CHAPTER I.
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Some with the ladies in their chambers ply
Their bounding elasticity of heel,
Evolving as they trip it whirlingly,
The merry mazes of th' entangled reel.
Anster Fair.
“You wear a sword, sir, and so do I!”
“Well, sir!”
“You know the use, sir, of a sword?”
“I do, to whip a knave, sir.”
The Hunchback.
The festival of St. Therese, Blanche's birth-day,
so anxiously looked for by the younger inhabitants
of St.Mary's, and scarcely less heartily welcomed
by the elder, at length came round. Towards sunset
of an evening, mild in temperature and resplendent
with the glorious golden-tipped clouds of the
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October sky, the air fraught with that joyful freshness
which distinguishes this season in Maryland,
groups of gay-clad persons were seen passing on the
high road that led from the town to the Rose Croft.
The greater number, according to the usage of that
day, rode on horseback, the women seated on pillions
behind their male escort. Some of the younger
men trudged on foot, and amongst these was even
seen, here and there, a buxom damsel cheerily making
her way in this primitive mode of travel and
showing by her merry laugh and elastic step how
little she felt the inconvenience of her walk.
It must not be supposed from this account that the
luxury of the coach was altogether unknown to the
good people of the province. Two of these vehicles
were already within the dominions of the Lord Proprietary;
one belonging to his Lordship himself, and
the other to Master Thomas Notley, of Notley Hall,
member of the Council, and sometime, during the
Proprietary's late visit to London, the Lieutenant-General
of the province. They were both of the
same fashion, stiff, lumbering, square old machines
which had been imported some twenty years past,
and were often paraded in the street of St. Mary's
with their bedizened postillions and footmen, to
the no inconsiderable enhancement, in the eyes of
the burghers, of the dignity and state of their possessors.
The bountiful foresight and supreme authority,
it may be said, of the Lady Maria had procured
the aid of both of these accommodations for the service
of the evening, and they were, accordingly,
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now plying backward and forward between the Port
and the Collector's, for the especial ease and delectation
of sundry worshipful matrons whose infirmities
rather inclined them to avoid the saddle, and also
for the gratification of such favourites of the good
lady, amongst the younger members of the population,
as she vouchsafed to honour by this token of
her regard. By the help of these conveniences a
considerable number of guests had been set down,
at the scene of festivity, a full hour before sunset—
this early convocation being in strict conformity with
the social usages by which our ancestors were accustomed,
on occasions of jollity, to take time by
the forelock.
The fame of the preparations at the Rose Croft
had attracted, in addition to the invited guests, all
such mere idlers as the humbler ranks of the townspeople
supplied. These were chiefly congregated
about the principal gateway, drawn thither by their
desire to witness the coming of the visiters and to
gratify that inquisitive love of observation at the display
of holiday finery, which furnishes so large a
fund of marvel to those whose lot excludes them
from participating in its exhibition. This crowd was
composed of serving-men and maids, idle apprentices
and vagrant strollers, of both sexes, with a due
admixture of ragged, bare-legged boys, who drove
a business of some little gain, by taking charge of
the horses of such as dismounted at the verge of the
enclosure that surrounded the dwelling. In their
estimation Willy of the Flats, ordinarily a comrade
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of the idle craft, but now elevated into a character
of some importance on a theatre of higher honour,
was a personage at the present moment of no mean
consideration, and he did not fail to let his consequence
be seen and felt by his old compeers. His
rough shoes were greased to give them a more
comely exterior, his linen, new-washed, was ambitiously
displayed upon his breast, and his dilapidated
garments, put in the best condition their weather-stricken
service would allow, were ostentatiously
freshened up with knots of parti-coloured ribands
which, especially upon his veteran beaver, flared in
streamers, and audibly fluttered in the zephyr that
played across his brow. His fiddle, which was soon
to be called into active employment, was as yet suspended
to the kitchen wall in its green bag, and he
strutted, in vacant leisure, across the lawn in the
presence of his envying cronies at the gateway, with
a vain-glorious and self-gratulating step, that showed,
at least, how complacently he viewed his own exaltation,
even if he did not win as much worship from
the spectators.
“Troth, Michael Mossbank,” he said with a significant
twinkle of the eye; “but we will make dainty
work of it to-night—our junketing shall be spoken
of on both sides of the bay, come this many a long
year. The quality themselves do not often see the
like,—and the simple folks that have had the luck to
to be let in, will not forget it, or I am mistaken, till
the young down turns into old bristles. It is like to
be a most capersome and I may say melodious
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merry-making. You had no light hand, Michael, in
the ordering of it.”
“You may make Bible oath to that,” replied the
gardener; “and you would never be fore-sworn.
Order it, I did, truly—the out-door work, the kitchen-work
and the hall-work. Here was the trimming of
hedges to make all smooth at the bank side, and the
setting out of the lawn—not a straggling leaf shall
you see upon it; then the herbs for the kitchen, and
the flowers for the hall!—Faith it was a handful of
work for a week past. If it had not been for Michael
there would have been but tame sport to-night.”
“Oh, but you have a great head, for such monstrous
contrivances, Master Michael: you are a
gardener of gardeners! Adam was of the trade
before you,—but he had no jig-muster to set out, I
trow, in his time:—his noddle could never have
compassed it—or his five wits would have buzzed
till he grew blind,—and then all his children would
have given up the trade for ever after. Oh, was it
not lucky for us that Father Adam was not put to
the ordering of a jig muster?”
“Out, you beet-face,” exclaimed the gardener,
half angrily; “go put your gibes upon them that
have an ear for such cracks! Why dost thou stand
grinning there with thy flaunting ribands, when there
is work for thee elsewhere? Look to yon gaping
herd of beggars at the gate—they will presently so
crowd the way that no one may enter. Look to it,
until you are wanted in the hall, and you shall earn
your penny-fee and broken victual the better for it.”
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“Out upon thee, Michael, thyself, for a churl, a
cockle weed! I eat no broken victual, I trow, at
thy hands: he would have scant fare who waited on
thy charity. A crowder has as much worship as a
spade-lifter any day in the year—so, cock your nose
at some one below you!”
“A jest for a gibe, Willy,” returned the gardener
good humouredly; “a jest for a gibe! Play turkey
cock and swell to your heart's content!—and when
you have let off your spite go to the gate where you
are wanted. Go, friend Willy,—I would not vex
you, in faith.”
The fiddler, after this short and ruffling encounter,
having regained his equanimity, and not displeased
at the chance of showing his importance to the loiterers
about the gate, went to the post assigned to
him; where, with a self-complacent tone of admonition,
he addressed the assemblage, consisting of some
dozen auditors, with a discourse upon the behaviour
expected of them on this interesting occasion both by
himself and the master of the feast.
Prominent amongst those upon whom this instruction
was bestowed, was one who had ever regarded
Willy with singular deference: this was a lean and
freckled lad, just on the verge of manhood, whose
unmeaning eye, relaxed fibre and ever present smile
denoted a stinted intellect, whilst his unoffending inquisitiveness
gained him admission to the skirts of
all gatherings, whether festive or sad. His restless
foot and characteristic thirst for knowledge
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habitually impelled him to seek the most conspicuous post
of observation, and he was now, accordingly, in the
foremost rank of Willy's hearers. Wise Watkin,
(for by this name he was familiarly greeted by young
and old,) notwithstanding the parsimony with which
nature had doled out to him the gift of wit, was remarkable
for his acquaintance with all classes of
persons, and for a certain share of cunning in picking
up the shreds of whatever rumour might chance,
for the time, to agitate the gossip of the town: he
was still more remarkable for his inordinate admiration
of the fiddler.
Willy had just concluded his lecture of advice to
his cronies, when his attention was arrested by the
rumble of wheels heard at a distance, and by a cloud
of dust which was seen rising in the neighbouring
wood through which the road lay from the town.
“Hearken, neighbours,—his Lordship's coach!”
he cried out. “We shall have it here anon, stuffed
with people of worship. Take ranks on each side of
the road—quickly, I beseech you! I will see you all
cared for at the feast. Now remember, at my signal,
thus,—hands to your caps, lads,—and wenches, sink:—
do it comely and altogether.”
“Ranks, ranks!” exclaimed Wise Watkin who,
with officious alacrity, began to push the crowd into
the array indicated by the fiddler. “Heed Willy,
and do as he bids. I warrant you, he knows what
will please the gentle-folks—hands to your caps!”
The motley ranks being formed according to the
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fiddler's direction, awaited the arrival of those for
whom this formal salutation was designed.
Instead of the Proprietary's coach, a few moments
disclosed a cart with a little thickset, shaggy pony
attached to it, coming at high gallop upon the road.
On the bench above the shafts was descried the jolly
figure of the landlady of the Crow and Archer, in
the identical suit of green and scarlet in which we
have heretofore noticed her, playing the part of charioteer.
Beside her sat the terrified Garret Weasel
who, of too light bulk to maintain a solid seat, jolted
fearfully to and fro at every spring of the vehicle.
The pony had manifestly taken the speed of his journey
into his own discretion, and, with the shank of
the bit gripped between his teeth, and head curved
side wise, set his course doggedly for the gate, in
obstinate resistance of the dame who, with both arms
at stretch, reddened brow and clenched teeth, tugged
at the reins, to turn him into a road that led,
by a circuit, towards the rear of the dwelling, whither
she was now conveying sundry articles of provision
which she had undertaken to supply for the
feast.
“For the Lord's sake, friends, stop the beast!”
shouted the treble voice of the vintner as soon as he
perceived Willy's corps—“stop us for the love of
mercy!”
As the crowd gathered to arrest the runaways, a
waive of the hand from the dame suspended their
purpose. Her mettle was roused by the contumacy
of the pony; whereupon, in disdain of the proffered
aid, she gave loose rein to her beast, and, at the
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same time plying her whip across his flanks, whilst
her forlorn help-mate, with eyes starting from their
sockets, shouted aloud for help, flew through the
gateway with increased velocity,—a broad smile playing
upon the face of the dame as she cried out to the
lookers on,—“Never heed the babe, a gay ride will
mend his health.”
The address of the landlady in safely passing
through the narrow way, elicited a general burst of
applause, which rang in shouts until she had fairly
got the better of the self-will of her four footed antagonist,
and had halted him, panting, at the back of
the house.
“By my gossip,” exclaimed Willy; “it was no
such great mistake to set down dame Dorothy's tumbrel
for my Lord's coach! If it had been a coach
and six it could not have made more dust or better
speed.”
“It could not, on my conscience!” shouted Wise
Watkin, in a shrill response to Willy's laugh.—
“There's a tickle to the ribs!—that fiddler Willy
should take dame Dorothy's cart and bow-necked
Bogle for my Lord's coach!”—and with this reflection
he joined still louder in the chorus which echoed
the general merriment, not doubting that the laugh
was occasioned by Willy's mistake.
Mean time the company continued to arrive. The
coaches came with new freights, and fresh parties
on horseback alighted at the gate. The Collector,
more than usually precise in apparel, stood at the
door receiving the frequent comers with all that particularity
of observance which so strongly marked
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the manners of the past century; and group after
group was ushered into the hall. Here Mistress
Alice, in sad-coloured, silken attire, plain and becoming
in its fashion, gave welcome to her visiters;
whilst the Lady Maria, in character of what might
be termed the patroness of the revel, took post by
her side. The neat little figure of the Proprietary's
sister received a surprising accession of bulk from
the style of her dress, which was according to a mode
yet new in the province. Her hair, laid flat and
smooth upon the crown of the head, was tortured
into a sea of curls that fell over either ear to the
point of the shoulder, and to the same depth upon
the back, fringing her brow with light and fleecy
flakes—the whole powdered to a pearly, brownish
hue, and inlaid with jewelled bands. Her gown,
both body and skirt, was of rich, flowered tabby,
whose coruscating folds rustled with portentous dignity,
as the lady moved slowly from place to place.
This derived still greater increment of stateliness
from a stomacher and huge farthingale, or hoop,
made after a fashion which the queen of Charles the
Second, nearly twenty years before, had brought
from Portugal and introduced to the wondering eyes
of the merry court dames of England. The glory
of this array gave a world of condescension to the
deep and awfully formal courtesy with which the
benevolent spinster made her salutations to the freshly
arriving troops; who, in their turn, it was obvious,
were duly impressed with the grandeur of the accost,
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and did full homage to the claims of the lady as the
presiding genius of the ball.
Blanche Warden, with a playfulness that vibrated
between the woman and the girl, abandoned the reception
of the guests to the elders of the family, and
gave herself up to the guidance of her prevailing
humour, as she appeared, at one moment, in the
hall smiling amidst the congratulations of friends,
and at another, skimming across the lawn with a
dozen of her school-mates in the random flight of
their wild fancies. Her dress was characterized by
the simplicity of a maiden as yet unambitious to assume
the privileges of womanhood. It consisted of
a boddice of light blue velvet accurately fitted to
her shape, and laced across the bosom with silken
cords, the tasseled extremities of which depended
almost to the ground; short white sleeves looped to
the shoulder by bands of the colour of the boddice;
a skirt of white lawn sparingly trimmed with blue,
and divested of that cumbrousness of volume which
belonged to the costume of women of that day; and
a low white slipper disclosing a foot and ankle of
faultless proportions. Her neck and shoulders, of
matchless beauty, were given uncovered to the evening
breeze; and her glossy hair, constrained above
her brow by a fillet of blue riband, fell in rich
volume down her back. No jewel or jem contributed
its lustre to grace her person; but a bouquet of
choice flowers planted on the upper verge of the
boddice, and a white rose nestling amongst the
braided tresses on her forehead, better than carcanet
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or chain of gold, diamond clasp or ear-ring, consorted
with the virgin purity and artless state of the
wearer.
For a time, until the thickening shades of twilight
and the keenness of the evening air began to admonish
them of the comfort of the house, many of the
guests, attracted by the unusual mildness of the season,
loitered about the door or strolled across the
grounds. Near the brink of the cliff which over-looked
the river might have been seen Captain Dauntrees
amusing a group of idle comrades. Here and
there, a priest from the Jesuit House of St. Inigoe's,
in his long cassock, diversified the general aspect of
gay costumes, with a contrast grateful to the eye.
The Proprietary, with the buxom old host, Mr. Warden,
and the aged Chancellor, essayed to make merry
with some venerable matrons who, with a sagacious
presentiment of rheumatic visitations, were effecting
a retreat towards the chimney corner of the parlour.
Talbot played the gallant amongst a half score maidens,
who flitted along the margin of the cliff with a
clamour that almost amounted to riot, whilst in his
wake, Master Benedict Leonard, as gaudy as a jay,
strutted swaggeringly along, apparently but to indulge
his admiration of his kinsman or to discharge
some shot of saucy freedom amongst the maidens.
With the lighting of candles the first notes of Willy's
fiddle were heard in a bravura flourish summoning
the dancers to the hall; and here the ball was
opened, according to prescriptive custom, with the
country-dance, which was led off by no less a
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personage than the Lady Maria, attended by the worshipful
Collector himself as her partner, the couple
affording, both in costume and movement, the richest
imaginable portraiture of that “ancientry and state”
which so wonderfully pleased the fancy of our progenitors.
Other dances of the same character, mingled
with jigs and reels, succeeded, and the company
soon rose into that tone of enjoyment which the contagious
merriment of the dance diffuses over all such
assemblages. Cards, at that day, even more than at
present, constituted the sober resource of the elder and
graver portions of society of both sexes; and accordingly,
by degrees, the Collector had drawn off to the
parlour a respectable corps of veterans, who, grouped
around the small tables, pursued this ancient pastime
with that eagerness which it has always inspired
amongst its votaries, leaving the hall to the unchecked
mirth of the dancers.
“We heard it said that Master Cocklescraft, of the
Olive Branch, was to be here to-night,” said Grace
Blackiston, as she encountered Blanche in the dance.
“He told father Pierre that he was coming: and I
have heard it whispered too, that he has brought
some pretty presents with him from abroad. I do
not behold him yet, and here is the evening half gone.
Oh, I do long to see him, for they say he dances so
well. Is he not coming?”
“He has been bidden,” replied Blanche, “though
not much with my will: I care not whether he comes
or stays away.”
“Ha, Blanche has no eye but for Master Albert,”
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said the merry maiden, as she turned off and addressed
herself to a school-mate who stood near; “yet a
good dancer is not to be scorned now-a-days, even if
the Secretary were a better. And if he were a better,
he does n't dance so much that we should content
ourselves with him. The Secretary has not been
on the floor to-night, but must needs be tracking and
trailing father Pierre about the room. I do believe
he does so for no purpose but to win sights of Blanche
Warden. I wonder if the dullard can be in love? It
looks hugely like it.”
The Secretary had, in truth, not yet mingled in
the dance, but from the beginning of the evening had
loitered in the hall, apparently watching the sports,
and, now and then, communing with father Pierre,
who, though a priestly, was far from being a silent
or grave looker-on. The benevolent churchman
enjoyed a commanding popularity with the
younger portions of the society of the province, and
took so much pleasure in the manifestation of it, that
he was seldom absent from such of their gatherings
as the course of his duty would allow him to attend.
For the same reason he was generally to be found
amongst the assemblages of his children, as he called
them, rather than mingling in the graver coteries of
those of his own period of life. On the present occasion
he had scarcely quitted the dancing apartment
during the evening, but stood by, a delighted spectator
of the mirth that sparkled in the faces of the happy
groups, and heard with glee, almost equal to their
own, the wild laughter that echoed through the hall.
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“They will presently begin to think Master Albert
Verheyden intends to set himself up for a philosopher,”
he said, as the Secretary encountered him on
the skirts of the dancers, the eye of the priest beaming
with a good-natured playfulness. “It is not usual
for a squire of dames to be so contemplative. My
son, have you given over the company of damsels to
consort with an old priest in so gay a scene as this?”
“Father, I would dance if there were need; but
there is not often an empty space upon the floor, nor
lack of those who seek to fill it. It pleases me as
well to hold discourse with you.”
“Ah, benedictus! my son, it is not at your time of
life that you may gain credence for such self-denial.
More than one of the maidens has put the question to
me to-night, how this should come to pass.”
“Reverend father, though I will not deny I love the
dance, yet my nurture long made me a stranger to
it; and now, since my fortune has brought me into
the gay world, I scarce may conquer the diffidence I
feel to exhibit myself in such unaccustomed exercise.”
“It is an innocent pleasure, son Albert, and a
graceful. There is healthful virtue in these laughing
faces and active limbs. St. Ignatius forbid that I
should commend an unseemly sport! but it hath ever
been my belief that the young men can find no better
instructers in the gentle perfections of charity and
good will than in their sport-mates amongst the maidens,—
and so I preach in mine office: nor, truly, may
the maidens better learn how to temper their
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behaviour with the grace of pleasing—which hath in it a
summary of many excellences, Master Albert—than
in the fellowship of our sons. Now, away with thee!
There is Blanche Warden, who has sent her eye
hither a dozen times, since we have been speaking,
to ask the question why I detain thee from thy duty.
Ah, blessed Therese! daughter Blanche does not suspect
I am chiding thee for that very fault. Go, my
son; it were shame to see you so little dainty in
your company to prefer the cassock to the petticoat.
Go, go!”
The lively gesture of the priest and his laughing
face, as he dismissed the Secretary from his side, attracted
the notice of Blanche, who, as Albert Verheyden
approached her, saluted him with
“I am right glad, Master Albert, that father Pierre
has seen fit to bestow upon you such chiding as, with
a will, I would have given you myself. I looked to
you to help me through my ball to-night, and made
sure of it that you would lead out some of the maidens
to dance; for there are many here that have not yet
had their turn:—there's Mistress Hay, the Viewer's
sister,—she has sat there all night, unregarded by
mortal man. Ah, Master Albert, you are no true
friend to desert me in my need.”
“Fair Mistress Blanche,” replied the Secretary
with a downcast look, “I stand under your displeasure,
and acknowledge my undeserving. Indeed, my
dull brain did not perceive your straits. I waited for
your bidding. You will pardon me that, being trained
to obedience on your command, I did not now
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presume to move without it. I will away and lead
forth the Viewer's sister on the instant.”
“Nay, stay now: I have saved you that errand.
Captain Dauntrees, upon my petition, has proffered
his hand, and, you may see, they are now standing on
the floor ready to begin. You shall find other duty.”
“To dance with you, gentle mistress, an' it like
you.”
“How can it but like me, Master Albert? Oh, but
I do affect this dancing! And yet, truly, I much better
like it as we have danced many a time at the
Rose Croft, on a winter's night, with our handful of
cronies, and sister Alice to touch the spinnet to a gay
tune, and you to teach us these new over-sea dances.
These were pleasant hours, Master Albert, and worth
a world of our stately birth-day junketings. Was it
not so?”
“I love not the crowd,” returned the Secretary
with a lively emotion; “but these fire-side pastimes!
you may praise them with your most prodigal speech,
and still fall short of their just meed. We had no
holiday finery there to make proud the eye, nor
glozing speech to set up perfections which we did
not own, nor studied behaviour to win opinion by;
but what we were we seemed, and what we felt we
said. There is more virtue in these hearth-side communings
than you shall find in a hemisphere of
shows.”
“Ah, Master Albert, you have seen the gaudy
world on the other side of the water, and can speak
of it with assurance. Our little, unfurnished province
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hath but scant pleasures for you: it is a make-believe
to praise our homely hearths.”
“Now, by the blessed virgin Therese! I speak,
Mistress Blanche, the very breathings of my secret
heart, and tell you, though little I can boast of acquaintance
with that gaudy world, nothing have I
seen, dreamed or tasted of worldly pleasure,—nay,
nothing have I, in the wildest flight of fond imagination,
ever fancied of human happiness, that might
exceed the rich delight of those household scenes you
speak of.”
“Were they not happy!” exclaimed Blanche, kindling
into a rapture excited by the fervour of the
Secretary's earnest and eloquent manner. “We owe
so much of it to you, Master Albert. Until you came
into the province, we sometimes had a weary hour at
the Rose Croft: now, my father finds it weary when
you are away. I do not,—because I may surely count
that it shall never be long until you are here again.—
Sancta Maria! did we not stand here to dance?
and, look you, our turn has past all unheeded. Truly,
they will say we were both distraught! We will to
the foot again and take another turn.”
It was as the maiden had said. In the engrossment
of their conversation they had been passed by
in the country-dance. As they now went to the foot
to bring themselves into place, Blanche whispered,
“I rejoice the Skipper is not come to-night: his
shrewdness has taught him, notwithstanding my father's
good will, that there is but little relish for his
company at the Rose Croft.”
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“You reckon without your host, Mistress Blanche,”
replied the Secretary. “There is the Skipper outside
of the window; and not well pleased with his own
ruminations, if I may judge by his folded arms and
thoughtful eye.”
Cocklescraft had been in the porch, looking in upon
the scene, some moments before he was observed; a
crowd of domestics having so pre-occupied the same
station as almost to shield him from the notice of
those within. Whilst Blanche and Albert now danced,
he had planted himself in the door. His countenance
was grave, his attitude statue-like, and his eye sharply
followed the motions of the maiden. His dress,
somewhat outlandish but still within the license of
that period, was of a Spanish fashion, profusely decorated
with embroidery and set off by jewels of exceeding
richness. It was too ambitious of ornament
to be compatible with good taste, and manifested that
love of finery which is the infallible index of a tawdry
and sensual nature. The thoughtfulness of his countenance
denoted an abstraction, of which he was obviously
not conscious at the moment, for he no sooner
caught the glance of Blanche than his whole bearing
underwent a sudden change; his eye sparkled, his
lip assumed a smile, and he became at once, in appearance,
the gay and careless reveller.
“God save the Rose of St. Mary's, the beautiful
flower of our New World!” he said, as he approached
the maiden with what she could not fail to note
as an over-acted effort to assume the cavalier. “Viva
la Padrona, tutta bella, tutta bona! The damsels of
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Portugal will teach you the meaning of that speech,
pretty mistress. St. Iago! but you have a gallant
company to-night,” he added, as he cast his eyes
around; in doing which he recognised Albert Verheyden
with a scarcely perceptible nod of the head,
and then turned his back upon him. “By your leave,
Mistress Blanche, I would dance with you at your
first leisure: the next dance, or the next,—I am thine
humble servant for as long as you will. Shall it not
be the next dance, lady?”
“I will tell you anon: I know not whether I may
dance again to-night, Master Cocklescraft,” replied
the maiden coldly.
“There spoke the same tongue that refused my
mantle! Your cruelty, mistress, exceeds that beauty
which all men so boast of in this province. I would
that I might bring you to look upon me with compassion.
Not even a dance with the queen of our
feast! A poor, rough-spoken sailor meets but little
grace in a lady's favour, when white-handed lute-players
and ballad-singing pages stand ready at her
call. It is even as you will! damsels have the privilege
of denial all the world over, and I am too
much of a gallant to trouble you with an unwelcome
suit—”
“I will dance with you, Master Cocklescraft,” said
Blanche anxiously, as she saw the chafed spirit of the
Skipper working in his face notwithstanding his effort
to disguise it; whilst, at the same time, she feared that
his peevish allusion to the Secretary might have been
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overheard; “call on me for the next set, and I will
dance with you.”
“Now by the light, I thought your goodness would
relent! 'Tis not in your nature to be unkind. Gracias!
I am at your feet, Senora—I shall be on the
watch. Scotch jig, reel, or country-dance, they all
come pat to me. I can dance the bransle, cinquepace,
or minuet—the corant, fandango, or gailliard.
You shall find me at home, mistress, in every clime.
Meantime, I will seek our host, the worshipful Collector:
I have not seen him yet.”
This unusual familiarity in the address of the Skipper,
and the importunate and even offensive freedom
of his manner were the result of an endeavour to
conceal a discontented temper under the mask of
gaiety. He had brooded over the incidents connected
with his late visit to the Rose Croft, until he had
wrought himself into a tone of feeling that might
engender any extravagance of behaviour. The coldness
of the maiden, we have seen, he imputed to
causes altogether independent of her goodwill or
aversion; and he was, therefore, determined to persevere
in his aim to win her favour—an enterprise
which, in his harsh and rude estimate of the proprieties
of conduct, he did not deem in any respect hopeless.
He made sure, in his reckoning, of the friendship
of the Collector, from whom he had experienced
those manifestations of good feeling which a hospitable
and kind-hearted man flings around him almost
at random, but which Cocklescraft's self-flattering
temper magnified into indications of special regard.
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The agitation of these topics had thrown him into
a perplexed thoughtfulness which alone was the cause
of his tardy appearance at the ball; and now that he
had arrived, the same rumination kept him vibrating,
in a moody abstraction, between total silence at one
period, and an unnatural exhibition of mirth at the
next, giving to the latter that gairish flippancy of
manner which was so annoying to the maiden.
The cordial and frank civility with which the Collector
recognised the Skipper amongst the guests,
unfortunately contributed to confirm him in the
opinion of Master Warden's favour.
“Why, Richard Cocklescraft,” said the host, upon
looking up from the cards which had been absorbing
his attention, and discovering the Skipper, “art
thou here amongst the grey beards? Why should you
flock to the old fowl when the young are gathered
in the hall? There is no gout in your toe, I warrant.
Get thee back, man—we will have no deserters here!
You promised to bring a blithe foot for a jig, Master
Cocklescraft; art tired of the sport already?”
“In truth, worshipful Master Warden,” replied the
Skipper, “I have, but within this half hour, arrived
at the house; 'tis not long since I left my brigantine,
where matters on board detained me.”
“Ha, and you have not danced to night? Then you
owe Blanche a turn of duty. Go quickly back,
Richard, and foot it with my girl. I have praised
your leg, man, and said enough to put you on your
mettle. Back to the hall, Master Cocklescraft, and
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say to Blanche I sent thee for a straight-backed comrade
to hold her to the pledge of a reel.”
“I am already bound to that pledge, and the time
is at hand to make it good. I but stole away for an
instant to pay my duty here,” replied the Skipper;
and taking heart from the familiar greeting of his
host, returned to the dancing apartment with lighter
step and more cheerful face.
Blanche took the earliest moment to perform her
engagement, hoping by this alacrity to acquit herself
of her obligation in a manner least calculated to occasion
remark, and soonest to disembarrass herself
of her partner's importunity. The dance, on her part,
was a reluctant courtesy, and was accordingly so
manifested in her demeanour, in spite of her resolution
to the contrary. Cocklescraft, however, was too
much elated to perceive how ill he stood in the
maiden's grace. Scant encouragement will suffice
to feed the hopes of a lover; still more scant in a
lover of such a temperament as that of the heady
seaman. His vanity was quick to interpret favourably
every word of civility that fell from Blanche's
lips; and the little that escaped her during the dance
seemed anew to brighten his hopes and inspire the
zeal of his pursuit.
When the engagement was accomplished the
maiden quickly escaped from her distasteful suitor,
by retiring from the hall and mingling with other
companions.
The guests were now summoned to supper. In a
wing of the dwelling house the tables were loaded
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with dainty cheer, more to be remarked for its capacity
to please the palate, than for the enticements
which modern epicurism has invented to gratify the
eye. An orderly division of matrons in damask and
brocade, escorted by quaint cavaliers in periwigs,
moved forward at a measured pace to make the first
onslaught. These were followed by active bevies of
youthful revellers who rushed pell-mell to the scene
of assault.
In the housekeeper's apartment which looked into
the supper-room, sundry women, intent upon supplying
the tables, might have been seen ministering their
office with scarcely less clamour than that which
echoed from the consumers of the feast. Here, in
a post of usurped control over the domestics, busy in
rinsing glasses, cleansing platters, adjusting pasties,
and despatching comfits, was the merry landlady of
the Crow and Archer whose saucy, laughing, and not
unhandsome face, grew lustrous with the delight
afforded by her occupation. Full as she was of the
appropriate business of her station, she still had time
to watch the banquet and make her comments upon
the incidents which transpired there.
“Ho, Bridget Coldcale! Bridget, this way look you!”
she exclaimed, as with napkin in hand, and eye glistening
with delight, she beckoned to the thin and busy
housekeeper. “If you would live and laugh, pray come
this way and take a peep at the table. Who should we
have here, as pert and proud as if she was the lady of
my Lord, but our gossip, Dolly Cadger? Think of it,—
the dame herself, in her own true flesh and blood
amongst all these gentlefolk. Marry! Master Anthony
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Warden was in straits to choose comers when he
went to the mercer's shop to find them. What a
precious figure the sea-tortoise makes with her yellow
camblet, blue sarsnet, and green satin! And that lace
pinner stuck upon her head, with great lappets flaunting
down like hound's ears! I cannot but laugh my
sides into a stitch—it is such a dainty tire for a mercer's
wife. It all comes, you may swear, bran new
out of the mercer's pack—for the poor man had never
the soul to deny her; there shall be a twelve month's
bragging on the top of this. Good lack! yonder is
Dauntrees, like an humble bee, beside the Viewer's
sister! The old pot-guzzler is never a man to flinch
from his trencher. Master Ginger, I know the measure
of thy stomach of old! I have warmed thy insides
for thee!”
“For the blessing of charity and the love of good
works, Dame Dorothy, some drink!” cried Willy,
the fiddler, who had just stolen from his post and
elbowed his way into the housekeeper's room. “Some
drink, beautiful mistress! my throat is as dry as a
midsummer chimney; swallows are building nests in
it: my lips are dusty from long drought, and my
elbow is not able to wag for want of oil. Quick,
good dame, or I shall crisp! Ha, the piper's benison
upon thy head! that is smooth and to the purpose,”
he exclaimed, after tossing off a glass which the
dame presented him. “Now, worthy hostess, a bone
to gnaw, for I am fearfully empty and like to cave
in! speed thee, dame: the dancers will be calling before
I am filled.”
“So,—Willy, set you down and comfort your
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stomach at your leisure; there will be no haste to leave
the supper-table this half hour,” replied the landlady,
as she laid a plate before the fiddler, furnished with
good store of pasty; “take your time and make a
belly full of it, child—thou hast earned thy provender.
