushered into the presence of the
sheriff, that worthy, a man of fierce and resolute
aspect, curtly demanded our business.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Sir Aubrey Wentworth, forsooth," he cried,
"and not a word in writing to prove your right!
Nay, good sirs, I cannot grant you your desires
on so weighty a matter with so light a claim.
A person of repute must identify you."</p>
<p class="pnext">"But I know no man in the whole of Yorkshire!"
I exclaimed, feeling the hopelessness of
my position.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then authority must be obtained from the
King's Court at St. James's. I can say no
more to you, Sir Aubrey, so I wish you good-day."</p>
<p class="pnext">His manner showed that the interview had
ended, and, sick at heart, I left his presence,
Drake offering me wasted yet well-meaning
consolation.</p>
<p class="pnext">We walked slowly towards Petergate, where
our steeds had been stabled. As we turned into
that street an officer came swiftly round the
corner, so that we ran violently against each
other. In a moment I recognized him; he was
none other than Ralph Slingsby, who brought
the tidings of the Restoration to us at the
"Flying Bull" at Rake on the same evening
that my father was murdered.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Ah, Captain Slingsby!" I exclaimed.</p>
<p class="pnext">He eyed me with astonishment.</p>
<p class="pnext">"I know you not, young sir, and as for the
captain, that is but a bygone handle to my
name, for I am Colonel Ralph Slingsby at your
service."</p>
<p class="pnext">Briefly I recalled the scene in the "Flying Bull".</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then you are Sir Owen Wentworth's son?" he asked.</p>
<p class="pnext">I assented, and told him briefly of what had
happened.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Back with me to the sheriff's house," he
said. "It would ill repay the friendship I owed
your father if I did not render this slight service
to his son. Young sir, I see now that you are
the very image of your father when first I knew him."</p>
<p class="pnext">With Slingsby to aid us, the interview with
the sheriff was of short duration, and, armed with
a warrant, I left his presence in a far better mood
than I was in an hour before.</p>
<p class="pnext">Shaking the colonel warmly by the hand, I
bade him farewell, promising to call upon him
directly my affairs were settled, and, mounting
our horses, Drake and I sped joyfully back
towards Holwick, which we reached within four
hours of our departure.</p>
<p class="pnext">For the rest of the day our army of workers
toiled at their arduous task, and before nightfall
a cutting was made sufficiently wide and deep
to divert the stream.</p>
<p class="pnext">Next morning the men commenced to construct
the two dams, and so well did they labour
that by noon the river was diverted, and only
a pool of water covered the mysterious hole
where we supposed the treasure was lying.</p>
<p class="pnext">Then came the difficulty of getting rid of the
water and emptying the cavity in the old bed
of the river. Pumps were procured, yet the
progress was slow, and as the sun sank to rest
the bed was dry, though a pool of dark water
showed clearly the position of the hiding place.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Why did Sir Owen go to that extreme
trouble?" remarked Drake, as we were returning
to the inn. "Surely he could have deposited
the treasure and the papers with Master Whitehead?"</p>
<p class="pnext">"I cannot tell," I replied, "except, perhaps,
that his faith in lawyers was none too strong."</p>
<p class="pnext">"Then he was like my sire," rejoined Felgate,
laughing. "For he used to say: 'Show me a
lawyer and I'll show you a thief!'"</p>
<p class="pnext">Early next morning the work of pumping was
resumed, and as the water sank slowly down
the mouth of the cavity, a dark object showed
amidst the lank weeds. One of the men pounced
upon it, cut the restraining tendrils, and held
the object up for our inspection. It was
Felgate's jack boot.</p>
<p class="pnext">Before noon the pumps sucked dry; the hole
was emptied of water. A ladder was thrust
down, and found a firm bottom at about fifteen
feet. Armed with lanterns, Felgate and I
prepared to descend, and, having fastened a rope
round our waists, we commenced carefully to
climb down the ladder.</p>
<p class="pnext">By the fitful glimmer of the candles we could
see that we were in a vaulted chamber, the roof
of which had caved in, forming the aperture
through which we had descended. Apparently
it had at one time been a subterranean passage
between the castle and the village, but walls had
been built, converting it into a small chamber
of about twenty feet in length and six in breadth.</p>
<p class="pnext">The floor was slimy with mud, and when our
eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness we
perceived an object lying close to our feet.
Felgate stooped and flashed the lantern on it.