I warrant you, Willy, you never had a merrier
pair of legs to `Hunt the Squirrel,' than our old
Captain gave thee to night.”
“Haw, haw!” shouted Willy; “Captain Dauntrees
is a king of Captains, dame. Troth, he hath put a
new spring in Master Warden's old floor. I would
have given a piece of eight out of my own pocket,
Mistress Dorothy—that is if I had so much—to have
seen thee on the plank to-night footing it to `Hunt
the Squirrel' with the Captain, or to `Moll Pately,'
or some such other merry frisk as I could have made
for you: it would have been as good as a month's
schooling to some of our gentlefolks.”
“Me on the floor, indeed!” ejaculated the dame,
with an affected laugh. “Faith, I might be there as
well as some that crow under a hood, and the ball
suffer no shame neither. But Master Warden doth
not drop his favour so low as a vintner's wife; he
must needs stop short with the mercer. Willy, didst
think before, that the publican was of less worship
than the pedler? Hath Dame Cadger better reason
to hold up her head than Dame Weasel? Speak the
truth, man, honestly.”
“Master Perry Cadger hath done with peddling
more than a year past,” replied Willy; “he is now a
'stablished mercer, with freehold in the town and
trade in the common: and they do say, Mistress
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Dorothy, that he makes money over-hand; marry, he will
be worshipful anon; money makes worship, dame,
all the world over.”
“May be it doth; but I would fain know, hath not
Garret Weasel as goodly a freehold in the town, as
old a trade in the common, and as full a pouch as
Perry Cadger? better, older, and fuller, on my word!
Now, where is that same mortal, my husband?”
inquired the dame, looking around her; “as I live by
food, there he is at the chimney-cheek, fast asleep in
the midst of all this uproar! The noddipeake is of
too dull a spirit for such a place as this. Wake him
up, Willy! Garret, man!” she screamed, in a tone
which instantly brought him to his feet; “if thou'rt
weary, put Bogle in the cart and get thee home to
bed; Matty will bring the cart back and wait for
me.”
“I sleepy!” returned the husband, in a husky voice,
and with a bewildered drowsy eye which he endeavoured
to light up with a laugh; “good woman,
if you wait here until I grow sleepy, you will be a
weary loiterer,—that's all I have to say. Sleepy,
dame! If a man but wink his eye in the light, you
would swear to a snore. Adsheartlikens! I have
been in many a rouse, wife, as you well know; day-dawn
is my twelve of the clock; chanticleer hath
crowed himself hoarse many a time before he could
get me to bed. I'll see thee out.”
“Oh, chops, chops! here's an honest night's work
for you!” drawled out Wise Watkin, who had, ever
since dark, occupied a station at a window as a
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spectator of the dancing, and now had pryingly thrust
his head into the housekeeper's apartment; “here be
eatables and drinkables, wet and dry, to set any
stomach a laughing! Why how now, Willy!” he
ejaculated, with a chuckle, as he discovered the fiddler
regaling himself in the room, and advanced towards
him with the skulking step of a dog that is
doubtful of his reception; “you know where the fat
and the sweet are, I warrant you. Oh, Master Willy,
you are a wise fiddler! their worships do well to
make much of you. Have you never a crust for
Watkin?”
“Out, you dotterel!” shouted Mistress Coldcale, in
a key that thrilled through the frame of the simpleton,
and turned him precipitately towards the door.
“Hav'nt we idlers enough in our way without you?
Here, take this and begone amongst thy cronies,”
she continued, as relenting she gave the witless intruder
a plate of provisions. “And as for you, Willy,
the young folks are gathering again in the hall, there
will be a message for you presently.”
“I stay for no message,” replied the crowder, as
he rose and shook the crumbs from him, and, with
jaws still occupied, withdrew from the apartment,
followed by the admiring Watkin.
Upon the lawn in front of the house, Albert Verheyden
had erected a bower, which sheltered a rustic
altar dedicated to St. Therese, over which the
name of Blanche had been wrought in large letters,
formed by a number of suspended lamps, which threw
a softened light for a considerable space around.
Hither, after supper, Mr. Warden, with a small party
-- 031 --
[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]
of his guests, had strolled, in the interval before the
sports of the evening were resumed. Cocklescraft
had watched the opportunity, and now, somewhat
elated with wine as well as buoyed up with hope,
had tracked the Collector's footsteps until he found
him separated some little space from his company.
“Well met, Master Warden!” was the Skipper's
accost, so familiarly whispered in the ear of his host
as to produce a slight movement of surprise. “Well
met, Caballero! I have a word for thy private ear;
this way, if you please. It is somewhat cool, so I
will to my purpose roundly, in seaman's fashion.”
“Speak what thou wilt, but quickly, Master Cocklescraft,
and in plain phrase: I shall like it the better.”
“Master Warden, then, without mincing the matter,
I would have your leave to woo our beautiful
maiden, your daughter.”
“Who,—what,—how?” interrupted the Collector,
in a voice that spoke his astonishment.
“Your daughter, Mistress Blanche; ay, and have
your good word to the suit: I love her like a true
son of the sea—heartily, and in that sort would woo
her.”
“What is it you ask?” again spoke the host with
increased surprise.
“I have gear enough, Master Warden; no man
may turn his heel on me for lack of gold.”
“How now, sirrah!” interrupted the Collector, as
in this brief space the storm had gathered to the
bursting point: “You would woo my daughter?—
woo her?—my Blanche? Richard Cocklescraft, hast
lost thy wits—turned fool, idiot; or is thy brain
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fevered with drink? You make suit to my daughter!
You win and wear a damsel of her nurture! Hear
me. Thy craft is a good craft—I do not deny it;
an honest calling, when lawfully followed! a brave
calling! but thou sail'st on a false reckoning when
thou hopest to find favour with my girl Blanche.
Thy rough sea-jacket and thy sharking license on
the salt sea mates not with daughter of mine:—the
rose leaf and the sea-nettle! You venture too largely
on your welcome, sirrah!” he said, as his anger began
to show itself in his quickened speech, above his
effort to restrain it. “Master Skipper, there is insolence
in this. Hark you, sir! if you would not have
me disown your acquaintance and forbid you my
house, you will never speak again of my daughter.”
With this brief rebuke of the Skipper's aspirations
the host retreated hastily, and much out of humour,
into the house, leaving his guest in a state of bewilderment
at the sudden and unexpected issue of the interview.
For a moment the seaman stood fixed on
the spot, his lips compressed, his hands clenched,
and his eye directed to the retiring figure of the
Collector: at length, beginning to find breath and
motion, he muttered, “So, it has come to this! he
has been playing the hypocrite! It was but a holiday
welcome, after all! I shall note it for future remembrance.
A sea-nettle! By Saint Anthony he shall
find me one! And that sharking license he spoke of:
he shall taste its flavour. This girl hath been trained
in her dislikes. Oh, it is his sport to see me foiled!
I am brought here express to the ball by his persuasion,—
nay, command; I am caressed with courtesies,
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[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]
and even challenged to romps with the maiden by
his own lips. Who so free in his admission here as I?—
Richard Cocklescraft, forsooth! One would have
thought we had been fellow thieves in our time; there
was such cronying in his phrase: and then, at last,
when frankly I tell him my purpose, I am to be huffed
and hectored off the ground with bullying speeches!
He must bounce me as if I were a cowardly boy.
Oh, wind and wave and broad-sea sky! it was not in
your nursing I learned the patience to bear this
wrong. Thou'rt not too old yet, Anthony Warden,
to be taught the hazard of rousing a Bloody Brother!
And as for thee, gay maiden, dream on of thy bookish
ballad-singer, Master Albert! I have a reckoning to
settle with him. It will be a dainty exploit to send
him, feet foremost, into the Chapel for a blessing.
Luckily, Sir Secretary, you owe me the worth of
an unsatisfied grudge! Softly—Master Verheyden
himself! we meet at a fortunate hour.”
The soliloquy of the Skipper was interrupted by
the approach of the Secretary, who entered alone
into the bower and paused a moment before the little
altar. A light tap on the shoulder made Albert aware
of the presence of Cocklescraft, and turning round to
confront the person who gave it, he was immediately
greeted with the accost, “I have a word for your ear,
sir;—if you be a man you will follow me out of this
broad light. What I have to say is better told where
no one may observe us; follow me, sir.”
“You are somewhat too peremptory,” replied the
Secretary, as he stepped after the Skipper toward the
cliff: “I follow, though I think more courtesy would
-- 034 --
[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]
befit your station. I have once before marked and
reproved your rudeness.”
“I have no courtesies to waste on thee,” said
Cocklescraft, sharply; “my business is with thy
manhood. You have the maiden to thank that I did
not bring you to instant account for that insolent reproof
you speak of. I come to deal with you upon
it now. Art thou a man? Dar'st thou meet me to-morrow,
at noon, at Cornwaleys's Cross?”
“I dare meet you and any or all who have right to
claim it of me,” replied Albert, promptly, “in the
way of honourable quarrel, if such be the meaning
of your challenge. And although I am ignorant of
your degree, and may question your right to defy
me to equal contest, yet honoured as you have been
under this roof, I shall rest content with that as sufficient
pledge of your claim to my attention. You
shall find me, sir, punctual to your summons.”
“I scorn the shallow claim,” returned the Skipper,
“to such honour as they who inhabit here may confer.
The master of the Olive Branch need not vail
his top to a clerkish spinner of syllables, even though
the minion's writing-stool be found in my Lord's own
ante-chamber. I shall see you to-morrow at noon,
at the Cross.”
“To-morrow at noon,” replied the Secretary,
“you shall not complain of my absence, sir.”
“It is well! So good night, Master Secretary!”
rejoined the Skipper, scornfully, as he bowed to his
antagonist and set forth to seek his boat which lay
in waiting beneath the bank.
The Secretary turned towards the dwelling,
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somewhat disturbed by the novel situation into which he
had been so unexpectedly thrown, but resolved to
conceal the disquiet of his mind and preserve the
same outward composure which had marked his
deportment during the previous portion of the evening.
“Who lurks there?” he demanded in a stern voice,
as he perceived the figure of a man stealing off from
his path immediately in the vicinity of the spot where
the interview with Cocklescraft had terminated,
“Who is it?” he added, checking himself and speaking
in a gentler tone, “that plays hide and seek here
on the lawn?”
“Nobody,” returned a voice from the shelter of
the shrubbery, “nobody but me, honourable Master
Verheyden: me, Watkin,” continued the half-witted
lad, as he came visibly into the presence of the Secretary.
“Hav'nt we had a famous junketing? Oh, what
I have eaten and drunk this blessed night! and what
dancing, Master Verheyden! was there ever such
fiddling? Willy is a treasure to the quality, I warrant
you. Where have you such another?”
“You should be looking on at the dancing,” said
Albert, anxious to ascertain from the lad if he had
heard any thing of what had just passed between
himself and Cocklescraft. “How comes it, Watkin,
that you are away from your post?”
“Oh, bless you, Master Verheyden, I have more
on my hands than you would guess in a week's striving.
Now, what should Mistress Coldcale say to me
when I had gobbled up my supper, but, Watkin, take
this trencher and this pot down to the bank side, and
there feed the seamen of Master Cocklescraft's boat,
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which you shall find at the landing below the garden.
And so, truly, there I found the hungry tarpaulins:
and they did eat, Master Albert, like fishes, and drink
like wolves. It is Mistress Blanche's birth-day, says
I, so we will have no hungry bellies here, comrades.
And they laughed, and I came up the bank as I went,
running almost out of breath to see fiddler Willy
strike up again. And that's the way I fell pop upon
you, Master Secretary.”
“It was a lucky speed, Watkin; now get thee
gone!” said Albert, as he slowly bent his steps towards
the hall and mingled again in the bustle of the
scene.
As midnight drew near the elder guests had all
retired; and at last even the most buoyant began to
yield to that weariness of limb, by which nature has
set her limit to the endurance of social pleasure, no
less peremptorily to those in the prime of youth than
to such as wane in their days of decline.
-- 037 --
CHAPTER II.
[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]
These businesses of fighting
Should be despatched as doctors do prescribe
Physical pills, not to be chew'd but swallowed:
Time spent in the considering deads the appetite.
Shirley.
Early in the morning after the ball, Willy of the
Flats, who had spent the night amongst the servants
at the Rose Croft, strayed forth from his truckle bed
and betook himself to the margin of St. Inigoe's
creek, where he sat down to look abroad over the
waters at the rising sun, and to profit by the breeze
as it cooled his brow, still aching with the effects of
the late revel. He had not been long in this position
before Wise Watkin, fresh from a truss of hay in
the barn, espied him, and now hastened to take a
seat at his side.
“Well, lad of the clear head and mother wit, what
has brought you to the water side so early?” was
Willy's question, as the obsequious Watkin came into
the presence of his patron.
“As I lay in the barn, Willy,” replied Watkin,
with a world of gravity in his looks; “I heard first
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a hem, mark you, and then a cough;—and says I,
that's Willy of the Flats, by the sound of his throat.
And so, I gets up and looks out through the cranny,
and, sure enough, there was you walking, with your
hands in your pockets and your hat set a one side
like a gentleman:—and then, says I, if Willy's stirring
now so early, honest folks ought to be abroad
too. And with that, out I walked, he, he, he!—and
here I am sitting beside you, like another gentleman.”
“Then, Wise Watkin, since we are so sociable,
tell me what you think of our ball last night?”
“Oh, grand!—grand, grand, Master Willy! Oh,
you have tickled Toby in the ribs, Master Willy!—
you have done it, as it was never done before. People
will talk of Willy of the Flats after this. Mistress
Blanche will talk of you,—Master Albert will talk of
you. I shouldn't wonder if his Lordship should send
you a purse of gold. I'm sure it's no more than
folks look to see done.”
“And Mistress Coldcale did not stint to give you
plenty to stay your stomach, Watkin?”
“Plenty, troth, and to spare, Willy! Mistress
Coldcale is a mother of open hands. I could live
under Mistress Coldcale all my born days and never
grudge what I did for her.”
“Mistress Bridget will give us our breakfasts, this
morning,” said the fiddler, patting the simpleton on
the head; “and then, Watkin, we must away. It
will not be well taken if we tarry too long after the
feast.”
“There is more sport on hand to-day, Willy. We
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[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]
must not go till that be over. There is to be a set-to
at Cornwaleys's Cross to-day.”
“A set-to?”
“I know all about it, Master Willy. I heard them
appoint it.”
“Heard who? What dost thou mean, Wise
Watkin?”
“Listen, Willy;—it was as I shall tell you. When
I carried fodder to the boat last night, as Mistress
Bridget ordered—I call a full trencher of meat fodder,
Master Willy—I comes back by the way of the
stile over the hedge, when what should I see but two
gentlefolks in a discourse, and what should I hear
but `I'll meet you, and you will meet me to-morrow
morning at noon, at Cornwaleys's Cross.' Oh, it is
a made-up business, Willy.”
“Who art thou speaking of, thou slippery-witted
fool?” demanded the fiddler, sharply.
“Nay, if you tax me so keenly, Willy,—I will not
answer. I could have told you what Master Albert
said to me afterwards, when Master Cocklescraft
went over the bank and into his boat—but I will not,—
for thy sharpness.”
“Now, Watkin, wise lad, are you not a fool to
take in dudgeon the freedom of an old friend? Come,
there's a hand—and in token of good will you will
tell me what all this story comes to.”
“As true as I am an honest man, Willy, I heard
it. Master Cocklescraft comes first to the hedge
and Master Verheyden following. Oh ho, says I,
here's a state matter, and so I doused my head under
the hedge. Then Master Cocklescraft says to our
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[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]
honourable Secretary, you will meet me if you are
a man. And the Secretary says, I am a man of as
good gristle as you, and I will meet you at the Cross—
Cornwaleys's Cross.—When? says Cocklescraft—
at noon to-morrow morning, says the Secretary.
I'll go and get ready, says Cocklescraft;—and with
that, off he marches. There will be a pretty wrestling
match for you, Master Willy! And I should n't
wonder if they should get to a pitch of the bar before
they part: Master Cocklescraft has a great arm for
heaving a bar. You and me, Willy, will be there to
see it. Oh—I made up my mind last night that the
first thing I did this day was to tell you, that you
might see it. I know you love a wrestle, Willy.”
“Truly, this is a matter to be looked to, Watkin,—
I will cast it over in my mind and tell you whether
we shall go to it or not.”
“Well,” continued Watkin, “the Secretary turns
himself about to go to the house, and suddenly, out
of the back of his head, he spies me; and so takes
me to an account to say what I lurked there for.—
Oh, bless you, Willy,—I did n't tell him!—I am no
fool;—if I had let on about the wrestling I should
never have had the luck to get sight of it—these
gentlefolks will not be a country gaze—I know them:—
the Secretary was not going to tickle Toby in my
ribs. All he got out of me was that I had borne a
trencher of fodder to the boatmen—and so he went
his way, and I went mine.”
“Thou art a wise boy, Watkin, and all that I
would have thee do now is keep thy counsel. Say
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not a word of this to living man. We will have it
clean to ourselves.”
“My lips shall be as fast as a padlock, Master
Willy. Mortal man shall not screw it out of me.”
The fiddler having extracted from Wise Watkin
the particulars detailed in this dialogue, was shrewd
enough to interpret them according to the real nature
of the incident to which they referred. He knew
that the lad was scrupulous in telling the truth, as
well as he comprehended it, in all matters that came
under his observation, and Willy therefore had no
reserve in the assurance that there was on foot a
quarrel between the Secretary and the Skipper,
which was to be adjusted at Cornwaleys's Cross, on
that day. The nature of the quarrel he could not
conjecture, although he was not ignorant that the
individuals concerned in it, both held a relation to
the maiden of the Rose Croft which might very naturally
breed ill will between them. It was indeed a
part of Willy's vocation to note such matters in the
range of his wanderings,—and he had not been so
idle since the arrival of Cocklescraft in the port, and
especially during the festival of the previous night,
as to shut his eye or ear to the deportment of the
two young men in the presence of the damsel.
Upon revolving over the circumstances of Watkin's
disclosure, and maturely perpending, after his
own manner, the pressure of the case, he came to
the wise conclusion that the best thing he could do
was to communicate the whole story to Blanche and
leave the matter in her hands. Accordingly, as soon
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as the maiden had taken her morning repast, he gained
access to her in the little bower of St. Therese,
and there made her a confidential relation of the particulars,
not only as he received them from Wise
Watkin, but with such commentary as occurred to
him to belong to the probable state of the facts.
Blanche received the communication with the deepest
emotion. Whilst the fiddler told his story, her cheek
grew pale—tears started in her eyes, her lip quivered,
her limbs, at last, became rigid, and she fainted
away. Before Willy, however, could quit her side
to call in others to her relief, she revived, and with
a tottering step made her way into the house. A
brief pause enabled her to summon up her strength
and more composedly to address herself to the emergency
in her view. The thought that Albert Verheyden
was placed in circumstances of peril gave
her as much alarm as if instant danger threatened
herself; and now, for the first time in her life, she
became conscious, how deep was the stake she had
in his welfare. Then, too, she felt no other conviction
but that his jeopardy was the direct consequence
of his zeal in her service;—that the Skipper had
brought him into the quarrel on some ground having
relation to her. Cocklescraft, besides, in her estimate
of him, was a reckless and ruthless man, of
fierce passions and violent hand, and she trembled to
think that the gentle Master Albert should be confronted
with such an adversary. “But Master Albert
is brave,” she said, “and will not brook that
rough Skipper's rudeness; he chides his coarse behaviour,—
as well such churl deserves to be chidden.
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Albert does not count the hazard of his quarrel, but
leaves that for timid maidens to do. Oh, blessed
virgin Therese!” she exclaimed as she cast her eye
upon the picture of the saint which was suspended
on the wall of her chamber; “take good Master Albert
into thy care, and bear him harmless through
this peril. His quarrel cannot but be just, and the
saints will guard him as they ever guard the right.”
Having come to this conclusion and taken heart at
the thought, she straightway resolved, as every maiden
in similar circumstances would resolve, notwithstanding
the guardianship of the saints which she
had invoked, to fall upon some scheme, if possible, to
prevent the duel. With this view she called sister
Alice into a conference, and their joint conclusion
was to make known the matter to Mr. Warden. But
the Collector had already gone abroad, and time
pressed, leaving but a few hours for action. Their
next resource was father Pierre; and instantly upon
the thought of him, Alice sat down and wrote the
reverend priest a letter, narrating the whole story
and imploring his instant intercession by such offices
as he might believe most effectual to frustrate the
purpose of the belligerents. When the letter was
ready, Willy of the Flats was summoned into the
presence of the ladies, and was strictly charged to
hie him with all haste to father Pierre's dwelling, and
to put the missive into his own hands, as a matter of
the utmost importance requiring his immediate attention.
To this charge was added a dozen alternatives
adapted to every contingency dependant upon father
Pierre's possible absence or inability to act. Thus
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commissioned Willy, followed by his shadow, Wise
Watkin, set forth for the town, at a rate which kept
the good-natured attendant in a half trot.
Whilst these things were going on at the Rose
Croft, the Secretary was not idle in his preparation
for the issues of the day. Albert Verheyden was,
as I have already hinted, of an ardent and impulsive
temper, moved by a keen relish for enterprise, and
directed by a lofty tone of honour. His bookish and
half-clerical character, the result of the discipline of
his school and his early destination for the church,
gave him a gentle and almost diffident motion, which
strongly contrasted with the warmth of his feelings,
and the eagerness of his spirit. It was, therefore,
with a positive sense of pleasure, that he had seized
the opportunity to appear as the champion of Blanche
Warden in the first hostile passage which took place
between the Skipper and himself—a pleasure resulting
not less from the alacrity with which he ever
rendered service to the maiden, but also from the
instinct of a romantic nature that delighted in the
thought of matching its manhood with a formidable
adversary. He had never, however, as yet contemplated
the reality of an appeal to arms; and although
in his course of accomplishment, as was the fashion
of that day, after he had renounced his purpose of
serving the church, he had practised the use of his
weapon, and even attained to considerable skill in it,
yet he had not brought himself to look upon it as
other than a light exercise which, like dancing, was
intended to fit him for the graceful service of the
station he was to fill. His ecclesiastical training was
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not yet so forgotten as to leave him at perfect ease
with himself in his present straits. It was not, therefore,
with apprehension, so much as with diffidence,
that he found himself now engaged in the appointment
of the duel. He awoke at the dawn of day,
full of the thoughts connected with the affair in
hand; and in casting about for a fit counsellor and
friend in this emergency, he fixed his attention upon
Captain Dauntrees, as a man who would not only do
him a friendly turn, but as one well qualified to advise
him how to comport himself through the ordeal
of the meeting. Having resolved instantly to see
the Captain, he arose, and before the domestics were
stirring about the Proprietary mansion, threw his
cloak over his shoulder, concealing under its folds
his rapier, and betook himself to the Fort. Being
admitted by the sentry, he hastened to the little parlour
of the Captain's quarters, where he arrived
whilst that worthy was still snoring in his bed. The
master of the garrison, however, was soon awakened
from his slumber, by a servant with the announcement
of his visiter, and immediately afterwards
threw open his chamber door, which communicated
with the parlour, and disclosed to the Secretary his
burly figure half attired, whilst he was yet busy in
throwing on his garments.
“Good morrow, Master Verheyden!” he said
with a yawn, scarcely half awake; “I take shame
to myself for a laggard to have so honourable a
guest my teacher of good habits in early rising. But
the Collector's wine was drugged last night, and had
a virtue of sleepiness in it which hath touched me in
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the brain pan. It is not more than once in a man's
lifetime, Master Secretary, that so choice a maiden
as our Mistress Blanche comes to so rich an age as
eighteen. You may search the two hemispheres for
another like her, and still make a bootless errand of
it. It was an occasion for a cup, and a most reasonable
excuse for a late nap in the morning.”
“The sun is just peering above the water, Captain,”
replied the Secretary; “and he who sleeps
no later than sunrise, even without the excuse of a
night revel, may scarcely be chid for laziness. I
have broken in thus early upon you, that I might
speak with you on a matter of moment to myself. I
want your counsel and friendship in an affair touching
mine honour, Captain Dauntrees.”
“Ah, is it there the wind sits? Tarry, Master
Verheyden, but a moment, whilst I get my serving
man to truss my points, I shall be with you anon.
An affair of the sword, truly! It is well to be early
in the consideration of such matters. Matchcote,
hark ye! come hither,—quickly,” he shouted from
his door to his valet; “come, gather these points and
set me abroad. There, there,—now leave us, and
busy thyself about breakfast, Matchcote,—we shall
have a relish for the best in the larder. Away, good
fellow!” As soon as the servant, in obedience to
this order, had left the apartment, the Captain inquired—
“Who have we opposed to us, Master Verheyden?
Do we take him with long sword, tuck or
rapier? Where do we meet? But first begin the
story at the beginning.”
“That I propose to do, Captain,” said the
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Secretary, smiling. “This Cocklescraft, the master of
the Olive Branch, hath chosen to conceive himself
offended by a rebuke I found it necessary to give him
for some unseasonable importunity of our maiden of
the Rose Croft. It is almost a sennight past, and he
must needs tax me with it, last night and challenge
me to a trial of manhood. His challenge grows
out of some sudden moodiness engendered by somewhat
that vexed him at the dance. Now, though I
hold the Skipper as scarce privileged to exact of me
the redress of his weapon, being of a base condition
so far as he is known in the province—yet, Captain,
I did not choose to be defied by him, and, therefore,
without parley or asking time for deliberation, accepted
his challenge, wherein it was appointed to
hold the meeting this day at noon at Cornwaleys's
Cross. I would entreat your friendship to stand by
me in this appointment; and, as I am all unversed in
the usage of the duel, your better experience may
instruct me.”
“It was well done on your part, Master Albert,—
exceeding well done,” replied the Captain. “I applaud
you for a gentleman of prompt spirit, and careful
consideration of his honour. This same Master
Cocklescraft needs such discipline as you may teach
him. He tosses the feather of his bonnet somewhat
more jauntily over his shoulder, than he has warrant
to do; and he hath a trick of turning the buckle of
his belt behind more frequently than peaceable, well-disposed
persons may choose to bear. I have noted
him with greater strictness than others in the port,
and have, from the first, written him down a dog of
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rough breed, notwithstanding his velvet jerkin and
golden tassels. I have seen too many whelps of that
litter, Master Verheyden, not to know them when I
meet them. You did well to receive his challenge,—
although one would hardly have thought you had
learned as much in the seminary at Antwerp. At
noon is it? We have some hours before us, Master
Secretary, and may employ the time in practice for
the encounter. I will give you some cautions that
shall stand you in stead to-day.”
-- 049 --
CHAPTER III.
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— He that fights a duel,
Like a blind man that falls, but cares to keep
His staff, provides with art to save his honour,
But trusts his soul to chance: 'tis an ill fashion.
Shirley.
Whilst the Secretary was undergoing the Captain's
preparatory training in the Fort, the Skipper
was no less busy in making provision for the meeting.
Having secured the services of a second, he
betook himself on board of his vessel, which he caused
to be loosed from her mooring and then dropped down
the river opposite the creek of St. Inigoe's, where he
anchored—his purpose being to take a position convenient
to the spot chosen for the encounter, and to
which he might proceed without suspicion from the
townspeople.
Cornwaleys's Cross was situated near the most
inland extremity of a deep and narrow inlet, known
by the name of St. Luke's creek—a branch of St.
Inigoe's—on a piece of meadow, surrounded by
woods, immediately at the foot of a range of hills,
not more than four miles, by land, from the Port of
St. Mary's, and about half that distance by water
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from the anchorage of the Olive Branch. This spot
was traditionally notorious to the inhabitants of the
town, as the scene of a melancholy event that had
happened nearly fifty years anterior to the date of
this story, in which a gentleman of repute in the
early history of the province, Captain Cornwaleys,
had the misfortune, on a hunting excursion, accidentally
and with fatal effect to lodge the contents of his
carbine in the bosom of his friend. The bitterness of
this unhappy gentleman's grief, unallayed by active
and meritorious service in the early wars of the
colony, induced him, in the decline of his life, to
erect a hermitage on the spot, whither he retired, in
obedience to a penitential vow, and dedicated the
remnant of his days to austere self-denial and religious
devotion. A cross of locust, now swayed from
its perpendicular by age, still reared its shattered
frame above the ruins of the ancient hermitage, of
which there yet remained a few mouldering logs,
mingled with the fragments of the crushed roof, and
the hearth-stone showing the scorches of long-quenched
fires in the light of which the soldier-hermit had
undergone his painful vigils of prayer. A certain
superstitious notoriety was thus conferred upon the
place, and by some strange association peculiar to
the habits of those times, in which the sword and
cross still held a mystical relation in the popular belief,
it had grown to be the customary appointed
trysting ground for those personal combats which
constituted, at that era, almost a lawful and approved
ordinance of society.
In the vicinity of this spot, about half an hour
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before noon, occasional glimpses through the foliage
might have been had of Captain Dauntrees and Albert
Verheyden, followed by Matchcote, the Captain's
man,—all mounted,—as they descended the
hill in the rear of St. Luke's, by a winding, gravelly
road, partially overgrown with bay-tree, alder, and
laurel. The murmur of cheerful conversation, and
now and then an outflash of audible mirth in the voice
of the Captain, for some moments before they arrived
at their halting point, would have puzzled a casual
hearer to guess the nature of their errand: and when
they reached the level ground and finally reined up
their horses, hard by the old, wind-shaken cross, Dauntrees
was still engaged in narrating to the Secretary
some story of pleasant interest, which had evidently,
for the time, drawn off at least the narrator's thoughts
from the main purpose of the day.
“By our patron! Master Verheyden,” said the
commander of the Fort, as he carefully clambered
down from his saddle and drew forth his watch, “we
have here reached our ground before I was aware of
it: a cheerful companion has a marvellous faculty
in abridging a long road.—The adventures of this
Claude de la Chastre would wear out a winter night
in the telling, and never a drowsy ear in the company.
I purpose, on a fit occasion, Master Albert, to
rehearse to you more of that worthy soldier's exploits.
He served under six kings, and fought fifteen
duels,—the last at three score and ten. I have seen
his chapel and tomb with my own eyes at Bourges,
and his true effigies cut in stone.”
“I have been but a listener, Captain,” said the
-- 052 --
[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]
Secretary with a smile, “and would willingly hear
more of that valiant gentleman, when we have
brought our own adventures to an end. Methinks
now, we may find other occupation in the matter we
have in hand.”
“Why as to that, Master Verheyden,” replied the
Captain, “as we have very diligently perpended all
matters relating to this meeting, before we quitted
the Fort, and have now nothing left to do but to wait
for the accolade, the less thought we give it the better.
We should go to this pinking and scratching as
a mumbling old priest goes to mass,—even as a thing
of custom, wherein there is but little premeditation:—
and yet, by my gossip, not exactly as a priest goes
to mass, for he goes hungry and dry: I would by no
means have it so. Here, Matchcote, that flask from
thy wallet? I have ever found that when an affair
of business or sport be on hand, it is good grace to
begin it, first by devoutly drawing thy sleeve, like a
Dutch toper, across thy mouth, and then to take such
reasonable and opportune refreshment as shall give a
fillip to the spirit without clouding the brain. And
so, by way of example, as your senior, Master Verheyden,”
he added, taking the bottle from the servant's
hand and applying it to his mouth, “here I
drink—Good fortune to our venture!
`True eye and steady hand,
Home thrust and keen brand,'
as the rhyme has it. You will drink, master?”
“I pray you, excuse me, Captain,” replied Albert;
“my head will not stand so early a freedom, and, to
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[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]
say the truth, I have no relish for food or drink until
this affair be done. I scarce ate this morning.”
“Over-anxiousness, Master Secretary! too eager
for thy first entry upon the field of Mars!—ha, ha!—
the token of a green soldier, a callow martialist; but
it is natural, and will wear off when thou hast fought
half-a-dozen of these bouts. I went through it all
myself. In my 'prenticeship I could neither sleep
nor eat—faith! I will not say drink—at the contemplation
of a pitched field, but was ever taken up with
the thought of making ready. There was always
some tag in my bandalier to be looked to—some
strap awry—some furbishing of musquetoon, pike or
sword to be cared for:—works of supererogation! as
the church has it. But it is pleasant to behold how
use in the wars corrects a qualmish appetite, and
contents one with his accommodation:—it teaches
the stomach the custom of instant service. So keep
thyself cool, Master Verheyden,—it is a cardinal
point of discretion. And, I beseech you, be not fanciful
in your conceit of skill with your weapon; for
though you play well, you have a swordsman to deal
with. I have seen some whipsters who were over-fantastic
and dainty in their love of the quarrel; and
it was as much as their tutors could do to bring them
to that modesty of opinion which should put them on
the necessary cautions of fence. Such hawklings get
their lesson in good time: this world has store of
rubbers for a vaulting temper. I pray, you, therefore,
Master Secretary, bear yourself humbly, as it were.
Remember, this is thy first quarrel.”
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“You shall find me tractable in all things, worthy
Captain, to your better experience.”
“I have seen,” continued Dauntrees, “almost as
many of these dudgeon-prickings as the renowned
Claude de la Chastre himself; and have found, in
nine chances out of ten, your cool and cheery gentleman
to get the odds of your choleric hot-blood. I
had a comrade in Flanders who was a master in this
sort—and, by the bell and candle! a priest. A most
comical churchman, truly! His name was Roger
O'Brien, an Irish Jesuit, and most notable for many
perfections both of the book and the sword. From a
liking to his old trade—for he served with Prince
Rupert before he took up the cassock—he must needs,
for a fancy, put on the red coat again, and buckle his
cheese-toaster to his thigh, and, in this disguise, throw
himself abroad amongst the lanskennets and swashbucklers
of Flanders. There I met him, and we journeyed
together to Paris. Ha, ha, ha! I saw him foil
the whole Sorbonne on a great prize question! There
was a thesis debated—a quodlibet wrangle concerning
some knot in the cobweb of theology—where the
whole world was challenged to the dispute. Thereupon,
my Irish friend and myself—both in our livery—
went swaggering in to see and hear how these
Frenchmen chopped their logic. The thesis was debated
in Latin; when presently, to the amazement of
all—myself no less than others—up rises my priest to
say somewhat to the point. Well, a Spanish cavalier
there present, thinking my comrade could be no
other than a man of the wars in his cups, rudely pulls
him by the skirt to take his seat: but he, nowise
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[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]
heeding this interruption, pressed on in his discourse,
and poured out such a flood of choice Latin, most
select in phrase and apt in argument, that the amazement
of the company was greatly increased, and our
priestly martialist won the whole glory of the day.
The Sorbonne was mute, and the assembly in an
ecstasy of wonder. Whereupon departing, father
O'Brien touches the Spanish cavalier upon the shoulder,
and whispers in his ear a challenge to meet him,
at sunset, in the church-yard of St. Genevieve, which
the Spaniard could not choose avoid. I went with
my friend to the rendezvous; and on the way, amongst
other discourse touching the arrangement of the duel,
I shall not forget his commendation of this virtue of
coolness, by which I have more than once profited:
for he was, Master Verheyden, a most expert swordsman,
and singularly versed in the practique of these
single combats, and showed it too on that day; for
our testy Spaniard, a fellow of pepper and ginger,
was whipt through the lungs whilst he was flourishing
at a stoccado. Said father O'Brich to me,—a
man who plays at this craft of phlebotomy, should
carry a light heart and a merry eye before his adversary,
and, like a rake-helly royster who makes
free of the commodity of a tavern, should give no
thought to the reckoning. It was excellent advice,
Master Verheyden, and I commend it to your notice
now.”
“I shall do my best,” replied the Secretary; “and
if I should chance, Master Dauntrees, to fail in some
necessary punctilio, you will pardon it, for my unskilfulness.
An acolyte of the Seminary of Antwerp
-- 056 --
[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]
has but scant opportunity to make himself master of
the observances of the duello.”
“By my honour as a man, Master Secretary, I
have not seen amongst the most practised cavaliers,
a gentleman who comes to his appointment with better
grace, than this same acolyte of the Seminary of
Antwerp.”
“You commend beyond my desert, good Captain,
though I have reasonable trust in my sword. Whilst
my Lord tarried some three months in Brabant, being
at Louvain, I had a master there—an Italian, one
Signor Sacchari—who taught me to ride the great
horse and manage my weapon, both rapier and long-sword.
And, to say sooth,—though it should shame
me to confess it,—I do not dislike this quarrel with
the Skipper. I do not perceive,—and yet I may misjudge
the world's opinion,—but I do not perceive how
I may be blamed for taking up this quarrel. I tell
you truly, Master Dauntrees,” added the Secretary,
blushing, “and I would beg you say so—to her, Master
Dauntrees—if adverse fortune should befall me on
this ground to-day—that I would gladly encounter
for Mistress Blanche, our maiden of the Rose Croft,
a sharper war and more perilous hazard than this
single combat with a rude and boisterous seaman;
and now, with right good will I seek to do her honour
against the body of this unruly Skipper. Say so to
her, I pray you, good Captain Dauntrees.”
“Tush, man, you heed not my preaching! When
thou goest to dying-speeches, it is summing up of the
reckoning. A fig's end for the message! thou shalt
bear it to the maiden thyself.—Blame thee, Master
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[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]
Secretary! Who would blame, I would fain know,
a brave man who does battle for so peerless a maiden?
By my manhood! I think that nothing short of
the maiden herself will be fit guerdon for this exploit.
He was a wise and a courteous king, as the ballad
feigns him, that gave his daughter to the brave knight
who overthrew his adversary in combat. Now, I will
take on me to say that no king of the ballad ever had
more need to be rid of a pestilent suitor to his daughter,
than our worshipful friend, old Anthony Warden,
has to be free of this sea-dog. Thou shalt fairly win
a most fair meed: and here, once more, I do thee
honour in a sup, with this pledge—
May'st thou richly wear
The meed thou winn'st so fair!
There's verse for it—halting verse, ha, ha! Master
Verheyden, but of an honest coinage: it comes from
thine and the maiden's well-wisher.” And with this
flash of merriment, the Captain again plied the flask,
and spent some moments laughing at his jest, when
he suddenly ceased with the remark, “I hear the
stroke of oars—this Master Cocklescraft is at hand.
He is punctual, for it is just noon. We shall see him
anon.”
It was as the Captain said: for at that moment
Cocklescraft, attended by two followers, was seen
coming up from the margin of St. Luke's, across the
meadow, to the place appointed for the combat.
Cocklescraft's bearing was stern; his brow high
charged with passion, and a keen resentment flashed
from his eye, as he advanced into the presence of
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[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]
his adversary. A slight salute passed between the
combatants, and for some moments each party drew
aside.
In the presence of his antagonist Dauntrees' whole
deportment was changed. He had heretofore, as
we have seen, assumed a cheerful vein of intercourse
with his principal, considerately adapted with a view
to amuse his mind and give him the necessary assurance
which the successful conduct of the enterprise
required—a labour, however, which was in no
degree rendered necessary by the circumstances of
the case, as it was very apparent that the Secretary,
although a novice in the practice of the quarrel, was
altogether self-possessed and even eager for the issue.
The Captain, however, was not slow to perceive that
there was still in his carriage that hurried motion
and too anxious restlessness which betokened the
novelty of the situation in which he found himself,
and the earnestness of his desire to acquit himself to
the satisfaction of his own feelings. Through all
this cheerful colloquy of the Captain, Albert's manner
was grave, and scarce responded to his companion's
merriment; but now that the moment of
action arrived, he grew apparently more light-hearted;
whilst, on the other hand, Dauntrees became
serious, and addressed himself to the business
in hand, like a careful and provident man.
“The Skipper is surly,” said Dauntrees, as he stood
apart with the Secretary, wiping the sword that was
to be used by his friend. “I am glad to see it: it
denotes passion. Receive the assault from him;
stand on your defence, giving ground slightly to his
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advance: then suddenly, when you have whipped him
to a rage, as you will surely do, give back the attack
hotly; follow it up, as you did this morning in practice
with me, and you will hardly fail to find him at
disadvantage; then thrust home—for the shorter you
make this quarrel the better for your strength.”
“I am more at my ease in this play than you think
me,” replied Albert, smiling; “you shall find it so.
Pray let us go to our business.”
The Captain, with two rapiers in his hand, advanced
to the ground occupied by Cocklescraft and his
friends.
“I would be acquainted with thy second, Master
Cocklescraft,” he said. “Here are our swords: shall
we measure?”
“Master Roche Del Carmine,” replied the Skipper,
as he presented a swarthy Portuguese seaman, the
mate of the Olive Branch; “this other companion is
but a looker on.”
“I would thou had'st matched me,” replied Dauntrees,
hastily, and with some show of displeasure,
“with an antagonist of better degree, Master Skipper,
than this mate of thine. He was but a boatswain
within the year past. Our quality deserved that you
should sort us with gentlemen, at least.”
“Gentlemen!” exclaimed the Portuguese, in a passion;
“St. Salvadore! are we not gentlemen enough
for you. We belong to the Coast—”
“Peace, sirrah!” hastily interrupted Cocklescraft:
“Prate not here—leave me to speak! Master Roche
Del Carmine is my follower, not my second, further
than as your bearing, Master Dauntrees, may render
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one needful to me. I came hither to make my own
battle.”
“I came to this field,” replied Dauntrees, “prepared
with my sword to make good the quarrel of my
friend against any you might match me with. So,
second or follower, bully or bravo at your heels,
Master Cocklescraft, I will fight with this Master
Roche.”
“That is but a boy's play, and I will none of it,
Captain Dauntrees,” said Cocklescraft, angrily. “This
custom of making parties brings the quarrel to an end
at the first drawing of blood. I wish no respite upon
a scratch; my demand stops not short of a mortal
strife.”
“My sword, sir!” said Albert Verheyden, hastily
striding up to the Captain and seizing his sword.
“This is my quarrel alone; Captain Dauntrees you
strike no blow in it. Upon your guard, sir!” he
added, whilst his eye flashed fire, and his whole figure
was lighted up with the animation of his anger. “To
your guard! I will have no parley!”
“Are you bereft!” exclaimed Dauntrees, interposing
with his sword between the parties, and looking
the Secretary steadfastly in the face. “Back,
Master Verheyden, this quarrel must proceed orderly.”
Then conducting his principal some paces off, the
other yielding to his guidance, he again cautioned
him against losing his self-command by such bursts
of passion. The Secretary promised obedience and
begged him to proceed.
“Go to it, in cuerpo—strip to thy shirt, Master
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Albert!” said the Captain. When the Secretary had,
in obedience to this order, thrown aside his cloak and
doublet, and come to the spot designated by his
second as his position in the fight, Dauntrees once
more approached the opposite party, went through the
formal ceremony of measuring swords, and then returned
and placed the weapon in Albert's hand, at the
same time drawing his own and planting himself
within a few paces of his friend.
“We are ready, sir!” he said, bowing to the Skipper's
attendant.
Cocklescraft lost no time in taking his ground;
Master Roche del Carmine, carefully keeping out of
the way of harm from any party.
“The onset was made by the Skipper with an
energy that almost amounted to rage, and it was with
a most lively interest, not unmingled with pleasure,
that Dauntrees watched the eye of Albert Verheyden,
and saw it playing with an expression of confidence
and self-command whilst, with admirable dexterity,
he parried his antagonist's assault.
“Bravo!” exclaimed Dauntrees, more than once
during this anxious moment. “To it, Master Verheyden!
passado—hotly, master!” he cried aloud, at
the same time flourishing his own blade above his
head when he saw Albert return the attack with great
animation upon his adversary, who was thus compelled
to give ground.
This rapid exchange of thrust and parry was suddenly
arrested by the sword of the Skipper being
struck from his hand. The Secretary had disarmed
him, and instead of following up his advantage,
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generously halted and brought the point of his own
sword to the ground.
“The fight is done; we hold you, sir, at mercy!”
said Dauntrees, promptly interposing, and placing
his foot upon the Skipper's rapier. “Master Verheyden
has come hither upon your challenge; you
will acknowledge that your life is in his hands. You
have had your satisfaction, sir.”
As the Captain said this he stepped one pace aside,
and Cocklescraft at the same instant picked up the
rapier from the ground, and madly called out for a
renewal of the fight, as with extended arm he presented
himself again upon his guard.
“Instead of the favour that has been shown thee
in sparing thy worthless life, thou deservest to be
cloven to the chine for this dastardly bravado!” exclaimed
Dauntrees, as his spirit suddenly kindled into
wrath, notwithstanding the advice he had given the
Secretary to keep his temper. “Out upon thee for
a disgrace to thy calling!” he added, in a tone of
angry reproof, as advancing nearer to the Skipper
he struck the extended rapier with a dexterous underblow
and made it spin in the air above his head; “I
could almost find it in my conscience to spit thee upon
my sword.”
“By the Virgin, I will not see my Captain put
upon!” said Roche del Carmine, as he now advanced
towards the combatants, though still keeping a respectful
space between himself and the Captain,
whose skill of fence he had no mind to try.
“Nor I!” exclaimed the other attendant, at the
same time drawing his hanger and shouting, “Whoop,
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Master Cocklescraft! Perros, a la savanna! For the
Brothers of the Coast!—let them have it in the fashion
of the Costa Rica!”
“Caitiffs!” vociferated Dauntrees, as he and Albert
Verheyden now sprang forward to engage with
the attendants—
“Back to your boat, you knaves! is it thus you
serve me?” interposed Cocklescraft, thrusting his
officious followers aside, and then whispering to the
mate, “there is an end of it—begone!”
“By my sword, but here is a crossing of our plot!”
exclaimed Dauntrees, on looking towards the range
of upland over which the road towards the town lay,
and discovering no less a personage than the Proprietary
and father Pierre approaching them on
horseback; “we have been informed on and tracked.
Thanks to our luck! his Lordship may do nothing
better than rail against us, as is his wont. He has
ever had a quick nose to scent out a duel—ay, and a
nimble tongue, Master Verheyden, to reprove one:
this is not my first experience of his reprimand. We
shall have it without stint presently.”
“To the boat, quickly, and put off!” said Cocklescraft,
with a sullen angry tone to his companions.
“I may find another day to right myself,” he muttered,
as he gathered up his sword, cloak, and hat, and,
with a moody swagger, hurriedly strode towards
his boat which lay in a direction opposite to that
from which the Proprietary was hastening towards
the scene. In a few moments he had embarked, and
was seen shooting along the glassy surface of St.
Luke's, until he was speedily lost to view by
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rounding one of the turns of the creek. In the mean time
Lord Baltimore and the priest arrived on the ground
of the combat before the Secretary had yet resumed
his doublet.
“Ah, my son, my son!” exclaimed the good father
Pierre, as he pricked his steed forward in advance of
the Proprietary, and made haste to alight and throw
his arms around Albert's neck, kissing his cheeks,
whilst the tears flowed down his own; “my son Albert,
how could you be so unmindful of poor father
Pierre, to give him all this pain? We saw swords
flashing in the sun, and heard the clank of steel.
Are you hurt, my son? You look pale.”
“I am not hurt, father, more than that I am pained
to see you here,” replied the Secretary, as he affectionately
placed his arm across the old man's
shoulders; “our quarrel has ended without the shedding
of blood.”
“Albert Verheyden,” said the Proprietary gravely,
reining up beside the young man, “I take it much
amiss that one of my household should dare to contemn
the laws of this province by coming forth to
such appointment as I find you concerned in here.
I had reason to hope for the setting of good example
from him whom I chose for my Secretary; but I find
you fostering an evil usage which is worthy no better
countenance than such as it hath gained from hot-bloods
and rufflers. Fie on thee, Albert! Is it for
thee, who hast but lately changed thy square cloister-bonnet
for the feathery gewgaw of a page—is it for
thee to play at bilbo and buff like a common royster?
Have we no shallow-pated coxcomb with the
-- 065 --
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privilege of wearing a sword, who, for lack of other
quality to be noted by, hath learned a trick to vapour
and strut, and swear filthy oaths, and break God's
commandments and men's peace with his bloody
broils, but that a scholar and gentleman, nursed in
all kindly studies—ay, and who hath been reared,
Master Verheyden, within the pale of the altar—
must needs turn buckler-man with a rude sea-rover,
and quarrel and strike as in an ale-house fray? Oh,
it doth grieve me to find you thus!”
“My honoured Lord,” replied Albert, not venturing
to raise his eyes from the ground, “I do confess
my fault, which with forethought and weighing of all
consequence, except my Lord's displeasure, I did
commit. I was called hither by such defiance as it
would not have consisted with my manhood to refuse.
I have sought no companionship with the
Skipper, nor knew that such man was, till within a
week—and even now was prone to slight him off, as
one not worthy of my resentment; but, my good Lord,
venturing to presume upon my cloistered schooling
and my unskillfulness with my sword, he must taunt
with a question of my courage, and defy me hither.”
“And if a fellow who lives upon the element of his
own brawls, must take a conceit to exalt his base condition
by having a contest with his betters, shall he
compass it by bragging words and bullying questions?
Does it mend his manners, or exalt thy deservings to
have a pass with him on the green sward? Would
it comfort thee to bring away from this field a hand
red with his blood? Captain Dauntress, how comes
-- 066 --
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it to pass that I see you here? Your age should have
given you the privilege to be a peace-maker, not the
fomenter of a quarrel.”
“My Lord,” said the Captain, folding his arms
across his breast and advancing one foot to give a
more sturdy fixedness to his attitude, whilst an expression
half comic lurked in his eye, “I am an old
ban-dog that has been chidden too often for barking
to heed reproof in my old age. Your Lordship hath
the credit of a persevering spirit to abolish the duello
within the province; I foretell you will even give over
before your work is done: it were but lost pains, if
I might be so bold as to say so—at least until your
Lordship shall find a more mannerly brood of lieges.
By the mass! we shall win sainthood for our patience,
if, in these saucy times, we may reach such perfection
of humility as to brook the insolences of some of
your Lordship's hopeful children of the province.
The Skipper was rude to our Mistress Blanche,—
and the Secretary, like a cavalier, such as becomes
your Lordship's household, rebuked him for
it; and thereupon grew a considered challenge,
which Master Verheyden accepting, as, in my poor
judgment, he could not otherwise do, I came hither
with him to see fair play. It is well I did—for, to
my thinking, this seaman would not have stopped
at any measure of treachery. He has a deep hate
against the Secretary, and the lesson Master Verheyden
has taught him will not much sweeten his
humour.”
“Thy profession, Captain Dauntrees, gives thee a
license which makes it but lost breath to chide thee,”
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said the Proprietary calmly, nowise offended with
the soldier's familiar and rebellious good nature;
“and, to say the truth, there is much rude speech and
provoking action to tempt even a more governed
man into quarrel; yet I would not have you believe
that I take this transgression so lightly. Albert Verheyden,
you will incur my deepest displeasure, if,
under any pretext or advice, you farther prosecute
this feud. Captain Dauntrees, I command you to
look to it, and charge you to arrest the first who
seeks to revive the quarrel.”
“On the faith of my love to your Lordship,” replied
Albert, “I promise that I will not again offend.”
“My dear son,” interposed the priest, still holding
the Secretary's hand, “my experience has long admonished
me, that to preach restraint upon the desires
of the young is but struggling up the channel
of a torrent: it is hard to teach patience under wrong
to those whose blood is hot with the fever of passion.
Still, mon enfant, though I may not hope to persuade
you—for verily I know the censure of the world
leaves to a temper such as thine no choice but obedience
to the law of custom—still, my dear son, you
will sometimes, perhaps, take old father Pierre's words
to heart: he would entreat you to reflect, that although
offence may abound, and the fashion of men's opinions
may set disgrace upon the refusal to right a contrived
wrong; and though the pride of manhood may
take pleasure in strife—yea, even though thy conscience
shall tell thee of a just cause, and worthy of
vindication by the sword—yet the heroism of suffering
hath better acceptation with Heaven than all the
-- 068 --
[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]
heroism of action. Do not forget neither, my dear
Master Albert, that thou art linked in this world with
others, whose right to thee and to thy affections thou
durst not violate but at the hazard of the displeasure
of the God who placed thee here and gave thee to thy
kind. How should father Pierre have borne the bereavement
of his son, if thine adversary had chanced
to be too skilful for thy defence? There is yet another,”
said the good priest, drawing nigh to the Secretary's
ear and speaking almost in a whisper, “who takes
this peril even more to heart than father Pierre.
Ah, Master Albert, you did not think of them that
loved you!”
The Secretary blushed at the last allusion of the
priest, as he hurriedly replied, “father, it is over
now—let us say no more about it.”
“There, the truce is made!” said the old man, exultingly,
whilst he grasped Albert by the hand and
shook it, a smile playing amongst the tears that stood
in his eyes: “We have made a truce—benedicite!
We shall be as happy and as gay as ever! Allons,
mon enfant, put on thy cloak, and get thee to thy
horse. My Lord, we shall reserve our scolding for
another time.”
“Get back to my house, Master Verheyden,” said
the Proprietary in a quiet tone, not heeding the appeal
to him, but with a thoughtful and serious manner,
which stood in marked opposition to the light and
laughing air of the priest. “Captain Dauntrees, do
not tarry on this field, but follow us back to the Port.
Come on, father Pierre, the day is wasting.”
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In a moment the Captain and Secretary were left
to themselves.
“Nay, never take on, Master Verheyden, nor fall
into dumps,” said Dauntrees, observing that his companion
felt the silent displeasure of the Proprietary.
“It is ever thus with his Lordship, who, from his
cradle, I believe, hath set his heart to the extirpation
of our noble art of self-defence. A conceit of his
which doth no harm. His face will be sunny again
to-morrow—never heed it.”
“I cannot see that I have done wrong,” replied
Albert, with a sigh; “I would not offend his Lordship.”
“Tut, man, if you watched his eye, you would
have seen in a corner of it, that he likes you all the
better for this day's hazard. Now to horse!”
The combatants mounted and rode at a moderate
pace to the town.
-- 070 --
CHAPTER IV.
[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]
I read you by your bugle horn,
And by your palfrey good:
I read you for a Ranger sworn
To keep the king's greenwood.
With burnished brand and musquetoon
So gallantly you come,
I read you for a bold dragoon
That lists the tuck of drum.
Scott.
The Skipper returned to his vessel in no gentle
mood, for, in the language of the ballad, “an angry
man was he.” Springing alertly from the small boat
to the deck of the brigantine, he peevishly flung down
his weapon and cloak, and paced to and fro, with a
hurried step, for some moments in silence. “Give
me drink!—some wine!” he exclaimed at length;
and when a boy, in obedience to this order, brought
him what he had called for, and he had put the liquid
to his lips, he shouted in a tone that made the lad
tremble, as he threw the glass upon the deck and
shivered it into fragments, “knave! why dost thou
bring me this weak stuff? I would have aqua vitæ,
fool!” The stronger potation being supplied, he
-- 071 --
[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]
eagerly swallowed a draught, and then threw himself
upon the seat at the stern of the vessel, where,
for a considerable space, he sat with his eyes fixed
upon the broad field of water around him. By degrees
the fever of his passion subsided into a sullen
thoughtfulness, and he began to meditate, with a more
self-possessed consistency of view, over the condition
of his affairs. He recurred to the slight put
upon him by the maiden, the Secretary's reproof,
the contemptuous and insulting rejection of his suit
by the Collector, and, bitterest of all these topics of
exacerbation, his defeat in the duel by an antagonist
whose prowess he had persuaded himself to hold
in derision. Verheyden's triumph over him, as he
was obliged to confess it, struck like an arrow into
his heart: that so light and dainty a minion, as he
deemed the Secretary, might win such a victory,
and then boast of it to the maiden!—this reflection
wrought up to fire the ardour of his hatred and
brought his meditation to one stern conclusion—that
of revenge.
“I renounce them, their tribe and generation!” he
said, mutteringly. “From this day forth, I renounce
them and all they consort with—Anthony Warden
and his cronies; yes—his Lordship and the rest. I
abjure all fellowship with them, but such fellowship
as my sword may maintain. The maiden!—not so
fast, master!” he continued, with a smile that betrayed
the true devil of his nature: “scornful
mistress, it would be over charitable to give thee up.
Bonny damsel, thou shalt dance a corant yet to my
bidding—and on the deck of my merry Escalfador;
-- 072 --
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but it shall be beneath a warmer sun than thy pride
has been nursed in: by my hand, you shall, wench,
if there be virtue in these honest cut-throats of mine!
And Master Collector shall be cared for. I thank
thee, father Pierre, for thy considerateness:—didst
thou not let me into a secret touching the royal
order? Faith, did you, holy father! and I will make
profit of it. Oh, this excellent church quarrel too!
I will join Master Chiseldine and Coode, and teach
them devilish inventions! Ha! that's thought worth
the nursing—Coode and the Fendalls! We shall have
blows struck; we shall have good store of cutlass and
hanger-work, pistol-play and dagger! Bravo! there
will be feasting for a hungry man! To it, pell-mell,
like gentlemen of the Coast—sink, burn, blow-up—
stab and hack—ravish and run! St. Iago, but there
is a merry sequence for you! Why need the Brotherhood
hover over the nestlings of Peru, when we have
such dainty deviltries in the temperate zone? I will
straight about this plot of mischief, whilst my blood
is warm enough to hatch it. Ho! Roche! order me
two men into the shallop—I would visit the Port.”
Whilst the Skipper, in this amiable temper, was
making his way towards the town, I may take the
opportunity to give my reader a brief history of certain
persons and events with which our tale is now
connected.
Josias Fendall, when the Lord Protector had
seized upon the Proprietary's rights in Maryland,
had the address to obtain the appointment of Lieutenant-General
of the province, which he held under
this authority, until, by an act of treachery to those
-- 073 --
[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]
who had procured his preferment, he was able to
secure to himself the same post by the commission of
Cecilius, when in the decline of Cromwell's power the
government was restored to its rightful owner. Having,
in turn, attempted to betray the Proprietary,
and to usurp an independent control in the government,
he was expelled from office; in consequence
of which he engaged in a rebellion which, after a
troublesome contest, ended in his banishment. The
clemency of the Proprietary eventually restored him
to the province, where, before the lapse of many
months, he fell into his old practices and again embroiled
himself with the authorities. He was a man
of an eager, seditious temper; a skilful dissembler in
conduct; bold in action and dissolute in manners,
although sufficiently crafty to conceal his excesses
from public observation. He was now, in his old
age, the ringleader of the present troubles; and some
months anterior to the opening of this narrative, his
threats of violence against the Proprietary as well as
certain well-founded suspicions of a design to over-throw
the provincial government by force, had led to
his arrest for treason. He was, consequently, as we
have hinted in a former chapter, at this moment, a
close prisoner in the gaol. His brother, Samuel Fendall,
upon this event, took upon himself to stir up his
friends to the enterprise of a rescue; but this had
produced no better result than to lodge Samuel in
the same prison with his kinsman. The Protestant
party,—I mean that portion of them who had been
active in sustaining the violent measures set on foot
by the Fendalls—headed by John Coode, Kenelm
-- 074 --
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Chiseldine and some others, hotly resented this persecution,
as they deemed the imprisonment of their
friends. They had seduced into their association
George Godfrey, a weak-minded yet daring man who
held the post of Lieutenant of the Rangers in the service
of the Proprietary, and who in this station found
many secret opportunities to promote the purposes of
the malcontent party. John Coode himself was, at
this epoch, smarting under the exasperation of a
personal indignity which he had recently received
from the Proprietary in an arrest,—from which he
was released upon bail—for coarse and insulting
conduct to the Chancellor. He had hitherto cunningly
avoided or successfully concealed all open
participation in the plot which was hatching against
the present domination of the province, although he
had not, as we have heretofore seen, escaped the suspicion
of foul designs. He was a member of the
House of Burgesses, and, in the session which had
just terminated, had rendered himself conspicuous
for a keen, vindictive, and (as he was sustained by
the popular party) successful war of vituperation
against Lord Baltimore and his council.
About four o'clock in the afternoon, this Captain
John Coode, according to a custom which he was
prone to indulge, was found seated on a bench that
stood at the door of the Crow and Archer, recreating
his outward man with the solace of a tankard of ale
and a pipe, whilst his inward self was absorbed with a
rumination that spread its bland repose over every
lineament of his ruddy and somewhat pimpled visage.
A limner who took pleasure in the study of the
-- 075 --
[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]
externals of character would have halted with satisfaction
before this notable personage. He might have
been, at this epoch, about forty-five. His figure was
sturdy, broad in the chest and supported by short
legs that bowed a little outward. His face had that
jollity of aspect which comes from an unthrifty commerce
with the wine cup; and his eye, though somewhat
clouded and sensitive to the light, twinkled
with a sharp expression of cunning and malice. His
dress was of sober brown, retaining a general resemblance
to the fashion of Cromwell's day, which
had not yet fallen into entire disuse. It was composed
of a coat the skirts of which, sparingly decorated
with black braid, depended, both in front and
rear, to the knee; ample breeches and wide boots;
conical, broad-brimmed hat, and a double-hilted
Andrew Ferrara hanging from a leathern girdle.
At the moment I have introduced him to the view
of my reader, his meditation was interrupted by the
arrival of a horseman,—a tall, athletic person, in
the prime of manhood, equipped partly in the manner
of a wood ranger, as was indicated by the hatchet
and knife in his belt and the carbine slung across his
shoulder, and partly in that of a dragoon—betokened
by his horseman's sword and the pistols at his
saddle-bow.
“Master Coode, your servant,” was the greeting
of the rider whilst he dismounted and flung the rein
carelessly upon the neck of his steed, whose head
drooped and sides panted with the toil of his recent
journey: “Your ale is like to grow flat from a lack
of thirst:—I can supply that commodity,” he said,
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as he took up the tankard and deliberately drained it
to the bottom.
“By G—, Lieutenant, you had as well help yourself
without my leave!” exclaimed Coode with a
laugh. “Where in the d—l are you from now?”
“From Potapaco and the parts above,” replied
Godfrey, (for it was no other than the Lieutenant of
the Rangers:) “that painted devil Manahoton and
his wild cats have been prowling around the upper
settlements. There have been throat-cutting and
scalping again. Red haired Tom Galloway was
waylaid on his road to Zacaiah Fort, and the savages
stole into his plantation and have murdered his wife
and children. Nothing but speed and bottom saved
me to-day: a party with that son of Tiquassino's—
Robin Hood, they call him—at least I suspect him
for it, from a limp which I saw in the fellow's walk—
lay in cover and fired at me, just over there at the
head of Britton's bay. They must have been in
liquor, for they popped their pieces so much at random,
as to strike wide both of me and my horse. I
gave them a parting volley, as far as pistols and carbine
served and then bade them good by.”
“I dare be sworn they were stirred up to these
attacks,” replied Coode. “These bloody Papists
have set a mark upon us all, and not only rouse the
savages against us, but disguise themselves, and
murder and burn with as hot a hand as the worst
red devil of them all. Whilst Charles Calvert is
allowed to hector it over the good people of the
province, we may hope for nothing better. Did
you see Will Clements?”
-- 077 --
[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]
“I did, and have news from him that the Huttons
and Hatfields, with twenty more on the Virginia side,
are ready to cross the river at the first signal.”
“Have a care, Lieutenant,” whispered Coode, as
he cast his eye towards the quay; “here comes a
boat with that fellow Cocklescraft, one of his Lordship's
lurchers. It would do you no good to be seen
in parley with me. We meet to-night, at Chiseldine's.
Let me see you there: and now, away to
your own concerns.”