It was the body of Increase Joyce, his features
drawn horribly in his death struggles!</p>
<p class="pnext">We shouted for another rope to be let down,
and, tying it round the limp, lifeless form, we
gave the signal, and the body of the unfortunate
ruffian was drawn up to the light of day.</p>
<p class="pnext">Another object met our gaze; it was the
skeleton of a man encased in armour that showed
him to have been a Roundhead. He must have
perished during the attack on the castle, for his
heavy broadsword was found by his side.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Send a man down with a spade," called
Felgate to those above, and presently a man
came down the ladder, followed by Drake. In
less than an hour the mud was heaped in one
corner of the vault, laying bare a hard, roughly
paved floor. Still there was no sign of the
much-sought-for prize.</p>
<p class="pnext">The damp, unhealthy atmosphere made our
heads swim, so for a time the work was
suspended and we gained the upper air, where a
crowd of morbid countrymen were dividing their
attention between the corpse of the unfortunate
Increase Joyce and the gaping hole from which
we had emerged.</p>
<p class="pnext">A rest of half an hour revived us, and we
returned to the attack with feverish anxiety.</p>
<p class="pnext">"Three feet down and we'll come across it
right enough," said Drake, and lustily two stout
countrymen plied their tools.</p>
<p class="pnext">The cobbles, set in cement, were like an iron
plate, but once these were removed the work of
digging a hole became easy. As the depth
increased our excitement rose, till at length one
of the mattocks struck something that emitted
a metallic sound. It was a heavy iron chest.</p>
<p class="pnext">When laid bare, the box was about three feet
in length, about two feet in breadth, and a foot
and a half in depth. Two handles, rusted with
age, were sufficiently strong to enable the chest
to be hoisted by means of a stout rope, and
with a shout of suppressed excitement from the
crowd the precious box was hauled up and
deposited on the grass.</p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="width: 62%" id="figure-30">
<span id="the-chest-is-hoisted-to-the-surface"></span><img class="align-center" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=" " src="images/img-232.jpg" />
<div class="caption figure">
THE CHEST IS HOISTED TO THE SURFACE</div>
</div>
<p class="pfirst">As we had no keys a cold chisel was required,
but, this not being forthcoming, a man was
dispatched to the village to procure one.</p>
<p class="pnext">While we were waiting, the bailiff, who was
now most civil and obliging, placed in my
hands an object that had been found in Joyce's
pocket. It was the long-lost metal box which
my father had mentioned in his will, but its
contents were simply two pieces of faded and
much-handled paper containing one-third of the
mysterious directions that had so puzzled the
murderer and would-be thief.</p>
<p class="pnext">On the messenger's return we used the cold
chisel to such good purpose that the massive lid
flew open with a clang and a groan, disclosing
a number of canvas sacks filled with coins of
all sorts. Underneath were a few pieces of
silver-plate, such as had not been melted down for the
use of His Late Majesty King Charles, the
martyr, while at the bottom of the chest was a
package carefully protected by a covering of
oiled silk.</p>
<p class="pnext">Tearing open the covering, I found all the
documentary evidence that was required to prove
my right to the Manor of Holwick--the cup of
joy was filled to overflowing, and, in spite of
my surroundings, I sought relief in a flood of tears.</p>
<div class="center transition">
<p class="pfirst">――――</p>
</div>
<p class="pfirst">Concerning the events that marked the close
of the strange history of my father's will there
is but little to write.</p>
<p class="pnext">The contents of the treasure chest were
sufficient for me to restore the Manor of Holwick to
its former greatness. The castle still stands, a
venerable ruin, but a small yet stately mansion,
designed by the great Wren himself, occupies
a commanding position within a mile of the
shattered remains of our ancestral hall.</p>
<p class="pnext">Still the years roll on. The Merrie Monarch
was succeeded by his brother James, whose
ill-advised acts alienated his subjects. William
and Mary then reigned, William being
succeeded by his wife's sister, good Queen Anne,
whom God preserve. All these monarchs I
have actively served; and when the call of duty
has not taken me to the high seas, or on service
in some foreign land, my leisure time has always
been spent in the quietness of Holwick.</p>
<p class="pnext">One by one the friends of my youth have
gone. None have I grieved for more than for
Felgate when I learned of his glorious death
in the moment of victory at the battle of La
Hogue. Greville Drake still remains my tried
and trusted companion, and our greatest
pleasure during our frequent meetings is to talk of
the many adventures of our youth in the days
of the Merrie Monarch.</p>
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<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39490 ***</div>
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