“I will not fail to go to Chiseldine's, worthy Master
Coode,” replied the Lieutenant, whilst he now
turned aside to look after his beast.
“What ho! Garret Weasel, send me some one to
this horse!” he cried out as he thrust his head into
the door of the inn.
Instead of the innkeeper, the summons was answered
by Matty Scamper who, with a courtesy, announced
that both Master Garret and the landlady were
abroad; and upon being made acquainted with the
Lieutenant's wish, took upon herself the business of
ostler and led off the jaded steed to the stable, whilst
Godfrey entered the hostel. At the same instant
Cocklescraft arrived at the door.
“Perhaps you could tell me, Master Coode,” he
inquired, “whether Kenelm Chiseldine is likely to be
at home?”
“Faith, most unlikely as I should guess,” replied
the burgess with a leer at the questioner. “Whilst
his Lordship allows the savages to shoot down and
scalp the honest people of the province, here under
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[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]
his very nose, a wise man will learn who his visiter
may be, before he will allow himself to be seen.”
“Master Chiseldine has nothing to fear from me,”
said Cocklescraft. “I would I might see him,” he
added with an earnestness that forcibly attracted
Coode's attention.
“Why what, in the devil's name, have you to do
with Kenelm Chiseldine?”
“More than you suspect, sir. I would speak with
him on affairs of importance. It perhaps may concern
you to hear what I have to say.”
“God's wounds, man!—speak out, if thou hast
aught to say against me or my friends. This shall
be a free land for speech, Master Cocklescraft—free
to all men: it is so already, let me tell you, to us
who wear our swords—however his Lordship and
his Lordship's brangling church-bullies would fain
force it down our throats to be silent, with what you
call sedition.”
“Your flurry is but spent breath, Master Coode.
If you will allow me an instant's private speech
with you, I will open myself in somewhat that
may be for your interest to hear. The bench of a
public tavern does not well become the matter of my
speaking.”
“Ha, a private conference and on matter of moment!”
ejaculated Coode. “Then follow me, Master
Cocklescraft, by the Town House path, amongst
the cedars on yon bank. Now, sir, you may speak
your mind though it were enough to hang a country
side,” said Coode, as he strode slowly in advance of
-- 079 --
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the Skipper until they found themselves enveloped by
the thicket of cedar.
“I have heard it whispered,” quoth the Skipper,
“since my arrival in the port, that you and others
have been brewing mischief, and are like to come to
scratches with his Lordship's men of the buff.”
“And dost thou come to me with this fool's errand,
Master Skipper?” interrupted the burgess. “Are
you sent hither, sirrah, to drain me of a secret which
you may commend to the notice of the Proprietary
for your own advancement in his good favour? By
my hilt, I have a mind to rap thee about the pate
with my whinyard!”
“Tush, cool thy courage, valiant Captain, or
spend it where it may give thee more profit. I come
to thicken thy hell-broth with new spices of my own
devising,—not to mar it. I say again, I have heard
it whispered that you have bloody fancies in the
wind. I care not to inquire what they are, but
knowing thou hast no good will towards the Council
and their friends, I have a hand to help in any devil's
crotchet your plot may give life to. Besides, the
Olive Branch is a more spiteful imp than she looks to
be,—and you may, perchance, stand in need, hereafter,
of a salt water help-mate. I can commend
her to thy liking, Captain Coode.”
Coode gazed with a steadfast and incredulous eye,
for some moments, in the face of the Skipper. At
last he asked—“Art thou in earnest, Master Cocklescraft?—
By G— if thou comest here to entrap me, I
will have thee so bestowed that the kites shall feed
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upon thy bowels before the breath be out of thy
body!”
“And so they may, if I deceive you,” replied the
Skipper, coolly. “Put me to the proof, Captain,—
put me to the proof, and if I fail thou mayst fatten
all the kites of St. Mary's with my body.”
“Are you willing to say this before witnesses?”
inquired Coode.
“A legion—if they hate the friends of the Council
as I hate them.”
“Then come to-night to Master Chiseldine's. You
shall find me and others there. Until then, it may
be wise that we hold no more discourse together.
And so now we part.”
Cocklescraft promised to keep the appointment,
and took his leave of the burgess who walked onward
to the Town House. Here, Coode found Willy of
the Flats busy in setting up against the trunk of the
mulberry a sheet of paper, designed, according to
the custom of the town, to advertise some matter of
interest to the inhabitants. To the question “What
have you in the wind, Willy?”—the fiddler's reply
was an invitation to the Captain to inform himself by
a perusal of the paper. He accordingly read as
follows:
“ORDER OF COUNCIL.
“License given to Stark Whittle and Sergeant
Travers to play a prize at the several weapons belonging
to the Noble Science (such as shall be agreed
on by them) publickly at such place in or near St.
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Marie's City, as they shall for this day appoint:
provided that no foul play be used, nor any riott or
disturbance tending to the breach of his Lordship's
peace, be by them or any of their associates thereupon
offered. Dated at his Lordship's mansion, in
the City of St. Marie's this 9th day of October, Anno
Domini, 1681.
“J. Llewellin, Clerk.”
“On the common, behind the Town House in St.
Marie's City, by permission of an order of Council,
as above recited, a trial of skill shall be performed
between Stark Whittle and Sergeant Gilbert Travers,
two masters of the Noble Science of Defence, at
four of the clock in the afternoon of Thursday the
twenty-third of October instant.
“I, Stark Whittle, of the town of Stratford, England,
who have fought thirty-one times at Hockley in
the Hole, at Portugal and in divers parts of the West
Indies, and never left a stage to any man, do invite
Gilbert Travers to meet and exercise at the several
weapons following, viz:
Back Sword, Sword and Buckler,
Sword and Dagger, Case of Falchons,
Single Falchon.
“I, Gilbert Travers, sergeant of musqueteers, who
formerly served in the Walloon Guard of his Highness
the Prince of Orange, and hath held the degree of
Master of the Noble Science of Defence in forty-seven
prizes, besides four that I fought as a provost
-- 082 --
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before I took said degree, will not, in regard to the
fame of Stark Whittle, fail to meet this brave inviter
at the time and place appointed; desiring a clear
stage and from him no favour.
“Vivat Rex.”
“This promises well, for a fair sport, Willy,” said
Coode; “they are both pretty fellows with the
sword. Who has set this matter of foot?”
“I heard, an it please your worship,” replied the
fiddler; “it is near a fortnight since,—that Stark
Whittle and the Sergeant, being together at an ale-drinking,
on an afternoon, at Master Weasel's ordinary,
and having got into a merry pin, must needs
fall into an argument, and thereupon into a debate,
as men commonly do now-a-days, upon church
matters. Whereupon Stark,—you know, Master
Coode,” said Willy, touching the burgess on the rib
with his knuckle and speaking, in a confidential tone,
with a short dry laugh,—“Stark is a born devil on
our side of the question,—whereupon he raises his
voice against the mumbling of masses, as he calls it,
and the pictures and images and the rest of the trumpery;—
while the Sergeant sticks up, like a true soldier,
for the army of martyrs and the canons and
what not besides. So, when words got high, and
Stark began to be puzzled by some of Gilbert's quiddities
which he learned from the priests,—he whips
off from the church and turns the discourse upon
sword-craft. And thereupon, after some crowing
by Gilbert, Stark takes him short with a challenge
to play a prize—which the Sergeant accepted,
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out of hand. Then it was left to Colonel Talbot to
bring it to the Council, and the next thing I hear of
it is that Colonel Talbot sends me here to set this
writing, concerning the whole matter, against the
mulberry before the Town House door.”
Before Willy had got through this account of the
origin of Stark Whittle's challenge, Godfrey had
come to the spot.
“We may find an occasion in this prize fight that
shall jump with our plot, Lieutenant,” said Coode.
“What think you Richard Cocklescraft had to tell
me?”
“I cannot guess.”
“Why, that these shavelings who meddle so much
in the affairs of the province and rule the Council,
are downright knaves;—that his Lordship is no better
than a sneaking dotard; the Council themselves
but white-livered whelps of the litter of Babylon,
and that the whole brood of craw thumpers, taking
in master and serving-man all round, are but scurvy
thieves who deserve, each and all, to be set in the
stocks. Now, there is a wise Skipper!—a clearsighted,
conscientious wight, who has seen his errors
and confesses them honestly! This Master Cocklescraft
has promised me to meet us at Chiseldine's to-night,
which I put it to him to do by way of test to
his honesty. If he come not there, I shall hold that
he has cozened me with a base, juggling, papistical
lie. And in that case, George Godfrey, I desire you
to set thy mark upon him;—dost hear? So, until
we meet again at Master Chiseldine's, good even,
Lieutenant.”
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The residence of Chiseldine stood upon the river,
a short distance beyond the upper limits of the town,
from which it was separated by the small creek
which I have heretofore described as bounding the
common. This creek at its embouchure where it
crossed the river beach, was reduced into a narrow
strait, scarcely, in the ordinary state of the tides,
beyond the compass of an active man's leap. Here
a small bridge gave to the townspeople access at all
times to the dwelling house of Master Chiseldine.
When the twilight had subsided, some three or four
visiters were found assembled under this roof, and
their number in the course of an hour was gradually
increased to as many more. Amongst these, Coode
and Godfrey were the first to arrive; they were
soon followed by a person of no small influence in
stimulating the disorders of that time,—the Reverend
Master Yeo—an active and subtle churchman of the
English church, whose emaciated figure, meek countenance
and puritanical simplicity of costume, contrasted
with a restless and passion-fraught eye, presented
an impersonation of a busy, political ecclesiastic.
The host, Master Kenelm Chiseldine, though
a young man, had already arrived at some authority
in the House of Burgesses by his persevering and
zealous hostility to the Proprietary, and had, through
the popularity which generally follows resistance to
the established order of things, obtained such a control
over the course of that unhappy dissension which
agitated the peace of the province, as entitled him
to be considered, in modern phrase, one of the
leaders of the movement. He now appeared in this
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conclave, in that mixed character of burgher and
soldier—partially armed, though professing the pursuits
of a man of peace—which the disturbances of
the period had rendered common amongst the inhabitants.
Conspicuous, at least for his estimate of
himself, in this assemblage, whither the love of having
something to do, and a thirst for a patriot's immortality
had lured him, was little Corporal Abbot
the tailor—a wight remarkable for the vast disproportion
between the smallness of his person and the
greatness of his aspirations, and still more remarkable
for an upspringing walk and an ambitious, erect
carriage of the head. Stricken with the grandeur of
Lieutenant Godfrey's achievements, and emulous of
like glory in the field of Mars, he had, by degrees,
wormed himself into an intimacy with the Lieutenant,
who one day, in a freak, settled the little hero's
destiny, by enlisting him for a special campaign with
the Rangers. In the course of this tour of duty,
which lasted sixty days, Ned Abbot had the good
fortune to capture three Indian women, whom he took
for warriors belonging to the tribe of King Tiquassino—
a chief whose name diffused a common terror
through the province. The Rangers conspired to
magnify the hazard and glory of this exploit, and
his commander exalted him to the honourable and
responsible duties of a corporal. Ever since that
event, the tailor looked upon himself as a martialist
approved in battle and entitled to boast of his prowess.
Being thus seduced into the list of fame, he became
a devoted adherent of the Lieutenant, and, as is
customary amongst the votaries of greater men than
-- 086 --
[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]
even Lieutenant George Godfrey, he suffered himself
to be embarked in all the hazards and committed to
all the consequences of his leader's political imbroglios.
The corporal's time was divided between the
needle and the broadsword;—at one season, when
work was slack, playing the man of war in bloodless
forays, and at another, when fighting was superabundant,
stitching doublets and patching decayed
jerkins, with a commendable tranquillity of spirit.
Such were the principal personages who were now
convened to deliberate upon the course of that secret
rebellion which, in a few years later than this period,
terminated in what is known in the history of Maryland
as the Protestant Revolution. Their more immediate
purpose was to devise measures for the rescue
or liberation of the Fendalls. Towards the
accomplishment of this design, the discontented in
various parts of the province had associated under
private forms of organization, and held themselves
in readiness to obey the signal for an out-break,
whenever the leaders amongst the burgesses should
determine the fit moment to have arrived. When
these persons were once banded together in arms,
their plan was to drive matters to an immediate issue
with the Proprietary, by seizing the Fort, and even
by assailing his person. Their general scheme of
rebellion was supposed to derive its hopes of success
not only from the increasing bitterness which daily
grew up between the two religious sects, but from
the avowed inclination of the Court at White Hall to
give an established church to the province, and to
restrain the exercise of religious toleration against
-- 087 --
[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]
the catholic party. Add to this the fact that a preponderating
majority of the inhabitants were of the
protestant faith, and it will be seen that the conspirators
had no very strong reason to apprehend any fatal
miscarriage of their scheme.
It was late before Cocklescraft made his appearance
in this assembly. He had gone into the inn,
where he remained in solitude until after nightfall;
and when the retiring day had left every thing in
shade, he sallied forth and indulged his moody and
fevered temper in lonely musing, as he rambled
through the town and along the margin of the river.
Callous as he was to the ordinary sensibilities of humanity,
it cost him a struggle to pursue his vindictive
purpose to the extent of making war against that
faith, the devotion to which, in his bosom, was superstition—
a superstition that clung to his mind through
all the iniquities of his life amongst the Brothers of
the Coast, and which he now trembled to renounce.
His self-communing on this subject had wrought him
up to a state of mind that bordered upon insanity,
exhibiting itself, at times, in bursts of apparently jocular
recklessness, and driving him to the stimulus of
strong drink.
His absence from Chiseldine's began to be remarked.
Master Yeo had already let fall—when Coode
spoke of his interview with the Skipper—some expressions
of distrust in the sincerity of such a conversion
as the tale implied; and more than one of the
company hinted at a trick contrived by the Papists
to entrap them. Private mutterings of dissatisfaction
and threats of retribution were growled in whispered
-- 088 --
[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]
tones. Corporal Abbot was remarkably fierce and
denunciatory. “By my sword, neighbours!” he said,
with a scowling eye-brow, “an' I find it should turn
out that we have been paltered with by that briny
ruffler, it shall go hard with him but he shall find that
I wear cold iron,—if he learn as much from never a
man in the town beside. And as we are all here together,
where we may speak our minds,” he added
in a stage-whisper, with a significant solemnity of
manner, “I would have you know I do not put too
much faith in the honesty of these absolution and purgatory
men: they are fishy—fishy, masters,” he said,
laying his finger against his nose, and looking portentously
mysterious. “To my seeming, this Richard
Cocklescraft ever had a hang-dog—”
“Ay, that's true—a hang-dog devil in his looks,”
said Cocklescraft himself, taking the parole from the
speaker, as he strode into the room immediately behind
the Corporal, who stood near the door. His
brow was flushed, his air hurried and disturbed, and
he had entered the outer door without knocking or
ceremony of announcement, and thus came into the
apartment where the meeting was assembled, at unawares,
and at the moment that his name was upon
the Corporal's lips. His cap was drawn conceitedly
over one side of his forehead, and his scabbarded
sword, detached from the belt, was borne in his hand.
A constrained smile gave a disagreeable and unusual
expression to his features, and there was an air of
affected jovialty in his carriage when he interrupted
the boasting martialist and accosted the company.
“Nay, Master Corporal, thou need'st not shrink, for
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[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]
thy brave speaking: 'tis a license of a man of the
wars to rail at such as leave their colours; and as I
have left mine, I stand under your reproof.—God
save you, my masters, for a set of merry contrivers
of mischief! By St. Iago, but you make a snug
house of it here together! Master Chiseldine, Captain
Coode would have me come here to-night to
speak before witnesses. Presto, change! is the word.
I have done with the cowls and the cassocks, and
with all who bow to the honourable Council: I have
done with my lords gentlemen of taffeta and buckram;—
yea, and have a reckoning to make which
shall be remembered in Maryland. Santo Rosario!
but I will make it,” he added, as he spoke through
his clenched teeth, “when the foremost man amongst
you all shall cry shame for pity!—We shall forswear
water-drinking, comrades! I have renounced it to-day:
for an hour past I have fed upon the milk of
Scheidam—most wholesome usquebaugh, without
taint of Papistry in it: I fetched it myself from Holland
to the Crow and Archer. Ha! it has baptized
me in the faith of our new quarrel. I will swear by
it as your only holy water!”
“Master Cocklescraft, I would you had brought us
a cooler head—though you are not the less welcome,”
said Chiseldine. “Think you, sir, you can
strike, if there be need for it, at those you have lately
consorted with?”
“Strike!” exclaimed Cocklescraft, “Ay, by Saint
Anthony, can I strike! on the broad sea, or green
land,—in pell-mell or orderly fight,—amongst pikes
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[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]
and musquets, or grenades and culverins. I can
strike with sword or dagger,—at waking man, or
sleeping babe—grey head or green:—strike, Master
Chiseldine, to drum and trumpet, or to the music of
shrieking wives and sobbing maidens. I have been
nursed to the craft. What else should have brought
me here to-night?”
“A most monstrous and horrid papistical schooling
the wolf has had!” piously ejaculated Master
Yeo, in the ear of a neighbour. “This fellow would
have been a Guido Fawkes in time.”
“We must use him, nevertheless, reverend Master
Yeo,” said Coode; “we shall teach him gentleness,
when we have got over the rough work of our plot.”
The Parson assented by a nod of the head; and
then approaching the Skipper, inquired, “What argument,
worthy Master Cocklescraft, hath persuaded
you to renounce your old associates? There may be
much edification in the experience of a man so thoroughly
converted.”
“That concerns no man here,” replied the seaman
bluntly. “Enough for you, sir, that I have changed
my colours. I come to you not alone, neither: I
have men to back me, and follow where I lead, and
a trim bark which may serve a turn when you are
put in straits. If you will have service out of me,
I ask no return for it, but that you set quickly
about the work. Do you want motive for present
quarrel? I can give it to you. I know it for a truth,
that the King hath sent orders hither to dislodge
every Papist from his office in this province; and I
know, further, that the Council do, upon deliberation,
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[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]
refuse to obey the King's bidding. There is a handle
for rebellion which may serve you for a throat-cutting!
But what is a royal order to Charles Calvert
if the wind of his humour set contrary against it? A
feather.—Who are they that counsel my Lord Baltimore?
The men that feed their own idleness on the
substance of the honest folk who toil;—the men who
flatter his Lordship with crafty courtesies. First
amongst them is that old grout-head, Anthony Warden:
I would have you note him, masters, for a chief
leech; a most topping blood-sucker. To whom should
the offices of this province belong? To such as the
good pleasure of the Burgesses may appoint—”
“Surely,” grunted Coode.
“To such as the King would have—”
“Without question,” breathed the reverend Parson
Yeo.
“Then, there are reasons for rebellion as thick as
you could wish, masters,” continued Cocklescraft, by
way of close to an harangue which showed him
qualified to take a rank amongst the demagogues of
the time not inferior to that of the most successful
masters of the art of agitation at the present day.
“So, fall to, and make yourselves worshipful dignitaries,—
men of consideration amongst your neighbours:
I am here to help.”
“Bravely spoken!” shouted Coode, as the Skipper
concluded this successful essay in political oratory,
whilst several voices re-echoed the commendation;
“that is the true aspect of our plot, and Master
Cocklescraft shows himself a worthy and apt scholar.
The sooner we come to buffets the better. We have
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[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]
force enough to match the pikes and musquets of his
Lordship, and make ourselves masters of the Fort.
By a placard set against the mulberry at the Town
House this afternoon, it seems we are to have a prize
play between Stark Whittle and Sergeant Travers,
come next Wednesday week. This will not fail to
bring our friends of the country swarming to the
sport, and the occasion will be apt for us to manage
the appointments of a general revolt.”
This suggestion receiving the countenance of the
conclave, was adopted, and the execution of the particulars
committed to Coode himself. For the present,
it was thought adviseable that no immediate
step be taken in reference to the rescue of the Fendalls,
as it was very obvious, from various intelligence
which had been brought to the conspirators,
that a crisis was near at hand which must be decisive
of the question of strength between the two
parties.
After this the company gradually dispersed.
-- 093 --
CHAPTER V.
[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]
She sat hie on the tap tower stane,
Nae waiting may was there;
She lows'd the gowd busk frae her breast,
The kaim frae 'mang her hair,
She wip'd the tear blobs frae her ee,
An' looked lang and sair.
The Mermaid of Galloway.
It is proper, before we move onward with our
tale, to give some account of affairs at the Rose
Croft, towards which the interest of our lady readers
especially, is very naturally directed.
After Willy of the Flats had departed with the
missive that was designed to frustrate the duel, there
was, for a considerable time, a general restlessness
manifested by the household, extending from Alice
Warden and Blanche, downward through the entire
roll of domestics; for Willy had not omitted to avail
himself of the occasion to give Mistress Coldcale a
circumstantial history of the whole affair of the quarrel
between the Skipper and the Secretary, in the
presence of Michael Mossbank, as well as of the
housemaids, the cook and the scullion, all of whom
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[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]
were opportunely assembled in the kitchen, at work
amongst the litter and wreck of the last night's feast,
and were, of course, thrown by the recital into a
condition of most extraordinary doubt and curiosity
as to the upshot of the adventure. The restlessness
to which I have referred seemed equally to defy the
consolations of philosophy and the power of remaining
stationary in any one place, by any one body, for
two consecutive minutes. The common topic of apprehension
was that Willy might not reach father
Pierre in season, or if he did, that father Pierre might
not find aid at hand to intercept the combatants; two
very reasonable grounds of distrust, which brought
about that nervous agitation which is not uncommon
in female councils. In the present case, after much
tribulation and perplexity in the two sisters, it was
thought expedient to call Mistress Coldcale to the
consultation regarding what was proper to be done
in the emergency; and the matter was now entertained
in an ambulatory debate, commencing in the
parlour, and moving successively into the hall, thence
up stairs to a chamber window, down again to the
front door, and finally to the verge of the cliff, at the
extremity of the lawn overlooking the river. At this
last spot, Mistress Coldcale cast her eyes over the
water, and there discovered the Skipper's brigantine,
which, as my reader is aware, had been dropped
down to this anchorage early in the morning. This
phenomenon straightway suggested a most ingenious
expedient, which, from the vivacity of its enunciation,
it was obvious the housekeeper considered as
decisive of the question under deliberation.
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“Good luck the while!” she exclaimed, “if there
is not Master Cocklescraft's own vessel, the Olive
Branch, lying, fast and firm, in the very mouth of the
creek. How lucky for us! The Skipper, Mistress
Alice, as sure as we are women, is on board, and
intends to go thence to Cornwaleys's Cross;—now, as
he must come within hail of our landing, we have
only to station Michael Mossbank here with the
long Spanish fowling-piece, and cause him to warn
Cocklescraft, in the name of Master Warden, to forbear
coming up the creek on peril of his life. Your
father did so in Fendall's first rebellion, when Sawahega
and his men frightened the priests of St. Inigoe's
yonder out of their wits, by sailing into the creek. Why
should n't we try it with the Skipper? Michael shall
fire upon him if he dare to make light of the warning;
and lest bloodshed might come of it, the gardener
may take his aim somewhat aslant and over-head.
I will promise you, no sailor ventures another
stroke of an oar forward after that.”
“Mercy on us, Mistress Bridget!” ejaculated Alice
Warden, “would you involve us in a war with the
Skipper and his surly comrades?”
“At least till Master Anthony Warden, your worshipful
father, comes home and takes the matter into
his own hands, I would make war, as we may, against
Cocklescraft, or any one else that should come into
our waters to harm Master Albert. Troth, would I!”
“I am sure, I do not know what to do,” said
Blanche, not heeding the belligerent device of the
housekeeper, and looking ruefully, through a tear,
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over the waste of waters—“I am sure I do not know
what to do, unless it be to send for our dear Lady
Maria.”
As this last seemed to be the most practicable hint
which had yet been suggested, it was seized upon
and adopted with surprising unanimity; and the consultation
was immediately adjourned to carry it into
operation. Mistress Alice and the housekeeper hurried
to speed measures to that end, and Blanche remained
fixed upon the bank in a brown study, apparently
watching the people upon the deck of the
brigantine.
Luckily, before Michael Mossbank could make
ready a horse to do the errand which Mistress Alice
had confided to him, the Lady Maria was descried,
approaching the house, mounted on her ambling pony,
and followed by a body-guard in the shape of an old
serving-man of the Lord Proprietary. In brief space
she alighted at the door.
The good lady had heard nothing of the tidings
which had diffused such sadness over the household
at the Rose Croft, and, it may be imagined, now received
them with a manifestation of concern commensurate
not only with her regard for the Secretary,
but also with the peculiar solicitude which it
seemed to be her province to extend over all matters
relating to the affairs of the young people within her
brother's dominion.
“Oh, the bloody-minded Skipper! and oh, rash
Master Albert!” she exclaimed, after the narrative
was concluded. “I foresaw it—I dreamed of it—I
almost knew some mischief was hatching, ever since
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[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]
that wicked look which I marked the Skipper give to
Master Albert, when the Secretary chided him for
being too free in his importunity regarding the mantle—
as you may remember, Blanche.”
“I wish the fingers of the sempstress over sea had
been blistered ere they stitched that foul mantle,” said
Blanche, “and the Skipper in the bottom of the Red
Sea, that brought it here!”
“I would rather wish that Master Albert should
find no Skipper at Cornwaleys's Cross to-day,” returned
the lady, not knowing exactly what to wish;
“or that no such place as Cornwaleys's Cross was to
be found in the province.”
“Find no Skipper there!” exclaimed Blanche; “if
a poor wish of mine might bring it to pass, Master
Albert's sword should deal so sharply with him that
he should never again set foot in the Port. It all
comes of that foolish birth-day ball which I must
needs be persuaded by Grace Blackiston to give. I
would I were not eighteen for five years to come!”
“If harm should befall Master Albert,” interposed
the housekeeper, who felt herself privileged in this
time of general tribulation to give her opinion, “it
would be for your comfort that you never saw nor
would see eighteen. If I were Mistress Blanche, I
know I should never find my natural rest again, to
lose so sweet a gentleman as the Secretary. But the
crosses of this life come not by desert, nor spare the
best, as the proverb says. I fear the Skipper is an
overmatch for Master Albert.”
“Surely, Mistress Coldcale,” said Blanche, nettled
at the housekeeper's freedom, as well as at her
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undervaluing the Secretary's prowess, “thou hast no warrant
for such speech. Master Albert hath a valiant
heart and a hand to defend himself, and may
match with the Skipper in any quarrel. And if he
were not his match,” she added, with an ill-concealed
struggle to appear indifferent to the result, “he is no
kinsman of mine, I trow, that I should wish myself
dead.” And having thus given vent to an emotion
suggested by that reserve which a maiden feels who
first begins to be conscious of a secret affection for a
lover,—a sentiment that until this day had slumbered
unacknowledged at her heart,—she covered her face
with her hands, and left the room, to weep in private.
At the top of the Collector's dwelling was a small
balcony or platform that had been constructed for an
observatory, from which vessels approaching the Port
might be descried with a perspective glass at the most
remote seaward point. From this elevation, looking
inland, the road leading from the town around the
head of St. Inigoe's, might be discerned for some extent
along the plain, and at intervals, through the
forest, where it became tangled amongst the hills.
To this balcony, in the disquietude of her mind,
Blanche had gone secretly to look out upon the road
and note those who travelled upon it, hoping by this
means to satisfy herself on that anxious question
whether any persons were abroad to prevent the
duel. Long she gazed there, with her brow shaded
by her hand; and when within an hour of noon, she
discerned two figures, on horseback, moving upon the
hill-side almost at a walk,—it was with an emotion
that produced a shudder through her frame that she
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recognised at that distance the short dark cloak and
the low cap and feather of the Secretary.
“Oh, blessed Mother!” she exclaimed involuntarily,
“it is Master Albert: our care has been but lost.
So leisurely he moves along, his path has not been
followed; nor is it like to be, for noon has almost
come, and I see no father Pierre behind, although the
road is open townward to my sight full two good miles.
And he hath Master Dauntrees with him, as I take
that companion to be; and Master Dauntrees would
not guide him so much at ease if there were followers.—
Jesu Maria! hither comes the Skipper's boat, skimming
the water with such speed as makes it sure he
shall reach the Cross in time,” she continued, as she
turned her eye from the land to the river, and saw
the shallop cleaving the surface of St. Inigoe's creek,
abreast the Rose Croft, under the lusty stroke of two
oarsmen, and bearing Cocklescraft and his comrades,
so near to her that she was able to distinguish, upon
the bench of the boat, the swords which were to be
used in the combat. “Well-a-day! it is a foredoomed
trial, which may not be averted by any caution of
mine. The Holy Martyrs guard our good Master
Albert, and turn danger from his path! as for his
gentleness and bravery he doth deserve.”
The maiden muttered these short and almost incoherent
aspirations, half in self-communion, half in
prayer, during which a melancholy expression of
distress rested upon her countenance, and often, like
the forsaken lady of the ballad,
“She wip'd the tear blobs frae her ee,
An' looked lang and sair.”
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Whilst she thus indulged her secret grief, voices
were heard below in the court-yard.
“It is the Skipper's boat, Michael Mossbank,”
said the voice of Bridget Coldcale, “and the Skipper
in it, with his rufflers at his side. The fowling
piece, Michael!—the long Spanish gun you shoot
ducks with in the winter!—haste ye, man, and fetch
it, or they will be out of thy reach! Was ever such
a lurdan—such a poking old elf!—I have the heart
to load and fire with my own hand. These headstrong
men!”
“Go to thy kitchen-craft, thou silly-witted woman!”
returned the voice of the gardener, with a
hoarse laugh; “thou'rt a fool with thy prating of
the fowling piece! Take a ladle of hot water and
fling it in the wind—it will scald yon sailors, perchance—
'tis but a furlong cast: the creek is but a
half mile wide.”
“It was not so wide, thou crusty mole catcher,
but that his worship from this bank could turn that
savage Sawahega and his canoes back as they came,
I warrant you.”
“Tush, dame Bridget, get thee to peeling onions!—
What dost thou know of Sawahega and his canoes?
Were there not fifty of us with musket and culverin
to boot!—Let these women prate and the world will
be so thick set with lies that they will darken the
light of the sun—a man would lose his way in day-time,
unless he bore a lantern.”
This last hit of the gardener's seemed to be decisive,
for the voice of Mistress Coldcale was
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immediately afterwards heard in the house, showing that
she had evidently retreated.
“Ah!” cried the maiden, who still retained her
position in the balcony, as she now unexpectedly
discerned the figures of the Proprietary and father
Pierre riding at a pretty brisk gait along the plain
from the direction of the town—“a blessing on him!
Father Pierre hath got our message and is on his
way with his good Lordship. The saints lend them
speed!—though I fear they go too late. The Skipper's
boat hath turned into St. Luke's and will be at
the Cross ere his Lordship reach the hills,—though
when he reach the hills his journey is but half performed.”
It was not long after this that she heard the bell of
St. Inigoe's across the creek, pealing its customary
announcement of noon, and still the Proprietary and
the priest had not yet ceased to be observed on the
road descending from the highland. The boat of
the Skipper had disappeared in the recesses of St.
Luke's, and the Secretary with his companion had
already abundant time to reach the appointed ground
of the combat. Overcome by doubt, suspense and
apprehension, Blanche retreated, with a stealthy
step, as if afraid even to hear the noise of her own
foot-fall to her chamber, and there, with a throbbing
heart and trembling frame, threw herself upon her
bed. In this condition she lay conjuring up the
phantoms of her imagination, and giving full scope
to that distressing augury of evil which, in moments
when we are compelled passively to contemplate the
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dangers to which those we love are exposed, impels
us by an almost superstitious presentiment to believe
and expect the worst. When two hours and more
had elapsed, the housekeeper with precipitate haste
thrust herself panting into the chamber, and roused
the maiden from this unhappy meditation, with an
abruptly-communicated piece of news.
“His Lordship has made safe work of it, Mistress
Blanche,—most joyful work of it!—bless him for a
charitable, careful, pains-taking Lord,—and bless
you, Mistress Blanche, for your thoughtful wisdom
in sending to father Pierre. Oh, I have happy news
for you!”
“Tell it, I pray you, Mistress Bridget!”
“Michael Mossbank, my dear young lady, comes
but now, riding in at full speed from the mill of St.
Inigoe's, where he went an hour ago to have a chat
with goodman Bolt the miller—”
“In mercy, tell me the pith of this story at once,”
interposed the maiden with an impatience which
could not brook the housekeeper's prolixity.
“Well, there, Michael spied, as he was talking to
the miller,—he spied, riding along the road from
Cornwaleys's Cross towards the town, who do you
think?—Why, his Lordship and father Pierre, both
looking as long faced as the oldest drudge-horse
that takes a meal bag to mill—and after them, some
good distance behind, riding as silent as if they were
going to a funeral, Master Albert,—our dear Master
Albert,—and that old sinner and evil adviser, Captain
Dauntrees of the Fort. And as this plainly signified
that all was over and no harm done, Michael mounts
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his nag and comes clinking home here as fast as
four legs can bring him. Isn't it precious news,
Mistress?”
“Art sure of it, Mistress Coldcale?” demanded
Blanche, with a sudden sunshine bursting out upon
her face and chasing away the clouds of grief which
but a moment before lowered upon it—“Art truly
sure of it, sweet Bridget?”
“As sure of it,—bless you for a happy young lady!—
as that my name was Bridget Skewer till my dear
goodman, peace to his bones! changed it into Coldcale.”
Blanche laughed outright, and went straight into
the parlour to share the pleasure of this piece of intelligence
with her sister and the Lady Maria. These
ladies, however, had already been apprised of all
that the housekeeper had told to the maiden, and the
pony being in waiting at the door, the sister of the
Proprietary hurried off with a speed stimulated by
her eagerness to learn every thing from her brother,
leaving Alice and the maiden happy in finding that
at least no serious harm had befallen the Secretary.
Albert Verheyden, although keenly sensitive to
the displeasure of the Proprietary, in reviewing his
conduct throughout the quarrel with the Skipper, felt
a lively satisfaction at the course he had pursued.
The provocation had been so flagrant and the bearing
of Cocklescraft towards him so evidently exasperated
by the favour he had won from the maiden,
that it was with a natural exultation he looked back
upon the recent meeting and its result. His sentiment
towards his adversary in this retrospect, was
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somewhat of the nature of that imputed, in the metrical
tale, to the Chieftain at his triumph over his unnatural
brothers—
“I trow ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith,
But I've gi'en you the scorn.”
He had foiled his enemy at his boasted weapon,
and sent him humbled from the field. But what was
chiefly pleasing to him in the review was, that the
strife had arisen in the cause of Blanche Warden,
and that he had, like a knight of ancient adventure,
rescued her from the importunity of a disagreeable
suitor. The reproof of the Proprietary was almost
lost sight of in the gratulation of his own heart upon
the successful issue of this his first essay of manhood;
and, besides, he felt a secret consciousness that however
his Lordship might openly chide him for this
infraction of the law, still he could not undervalue
him for his prompt resentment of an offence to which,
especially in that age, it would have been a foul dishonour
to submit. Then the bland interposition and
affectionate support of father Pierre, who rebuked as
became a churchman the rude appeal to arms, and
yet stood by him as a friend to share the pleasure of
his triumph, gave him still further confidence that he
should lose neither the countenance nor the esteem of
the Proprietary by what had happened. With a disburdened
heart, therefore, and a contented spirit of
self-approbation, he went to his bed that night, and
enjoyed a sleep as refreshing and deep as the slumber
of childhood.
The duel was attended by another consequence
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still more important. The Secretary had become
the champion of the maiden of the Rose Croft, and
it was no more than a natural sequence, justified and
approved by all experience, that he should claim to
think of her as his mistress, and to render the open
homage of a lover. Heretofore his demeanour towards
her had been marked by a quiet humility, an
almost worshipping deference—reserved and struggling
to conceal the passion which glowed in his bosom:
but he now became aware of a sudden change
in his estimate of himself, and of a consciousness
that his manhood entitled him to speak to the mistress
of his heart with bolder speech and more unquestionable
pretension.
When morning broke upon him it found his spirits
enlivened by gay thoughts, and his countenance
made cheerful by the impression of pleasant dreams,—
dreams that had conducted him into fairy bowers
where all the images that enchanted his view bore
some reference to the Rose of St. Mary's. He
sprang from his couch with the buoyancy of unusual
health, and, whilst he made his toilet, his mind ran
with an impatient resolve upon an early visit to the
Rose Croft.
Accordingly, as soon in the day as he might with
propriety visit at the Collector's dwelling—for all at
once he grew scrupulous as to these observances
which, until now, had never entered into his reckonings—
he was mounted on his steed and forth and
away, a gallant cavalier seeking the bower of his
lady-love.
When he arrived at the Rose Croft, Blanche and
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her father were just prepared to set out on a morning's
walk, and were upon the lawn sauntering
around the rustic temple which contained the altar
of St. Therese.
“Welcome, Master Verheyden,” said the Collector
with a brisk and cordial greeting; “heartily welcome!
Zounds, man, you had brought us into a
fine coil yesterday!—my women here, Alice and
Blanche, yea and Mistress Bridget and Meg and
Sue,—the whole of them,—were as much astir as if
the Sinniquoes had made an inroad upon us. You
have been playing the swashing buckler-man since
we saw you last;—you must try your hand at edge
and point, Master Albert. Marry, after this thou
mayst wear thy toledo with an air, cock thy beaver,
and draw at a word, like a pretty fellow of the rapier.
Give us a hand, good Albert,—I thank thee
for the service thou hast done in lowering the plume
of that saucy sea-urchin. Why didst not run him
through the body?”
The Secretary was not prepared for this bluff
questioning, and as he took the Collector's hand, his
cheek reddened and he replied with a modest mein,
“I sought no quarrel with the Skipper and am thankful
that we parted with so little hurt.”
Notwithstanding the complacency with which
Albert regarded his recent conduct, and the gaiety
of heart with which he now visited the Rose Croft;
and despite his resolution to assume a bolder carriage
in the presence of Blanche, his bearing at this moment
was characterized by more than ordinary diffidence
and show of respect. It was even with some
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confusion that he now approached the maiden and
offered her his hand; and, what was equally to be
remarked, Blanche Warden, on her part, seemed to
have lost that confiding and unguarded tone of intimacy
with which she was ever in the habit of receiving
the Secretary. Still, joy sparkled in her eye
and warmed her features with a genial flush, as she
noted Albert's humbleness in her presence, and read
in it his more profound sense of the value of her
favour.
“Our birth-day feast,” he said, after saluting the
maiden, “will be well remembered in the province
for the general content it has given. All voices are
praising Mistress Blanche: and she has won many
sincere wishes from the townspeople for long and
happy life.”
“Alas!” replied the maiden, “whatever others
may think, I have wept sorely for that unlucky feast.
I did not wish it at first, and, in the end, had better
reason to grieve that I had been persuaded to
make it.”
“Master Verheyden,” interposed the Collector,
“thou hast come most seasonably hither: this girl
must have me consent to trail my old limbs after her,
like a young gallant, this morning, in a ramble to
enjoy the air, as she calls it—simply because she
hath happened to leave her nest with the merry
chirp of a spring lark. Thou shalt take my place
as a fitter man for such service. There, Blanche, is
the Secretary for thee—a better squire of thy body
than thy old rusty-jointed father! I have a more profitable
calling on hand to visit my fields. Ha,
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Master Albert, you wear a love token on your breast!”
added the old gentleman, with a playful smile, as he
took in his hand a small miniature set in gold, which
hung by a chain from the Secretary's neck, and
had accidentally escaped unobserved from beneath
his vest in the action of dismounting from his
horse; “some lady of the other side of the water,
eh? And on the back, here, letters which my eyes
are too old to make out without my glasses—a posy,
no doubt: `Let fools great Cupid's yoke disdain—'
thou know'st the song, Master; 'tis the way of all
living.”
“'Tis my poor mother's likeness,” said Albert,
gravely, at the same time restoring the miniature to
his bosom. “She put it round my neck with her
own hands whilst she lay upon her death-bed: and I
have worn it ever since. 'Tis the only remembrance
I have of her. I was a child when she died, but not
too young to feel the loss of one who loved me so
well.”
The tear started into the Secretary's eye as he
spoke, and when Mr. Warden saw it, a tear also
came into his, which he brushed away with his hand,
saying, with an assumed vivacity, “Pardon, good
lad! a thousand times I ask your forgiveness for my
rude speech. I did not think of what I said; and I
but love thee the more for thy kind memory of thy
mother. Hang up care by his wing! the world is
overstocked with it. You will stay dinner with us,
good master? I go forth to look after some necessary
affairs, and will be back before this girl has led
you her dance. At dinner I will have much to say
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to you concerning that tarpaulin bully. A plague on
the wool cap! I could have found it in my heart to
fight with him myself:—my gray hairs against his
raven locks! Do you know, Master Verheyden, he
was fain to ask my leave to woo our girl here—this
Blanche of mine? See, how the wench hoists her red
ensign on the cheek at the thought of it:—ay, and
pressed it on me so rudely, and with such clap-meon-the-back
familiarity, as he would have used to
cozen Mistress Dorothy of the Crow and Archer
out of a jack of ale. Thou should'st have spitted him
on thy sword, for a public benefaction, and had the
thanks of the Mayor and Aldermen for thy good
works. I would as lief see him so trussed as the
haunch of a brocket in my own kitchen.”
“Nay, my dear father,” interrupted Blanche, as
she saw a storm rising on the Collector's brow, “pray
you say no more about the Skipper. Master Albert
doth not like to be tasked with discourse of his quarrel;
and besides, the Skipper—”
“Hath had his belly full, I warrant thou would'st
say, girl. Well, well, I will order my horse, and
away; so go your own road. Farewell, Master
Albert, until I see you again at dinner.”
The Secretary and the maiden now set forth upon
their walk, and directed their steps along the upper
margin of the bank which overhung the river, until
they were soon shaded in the forest that grew thickly
upon the steep slope by which the plain descended
to the beach. Out of this bank, at frequent intervals,
gushed forth pure springs of water, that found their
way to the river through beds of matted grass and
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leaves. A light sunny haze mantled the whole landscape
of forest, field, and river, and threw a warm
and rich tint over the perspective. The grass was
still green as in spring; but the woods glittered, as
the light breeze shook their bright and many-coloured
foliage, which autumn had flung like a harlequingarb
over every spray. The scene, at all times preeminent
for its beauty, was now fraught with its
greatest attraction for the eye: and the genial temperature
of the season—that delightful period when
the first frosts vanish at the touch of the sun—still
enhanced the pleasure which the spectator felt in
wandering over the landscape.
“Heaven hath garnished out no fairer land than
this,” said the Secretary, as at length, after pursuing
a path that wound through this wilderness,—sometimes
descending to the pebbly beach and again
rising to the level of the plain above—Blanche had
seated herself upon the trunk of a fallen tree, in a
position from which the whole extent of the river, the
fort, and the upper headland, with the Town House,
were visible; “nor is there a nook upon this wide
globe which I would more contentedly make my
home.”
“It will ever be your home, Master Albert,” was
the maiden's reply; “for they who come hither from
the old world seldom think of going back. You can
find no reason to return.”
“My fortunes are guided by our good Lord,” returned
the Secretary, “and even now he sometimes
speaks of going hence again to England. With my
own free will, methinks, I should never leave this
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sunny land. These woods are richer to my eye than
pent-up cities; these spreading oaks and stately poplars,
than our groined and shafted cathedrals and
our cloistered aisles: yes, and I more love to think of
the free range of this woodland life, these forest-fed
deer, and flight of flocking wild fowl, than all the
busy assembling of careful men which throng the
great marts of trade.”
“Surely his Lordship would not take you hence
against your will,” said Blanche, thoughtfully. “Indeed
we could not,”—she continued, and then suddenly
checking herself, as if upon some self-reproof for
speaking more freely than was proper, added, “his
Lordship will not leave the province again,—or if he
does—”
“I am but an humble Secretary of his Lordship,”
interrupted Albert, “and needs must follow as he shall
command.”
“He will not command it, Master Albert. Our
dear Lady Maria loves you well, as I have heard her
say, and will persuade his Lordship to command you
stay.”
“I need not his command,” replied the Secretary;
“it would be enough for me I was not constrained
to go hence; your wish, Mistress Blanche,—nay,
your permission would keep me here, even if my inclination
tended back again to the old world.”
“My wish, Master Albert! how could I have other
wish but that thou should'st stay?” inquired the
maiden, in all singleness of heart. “Do we not sing
and play together; ride, sail, hawk, and hunt together?
Have you not promised to render that history
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of the good Chevalier into English for me? Am I not
to be skilled in the French tongue, under your teaching?
Oh, how could I wish other than that you stay
with us, Master Albert!”
“Come what hazards may,” said the Secretary,
with deep emotion, as he took the maiden's hand,
“I swear by this good day and by this beauteous
world, that I will never leave thee.”
But few words more passed—and these were of
such an import as my reader may well conceive,
from what has gone before—till Albert Verheyden
kneeled at the maiden's feet and vowed unalterable
devotion to her happiness, and rose a betrothed lover.
With lingering steps and freer speech, Blanche hanging
on Albert's arm, the plighted pair slowly returned
to the Rose Croft.
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CHAPTER VI.
[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]
I guess by all this quaint array
The burghers hold their sports to-day.
Scott.
The day appointed for the prize-play was mild
and clear; and as the anticipation of the sport had
created a stir throughout the province, there was
reason to expect a large attendance.
Stark Whittle had, within a year past, emigrated
to the dominions of the Proprietary, from Jamaica,
and by dint of trumpeting his own renown—an act
for which the professors of his craft were somewhat
distinguished—had obtained the repute of a skilful
master of fence. Sergeant Travers had been several
years in the province, and had already established
his fame, in more than one trial, with such wandering
professors of the Noble Science as, at that era, were
to be found in every quarter of Christendom. Great
expectations were therefore entertained of an encounter
of rare interest to the men of the sword—a class
which might be said to have comprehended not only
the military men of the times, and such gentlemen
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in civil life as were educated in the use of the weapon,
but also that extensive circle of idlers, boasters,
tavern-frequenters, and sport-loving gentry which
have always passed under the denomination of choice
spirits.
Under the direction of Colonel Talbot—the patron
of all sports and pastimes in the province—a platform,
or stage of deal boards, about twenty feet square and
three feet above the ground, had been constructed,
near the centre of the common in the rear of the
Town House. A few paces from the platform stood
a flag-staff, from which floated a forked pennon bearing
the device of the provincial arms, ambitiously
executed in oil by Master Bister, the artist of the
city. On a skirt of the common, some six or eight
tents marked the position of the Court of Guard,
formed by the garrison of the fort, under the command
of Nicholas Verbrack, the Lieutenant. Opposite
to this encampment, a range of booths had been
erected by the townspeople, where was displayed
every variety of refreshment which the housekeeping
stores of the proprietors might afford. These booths
were distinguished by various devices in the way of
signs; one presenting a banner hung out on a pole
with a rude representation of a Cock in jack-boots
and sword, with his neck stretched as in the act of
crowing, and a label from his bill having written
on it,
“STARK WHITTLE FOR EVER!”
whilst another manifested its partizanship for the
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adverse champion, by the device of a bull in armour,
reared on his hind legs, with the inscription,
“SERGEANT TRAVERS.
THE OLD SWORD AGAINST THE NEW BUCKLER.”
Others were designated simply by a green bush, the
old sign of good wine within. Amongst these temporary
sheds was especially to be noted one which
was surmounted by a towering staff bearing a flag
embellished with the cross of St. Andrew, whose proprietor
was sufficiently indicated by a flaring and, to
say the truth, not very perspicuous portraiture of the
Crow and Archer, from the pallet of Master Bister.
Sundry legends, scrawled in charcoal over the front
of the booth, expressed the utmost impartiality between
the combatants and their several friends, as
might be read in such as “Honour to the brave.”
“A fair field and no favours,” and others of similar
import equally guarded against the accident of denoting
the party of the host. Within the shed the
saucy face of our jolly dame Dorothy might have
been seen, long before the appointed hour of the combat,
as she busied herself in adjusting matters to meet
the expected pressure of the day.
Such was the picture presented on the Town Common
about noon. Already a large number of the
inland inhabitants had arrived, and troops of new
comers were every moment seen halting their horses
in the vicinity of the common: others were discerned
as far off as the inequalities of the country allowed,
journeying down from the distant highlands, or moving
forward in disorderly squadrons across the plain
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by every road which led to the town. The river presented
a scene not less animated. Boats of various
sizes, from a pinnace down to a canoe, were sprinkled
over the whole expanse of water, ferrying across
the inhabitants who resided beyond the St. Mary's
river, as well as many from the opposite shore of the
Potomac. The hostel of Master Weasel was thronged
with guests, and every ale-house and ordinary of inferior
note bore testimony to the attraction which the
projected prize-play presented to the country people
both far and near.
Meantime the combatants were not yet accessible
to the sight of the inquisitive crowd. They were
each in charge of their respective friends. Stark
Whittle had selected Captain Coode as his patron,
and was now lodged in the house of the burgess,
where he was attended by a troop of those professional
backers who are ever at hand on occasions of
sport with their advice,—men who, whether imbued
with skill or not, are still prone to take the credit of
being well versed in the mysteries of the game.
These were now busy, or affected to be so, in preparing
their champion for his encounter, exhibiting
all that show of science in the minutiæ of the craft,
which belongs to their class. Under their direction,
the swordsman had been, for several days, put under
a diet which was alleged to be scrupulously regulated
to produce the due quantum of strength without
an increase of bulk; he had been breathed a certain
number of hours each day in the exercise of his
weapon; and now that the moment of trial was at
hand, great exactness and care were displayed in
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anointing his limbs with bear's grease, to give them
their requisite suppleness. The same precautions,
with the same pedantry, were bestowed upon Sergeant
Travers, who, still shut up in the Fort, was
undergoing the discipline of Captain Dauntrees and
Arnold de la Grange,—both of these worthies claiming
to be adepts in this important matter of training
for a prize play.
About an half hour before four o'clock, the common
was filled with the groups of spectators, leaving
the town almost emptied of its inhabitants. These
thronged around the booths, or strolled across the
plain, or took their places at the platform. Nicholas
Verbrack, at this moment, wheeled off his company
from the Court of Guard, and, marching to the scene
of the expected fight, formed them in two ranks, immediately
behind the flag-staff, which might be said
to represent the head of the lists. From this position
he detached sentinels, armed with pikes, who were
posted at intervals, in military fashion, around the
platform, at the distance of some ten paces from it,
beyond which limit the lookers-on were compelled to
retire, leaving the intervening space entirely clear.
The crowd which was thus thrust back, consisted
indifferently of both sexes,—the women, as is always
the case in public shows wherever they may gain admission,
forming no inconsiderable portion of the
mass, and they were now seen elbowing their way
to the front of the throng, and sustaining their positions
there, with as stout resolve as the sturdiest of
their antagonists. Carts, wagons, tumbrels, and sundry
nondescript conveyances, fabricated for the
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occasion and laden to their utmost capacity with females,
formed a kind of rear division surrounding the stage.
Several gentlemen, among whom was the Proprietary,
accompanied by his uncle Philip Calvert the
Chancellor, nearly all the members of the Council,
Master Anthony Warden, and others, were seen
grouped together on horseback. Albert Verheyden
with Benedict Leonard had come in the train of this
party, but were now observed in various quarters of
the field, as they rode around to amuse themselves
with the spectacle. Chiseldine, the reverend Master
Yeo, and some others conspicuous in the ranks of
opposition to the Proprietary and his party, were
seen frequently reining up their horses together in
small squads, and as often dispersing, as if under
some occasional suggestion against the propriety of
their consorting too much together in public. Cocklescraft,
with Roche del Carmine and three or four men
in sailors' dress,—the Skipper and his mate being
both armed rather beyond what was usual,—strolled
about the field, without ostensibly participating in the
affairs of either party.
The scene presented a lively and striking spectacle.
The musqueteers in their green livery, drawn up beneath
the pennon that fluttered above the stage; the
motley crowd of persons of both sexes that surrounded
the platform, taxing all the vigilance of the sentinels
to prevent them from pressing beyond their allotted
boundary; the scarlet hoods and glittering
head-gear, wimples, coifs, caps, and bright-coloured
petticoats, mingled in the mass with the russet serge
and round hat of the rustic, and with the gayer
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holiday-attire of belted burghers and bluff landholders
arrayed in swords, short cloaks and plumed beavers;
the troops of spectators that moved over the field on
horseback, some with the sober steadiness of age, and
others with the prankishness of young cavaliers anxious
to display their horsemanship in the caracole,
the demi-volte, the courbette, and the various other
points of equestrian skill to which the jargon of that
day supplied names; the bustle of strolling idlers that
hovered about the booths, where the twangling of a
fiddle in one quarter and the rattle of dice in another
rose in a confused din upon the ear, mingled with the
oaths of drinkers and the nimble-tongued and shrill
tones of the authoritative dame of the Crow and
Archer, as she chid or promoted the clamour around
her:—all these images, grouped together on the beautiful
plain of St. Mary's, with that transparent blue
heaven above, and the matchless foliage of the Fall
giving to the forest the hues of the dying dolphin, and
the mild, invigorating coolness of that incomparable
season which ushers in the gradual march of winter,
diffusing health and buoyancy into every frame,—
afforded a picture which was calculated to inspire a
high sense of enjoyment in those who witnessed it,
and which would scarcely fail to produce something
of the same impression if skilfully delineated on the
canvass.
At a signal from Colonel Talbot, a trumpeter bearing
an instrument which, like himself, was covered
with ribands, mounted upon the stage and blew forth
a sprightly summons. When this was repeated thrice,
two small parties were seen entering on the common
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from different quarters. That which came from the
direction of the centre of the town, was immediately
descried as Stark Whittle and his party, consisting of
Captain Coode with three or four attendants. The
champion was wrapped in a horseman's cassock that
concealed his figure from observation, whilst beside
him walked his second, a squat, brawny, fierce little
man, with a huge red nose, a squint in one eye, a
scar across his brow, and a large broad-flapped beaver
garnished with a black ostrich feather which
hung backward a span below his shoulder. This
worthy enjoyed the designation of Ensign Tick, being
a decayed officer of Lord Cecil's time, and still
retaining his title, though reduced to a sharking livelihood
in a civil station. He was, like his principal,
shrouded in a cloak: in one hand he bore a pair of
swords, and in the other a small creel or basket containing
a bottle of usquebaugh and sundry commodities
used for the speedy staunching of a wound,—
furniture familiar to the backers of heroes in such
circumstances as those of his principal at the present
moment. The other group came from the quarter of
the Town House, by the road that led up from the
Crow and Archer, where they had betaken themselves
to await the summons: it was composed of
Travers attended by Captain Dauntrees, and his second,
the Sergeant-Major of the musqueteers, bearing
the name of Master Stocket,—one or two privates of
the same corps, and a cortege of bare-headed and
bare-legged boys, that stepped forth at the full compass
of their stride, to keep pace with the rapid movement
of the principals of the party.
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As soon as these adverse bands came within the
range of the crowd, lanes were opened for their admission,
and the two champions, advancing to an
open space before the guard of soldiers, there threw
aside their cloaks and sprang upon the stage. They
were instantly followed by their seconds, whilst a
flourish of the trumpet and a long ruffle from the
drums and fifes of the musqueteers announced that
the ceremonies of the fight were about to commence.
The champions were both men of fine shape and
sinew, nearly equal in height and bulk, and both came
to their engagement with apparently composed and
cheerful countenances. The only face of wrath and
fire correspondent to the valorous prowess which had
impelled this warlike meeting, was that of Ensign
Tick. He alone seemed to be duly impressed with
the resentment which a belligerent should indulge in
such a strife. Sergeant-Major Stocket retained a
practised calmness that was altogether professional,
and performed his duty on the stage with exemplary
gravity. The champions were dressed in military
costume; Travers in that of his corps, Whittle in the
cumbrous scarlet coat of the English uniform. Both
wore the heavy wide-legged boot, which, immediately
after mounting the stage, they exchanged for
pumps. As soon as this was done, they were severally
disrobed of their coats, and thus presented for
the combat in their shirt sleeves. A fillet of red riband
was tied around the right arm of the challenger
above the elbow, whilst one of green was similarly
adjusted on the arm of Travers. During the arranging
of these preliminaries, Dauntrees and Coode
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had ascended the platform, that they might, as patrons
of the parties, bear testimony to the due observance
of the established laws of the play. When
all was done, and the combatants were announced to
be ready for the encounter, Coode retired from the
stage and took a post at that end of the platform most
remote from the flag-staff, whilst Dauntrees marched
with military precision to a post in front of his company,
where taking a halberd from a sergeant who
held it ready for him, he planted himself, erect and
stately, immediately at the head of his men. The
seconds now advanced, each bearing in his hand a
pair of back-swords of moderate length, and each
selecting one for his principal, these were measured
in public to show,—what had indeed been previously
adjusted by private regulation,—that no advantage
was possessed by either side in the length of weapon,
and after this ceremony they were placed in the
hands of those who were to use them. The seconds
then retired to opposite points on the platform, whilst
the champions themselves, with a praiseworthy courtesy
and some expressions of good will, shook hands;
after which, with a flourish of swords and a gay
alacrity of manner, they wheeled round and took
the stations allotted to them by their seconds.
All this time the utmost silence pervaded the
crowd of spectators. Every one had pressed towards
the stage at the summons of the trumpet: the
booths were deserted, or left with but a solitary
watchman: a sentinel, here and there, in the verge
of the little encampment on the skirt of the common,
was the only moving thing that was not crowded up
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to the scene of conflict. The Proprietary and his
friends had a post of honour assigned to them in the
rear of Dauntrees' soldiers, whence they might minutely
observe all that was going on. Chiseldine and
his party occupied a post at the opposite end of the
stage, relatively the same as that of the Proprietary;
but, as no space was kept clear for their accommodation,
they were forced somewhat in the rear of the
crowd of spectators on foot, and a close observer
might have seen in their thoughtful countenances that
other subjects besides the trivial amusements of the
hour occupied their minds.
The champions now took their attitudes of attack
and defence, and forthwith engaged with great vigour.
Blows were made and parried with masterly
address. A quick onset, the assailant pressing his antagonist
across the full length of the stage, was returned
with an assault not less prompt, and the weapons
were wielded with a dexterity and sleight that
almost defied the eye to follow the several strokes
and their counter defences. Nothing was heard but
the clank of steel and the sullen stamp of the combatants
on the boards of the platform, as they gave and
received blows; but, as yet, neither party had gained
advantage; and the seconds, deeming that the first
bout was played long enough, interposed to give their
principals time to breathe.
Whilst the combatants, in this interval, were refreshing
themselves under the care of their seconds,
the busy murmur of conversation amongst the crowd
announced the interest which the play inspired. Many
tokens of active partisanship began to manifest
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themselves, and it was obvious, from the emphasis with
which the commendations were bestowed upon the
new champion Whittle, that he was a decided favourite
of, at least, one party on the field,—a party
composed exclusively of Protestants; whilst those of
the Catholic faith were no less energetic in their advocacy
of Travers. It had already grown to be a
sectarian division of feeling, founded on the well-known
religious professions of the two champions;
and as the Protestants were the most numerous on
the ground, it may be affirmed that Stark Whittle
enlisted the larger share of popular admiration. John
Coode was not backward to foment the party spirit,
which had thus unfortunately begun to be developed,
by such artifices as he well knew how to practise.
“Stark battles with the Papist as old Luther battled
with the Devil,” he said exultingly to a group of
inland proprietors who were casually discussing the
expected issue of the fight; “we shall see this cub of
Papacy disciplined with a wholesome Protestant purgation
presently.”
The din of voices was suddenly stilled by the notes
of the trumpet, announcing the renewal of the fight.
The parties again took their posts; and again the
clash of swords was heard, falling thickly upon the
ear. All was suspense and silence, except that now,
as a casual advantage was gained by one or other of
the combatants, notes of applause and exhortation
rose in half-stifled tones from the friends of either
side, or ejaculations of fear from their opponents,—
these proceeding most frequently from the females.
This passage, however, suddenly terminated by a
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stroke from Whittle's sword, the point of which just
severed the skin upon Travers' brow. The appearance
of blood was a signal to drop their points, and
thus the combatants were afforded a second breathing
spell. The wound of Sergeant Travers was no
sooner perceived than the whole party who had
taken such interest in his adversary's success, raised
a shout of exultation that rent the air. This manifestation
of triumph, rousing the partisans of the
opposite champion into a tone of feeling that partook
of defiance, they returned the acclamation with
no less vehemence, taking the word from Talbot as
he galloped round the confines of the crowd—“Success
to Gilbert Travers, a tried master of the Noble
Science!”
In this temper of the bystanders, the third passage
was announced. Again the combatants engaged,
with more than their former vehemence,—for, taking
the hue of their respective adherents, they were
wrought up into a state of ardent hostility, which
showed itself in the acerbity and vigour of their
blows. The spectators were sensibly impelled, as the
struggle waxed fiercer, into more intense and angry
maintenance of their champions, and all other thoughts
seemed now to be absorbed in the desire of victory.
Unlike the former passages, this was accompanied
with all the clamour of incensed rivalry. At no instant
were the voices of partisans lulled into silence.
“Bravo, good Stark!—Well played, Gilbert!”
“Huzza, excellent! By Saint Dunstan, nobly parried,
Sergeant!”—and similar expressions of
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encouragement, burst forth from the lips of the excited
groups, as they involuntarily laid their hands upon
their swords, and, breaking through all constraint,
passed up to the frame of the platform. In the
height of this animating impulse, Travers threw
aside a blow which had been directed with great
energy at his breast, and the vigour with which he
parried it swayed the sword of his adversary so far
out of his sphere of defence, as to leave his body
open to the return stroke, which was plied with such
effect as to make a deep incision midway down
Whittle's thigh and thence across the knee, laying
open the flesh, through that whole track, to the bone,
and covering the wounded man with his blood. It
was observed that Whittle's previous stroke had been
thrown with such violence as to cause him to reel
from his footing when the force of the blow was
dashed aside into the air, and many were of opinion
that this slip of the foot was an accident which
should have saved him from the return cut that was
made with such disabling effect. It was instantly
apparent that this hit decided the fight and gave the
victory to the Sergeant of the Musqueteers.
“A Roland for an Oliver!” exclaimed Talbot with
wild exultation. “Admirable, Sergeant!—well done!—
you have shorn the spur of that cock for a while,
at least.”
“Huzza for Travers!” resounded over the field
from the voices of the large party of his friends;
whilst, on the other side, with equal vehemence, was
shouted, “Foul play! Shame, shame! A d—d
Papistical, cowardly trick!”
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“I'll meet thee, for a beggarly foister,” cried an
incensed partisan, who sprang upon the platform
and shook his sword in Travers' face—“I'll meet
thee, Master Toasting-iron, when you dare!—I'll
give thee a lesson for striking a man below the
knee.”
“Push it at him now, Master Hardthrust,” exclaimed
a second, following in the steps of the new
challenger; “he deserves no better than to be put
on his defence where he stands—for a filthy Roman
as he is. A foul cut below the knee, and at a man
who had lost his footing! That is the upshot of his
valour!”
These invaders of the platform were instantly
confronted by two or three of the opposite party who
ascended the stage to drag them off;—and, in turn,
some dozens of either complexion in the quarrel
sprang to the aid of their respective friends—thus
presenting on both sides a compact body of excited
opponents fiercely bent on mischief.
Talbot was instantly off his horse, and, sword in
hand, rushed to the scene of broil, calling upon
Dauntrees to advance his men and make a clear
stage. Swords were drawn in all quarters, and the
first person with whom Talbot came in conflict was
John Coode, who, with his naked weapon in his hand,
was stimulating his partisans to commence an assault.
Talbot seized him by the front of his coat,
and presenting the point of his sword to his breast,
cried out—“Swiller of the leavings of a tap room!
by my hand, if thou openest thy rotten throat with
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but a cough, I will thrust my sword ell deep into thy
worthless body. Begone, hound!”
And with this word he pushed the burgess violently
over the edge of the platform on the brink of
which he stood. In a moment the musqueteers were
marched by Dauntrees, in solid mass, upon the stage,
and the threatened rioters were thus expelled from
the seat of contest. Holding this position, the troops
had the command of the field, and by threatening to
fire, which Dauntrees, with the trained coolness of
an old soldier, announced, in a stentorian voice, he
would certainly do if further violence were menaced,
Chiseldine, Coode and their companions, amongst
whom was Parson Yeo, interfered to quiet the
tumult and draw off their adherents. During all
this commotion, Corporal Abbot was seen on the
outer skirt of the crowd, brandishing his weapon,
and hurrying to and fro with a look which had wrath
enough in it to annihilate the whole Church of Rome,
yet mixed up with a discretion which would have
left a casual spectator at a loss to determine exactly
on what side he was arrayed. “Odso!” he ejaculated;
“let me into that skirmish! I will teach them
orderly behaviour,—the varlets! Shall we have
brawls put upon us? Shall we digest cold iron
against our will? No, by my belt—not whilst my
name is Abbot! The fight will be this way anon—
and, I warrant you, my hand is in it.”
“Put up thy sword, thou venturesome fool,” exclaimed
Verbrack, who in hurrying round the confines
of the crowd with a small party of the musqueteers,
encountered the man of war in the height of
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his ire—“put up thy sword—nor stand vapouring
here like a grain thrasher!”—which exhortation the
Lieutenant accompanied with a slight blow across
the offender's shoulders, laid on with the flat of his
sword.
“Ha, ha! venturesome, you may find me, truly,
Master Lieutenant; but, as thou say'st, it is a good
example to put up our weapons when headstrong
men might be led off by evil examples;” with which
sage reflection the wrath of the Corporal suddenly
surceased, and his weapon was immediately consigned
to its sheath, whence it was not abstracted for
full five seconds after the Lieutenant had disappeared.
Godfrey had, at the first symptom of confusion,
retired from the field, and Cocklescraft, with his seamen,
stood by an unconcerned spectator of the whole
scene—nor passed a word with any one, except that
at one moment, when stalking around the platform
the halberd of Dauntrees accidently, and without the
observation of the Captain, was protruded across his
path. The Skipper disdaining to walk out of the
way of this impediment, drew his sword and struck
it down, saying fiercely as he did it,—
“Find other service for your pike, than to stop my
wandering.”
“By my troth, saucy master,” replied Dauntrees,
“but I will speedily find service for my pike that shall
teach thee more civil behaviour. But pass on, sir,
you have a license in the Port to go free of all notice
except such as shall give thee accommodation in the
stocks.”
Lord Baltimore, with the graver gentlemen of his
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suite, rode around the scene of disorder manifesting
the utmost concern, and exhorting all whom
he might address with any hope of persuasion, to retire
quietly from the field. The old Collector, however,
was not the most docile of his adherents; for the
veteran's blood had risen to fever heat, and he repeatedly
charged the rioters, cane in hand, with
strenuous reproof of their misconduct, expressed in
no very dainty terms. By degrees the authors of
these tumults began to withdraw from the scene of
action and to form themselves into detached bodies
far apart, where their rage was allowed to spend itself
in unchallenged vituperation and rebuke of their
antagonists, and finally to subside, at least, into a
manageable degree of resentment.
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CHAPTER VII.
[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]
Nor less upon the saddened town
The evening sunk in sorrow down.
The burghers spoke of civil jar,
Of rumour'd feuds and mountain war.
Scott.
In this state of excitement and exasperation, the
early twilight found the greater number of the spectators
of the recent show, and crowds still lingered
in detached and angry parties about the common,
even until the new moon began to shed a pale light
over the field. The Council, whose suspicions of the
disaffected had, for some time past, put them on the
strictest observation of Coode and his friends, had
now seen enough in the conduct of that party to convince
them that the spirit of rebellion was sufficiently
bold to manifest itself, on the first occasion, in some
decided and dangerous attempt upon the peace of the
province. They therefore determined to lose no time
in the adoption of such proceedings as should enable
them to act most effectually against the ringleaders.
With this view, Colonel Darnall was directed by the
Proprietary to take measures to obtain accurate
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information of the movements of Coode and his party.
He accordingly repaired to the Fort to Dauntrees,
who, after duly weighing the delicate nature of the
commission, determined to take the matter in his own
hand, and promised to report to the Council before
midnight. This being approved by Darnall, the Captain,
after he had taken his supper, threw aside his
military dress and equipped himself in that of a
burgher or private citizen of the Port; and wrapping
himself in a cloak, set forward about nine o'clock on
his adventures. His first attention was given to John
Coode, and he consequently bent his steps towards
the dwelling of the burgess. The house stood retired
from a street or shaded lane, in a position somewhat
remote from immediate neighbours, whilst a thick
bower of foliage threw the mass of building at this
hour of midnight into deep obscurity. The Captain
approached as near to the premises as he might do
with safety, and, under the shelter of the shrubbery,
found himself in a post where he might observe,
without much risk of detection, at least such persons
as approached or left the house. He had no difficulty
very soon to convince himself that the dwelling
was crowded with visiters. This was manifest not
only from the figures that were seen passing and repassing
the few dim lights that flickered from the
casements, but from the constant ingress and egress
of persons by the outer gate, the path to which led
immediately past the Captain's place of concealment.
Many of the passers he could observe to be persons
from the inland settlements. After a brief lapse of
time came Parson Yeo, moving from the house to
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the gate, and, at intervals, following him, Kenelm
Chiseldine, Godfrey, and several individuals known
to be prominent in promoting the late quarrel between
the Burgesses and the Proprietary. The few
words that dropped from the visiters of the dwelling
house, as they moved within the range of the Captain's
hearing, related to the Fendalls, and he more
than once heard Lieutenant Godfrey's name connected
with them, in a manner that it greatly puzzled him
to comprehend; for, as yet, Godfrey had altogether
escaped the suspicion of the Proprietary's friends.
When these had gone by, the redoubtable Corporal
Abbot was the next that traversed the pathway. He
was alone, and walked with a brisk pace through the
gate, after which he turned into the street in a direction
opposite to that which the greater number of
those who preceded him had taken. The Captain
now boldly left his hiding-place and, with a free
step, followed the lonely professor of war and the
`gentle craft,' and overtook him in a short space, when
he was enabled to discern that the troubles of the day
had led to some excess in the little martialist's potations,
by which his walk was rendered slightly unsteady.
The Captain, confiding in his disguise, and
the probable bewilderment of the tailor's brain, accosted
him boldly as a fellow-conspirator.
“Zounds, neighbour! you are in haste to get under
cover to-night. I have striven like a goaded horse to
overtake you, all the way from the door of Master
Coode's. Wherefore so fast?”
“It is n't wise to be seen so near Master Coode's.
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The Proprietary hath already an evil eye upon him,
and notes his associates.”
“Truly, then it is discreet to make speed away
from the dwelling—though it be, after all, but a
sneaking thing to fear the Proprietary. We are
enough to master his bullies, to my thinking.”
“Enough! troth, are we. There is Licutenant Godfrey,
as you might have heard him say, has sixty men—
a score of them to come across the Potomac—
ready to ride into the town any night he may wink
his eye; besides the friends we have in swarms as
thick as pigeon-flights 'twixt this and Christina.
Enough, truly!—enough and to spare, Master—
Your pardon, I have forgot your name?”
“Whitebread,” replied Dauntrees.
“Oh, surely! How addled is my pate! Master
Whitebread, we shall do it,” said the Corporal, with
an utterance that might just be discerned to trip a
little on the tongue, for his excesses had not so much
disturbed as quickened his speech and left him more
communicative than in his present circumstances
was altogether safe. “We shall do it, Master Whitebread,
on the night of the fifth of November, as the
reverend Master Yeo has appointed.”
“Guy Fawkes's night,” said Dauntrees. “But the
Fendalls—”
“The Lord love you, Master Wheatbread! thou
couldst not have rightly apprehended Captain Coode.
Lieutenant Godfrey is to bring his troopers—I am
one of them, and counted on: I wear his Lordship's
colours and take his pay, though I be not of his cause,
mark you—Lieutenant Godfrey is to fetch his
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minute-men on Wednesday come next sennight, and make
an onslaught upon the prison. We begin with that.”
“Ay, so I take it, valiant Master Corporal. Captain
Coode so laid it down.”
“Faith did he; and he looks to see it donc to the
last scruple, which, I promise you, it shall be, if there
be virtue in steel!”
“But he did not explain how these friends from
Virginia should reach our shore.”
“Thou wert asleep, Master Sweetbread: thou
wert dull. Did you not know that Master Cocklescraft
hath quarreled with the Proprietary, and brings
us his brigantine? Truly, does he! When knaves
fall out, honest men come by their own, ha, ha! By
cock and pye,—but that's a true word!”
“Now, good night, brave Corporal,” said Dauntrees,
as soon as he came to a convenient point to
free himself of the company of the flustered and
leaky hatcher of treasons. “Good night, and mayst
thou be soon rewarded for thy deserts.”
“Good night, Master Sweetbread—and thank you
heartily for your kind wishes—I warrant you I get
my deserts. But remember,” the tailor added, laying
his hand upon his lips; “mute as a mattock—not
a breath!” Having given this parting admonition,
he pursued his way with a confident carriage;
and very soon after they parted, Dauntrees heard
his voice lifted up into a brisk song.
“Well,” said the Captain, when he was left alone;
“for the sneaking trade of an eaves-dropper, I have
a most apt and commendable talent. In this, my
first traffic in so noble and praise-worthy an
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employment, have I succeeded to a marvel. Scarce an
hour since my fertile genius struck out this point of
war, and here have I unravelled a whole web of
treason, that shall go nigh to hanging up these curs
by the score. All's fair in war, they say:—but, by
my faith, I had rather have won my knowledge by
some little show of buckler-work, even if it were
but a show. It would have been more soldierly.
Yet, as bluff Harry's leather gun in the Tower has
it,—`Non marte opus est cui non deficit Mercurius.'
We win by art when steel may not be struck.”
The Captain now took a road that led back towards
the common, where he carefully reconnoitered
the whole ground. Some few persons yet loitered in
the vicinity of the booths, and two or three small
bands of men, muffled in cloaks, were seen in close
conference amongst the cedars that formed a thicket
near the Town House. From this point, looking
across the narrow bottom of low and marshy ground
which lay between the town and the homestead of
Chiseldine, which was in full view wherever an opening
between the trees gave a range to the eye, he
could discover that the dwelling house was more
than usually lighted, and that visiters were, at this
late hour, thronging the apartments.
Whilst he was busy with these observations, Lieutenant
Godfrey and Cocklescraft emerged from the
cedars, in earnest discourse, and slowly followed the
path which led down the bank to Master Weasel's
inn. Without giving himself the trouble to listen, he
could not help hearing the short colloquy which passed
between them before they entered the hostel.
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“What would you have with a horse at this hour
of the night?” inquired the Lieutenant.
“It is but a freak,” replied the Skipper. “By St.
Iago, Lieutenant, I will deal roundly with him. In
honour, I will admonish him before hand. He shall
have warning, on my conscience—warning that it
shall make him pale to read.”
“I will not baulk thy devilment, Dick Cocklescraft:
So, thou shalt have the steed. When wilt
thou return?”
“By as early a minute after midnight as I may
ride the space with such speed as thy beast by spurring
may afford.”
“Ha, ha! a sailor o' horseback and the devil rides
at his crupper! Ho, Filch, there—ostler Filch!
Hither, man: see that an hour hence, when Master
Cocklescraft hath finished his supper, thou saddle my
nag and fetch him—where, Master Skipper?”
“To the Town House steps,” said his companion.
“To the Town House steps—dost thou hear?”
Dauntrees having now gathered all the information
which his good fortune through his night's adventure
had thrown in his way, betook himself,
with all haste to the Proprietary mansion. Here he
found Lord Baltimore, Talbot, Darnall and others
awaiting his arrival. He narrated circumstantially
the strange and ample details connected with the
plots in concoction and their contrivers, as he had
learned them; and laid a tissue of facts before the
Council which left no room for hesitation as to the
judgment to be formed of the shape and pressure of
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the rebellion. Having thus executed the commission
confided to him, he retired to his quarters.
On the following morning, soon after the town
was emptied of the press of visiters who had crowded
in to the prize play, the greater portion of whom
had taken their departure at an early hour, it is sufficient
for me only to inform my reader, that John
Coode, Lieutenant Godfrey, and Corporal Abbot,
with a half score of others less distinguished in this
history, were snugly ensconced in gaol, sharing the
apartment of the persecuted patriots Josias and Samuel
Fendall. How they came into this stronghold,
and what consternation this decisive act of vigorous
administration spread through the town; who advised
the measure and who executed it, I leave to
the conjecture of the imaginative friend who has accompanied
me through the dry narrative of these
pages.
For the present, neither Kenelm Chiseldine nor
the reverend Parson Yeo, were molested, though it
may be conceived that they did not pass free of that
close observation of their outgoings and incomings
with which, in all countries, suspected persons are
wont to be favoured by the guardians of the authority
of government.
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CHAPTER VIII.
[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]
The baffled factions in their houses skulk.
John Woodvil.
When day broke upon the drowsy burghers of
St. Mary's, on the morning after the prize play, the
Olive Branch was no longer to be seen in the river.
Such a sudden departure of so important a portion
of the commercial marine of the port, produced no
small degree of speculation amongst the waking citizens
as, by degrees, after sunrise, they began to rub
their eyes and look abroad. This speculation became
still more intense when, in a few hours, they
saw files of soldiers passing through the town, and
heard, immediately afterwards, the rumour of the
arrest of Coode and his compatriots. Still more was
it excited by a report which was early brought to
town from the Rose Croft, that the broad arrow—
the mysterious presignification of mischief, a mark by
which a suspected person was proscribed, or a devoted
one forewarned—had been found deeply scratched, as
with the point of a dagger, on the Collector's door.
An unusual stir and buzz of murmured wonder prevailed
through the little city, and every body was
on foot to learn the cause of these phenomena. By
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some it was said that the Skipper had gone on a
trading excursion up the bay to Kent Island, as it
was his custom to do. Those in the secret of the
last night's conspiracy had no difficulty in ascribing
his departure to movements connected with the plot:
the broad arrow on the Collector's door was easily
accounted for by such as were aware of Cocklescraft's
midnight ride on Godfrey's horse; and, on all
sides, expectation was raised into silent dread of
some eruption that was to break forth, in a moment
when none might be aware of it, and from a quarter
to which few might look.
The Council was convened at the Proprietary
mansion, and there the emergency was gravely debated
and the most energetic measures of precaution
and defence adopted. The escape of Cocklescraft,
connected with his recent quarrel with the Secretary,
and the disclosure made by Abbot of his concurrence
in the plot of the conspirators, left no doubt
of his treachery. The outbreak was rendered more
formidable by its coincidence in point of time with the
contemplated incursion of the Northern Indians, as
related by the travelling doctor—a circumstance that
seemed to infer correspondence between the leaders
of the conspiracy and the savages, and to give the
plot a consistency well calculated to excite alarm.
To these topics of apprehension, on the part of the
Council, was added a certain undefined and anxious
misgiving that the goblin stories of the Wizard's
Chapel, as reported by Dauntrees and Arnold de la
Grange, and now repeated by the Proprietary with
all the testimony he had obtained to support them,
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had some connexion with this long-hatched rebellion,
and that there were secret ramifications of the plot
that had never yet been suspected. The participation
of Godfrey and Cocklescraft in the designs of
Coode, of which none of the Proprietary's friends
had entertained a surmise until the previous night,
was a fact adapted to confirm their fears of the wide
diffusion of disaffection where it had not been looked
for. The result of this deliberation was a resolve to
pursue matters to a speedy conclusion by a decisive
and bold action. The ringleaders were to be brought
instantly to trial; the military force was to be increased;
their ranks purged of all who were suspected
to want heartiness in the cause; and every
precaution was to be taken to provide against assault
from all quarters, by night or day. Captain Dauntrees
was commanded to look to the safety of the
town, and to endeavour to ascertain what had become
of Cocklescraft.
In this state of preparation and suspense, twenty-four
hours past over without tidings of the Skipper,
or any new developments of the designs of the conspirators.
The vigorous measures taken by the
Proprietary seemed to have struck terror into his
adversaries, and at least driven them into the shelter
of silence and concealment. At the end of this
period Willy of the Flats,—who was one of those
expert politicians who make it a point to manifest
their patriotism by the most eager zeal in favour of
the side that is uppermost,—having until the over-throw
of Coode been strongly inclined to take part
with the agitators, now made his way, about ten
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o'clock at night, into the Fort, and thence to the
presence of Captain Dauntrees. Approaching the
Captain, with an air of constrained self-importance,
he said in a half whisper,—
“News, Master Captain—grave news, worshipful
sir,—state matters! I have come post-haste to tell
you, that twenty minutes ago—no, that I may not
lie, I will say twenty-five minutes ago—just so long as
with good speed—a dog trot we will say—it might
suffice for me to come hither from Master Weasel's
tap-room—who think you I saw, and what did he
do?”
“Speak, varlet, without this windy prologue.”
“There comes me in Master Cocklescraft, and
straight orders a noggin of brandy,—whereof guzzling
it down with a most treasonable haste, he
wiped his lips, and asked for Lieutenant Godfrey;
and when he heard that the Lieutenant was in prison,
he bit his lip and gave a kind of ha! or I might say
grunt, and walked very suspiciously away.”
“And thou hadst not the wit to follow him?”
“Follow him, Master Dauntrees, I did, as far as
the cedars of the Town House, where—the moon
being down—I lost him. He might have been on
his way to the gaol, but I staid not to seek that out,
for turning round,—now, said I, Willy, make for the
Fort as fast as you can, and tell the Captain the
whole matter.”
“Thanks, at least, for that diligence of thine.
Thou shalt have thy supper and a stoop of liquor for
this.”
“Blessings on thy worship, for thinking of the need
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of an empty man!” said Willy, as with his hat tucked
under his arm he went towards the Captain's
kitchen to acquaint Matchcote with his master's hint
touching the refreshment.
Dauntrees lost no time in despatching an inferior
officer, with two or three files, in quest of the Skipper.
These returned after midnight with a tale confirming
Willy's narrative; but with the further
intelligence that no traces could be obtained of
Cocklescraft beyond his appearance at the Crow and
Archer.
The next day the Superior of the Jesuit House of
St. Inigoe's visited the Proprietary to inform him
that, at the dawn, the servants of his establishment
had found their skiff hauled up on the beach, some
fifty or a hundred yards remote from the wharf
where, on the preceding night, it had been carefully
locked by a chain, which, it appeared, had been
broken, showing that the boat had been used by
some person of whom no knowledge could yet be
obtained. He further stated that Fluke the fisherman,
who lived some distance below St. Inigoe's, on
the river bank, had that morning reported, that before
daylight his dogs had waked him with loud
barking, and that he had heard the footsteps of a
man upon the beach: that the fisherman had challenged
the stranger from his window, but had got no
reply, and was fain to let him pass on without molestation,
owing to the darkness of the hour.
This intelligence, combined with that brought to
the fort by the fiddler, strongly pointed to the visit
and retreat of the Skipper, and seemed to indicate
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that he was lurking somewhere near the mouth of
the river, and had, in the night, crossed St. Inigoe's
creek immediately from the wharf of the Jesuit
House to that of the Rose Croft, by which road he
had visited the town and returned again before daylight.
Dauntrees, upon receiving this information, lost no
time in visiting the House of St. Inigoe's, to inquire
into the particulars; after which he went to see the
fisherman. The result of this journey was to confirm
him in the impression of the secret correspondence of
the Skipper with the town, and to engage Fluke in
the service of watching the future motions of the
same visitant.
Simon Fluke lived some two or three miles below
St. Inigoe's, near the mouth of the river, where a
small cabin gave shelter to his wife and a troop of
children—an amphibious brood of urchins who seemed
to be at home either on land or water, and whose
rude habits of life had inured them to the scant accommodation
and precarious protection of the hut
into which they were all huddled. This man earned
a hard livelihood by supplying his neighbours of St.
Inigoe's and the townspeople with fish; and it was
greatly to his content that he now found himself engaged
in the service of the Proprietary, with the promise
of a handsome reward if his good fortune should
enable him to aid effectually in securing the person of
the Skipper.
It was a few days after his employment in this
service, that the sun was seen to set amongst thickly
scudding clouds and blasts of wind, such as, with the
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near approach of November, are apt suddenly to
break in upon the serene autumn, giving rude foretastes
of winter. The horizon was dark, and the
overmastered sun hopelessly struggled to fling a
parting beam upon the ruffled waters.
The fisherman had hauled his boat upon the sand,
bestowed his nets and other tackle in safety for
the night, and taken his seat at his fireside, with a
lighted pipe, where he challenged the besmirched,
white-haired boy that toddled across the room—the
youngest of his troop—to a game of romps, or more
demurely chatted of household cares with his meagre
and sad-visaged dame. The door of his hut standing
wide open and looking southwardly, showed him the
Potomac, even across to that remote cape called
by the early settlers after St. Gregory, but now
known as Smith's Point.
“Look out, dame,” said the fisherman, as he cast
his eye over this extensive sheet of water, yet illumined
with the light of parting day, “and you shall
see a strange craft beating up from the Virginia
shore; she is almost too light a skiff for such a sea
as that now running in. Hast seen it go down the
river to-day? Where can it belong?”
“It is a new sight to me,” replied the wife; “I
saw nothing like it go down from St. Mary's to-day.”
“He does not shape his course, either, up the river,
so much as he makes for this shore,” added the fisherman.
“He comes from some harbour on the other
side, short of St. Gregory. His business must drive
him hard, to bring him out at this hour, in the teeth
of such a wind. I will keep an eye on that fellow,
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wife; there is enough in his venturing, to raise a
suspicion.”
The homely supper of the family, soon after this,
called off the fisherman from his watch, which indeed
the thickening shades of night soon rendered useless,
and the only vigilance which the master of the hut
could now exercise was shown in an occasional walk
to the beach, in the hope that the nearer approach of
the boat might inform him with more certainty whether
her course lay towards the town. Nothing however
was gained by these visits; no boat came in
view, and the gloom forbade further observation.
The craft was some seven or eight miles, at least,
from shore when she was last seen, and the fisherman,
giving up all hope of learning more that night,
threw his weary frame upon his tattered couch and
sunk into a profound sleep.
During the night a growl of the house-dog, and the
tread of a foot upon the gravel, woke the uneasyslumbering
dame, but the sound had died away
amidst the plash of waves upon the strand, before
she could rouse the heavy and torpid frame of her
snoring lord. When at last he woke, it was only to
utter a drowsy and bewildered reproof for the annoyance
he had suffered, and to fall back again into
his former deep unconsciousness. At early dawn,
however, he was abroad, breathing the sharp, cold
breeze of the clear morning. Below his hut, seaward,
he could descry upon the beach, some miles
short of Point Look Out, the small craft which, on the
previous evening, he had noted standing across the
river. It was a suspicious sight to see a boat at such
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a time in such a place; and connecting it with the
circumstances his wife had remarked in the night,
Fluke found reason enough to put himself on the
watch for the person who controlled its motions. He
accordingly went into his hut, and sticking under his
girdle a horseman's pistol which he kept for domestic
defence, and taking a stout white-oak staff in his
hand, he trudged forth along the margin of the river,
resolved to plant himself in some advantageous position,
whence he might intercept any one who should
approach the boat by land. He had not left his door
above half an hour, before his wife observed a traveller,
in a seaman's dress partially concealed by a
grey cloak, striding on foot along the field contiguous
to the beach, in the same direction that her husband
had just taken. The mastiff of the household
was the first to challenge the stranger, by springing
almost to his heel,—a trespass that was instantly resented
by a sturdy blow from a walking-stick that
sent the dog yelping back to the hut.
“St. Iago! I will kill the dog!” exclaimed the wayfarer.
“Woman,” he added, as soon as he became
aware that the dame had her eye upon him, “why
dost thou not chain up the beast? By my hand! I
will make short work with him if he interrupt me
again.” And without waiting to hear the dame's
half-chiding, half-encouraging address to the dog—
“Get thee in, for a saucy, old, honest snarler!” or
her defence of him: “He will not hurt you, sir; his
growl is worse than his bite,”—he strode so rapidly
onward as soon to be out of view.
In less than an hour after sunrise, the little
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chaloupe was seen laying her course gallantly before the
wind, with her tiny sail filled almost to bursting, as she
bore for the opposite side of the Potomac. The dame
busied herself in preparing her morning meal, to be in
readiness for her husband's return, and in checking
the impatient petitions of her urchin brood, who hung
around to beg for a morsel of fried fish from the pan,
or a slice of corn bread, to stay their fresh appetites,
until the coming of the father should be a signal for
a more orderly assault. Ever and anon, she went to
the door to cast an eye along the river bank, and to
watch the little craft, the subject of so much curiosity,
as it measured its rapid transit towards the Virginia
shore.
“Simon Fluke, I believe in the heart of me,” she
said, after having gone a dozen times to the door,
“thinks no more of his breakfast than if it were wet
sea-weed just out of the river: the fish, with one turn
more, will not be fit for a Christian to eat;—and here
are these children ready to munch their own fingers
for food. I wish to the saints, the man could learn
some thought of his meals when they are ready for
him! But I might as well talk to a flounder as to
Simon Fluke.”
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CHAPTER IX.
[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]
It creeps, the swarthy funeral train,
The corse is on the bier.
Leonora.
The distant bell of St. Inigoe's was heard summoning
the priests of the House to the chapel service of
the Vigil of All Souls,—or, in other words, the season
had now advanced as far as high noon on the
last day of October, when the quay in front of the
Crow and Archer was enlivened by the gossipping
faces of a group of quidnuncs who had assembled
there in the warm sunshine, to discuss a most melancholy
piece of intelligence which had just come to
town, and which was debated with that characteristic
respect for truth and decent spirit of condolence
with which horrible accidents and distressing casualties
are generally propagated.
“There's proclamation of hue and cry out,” said
Willy of the Flats, speaking as one who had obtained
possession of a state secret—“I heard it myself, but
now, at the mansion, from Master Llewellen, who
was sent for, on set purpose, by his Lordship, to
make proclamation by hue and cry as fast as it can
be writ down.”
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“Good reason!” replied Mug the sexton; “I'll
warrant you Tiquassino's men have slipped across
the bay, with Jackanapes or Robin Hood at their
lead, to whet their knives on Christian flesh; and if
they are to be caught, we must do it quick, I can tell
you, neighbours. Will the body be brought to town?”
“That shall be as Master Coroner shall order,”
said Garret Weasel, with the air of a man who felt
himself entitled to instruct the company in matters
of law. “No one durst touch the body till the coroner
has dealt with it. Giles Ferret must have a fancy,
forsooth, to summon me on his jury! but I foiled him
on privilege, d'ye see, masters,—for the Sheriff hath
set me down on the panel for the provincial court
next week;—so no two juries for me, Master Coroner,
says I. Lord, lord! I could no more face Simon
Fluke's family,—to say nothing of the dead man himself,—
in their distress, than I could look upon my own
dame in her winding-sheet.”
“Troth! you shall never look at me in that dress,”
exclaimed the laughing landlady, who stood on the
skirt of the crowd, hitherto unseen by her husband.
“I have pranked out two as pretty men in woollen
as yourself, Garret Weasel, before I had the good
luck to clap eyes on you; and, faith, I mean to put
you to bed with the shovel, ere I go myself. What
are the townsfolk good for, that they are not up and
abroad to find out the villains who murdered the
fisherman?”
“They talk of a following with hot hand,” said
Derrick Brown, in reply to the question of the hostess,
“as soon as the Coroner comes back. The Indians
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are lurking somewhere upon the border of the settlements:
take my word it will be proved so.”
“An' we were sure of that,” said Garret Weasel,
“I should be for boot and spur, harquebuss and
hanger, up and away, lads;—but we must move
with caution in the matter till we get lawful ground
for an out-riding. Give us the hue and cry before
we start.”
“Some do say,” interposed Master Clink, a mender
of kettles, who had left his work so hastily that he
had not thrown aside his leather apron, “that the
murder was done by Papists in the disguise of Indians.”
“I'll warrant you as many lies will be pinned upon
the back of this murder as it will hold,” said a tall,
sallow, spare-built man, who was known as the head
constable of the riding of St. George's. “It is ever
the fashion now, when a piece of mischief has been
practised, for one side or the other to turn it into
a church matter. Every body knows that Simon
Fluke was as good a Roman as there was in the
riding. Why dost thou prate about the Papists, Tom
Clink? Who told thee that monstrous lie?”
“By the faith of my body! I did hear it whispered,”
replied the tinker; “thought, as I am an honest
man, I did not believe it.”
Whilst this little knot of newsmongers continued
upon the quay, discussing the rumours of the day
and, now and then, enlivening their drooping spirits
with a resort to the red lattice of the Crow and
Archer, behind which Matty Scamper and Dame
Dorothy by turns administered the refreshment of a
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cup of ale or some stronger potation, two boats were
discovered approaching the harbour from a point below
St. Inigoe's, and making as much speed as their
complement of oars would allow. As they neared
the quay, it became apparent that the first contained
a coffin attended by the fisherman's family, and two
priests; the second was freighted with the jury under
the charge of Master Giles Ferret, the Coroner.
Whilst the boats are approaching, we recur to our
narrative where we left it at the conclusion of the
last chapter; deeming it necessary to say that the
anxious wife, after venting some unavailing and affectionate
expressions of impatience at her husband's
delay in returning to his breakfast, sat down to her
meal, unconscious of the cause that detained her
mate, and ascribing his absence to that carelessness
of hours which grew out of the nature of his calling.
Noon came, and the frugal board was again spread
for dinner, but to it came no father of the wondering
household;—still the vacant seat was not so unusual
a spectacle as to excite alarm. But when the sun
began to dip upon the verge of the western horizon,
and no trace could be discerned of the homeward
step of the fisherman, fears arose in the bosom of
his wife,—and long and earnestly she paced the
beach and strained her sight to catch his expected
form. At length, heading her little household troop,
she sallied forth, with hurried step, along the sands,
for more than a mile; and finding no vestige of him,
returned sorrowfully to her humble roof and gave
up the night to that sharpest of all the trials by
which grief may assail the human breast,—the
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halfhoping, half-fearing, silent, doubting watchfulness
for the approach of evil tidings, which the heart, by
a strange presentiment, sometimes truly foretells.
At daylight her eldest boy was despatched to the
house of St. Inigoe's for aid, and very soon some
four or five persons were on foot to scour the country
in quest of the lost man. A short search disclosed
the dreadful truth: the body was found in a
thicket of cedar, with the marks of a bullet through
the brain; the spot within a hundred paces of the
shore of a small inlet (at this day known as Smith's
creek,) that flowed from the Potomac a few miles
westward of Point Lookout. There were the foot
prints of men upon the beach, and marks of the keel
of a boat which had been drawn up on the sand.
The wretched wife could only tell of her husband's
departure in the morning:—all other recollections,
in the depth of her sorrow, were swept from her
mind; and the persons who were busy in seeking out
the facts of the murder were obliged to leave the
spot with nothing better than vague conjectures as
to the agency by which it was perpetrated.
The tidings were quickly brought to the town, and
the Coroner instantly proceeded with a jury to the
spot to perform the duties required by the law. His
office was soon discharged, and, as we have seen,
he was now, early in the afternoon, on his return
with the body of the deceased, attended by the wailing
family and the jury who had pronounced their
verdict of `intentional homicide by persons unknown.
'
In the excited state of parties, at this crisis, the
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Proprietary did not choose to risk a popular tumult.
Already, as was usual at that day, regardless of any
ascertained fact relating to the murder, common
opinion ascribed it to the Indians; whilst the more
violent of the factionists noised it abroad as a contrivance
of the Catholic party to overawe their adversaries,—
directly charging the murder upon the friends
of the Proprietary, who, it was alleged, had accomplished
it in the garb of Indians. The animosity with
which this improbable and, in this case, absurd report
(for the deceased was known by many, to be of
the same faith with his imputed murderers) was propagated,
induced, in the mind of Lord Baltimore, an
apprehension of some disturbance, and he had accordingiy
directed Captain Dauntrees to keep his
force in readiness to suppress any attempt at disorder
which might arise. The boats, therefore, were
no sooner discovered approaching the quay, than the
garrison of the Fort were drawn out by their Captain
and marched to the foot of the mulberry at the Town
House, where they awaited the funeral procession,
which it was designed they should accompany to the
grave.
Curiosity, that eager impulse to feast on popular
horrors, had brought a considerable crowd of the
townspeople to the landing place; community of faith
with the deceased had brought many, and the angry
and disturbed temper of the times still more. The
whole together formed a mass of persons actuated by
various passions. The idle stare of that vacant portion
of the spectators who came merely to gape at
the spectacle, was contrasted with the serene
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thoughtfulness of those who made it their duty, from religious
affinity with the deceased, to attend the remains to the
tomb; and still more did it strike the beholder, when
it was compared with the stern hatred and ill-concealed
scorn of that class of lookers-on who, belonging
to the lately baffled party of the disaffected, stood
by with scowling brows, whispering contemptuous
sneers against their opponents, as these latter busied
themselves in ordering the hasty procession which
was formed from the quay up the bank towards the
Town House.
The two priests who attended the body, clad in
their robes, took the lead of the funeral train. The
body, borne by four stout men comrades of the deceased,
followed; and immediately behind it tottered
along with uncertain step, the fisherman's wife, in
rude and neglected attire, sobbing convulsively—her
apron thrown over her head, and her walk guided
by a friendly matron whose frequent but abortive
efforts at consolation seemed only to produce fresh
bursts of sorrow. After these came the unconscious
children, dressed in their homely holiday suits, looking
around them with faces of constrained seriousness,
which scarcely repressed the broad expression
of the gratified interest they took in the novel scene
around them. Many of the townspeople of both
sexes formed in the procession, which was brought
up in the rear by the company of musqueteers, who
wheeled into the line of march, as the last of the
marshalled followers of the body passed from beneath
the shade of the mulberry. The bell of the
Chapel of St. Mary's tolled whilst the train moved,
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at a measured pace, towards the church door, where
being met by father Pierre, the corpse was deposited
in the aisle; and the good priest, with such despatch
as might comport with the solemnity of his duty,
performed the appointed service of the dead, in the
presence of the large body of spectators who had
pressed into the building.
Whilst the crowd was still engaged as witnesses
of this scene, a rumour was whispered around that
the proclamation of hue and cry had just been put
forth by the council. A messenger came for Captain
Dauntrees, who was observed, immediately
afterward, silently to steal forth from the church, and
to take his way with hasty strides towards the Proprietary
mansion. By degrees, one after another,
the spectators followed, and were soon discovered
in groups scattered about the town; until, at last, the
corpse was left with but few more attendants than
were necessary to perform the proper duties of
sepulture.
Half an hour had scarcely elapsed before mounted
men were seen galloping through the avenues of the
little city. The silence which attended the funeral
procession was exchanged for busy and clamorous
conversation; the bell had ceased to toll, and in its
place the notes of a trumpet were successively heard
at several points, as a horseman paced from place to
place, and read the proclamation calling on the
burghers to follow with Hue and Cry the perpetrators
of the vile murder of honest Simon Fluke. In process
of time, this bustle subsided into a more orderly
and quiet gossip; the trumpeter had spent his last
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breath in braying forth the official summons to pursue
the murderer, and had gladly put away his noisy
instrument; the riders had ceased to throw up the
dust of the highways; the inquisitive dames of the
town and its marvelling maidens had no more news
to seek in the open air, and had withdrawn beneath
the shelter of their respective roofs:—the church-yard
was deserted by all but the sexton and his comrade
of the spade, who now were smoothing the
sides of the new-made grave; and the tap-room of
the Crow and Archer was once more enlivened by
the pot-and-pipe companions who were wont to render
its evening atmosphere murky and political. In
short, the murder of Simon Fluke had, in the marvellous
brief period of a few hours, ceased to be the
engrossing wonder of the day, and the city of St.
Mary's was partially restored to its usual routine of
ale-drinking and news-telling;—making proper allowance
for the fact, that about a dozen men had ridden
forth to scour the country in quest of the murderers,
who on their part had only been allowed a day and
a half to make their escape, and that the good people
who staid at home were holding themselves in readiness
to be as much excited as ever with any tidings
that might arrive tending towards the probable ascertainment
of the perpetrators of the crime.
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CHAPTER X.
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Whilst the burial of the fisherman, and the topics
to which it gave rise, engrossed the attention of
young and old in the town, Albert Verheyden, dressed
in a riding suit with a winter surcoat or horseman's
cassock loosely thrown around his person, made his
appearance on horseback at the Rose Croft. He had
engaged to ride towards the Chesapeake with Colonel
Talbot and a troop of followers, to explore the country
as far down as Point Look-out, where rumour had
already affirmed certain Indians of suspicious bearing
to have recently landed from the opposite shore of
the Chesapeake. Talbot himself had projected this
expedition mainly with a view to sift out and expose
the calumny which imputed the recent murder to
the friends of the Proprietary; and he was the more
whetted in his purpose by a secret expectation that a
vigorous endeavour would enable him not only to refute
the slander, but to furnish evidence of the agency
of the opposite party in the perpetration of the crime.
It is one of the base arts of unprincipled politicians,
he argued, ever to be among the first in charging
upon the innocent the wicked devices by which they
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accomplish their own designs. He had resolved,
therefore, to take the matter in hand himself, and, at
the head of a party of the townspeople, ransack the
country around the scene of the murder, for every
item of proof which might bring to light its authors.
There was, in addition to this motive, an undefined
and misty connexion in his mind, of the murder with
the stories told of the goblins of the haunted Chapel,—
a conviction of some wicked influence—active, he
did not exactly know how, in stimulating the crime.
He was no disbeliever in sorcery and witchcraft,
and a vague thought hovered over his meditation
that the fisherman's death might be traced to persons
holding relations with the spirits of the Chapel. He
set forth, therefore, on his adventure with a presentiment
that some startling disclosure would soon be
made, which should still more awaken the thoughts
of the government to the mischievous character of
the beings who infested the region bordering on
the bay.
His purpose being made known in the family of
the Proprietary, it was with a modest yet eager
petition that Albert Verheyden asked leave to accompany
him on the expedition,—a request which was
granted with even more alacrity than that with which
it was made. The hour appointed for setting out
was delayed only until a sufficient party should be
collected; and this was retarded by the ceremony of
the funeral and the common anxiety to await the
tidings expected by the coroner and his attendants.
In the meantime, the Secretary, feeling more concern
in the affairs at the Rose Croft than in the gossip of
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the town, repaired thither to await the moment of
departure, having commissioned the young Benedict
Leonard to ride as far as the Collector's and give
him warning when the troop should take the road—
a service which the heir apparent promised to perform
with the greater satisfaction, as it assigned him
some show of duty in the general engrossment of the
household, and therefore conferred upon him an importance
interesting to his vanity.
The Secretary had been seated for sometime in
the parlour with Blanche, where he related to her the
story of the fisherman's murder with a touching sadness;
and when he told her of his purposed adventure,
it was with a prouder tone than he had ever
assumed before; there was even perceptible in it a
trace of self-exaltation altogether unusual in his
speech. He was now a bolder and more assured
man, and his character began to assume a more confident
development. Blanche listened with maidenly
reserve, as if she was almost ashamed to confess the
interest she took in Master Albert's communication.
She was solicitous for his health and comfort in the
dreary ride through the woods he was about to undertake,
and which might be prolonged until late at
night; and she was fain almost to advise him against
such an exposure,—but she feared to tell him so much,
lest it might be thought taking too great a freedom.
Thus engrossed, the hours flew by unheeded and,
in truth, forgotten, until the afternoon had reached
nearly four o'clock, when suddenly Benedict Leonard,
without announcement or even premonitory
rap at the door, entered the parlour.
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“Goodness, Master Albert!” he exclaimed, “think
of me—such a crack-noddle! You will never trust
me again, I may make sure of that. Would you believe
it, I rode full two miles past the Rose Croft here,
with my uncle Talbot and John Alward, and all the
people on their way to hunt the murderers, without
so much as ever once thinking of you? I said, when
we started, I would ride as far as St. Inigoe's mill,
and then come back; and I as clear forgot you till I
stopped at the mill, as if there was no such person as
you or Blanche Warden in the wide world: and I
might have thought of Mistress Blanche too, because
my Aunt Maria gave me a message for her—now
what is it? Oh, it is gone,—it is gone! a plague on it!
that's got out of my head too. No matter, Master
Albert, my uncle Talbot told me to say, when we
parted, that he would be on the path which leads
down to Point Look Out, and that you must follow as
fast as you can.”
“It is late in the evening for so long a ride, Master
Albert,” said Blanche, as with a look of alarm she
involuntarily laid her hand upon his shoulder; “you
will not venture alone so near night-fall?”
“I should be accounted a most faithless laggard, if
I staid behind now,” replied the Secretary. “There
is a broad road for some four miles, and I will go at
speed till I overtake the riders. At the greatest
mischance,” he added, smiling, whilst he buttoned his
over-coat closely across his breast, “'tis but a night
in the woods. I will keep this vigil of Hallow Mass
like a hermit—or rather like a squire of chivalry
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undergoing the ordinance of knighthood, by watching
over his sword. The holy saints be with you,
mistress! I must set good store by the day-light and
turn it to account: farewell, till we meet again!”
“Farewell!” faintly echoed the maiden; “Master
Albert, let us see you to-morrow.”
“If I was Master Albert,” said Benedict Leonard to
Blanche, when the Secretary left the room, “I would
court favour with Mistress Coldcale to get a slice of
something from the larder; oh, this riding gives an
appetite, I warrant you, that a man will eat his sleeve
for want of better provender! There, Master Albert
is gone,” added the youth, as the Secretary was seen
to pass the window, “and I must back to the mansion
before sunset; my mother will be making me a
pretty discourse about rheums and catarrhs and all
her other ailments, if I be caught abroad after candle
light this time o' year—especially, too, as it looks
like rain: so, good even, Mistress Blanche!” and with
this speech, the heir apparent took his leave, abandoning
the maiden to her meditations.
When Albert Verheyden turned out upon the highroad
he put spurs to his horse and raised his speed to
a gallop, until he found himself immersed in the
hills and ravines which lay about the head of St.
Inigoe's. One or two wayfarers whom he had
chanced to meet, had answered his inquiry after his
companions, by informing him that a troop of townspeople,
consisting of some eight or ten, had passed
along the road at a pretty brisk motion, not less than
three or four miles ahead of him. The broken
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country into which he had plunged, (the road winding
through narrow dells and surmounting short and
steep acclivities,) the thickets that tangled his path,
and the occasional swamps of the low grounds,
forced him to slacken his pace and proceed with
greater caution on his route. The prints of horses'
hoofs upon the damp soil, in places, were fresh and
showed him that he was not only on the right track,
but also that he was at no great distance behind his
company. The sky was overcast, and the clouds,
as the sun came nearer to the horizon, assumed by
degrees still more and more of that misty, dun-coloured
hue which indicated the approach of a settled rain.
A sombre, dark grey tint, unrelieved by light and
shade, fell over the whole landscape and gave a cheerless
and sullen aspect to the woods. Once or twice
the Secretary reined up his horse and directed his
eyes toward the heavens, as he meditated an abandonment
of his expedition and a return home before
night-fall, but as often his pride forbade a retreat
whilst his comrades were afield, and he resumed his
journey. He was in momentary expectation of overtaking
the party in advance, and made sure of doing
so when he should reach the fisherman's hut upon the
river beach, towards which it was his purpose to direct
his way. Occasionally, a farm-house opened
upon his view across a distant field; but he was unwilling
to lose the time which a digression from his
road to visit it would have required, only for the sake
of assuring himself of his road, with which he believed
himself to be sufficiently acquainted. At length,
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night began to fall around him and his path to become
sadly perplexed. At times, he could scarce make
out its traces in the obscurity of the wood; at times,
it broke upon his view with fresh distinctness, as it
traversed a region of white sand, and thus served
only to lure him forward with more alacrity, in the
hope of soon reaching the margin of the river, from
whence, even in the dark, he knew he could find his
way back—at least, as far as the house of St. Inigoe's,
where he could get shelter for the night. Now and
then, his hopes were dashed by finding himself involved
in those thickets of alder and bay which denote
the presence of a marsh, and he was obliged to
thread his difficult track around the head of some
inlet from the river. It grew at last to be dark night,
and, to add to his discomfort, the rain began to fall.
The Secretary dismounted from his horse and stood,
with suppressed breath, endeavouring to catch the
sound of distant waves, hoping to find himself near
enough to the river to obtain this guide to his footstep;
but all was silent, except the pattering of rain upon
the dry leaves of the forest, and the impatient pawing
of his horse upon the sod. He shouted aloud for his
lost companions, but his voice echoed, without a response,
through the lonesome wood. “I jested with
thee,” he muttered to himself, in a jocular tone, referring
to the maiden who was ever uppermost in
his thoughts, “I jested with thee, but a few hours
ago, upon my keeping a vigil of Hallow Mass in the
woods. Dear Blanche, I thought nothing farther
away than that jest should be true; but here my
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evil destiny hath brought me, for a punishment, to
make it real. Well, I can endure. Heart of grace,—
I will confront it manfully! I would I could but raise
a fire. I can fast upon my vigil and think nothing
of it,—if it were not that my limbs are chilled and my
joints growing stiff with cold.”
He now groped around to gather some dry wood,
hoping, by the aid of his pistol, to kindle a blaze by
which he might warm himself and prepare to spend
the night in more comfort than on his horse. He
laboured in vain, for every thing he could lay his
hand on was saturated with moisture. At length, he
mounted again into his saddle, determined to ride
onward until he should chance to find some place of
shelter. He had now not only lost his path, but also
all perception of his course: the darkness confused
him, and he therefore plodded on at a slow pace, unconscious
to what quarter of the compass his footsteps
tended, and discouraged with the thought that
every moment, perhaps, carried him still further from
the home he was anxious to seek.
For a while his spirits sustained him without drooping.
A man in such a situation sometimes finds motives
of cheerfulness in the very desperation of his circumstances.
Under some such ludicrous impulse our
wanderer, as he plied his uneasy journey through the
dark, broke forth in song, and in succession poured
out nearly the full treasures of his musical memory;
but wearying of this at last, his note changed to whispered
sighs of self-reproof for the folly of venturing
alone into such a wilderness at such an hour. His
mind then ran upon the images which the creed of
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that day supplied to the imagination of our progenitors,—
the “swart fairy,” “blue, meagre hag,” the
spirit of the wood, the wizard and the spectre; then
came dreams of banditti and outlaws, prowling
savages, and thoughts of some accidental coming
alone upon the den of the murderers, whose recent
doings had occasioned his present ride. With these
fancies swaying his mind, he grew apprehensive and
distrustful at every step. There are moments when
the stoutest heart will quail before the conjurations
of the imagination: and it is no disparagement of
the bravery of the Secretary to say, that, on this
night, he sometimes felt a shudder creeping over
him, at the fictions of his own excited fancy. The
rustle of leaves, or the short snap of a rotten bough,
as the fox prowled along his stealthy path, more than
once caused him to put his hand upon his sword and
to ride cautiously forward, as if in certain expectation
of a foe; and not until he had thrice challenged
the imaginary comer, did he relax his grasp of his
weapon.
In this state of mind, for full four hours after dark,
did he wander, uncertain of his way, through wood
and over plain, mid brush and brier, over fen and
field. At length, his ear could plainly distinguish the
beat of waves upon a strand, and it was with a joyfull
change of feeling that he believed himself, after
so weary a circuit, approaching the margin of the
river, along which he was aware he should have a
plainer ride, with the certainty, in the course of a
mile or two, of finding some human habitation. As
the sound of the waters grew stronger, whilst he
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advanced to the beach, his eye was, all at once, greeted
with the welcome sight of a taper glimmering through
the glade, and, by its steady light, assuring him that
no Will-o'-the-wisp, as sometimes he feared, had risen
to bewilder his journey.
With new courage and reviving strength he shaped
his course towards the friendly ray;—on which pursuit
we must now leave him, to attend to other personages
in our story.
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CHAPTER XI.
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Have not we
A commonwealth amongst ourselves, ye Tripolites?
A commonwealth? a kingdom! And I am
The prince of Qui-va-las, your sovereign thief,
And you are all my subjects.
The Sisters.
When Cocklescraft asked for Godfrey's horse on
the night that succeeded the prize-play, the reader
will remember that, as Captain Dauntrees overheard
the conversation, it was accompanied with an avowal
of a purpose to warn an enemy, whose name was not
disclosed, of some premeditated harm which the
speaker designed to inflict.
The broad arrow scratched on the door of the
Collector's dwelling, when discovered on the ensuing
morning, plainly enough referred to the fearful menace
of the seaman, and sufficiently indicated how
bitter was his change of feeling against the peaceful
inmates of the Rose Croft. Mr. Warden attached
but little consequence to the implied threat, nor
troubled himself with measures to guard against the
intended mischief, believing it to be but an ebullition
of that spirit of disaffection which the prompt
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measures of the council had already so far rebuked as to
leave but little to apprehend.
Cocklescraft, immediately after returning to the
town from his midnight ride, went on board of his
brigantine, and quietly weighing anchor, set sail down
the river and thence across the Potomac—here some
eight miles wide—and finally, before daylight, made
his way into a small creek on the Virginia shore, a
few miles above Smith's Point, or Cape St. Gregory.
Here his vessel lay sheltered from the observation of
the few boats which passed up and down the Potomac—
thus affording him probable security against
pursuit; whilst, at the same time, the inhabitants of
this region were reputed generally to be friends to
the cause of the Fendalls, and enemies of long standing
to the Proprietary. He had, therefore, only to
make known the colours under which he had lately
taken service, and he might assure himself of stout
partisans in his defence.
On the second night after his arrival at this retreat,
up to which period he had remained ignorant of all
that had transpired in the town in regard to the arrest
of his comrades, he threw a cloak over his
shoulders and taking a common sailor-cap got into
his yawl, which was now rigged with a mast and sail,
and steered for a point on the Maryland shore but a
short distance below the hut of the fisherman. His
motive for this caution, in not approaching nearer to
the town, arose from an apprehension that he might
be watched by the garrison of the Fort, and perhaps
pursued to his lurking place—an apprehension suggested
by that sense of guilt which predominated
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over every other feeling, since his desertion of his
late friends and—what weighed with heavier terror
upon his mind—his abandonment of his church. To
avoid this notice he landed near the mouth of
St. Mary's river, and proceeded from that point, on
foot, to the town, a distance of some five or six
miles. In his journey along the beach, he had passed
by the hut of the fisherman, and had crossed the
creek of St. Inigoe's, immediately from the Jesuit
House over to the Collector's landing place, being
enabled to make this passage in the manner detailed
by the Superior to the Lord Proprietary. Upon his
arrival at the Crow and Archer after night, he became
acquainted, for the first time, with the arrest
of the conspirators. This intelligence hastened him
away to hold a short interview with Chiseldine, by
whom he was admonished to tarry as short a time as
possible in the port, as orders were already abroad
for his apprehension. The advice thus timely offered
enabled him to effect a speedy retreat to his boat, by
the same route that he had taken in coming to the
town;—and he was thus saved from the fate that
would have overtaken him, if he had remained an
half hour longer than the moment of the fiddler's
visit to Captain Dauntrees.
Tired of lying perdue so long on the Virginia
shore, he determined to proceed with his brig, first
to St. Jerome's, where he proposed to wait two or
three days to observe the course of events, and then
either to sail abroad or take his course up the Chesapeake,
where, if pursued, he was willing to trust
to the speed of his vessel to baffle all endeavours
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towards his arrest. Upon the deck of the Olive Branch,—
or as she has now laid aside her peaceful character
we may call her the Escalfador—he felt himself secure
against annoyance from any naval force at the
disposal of the Proprietary, and this circumstance,
together with a strong confidence in the number of
the disaffected with whom he was associated, inspired
him with an audacity that almost defied the
public authorities even in their own resorts.
With a view to communicate his intended change
of position to his confederates, he made his second
visit to the town pretty nearly in the same manner
that he had accomplished the first. His stay in
the port, however, was longer than on the former
night, and it was consequently after break of day
that he passed the hut of Simon Fluke. On his near
approach to the spot where his skiff awaited him, he
encountered the fisherman, who was lurking upon
his path and who, at the moment they came within
speaking distance, was endeavouring to conceal himself
in a thicket of cedars. Cocklescraft was not a
man to hesitate in the commission of a crime under
any circumstances, and least of all when it concerned
his safety. On the present occasion he did not
stop to parley with the person who waylaid his
footsteps, but obeying the impulse of his habitual
sense of hostility to his kind, and the ferocity of his
nature, he drew a pistol from his girdle and discharged
the contents with such certain effect, that
the fisherman fell dead at his feet without a groan.
He tarried not to look upon the murdered man, nor
to take any concern even for the disposal of the
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body,—but leaving it a prey to the wild birds that
hovered near, he stept into his boat with as little
emotion or remorse as if he had despatched some
prowling beast, not caring to inquire who or what
he was that invaded his path.
On the night that followed this adventure the Olive
Branch quitted her temporary harbour, and the next
morning found her secretly ensconced behind a
woody headland, in a nook of St. Jerome's creek,—
about two miles above its mouth, where she lay safe
from the view of all who navigated the Chesapeake.
Cocklescraft began already to feel that he had
joined his new associates in an hour not the most
auspicious to his fortunes. The arrest of the leaders
and the quiet that seemed to prevail throughout the
land, created a doubt in his mind whether any thing
was likely to be achieved in the way that he desired;
and more than once he meditated a retreat from the
province, yet resolved, before he did so, to signalise
the event by some flagrant act of vengeance upon
his enemies. This thought seemed to please him;
and he spent the day in ruminating over schemes of
retribution against those who had of late treated him
with such contumely. Uppermost in his breathings
of hatred was the name of Albert Verheyden, and a
demon smile curled upon his lip when he muttered it.
Such provision as might hastily be made for a
short voyage, now engrossed the attention of his
crew. His armament was put in order; water
taken in, and every thing done,—except the stowing
on board of such commodities as he designed to take
away to other markets,—to prepare him for sailing
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within the next twenty-four hours, if occasion should
require.
When night came on, and the rain fell, and the
moon was quenched, and the murky, cheerless atmosphere,
so congenial with the unlawful complexion
of his designs, admonished him how little likely it
was that prying feet or watchful eyes should be
abroad, a revel was held in the Wizard's Chapel.
Amidst the lumber that lay piled in confusion over
the floor of the rude but spacious building, room
was found for a rough table, around which empty
casks, broken boxes and other appropriate furniture
of a smuggler's den, supplied seats sufficient for the
accommodation of twelve or fifteen persons. Here
were assembled the crew of the Escalfador, with an
abundant supply of strong liquors and tobacco. A
fire blazed on the ample hearth, furnishing to such
as desired it the means of cooking, in a simple
fashion, some substantial elements of the evening
meal; an opportunity which was not neglected, as
was apparent from the bones and scraps of broken
victuals which lay scattered about the fire-place, and
from the strong fumes of roasted meat which sent
their savour into every corner of the apartment.
The men who constituted this company, numbering
without their leader full sixteen, were robust,
swarthy seamen,—the greater portion of them distinguished
by the dark olive complexions and curling
black hair which denoted their origin in Portugal or
other parts of the South of Europe. Several wore
rings in the ears and on the fingers, and were bedizened
with strange and outlandish jewelry. The
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thick moustache and shaggy brow gave a peculiar
ferocity to more than one of the company, whilst
the close and braided seaman's jacket, gaudy woollen
caps and wide breeches—the common costume of
the crew—imparted a foreign air to the whole group.
Some wore rich girdles with ornamented pistols and
daggers; and the plainest amongst them showed a
knife secured under a leathern belt. Their only attendant
was Kate of Warrington, who grudgingly
answered the frequent call for fresh potations, as the
revellers washed down their coarse mirth with
draughts of brandy and usquebaugh.
Cocklescraft sat, somewhat elevated above the
rest, at the head of the board, where, without carousing
as deeply as his sailors, he stimulated their noisy
jollity by clamorous applause. A witness, rather
than a partaker of this uncouth wassail, was the
Cripple, who having matters of account to settle with
several of the crew before they took their departure,
had now swung himself into a corner where, with a
lighted fagot stuck in the crevice of the wall, he alternately
gave his attention to a pouch containing
his papers of business, and to the revelry of the moment;
chiding the prodigal laughter of the crew,
one moment with querulous reproof, and the next
with a satirical merriment.
“Bowse it lads!” exclaimed Cocklescraft, as he
brandished a cup in his hand; “drain dry to the
Escalfador!—our merry little frigate shall dance to-morrow
on the green wave,—so, do honour to the
last night we spend ashore. Remember, we have a
reckoning to settle before we depart, with the good
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folks of St. Mary's. Are you all ready to follow me
in an exploit of rare deviltry?—Speak, boys!”
“Ay, ready, Master Captain!” was the response
in a general shout.
This outburst roused the Cripple, who lifting his
head from the paper, which at that moment he was
perusing, and looking from under his spectacles upon
the crew, was heard to mutter when the shout subsided—
“As ready as wolves to suck the blood of
lambs. How can they be else under thy nursing,
Dickon?”
“Ha, old dry bones, art thou awake? By St.
Iago! I thought that thy leaden eyelids, Rob, had
been sealed before this. Ho, lads, bring Master
Robert Swale forward—we shall treat him as becomes
a man of worship:—upon the table with him,
boys.”
The face of the Cripple grew instantly red, as a
sudden flash of passion broke across it. He dropped
the paper from his hand and drew his dagger;—
then, with a compressed lip and kindling eye, spoke
out—“By St. Romuald! the man that dares to lay
hand on me to move me where it is not my pleasure
to go, shall leave as deep a blood stain on this floor
as flowed from the veins of Paul Kelpy. Who are
you, Dickon Cocklescraft, that you venture to bait
me with your bullies?”
“How now, Master Rob?” exclaimed the Skipper,
as he rose from his seat and approached the Cripple.
“Would'st quarrel with friends? 'Twas but in
honest reverence, and not as against your will, that
I would have had thee brought to the table. Come,
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old comrade, we will not be ruffled when we are to
part so soon. What would'st thou have, good
Rob?”
“These bills shall be first paid by your drinking
roysters before they go to sea,” replied the Cripple,
somewhat appeased by the Skipper's manner. “Here
are items of sundry comforts supplied—meat and
drink and lodging;—and here are services of Mistress
Kate both in making and mending;—here for trampling
down my corn, and for killing—”
“Pshaw—a fig's end for thy trampings and killings,
and all this rigmarole of washing and mending!”
interrupted Cocklescraft. “I would be sworn
thy conscience has undercharged thy commodity:—
so, there is enough to content thee for the whole,
with good usury to the back of it,” he said, putting
a well-stored purse of gold into Rob's hand. “Thou
hast ever been too modest in thy dealings, friend
Robert of the Trencher:—when thou gettest older
thou wilt know how to increase thy gear by lawful
gain.”
“A hang-dog—a scape-grace—a kill-cow—a devil's
babe in swaddling bands of iniquity, thou art,
child Dickon!” said Rob, laughing with that bitter,
salt laugh that gave to his countenance the expression
of extreme old age. “Thou dost not lack, with
all thy wickedness, an open hand. I have ever found
thee ready with thy gold. It comes over the devil's
back—Dickon, ha, ha!—over the devil's back,
youngster,—and it goes—you know the proverb.
This closes accounts, so now for your humour, lads.
I will pledge you in a cup.”
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“To the table with him, boys,” said Cocklescraft,
nodding his head to those who sat near him; and, in
a moment, the Cripple was lifted up in his bowl and
set, like a huge dish, in the middle of the board,—a
ghastly grin of acquiescence playing all the time
upon his sallow features.
“Fill me a glass of that wine of Portugal,” said
Rob, as soon as he found himself in the centre of
the company. “Here, boys,” he added when the
wine was put in his hand, “here is success to your
next venture, and a merry meeting to count your
gains.”
“Amen to that!” shouted Cocklescraft. “Our
next venture will be a stoop upon the doves of St.
Mary's.”
“And a merry meeting will it be when you count
your gains,” interposed the harsh voice of Kate of
Warrington. “Robert Swale will keep the reckoning
of it.”
“Peace, old woman,” said Cocklescraft, sharply;
“your accursed croaking is ever loudest when least
welcome.”
“Fill for me,” cried out Roche del Carmine, in his
Portuguese accent. “I will pledge the Captain and
our company, with `His Lordship's Secretary,'—we
owe him a debt which shall be paid in the coin of the
Costa Rica.”
“Bravo,—A la savanna, perros!—Huzza, boys,—
shout to that!” clamoured Cocklescraft, at the top
of his voice. “Drink deep to it, in token of a deep
vengeance! I thank you, Master Roche, for this
remembrance. Now, comrades, you have but half
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an hour left before you must depart to bring down
the brigantine to the mouth of the creek. A pipe
and a glass more—and then away: so, too it roundly,
and make profit of your time!—Tobacco, Mistress
Kate,—fill Master Swale's pipe first, and then
mine:—make the bottle stir, my merry men all!”
Having thus given a new spur to the revelry of
the board, the Skipper, unasked, broke forth with a
smoking song familiar to the tavern-haunters of that
era.
“Tobacco's a musician,
And in a pipe delighteth;
It descends in a close
Through the organ of the nose,
With a relish that inviteth.
This makes me sing, So, ho, ho! so, ho, ho, boys.
Ho, boys, sound I loudly,
Earth never did breed
Such a jovial weed
Whereof to boast so proudly.”
“The cackle of a wild goose, the screech of a
kingfisher in foul weather, hath more music in it,
Dickon Cocklescraft, than this thou call'st singing,”
said Rob. “I would counsel thee stick to thy vocation—
thy vocation, Master Shark, of drinking and
throat-cutting, and leave this gentle craft of musicmaking
to such as have no heart to admire thy virtues.
Ha, ha!”—he paused a moment to indulge
his laugh. “When a galliard of thy kidney, dashed
with such poisonous juices as went into the milk that
fed thee, hath a conceit to be merry, the
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fire-crackling of roof trees and the clashing of steel are the
fittest melody for his mirth. Dickon, try no more
ditties, thou wilt never make a living by the art.”
“By St. James! I have sung at more honourable
feasts than it ever fell to your lot to partake of. Ay,
and lady-songs, too,—and been applauded for my
voice, old goblin of the Bowl! Have I not sung at
the back of Sir Harry Morgan's chair, in the great
hall of the Governor of Chagres, in the Castle St.
Lawrence, when we made feast there after the sack
of the place?”
“Truly,” replied the Cripple; “whilst the hall
streamed with blood, and the dead corpse of the
Governor was flung like rubbish into a corner, to
give more zest to your banquet—and the women—”
“You have a license, Rob of the Trencher,” interrupted
Cocklescraft, “to snarl at those you cannot
excel. So e'en take your own sweep! When you
can better sing a better song, then I will hearken to
thee.”
“On my conscience, can I now, at this very speaking,
Dickon Cocklescraft,” said the Cripple, “a better
song than ever trilled through thy pipes.
All dainty meats, I do defy,
Which feed men fat as swine,”'—
he sung, by way of proof of his skill, with a tremulous
cadence and melancholy whine, as he flourished
his pipe in a line with his eyes, and nodded his head
to mark the time.
“The man has gone clean mad,” ejaculated Kate
of Warrington, who had for some time past been
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quietly seated on a stool near the fire, and who now
arose and stepped up to the table to satisfy herself
that it was actually the Cripple whose voice had
aroused her. “Thou hadst better be telling thy beads
and repenting of thy sins upon thy shrivelled hams,
than tinkling thy cracked and worn-out voice at midnight,
to be laughed at by guzzling fools—barked at
by sea-dogs! It is time, Robert Swale, thy old bones
were stretched on thy bed.”
“Faith, thou say'st true, Mistress Nightshade,” replied
Rob; “thou speak'st most truly: I am over easy
to be persuaded into unwholesome merriment—it
hath been the sin of my life. So, put me on the floor—
and now my crutches—my sticks, Kate. There—
thy lantern, Kate.”
“Away, lads, to the brigantine,” said Cocklescraft,
rising from his seat. “When you get her at anchor
off the Chapel, come ashore and pipe me up with the
boatswain's whistle. We have some boxes here to
put on board; and then, good fellows, we will make
a flight into the city, and ruffle the sleep of some of
the burghers, by way of a farewell. Rob, I will go
with you to your cabin: I shall catch an hour's sleep
in my cloak.”
“As thou wilt—as thou wilt, Dickon,” returned the
Cripple as he set forth, with a brisk fling, on his journey,
lighted by the lantern of the beldam.
“Leave the lamp burning,” said Cocklescraft to
the last of the crew, as the man was about to follow
his companions who had already left the room; “it
will serve to steer by when the brigantine comes out
of the creek.”
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In the next moment the Wizard's Chapel was deserted
by all its late noisy tenants, and the Skipper
was on his way, in the track of the Cripple, towards
the hut.
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CHAPTER XII.
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Cold drove the rain—November's wind
Sang to the night with dreary din:
A wanderer came, but did not find
A heart or hand to let him in.
Glengonar's Wassail.
As Albert Verheyden approached nearer to the
light that had broken upon his view and cheered his
footstep, he was able to discern the dim outline of a
building of ample dimensions, obscurely traced on the
eastern horizon, now relieved of that back-ground of
forest which had hitherto circumscribed his vision.
The rain still continued to fall in a soft and steady
drizzle, through which a feeble, diffused light barely
sufficed to show that the moon, now entering on her
second quarter, struggled to assert her dominion over
the night. The wave rolling in upon the sand with
a ceaseless and sharp monotony, apprised him of the
proximity of a broad expanse of water, and he had
accordingly little doubt that he had now reached the
shore of the Potomac—somewhere, as he conjectured,
in the neighbourhood of the cabin of Simon
Fluke, whither he supposed his steps had unknowingly
tended through the long and perplexed circuit
of his bewildered journey.
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When within an hundred paces of the light, he
found his further progress on horseback embarrassed
by a somewhat precipitous bank, which induced him
to alight and make the rest of his way on foot, leaving
his horse attached to the drooping limb of the
tree under which he had dismounted. With eager
step he advanced to the house and on reaching the
door, knocked loudly for admission.
“Good people,” he exclaimed as he repeated his
knocks, “arouse for the sake of a benighted wanderer
who has lost his way in the wood. Pray you, give
me admittance.”
There was no answer; and finding that upon touching
the latch the door yielded to his thrust, he entered
without farther ceremony. The embers of a large
fire glowed on the hearth: a solitary iron lamp, supplied
with the fat of some animal, instead of oil,
burned, with a bickering flame, upon the middle of a
coarse table, over which cups and cans, glasses and
bottles were strewed in disorder; pipes lay scattered
around, and the coarse hempen covers of bales and
cordage of broken packages lumbered up the corners
of the room. As the Secretary raked up the glowing
coals and warmed himself before the welcome fire, it
was with an air of wonderment, not unmixed with
apprehension, that he cast his eyes around this strange
and uncouth place, and lost himself in the attempt to
conjecture whither his erring fortune had conducted
him.
“Here have been dwellers,” he said, “and recently;
but whither have they fled? Can I have so far
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lost my way as to have straggled to the Patuxent,
instead of the Potomac? Faith, I believe it; for I
have heard my Lord has a store-house there, where
he collects his customs—and this, by what I see
around me, must be some such place. Well, Patuxent
or Potomac, I care not which;—most heartily is
the roof welcome; for, beyond this I venture not
again to-night. I would I might see the keepers
here! Surely they are not far off, since their flagons
are left behind—and not drained, neither, by the
mark! for here I find good drinking ware, which, to
my poor, spent frame is no boon to be despised. I
greet you, honest nectar,” he said, as he poured out
some wine and drank it off; “thou com'st at a good
time, and with a smack that your dainty wine-bibbers
wot not of.—Heigho! was ever man so weary? I
shall stretch me down on these coarse wrappings.
And there, good cassock, thou hast done me faithful
service to-night: before the fire I spread thee out to
dry, and in this corner make my bed.”
As these muttered ruminations escaped the Secretary's
lips, he collected the remnants of bags and the
rough cloths that had formerly served to envelope
items of merchandise, into a heap on one side of the
fire-place near the wall; and spreading his wet surcoat
in front of the live embers which he had now renovated
with some billets of wood that lay at hand, he
flung his exhausted frame upon his hastily-gathered
bed, and in a few moments was locked in a sleep
that might have defied the clamour of a marching
host.
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Here we leave him, whilst we turn to the hut of
the Cripple.
The Skipper, intending to meet his men as soon as
they should despatch the business upon which they
were sent, and desirous to snatch a short repose in
the interval of their absence, had thrown himself,
immediately after entering Rob's cabin, upon a couch
of the skins of wild animals, which the woman of
Warrington had spread for him; Rob had withdrawn
into his own apartment, and the crone, having now
discharged her household cares, hastened over the
bank to her solitary lodge. For some time the Cripple
remained in an abstracted self-communion, whispering
to himself bitter taunts upon his own folly in
consorting with the ruffians of the Chapel, and occasionally
chuckling with his customary sneer, at the
profligate arts by which they collected their wealth,
and the dissolute liberality with which it was squandered.
After this, according to a usage which was
observed with singular exactness for one of his habits
of life, he addressed himself to his devotions, with the
apparent fervour of a sincere penitent, and scrupulously
performed the offices of prayer and meditation
appointed by the ordinances of the church to which
he belonged. When, at length, he was about to retire
to rest, he was not able contentedly to do so,
until, with that characteristic solicitude which belonged
equally to his temper and the period of his
life, he gave a few parting moments to the computation
of the gains of the day.
“Dotard!” he exclaimed, as he began to cast up
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this account, “I have left my wallet in yonder Chapel,
with all my papers. Oh these cup-riots—these
heady revels, made for hot-brained fools and prodigal
unthrifts! What fellowship should my white hairs
and hollow wrinkles find with them, that I must needs
turn herdsman to these bears? Folly goeth armed
with a scourge, and layeth on roundly, good faith!
How have I been whipped by that most wise fool in
my time! Well, for a penance, get thee back, thou
curtailed and misshapen sinner! get thee back the
weary way to the Chapel. Ha! should these night-birds
make prize of my written memorials!—Hasten—
hasten thee, Rob!—The lantern—the lantern! and
then away.”
The lantern was lighted and swung by a small
chain across his shoulder, and taking his crutches,
he was soon beyond his threshold, making good
speed to the Wizard's Chapel.
This sudden motion had so far roused his spirit
and altered his mood—which was ever fitful and
subject to rapid change—that as he swung briskly
onward, he found himself humming a tune; and when
he had reached the door of the Black House, he was
engaged in audibly singing the words of the song
which had been so unceremoniously suspended by
the interposition of Kate of Warrington:
“He needs no napkin for his hands,
His finger-ends to wipe,
That keeps his kitchen in a box
And roast meat in a pipe.”
“Marry, I can troll it with the best of them yet!” he
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said, evidently proud of his performance, as he pushed
the door open and entered the apartment. His
first movement was towards the corner where he had
been sitting before he was lifted to the table; here he
discovered the leather pouch as he had left it. His
eagerness to find what he sought in this spot, rendered
him for the moment unobservant of every thing
else; but, now, on casting his eyes around him, he
perceived the coat of the Secretary hanging in front
of the fire and, in the next instant, the figure of Albert
Verheyden himself prostrate on his rude pallet,
breathing the long and audible inspirations of profound
sleep. It was apparent to the Cripple, at a
glance, that the person who lay stretched before him
was not of the crew of the Skipper. With an instinctive
motion he drew his long knife, or dagger, from
its sheath, and swayed himself forward to the very
side of the sleeping man. The dagger was uplifted,
and about to descend with the impulse of a brawny
muscle that would have pinned the victim to the floor,
when the Cripple suspended the blow, only to make
more sure, by the flash of the light of his lantern
across the sleeper's face, that the person he was
about to assail was one who had no claim, from acquaintance
or confederacy, to the privilege of entering
under this forbidden roof. When the secret of
the Black House was endangered by the rash curiosity
of prying eyes, or even by the involuntary
knowledge of the casual wanderer, no scruple of
conscience, nor shrinking reluctance to do a deed of
murder, might withhold the arm of the ruthless ascetic
who ruled unquestioned over this fearful domain.
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A savage scowl lowered upon his sallow front as he
stretched forth his long arm and passed the lantern
across the quiet visage of his unconscious victim,
whilst his right hand still held the dagger in act to
strike. The scowl suddenly changed, as he stooped
forward more narrowly to scan the countenance of
the sleeping man,—and a strange expression of instant
terror took its place. For some seconds his
gaze was riveted upon Albert Verheyden's beautiful
features, as heaving his head upward, in a casual
motion of his slumber, the Secretary threw the whole
contour of his face into the full blaze of the light and
disclosed his glossy and almost womanish ringlets,
which now straggled over his ear and upon his
beardless cheek.
“Blessed St. Romuald, shield me from this sight!”
murmured Rob, with a slow utterance and whispered
voice, whilst with still fixed eyes and a frame trem
bling in every fibre, he stared upon the image before
him. “Is it a spectre conjured hither from the grave,
or the juggling cheat of a fiend, that reads to me, in that
face, the warning of a life of sin? Oh God!—I cannot
strike thee, whatsoe'er thou art! So, in very
truth, she looked whilst slumbering on her pillow:
that same fair forehead—that silken eye-lash, that
curling lip. Who art thou, and whence comest?
What witchcraft hath thrown thee into this foul
abode? Sure, I am awake! I have not closed mine
eye to-night. There stand the tokens of this night's
debauch;—these cups, these flasks, and this familiar
den of villany, all bear testimony that I do not wander
in my sleep. These limbs are flesh and blood.”
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he added, as he raised Albert's yielding hand from
his bosom; “and that brow is warm with the heat of
healthful action. Holy saints of Heaven! can it be?—
What is here?” he suddenly demanded, as his eye
caught a glimpse of a jewelled trinket which, as the
sleeper lay, was disclosed in the inner folds of his
vest, and which the Cripple drew forth by the chain
to which it was attached. “`To Louise!”' he exclaimed,
when his eye fell upon the simple inscription
on the back of the richly mounted miniature—“God
of Heaven, by what miracle am I haunted with this
sight! Louise—Louise—poor girl! that little portraiture
of thyself I gave thee with mine own hand—
'tis now two and twenty years ago:—it was a
stolen effort of the painter's skill, and thou wert then
an angel of light that shed a blissful radiance upon
my path. And is it then true, that this Verheyden,
upon whose head I have heard ruffian curses heaped
and pledged in maddening draughts by devils at their
carouse, is thy child, Louise? Mine, I would fain
confess, after a long and stubborn life of passionate
denial and scornful hate. Oh, Louise!” he groaned
aloud, as tears coursed down his withered cheek,
whilst he bent over the Secretary and parted the
hair from the forehead, upon which he imprinted a
kiss; “hapless was thy fate, but doubly wretched
mine. William Weatherby, thou hast been the fool
and dupe of that devilish disease of thy blood which
hath brought showered curses upon thee and thine!
There, sleep on the bosom of thy child, mother of an
unhappy destiny!” he said, as he quietly replaced the
miniature. “This is no place for thee, unwary boy!
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I must rouse him ere these blood-hounds fall upon
his track—”
“A soaking night, by St. Anthony!” ejaculated the
boatswain of the Escalfador, who, at this instant,
thrust open the door and, with four or five of the seamen,
came clamorously towards the fire. “Push us
yon bottle, and let us see if there be any of the stuff
left.”
“And let us have fire, Master Boatswain; I am
chilled to the marrow. Pipe thy best whistle for the
Captain: he told thee to pipe it roundly, as soon as
the brigantine was out of the creek.”
“I warrant you, I will wake him,” replied the
boatswain, as he went to the door and blew his shrill
note.
“Ho, old boy of the bowl! what i' the devil makes
thee here?” demanded one of the crew, when his eye
fell upon Rob, who had, at the entrance of the men,
extinguished his light.
“Knave!” returned the Cripple; “who gave thee
license to huff and swagger under this roof? Where
is Roche?”
“Aboard the brigantine with five of our messmates.
They have her at hand ready to take in the stowage
the Captain spoke of.”
“We heard as we came across the field,” said the
boatswain, “the snort of a runaway horse, which this
fool Francis must take to be a devil in earnest—and
he falls to crossing himself like an old monk in a
battle with Belzebub.”
“Whisht! we have a traveller here,” said Rob,
whose restless eye and anxious motion had evinced
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the disquiet of his mind, ever since the sailors had
burst into the room, and who had now placed himself
in such a position as to screen the Secretary
from their observation, “a traveller who has doubtless
lost his way and wandered into the Chapel.”
“Why dost not give him the knife?” interrupted
the boatswain, in a whisper; “'tis the old law of the
Black House.”
“Cut-throat!” ejaculated Rob, “am I to be schooled
by thee in the law of the Black House? The stranger
hath come at unawares, and is now asleep. He hath
seen nothing, heard nothing, and can report against
no one. Put a bandage across his eyes before he
awakes, and let two of the men bear him, in silence,
on their shoulders free of the Chapel, and set him
down in the woods. Thou hast stabbing enough,
John of Brazil, in thy proper calling, without doing
murder in sport.”
“Ha, ha! thou preachest, by Saint Longface!
Thou'rt growing tender-hearted, father Robert!”
said the boatswain, laughing.
“Caitiff! wolf! kite!—thou shark of the bloody
mouth!” exclaimed the Cripple, in a voice suppressed
by the fear of waking the sleeper, whilst his face
grew crimson with rage; “but that I have no limb
to reach thee, that taunt should be thy last. Here,
Francis! thou and Pedro, muffle this traveller in his
cassock and take him hence; when thou hast borne
him a quarter of a mile in the woods, set him down
to make his own way.”
Before the sailors could obey this order, and whilst
they hesitated to perform what seemed to them an
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useless service of humanity, Cocklescraft entered the
apartment. At the same moment Albert Verheyden,
whose slumber had been disturbed by the clamour of
conversation, now awoke, and, startled by the first
impression which the inmates of the place made
upon him, sprang to his feet, retreated to the wall
and drew his sword.
“Where am I—and who are ye?” he exclaimed,
with a confused perception of the persons around
him, and of the spot he inhabited. “Your pardon,
friends,” he added, as gaining more self-possession,
he turned the point of his weapon to the ground, and
smiled; “I had an evil dream that awoke me. Will
your goodness let me know—for I am a benighted
traveller—what place this is, and to whom I am indebted
for this shelter?”
“Ha, by St. Iago, thou art most welcome, Master
Verheyden!” said the Skipper, as he recognised his
enemy in the person who had made this appeal to
the good-will of the company. 'Tis my house; make
free of it, master! I did not hope for the honour of
this courtesy;—thrice welcome! Thou hast been
abroad to-day to seek the man who made bold to
lodge a bullet in the brain of you caster of nets,
below St. Inigoe's; do I not guess well? Thou hast
had most marvellous good luck; for first, before all
the world, thou, his Lordship's Secretary, hast
chanced upon the very murderer. What will thou
do with him, Master Verheyden?”
“A misadventure has thrown me into the power
of banditti,” replied the Secretary, with quiet resignation.
“I have naught to say. I know you daring
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to do the purpose of a wicked will, and can hope for
no mercy.”
“You guess me right,” replied Cocklescraft sternly.
“I dare do what I will to do. Thee and thine,
especially I hate—and have sworn against thy life.
No to-morrow's sun rises on my Lord's dainty and
darling minion. By the law of our brotherhood, thou
diest this night, Albert Verheyden. John of Brazil,
take him forth—and, by the lamp-light, discharge a
brace of pistols into his heart. His heart—be sure
of it! I would strike his heart:—it shall kill more
than one,” he muttered as he turned fiercely away.
“Dickon Cocklescraft,” said Rob, with a gathering
anger that was ill concealed under the show of
calmness which he now assumed, “have I lost my
authority under this roof—mine own roof, let me
tell thee,—that thou venturest to usurp my right to
ordain the fate of the rash fool who invades our
secret? At peril of your future peace and thriving
fortune, John of Brazil, dare to do the bidding of
your Captain! Would'st have the evidences of his
death rising up in judgment against us, in the blood
thou spill'st? Thou art but an apprentice, Dickon, to
thy devil's craft, and a halter will yet reward thee
for thy folly. I will pronounce the doom of this intruding
spy. Drown him! let the wide waters wash
away all trace of the deed:—let the ravening shark
devour him.”
“Ha, ha!” ejaculated Cocklescraft, with a sneer,
“thou hast a conceit in thy humanity, Rob! Do it—
do it in thy own way; but, in the devil's name, be
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quick about it. I have a merry sport for these lads
to-night, and little time to lose:—so, despatch.”
“Give me Francis and Pedro,” said Rob, “and
I will order the matter myself.”
“Away then, about it!” said Cocklescraft; “we
lose time in prating like women at this baby-play.
You have commodities to go aboard to-night—look
to it, John. Give a signal to the brigantine to send
the yawl ashore—briskly, boys; we must work: so,
to it!”
And in this strain of ordinary business occupation,
the Skipper turned from the horrible fate of his victim
with a careless indifference—almost forgetting, in the
concern of shipping some contraband merchandise,
(the rapine of his last voyage,) the dreadful tragedy
which, at his instance, was now in a course of acting.
Albert, calm and silent, like the victim of a Pagan
sacrifice, neither gave vent to the agony of his feelings
in sighs, nor offered resistance to the savage
hands that pinioned his arms. Under the direction of
the Cripple, the two sailors conducted their captive
towards the hut, Rob himself following with the coat
of the Secretary thrown over his own shoulder.
The rain still poured steadily down, and the faint
light of the moon had disappeared, leaving the scene
in almost perfect darkness. Albert Verheyden, his
arms bound with cords, moved at the bidding of his
ruthless conductors, at a brisk and firm pace, along
the beach, until the party arrived opposite the hut of
the Cripple. They approached the door, which being
thrown open, gave to their view the smouldering fire
that still threw forth a glimmering ray from the hearth.
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A pine fagot soon kindled up a blaze, and cast a
broad, lurid light over the apartment. At Rob's
command the prisoner was brought in and stripped
of his doublet, his boots and his weapon, all which
were taken in charge by the master of the hut. A
deadly paleness was spread over the Secretary's face
whilst these preparations were making: but his lip
did not quiver, nor did his eye lose its lustre.
“Why not take my life at once? Why mock my
spirit with this horrible delay?” he asked, in a tone
that partook as much of anger as of grief. “I appeal
to stones—to brutes, more senseless than stones!
Holy martyrs, aid me in my extremity!” he added,
with a subdued and resigned temper. “God will
avenge this wrong.”
“Why dost falter, knaves?” exclaimed Rob, when
he saw the sailors retreat a pace and mutter inaudible
whisperings to each other. “Ha, thou must be
wrought, by thine accustomed devil, to this work.
There, go to it: there are strong waters to aid thy
lacking courage—drink your fill! I will help thee.”
Rob now gave to the seamen a bottle, which they
put alternately to their lips. “Fear it not, Pedro!
Stint not, Francis! 'Tis an ugly job at best, and
needs the countenance of a man's draught. Drink
again!”
“Ay, bravely will I, like a Bloody Brother!” replied
Pedro, making good his word by a second application
of the bottle. “I have been on the Coast,
Master Rob, with Mansvelt, before I ever saw Captain
Cocklescraft.”
“Ha!” said Francis, in a French accent, “and
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wasn't Francois Le Grand at the taking of Maracaibo,
and in the fight with the three Spanish galleons?
Diavolo! give me the bottle!”
“Brave lads, both!” shouted Rob, with an attempt
to laugh; “brave lads, and worthy! We shall be late
with our work,—haste thee!”
“The necklace!—I had forgot the necklace!” said
Pedro, with a somewhat thick utterance; and leaving
the room for a moment, he returned with a large
round stone, which was expertly enveloped in cords
and fastened around the Secretary's neck.
“Now to the skiff, lads! get it ready upon the
beach—see that thou hast the oars.”
At this command the sailors went forth to make
their preparations.
“In God's name, boy!” eagerly demanded the
Cripple, the moment the seamen had left the room,
“cans't swim? Answer quickly; I would save thy
life.”
“I can.”
“Thanks for that word! Thou wilt sit beside me
in the boat—I will cut these cords. When I extinguish
my light, spring into the wave; make to this
shore. You will find your weapons and your garments
under the door-sill. These drunken knaves
I will detain from pursuit. Make your way northward,
along the beach. Four miles from here you
will reach the dwelling of one Jarvis—you will find
him friendly.”
“All ready, Master Rob!” shouted one of the seamen,
as he thrust his head within the door.
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“Take more drink, Pedro—'tis a wet night,” said
Rob.
Whilst the sailor obeyed this command, the Cripple
took up a billet of resinous pine, which he lighted
at the fire, and, under the guidance of this flaming
torch, Albert was led to the boat.
The two mariners took their places at the oars;
the captive was seated alongside of the Cripple, who
assumed the helm, and all things made ready for their
eventful voyage. The surf ran high under the pressure
of an easterly wind, which blew in upon this
shore; and nothing was heard but the stunning sound
of the surge, whose foam sparkled as it broke on the
beach from the dark waste of waters of the bay.
The torch streamed aloft in the wind, flinging its light
full upon the faces of the sturdy oarsmen, and plainly
enough disclosed to Rob the stupefying effect of their
late debauch at the Chapel, redoubled as it was in
the recent potations which had been supplied at the
hut. Albert Verheyden, unable to account for the
sudden interest which the Cripple had so hurriedly
expressed in his fate, scarcely could persuade himself
to believe in its sincerity. But still, like one in
a dreadful hazard resolved to avail himself of every
chance, he inclined his body towards his companion,
anxiously waiting to find himself relieved of the
strictures that bound his limbs. From suspense,
doubt and almost despair, he was suddenly elevated
to the most exhilarating hope, when he found the
knife of the Cripple applied to sever the cord that
suspended the weight to his neck, and, in almost the
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same instant, to set his arms free. The boatmen
were struggling to push the boat over the sand in
which she was partially imbedded, and having got
afloat waited the moment to go out upon the ebbing
surf.
“Steady! strike together, and briskly!” said Rob,
“You will bring home a lighter load than you take.
There—sturdily—as we ride the wave! Ha, the fiend
on that white cap! this salt sea is an unruly monster—
it has quenched my light. Pull away,—we have
shipped a hogshead of brine! A plague on thee for
handling an oar! thou hast left me never a dry thread
to my back:—mine eyes flash fire with this dripping
sea. In the name of the wizard! are we not too
light in our craft for such a heavy sea?”
“All free!” said Pedro. “A little salt water will
do no harm: we have good space before us. Keep
her head to it, Master Rob. You may throw the
landlouper over, now. If the tide should wash him
ashore, there's a berth to be found for him in the
sand.”
“Over with him!” said Francis; “I would not row
a cable's length in so dark a night to drown a king.”
“Ha! by my body, I believe that wave hath rid
us of the spy before we were willing to part with
him!” said Rob; “he is not in the boat—I can feel
nothing of him around me. Thou hast better eyes
than I, Francis: look under the seat. Seest thou
the prisoner?”
“I see nothing here,” replied the seaman.
“Nor I,” added his comrade; “these landsmen
have never a liking to a long voyage—ha, ha! Well,
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he sleeps where no one will call to wake him in the
morning. Put about, Master Rob!”
“I know not right hand from left—north from
south, in this darkness,” returned the Man of the
Bowl, as he still kept the boat heading on her outward
course.
“Down to leeward!” cried Pedro. “Dost not
know when the wind is in your teeth?”
“Ay,” responded Rob, “thou'rt a wise teacher,
master frize-jacket! So, now for the surf again—another
drenching! I am a mad-cap fool to be playing
the boy, in my old days, with these storm-chickens.
But, to your oars, lads! we must back to shore.”
Some time was taken up in manœuvring the boat
so as to bring her bow towards the shore, and a full
half hour elapsed before the voyagers had again
reached the hut.
As Rob made haste towards his dwelling, he heard
footsteps approaching from the direction of the
Chapel, and anxious to relieve his mind, on the instant,
from the doubt whether the Secretary had
been fortunate in his endeavour to reach the shore,
he swung himself the more rapidly forward, and
before he entered his door, thrust his arm beneath
the sill to ascertain if the clothes, to which he had
directed Albert's attention, were removed.
“Holy St. Romuald, my blessed patron, I thank
thee!” he ejaculated, upon assuring himself that the
articles deposited had been taken off; “and here, on
this threshold, in the sincerity of a godly vow, I
dedicate the remnant of a sinful life to penitence and
prayer! Is it you, Master Cocklescraft?” he
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demanded, confusedly, as the footstep he had heard now
arrived at the gate of his enclosure. “A stormy
night we have had for this foul play.”
“Have you done it,—and well?” eagerly inquired
the Skipper. “Hast given that saucy jack to the
supper of the crabs? By my fellowship, I envy you,
Robert Swale!—and would have chosen to do the deed
myself, if it were not, that having made a miss in
my encounter with him with swords, it might be
taken cowardly in me to handle him in this fashion.
I was glad, Rob, you took it upon yourself. Didst
make a clear plunge of it? Did he pray for his life,
ha? Oh, it was a rare chance that gave him to us
this night! Tell me how he bore himself.”
The sailors coming up at this moment, Rob was
obliged to confess that neither he nor the oarsmen
had seen the prisoner go overboard; and thereupon
he related the extinguishment of his light, the heavy
surf, and the subsequent missing of the victim.
“A weight was fastened around him?” sharply
inquired the Skipper.
“It was.”
“And he did not shuffle it off?—Art sure of it?
A light there, Pedro! let me see the boat.”
The light was brought, and the boat examined,
and the stone which had been prepared to sink the
body found lying under the stern-seat.
“Ten thousand devils!—he has escaped,” roared
Cocklescraft. “Fool that I was, to trust this matter
to a deformed and unfurnished cripple!—how happened
he to be so weakly bound and lightly watched,
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that in such brief time he could release his arms and
cast away this weight?”
Rob listened to the outpouring of the Skipper's
wrath and impatience, with an unaccustomed calmness.
Ordinarily his fretful and rebellious temper
would have broken out, at such rebuke, into imprecation
and defiance, and he would have spoken in a
tone which would have made the leader of the
pirate crew quail before him. There was, in the
countenance and bearing of the misshapen tenant of
the hut, an expression of command and harsh and
fiery resolve, which alone might master the rough
minds with whom he held his daily commerce; but
there was, besides, a personal awe of him, derived
from his secluded life and greater intelligence, approaching
to the fear inspired by a supernatural being,
which was sufficiently potent to disarm the
hostility and secure the obedience of the credulous
seamen who followed the fortunes of Cocklescraft.
An answer of defiance and reproof hesitated on his
tongue. His eye glistened like that of a basilisk, his
lip quivered, and his nostril began to distend,—but
the instant thought that it became him not at this
moment to quarrel with the Skipper, and that he
might only countervail the mischievous designs (as
he was now resolved to do to the utmost of his
power,) of this vengeful and merciless man, by the
coolest watch upon his motions, changed his mood
and prompted him to assume a milder tone.
“Thou must needs have a revel to-night, in the
Chapel, Dickon,” he said, with a laugh in which he
could not entirely disguise his scorn; “and these
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tarred monsters of thine have grown muddy-brained
and thick-sighted; they have neglected to do their
work of breath-stopping so featly, as thou hast
taught them of old.”
“Whither hath the slave fled?” exclaimed Cocklescraft,
as they returned to the hut. “Lurks he not
in the bush,—may he not yet be followed and retaken?”
“Oh, truly!” replied the Cripple; “it is the nature
of an escaped captive to lurk around his prison: an
eaglet that hath broken his cage will fret against the
wires for admittance—the wolf will dally upon the
footstep of the hunter. When thou can'st believe
these, Dickon, thou mayst hope to find the prisoner
still prowling in the neighbourhood of the Chapel.”
“The curse of the Brethren of the Coast upon
him! By St. Iago—I will have my vengeance yet!
Rob, as the fox hath scaped from your hand, I may
claim a service of you. I shall set forth instantly
for St. Mary's, with a dozen of my picked men. I
have doings on foot, old sinner, that shall delight
thee in the telling. Mischief, mischief, Master Rob
of the Trencher! which I shall keep secret until it
be done. I would put such of my crew as remain
behind—barely enough to sail the brigantine—
under your command. You will go aboard and direct
her to an anchorage on the outer side of the
Heron Islands nearest the mouth of St. George's
river. There will I join you soon after daylight.
Oh! but his Lordship's city shall ring with wailing
at my leave-taking! What say'st thou, Rob? Wilt
go aboard?”
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“When dost thou set forth?” inquired Rob.
“Now, on the instant—as soon as I may gather
my cut-throats in the yawl.”
“And at what hour shall the brigantine sail?”
“By two o' the clock, at latest, as much sooner
as you choose.”
“Ha, ha! Thou wilt make me a limb to help thy
deviltry. Well, so be it, Dickon!” said the Cripple,
after a moment's pondering over the proposal. “I
will take on the office of Skipper for the nonce, as
thou takest on thy more accustomed garb of an incarnate
devil.”
“'Tis agreed,” cried Cocklescraft, turning around
to leave the cabin; “behind the first of the Heron
Islands, Master Rob—St. George's, I think it is called—
remember! And have a caution that, before you
cast anchor, you have got a position from which the
brigantine may not be observed from the town.”
“Ay, truly,” returned the Cripple, nodding his
head and smiling in derision, as the Skipper departed
and closed the door after him—“I will take good
care that the brigantine be not observed from the
town!”
It was now an hour past midnight. Cocklescraft
hurried to the Black House where he found his crew
awaiting his return. Francis and Pedro were directed
to take Rob on board of the brigantine, and
with two other seamen, who were appointed to go
before them, to await the Cripple's orders. The rest
of the crew, amounting to twelve men, were armed
with cutlasses, pikes and pistols, and, under the immediate
command of Cocklescraft, took possession
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of the yawl. In brief space, the Captain himself
stepped on board. With the turn of the night the
rain began to abate; the wind was veering round
westwardly, and appearances seemed to indicate a
change of weather before morning.
The word being given, the boat was shoved off
from the strand; and the regular, sturdy and rapid
stroke of the oar was heard, long after she was lost
to view, as she laid her course towards Cape Look-Out.
Soon after this, Francis and Pedro knocked at
the door of Rob's cabin. “We are ready to put you
on board of the Escalfador, Master Swale,” said
the first, just thrusting his capped head and frize-clad
shoulders into the hut.
“I am with you, honest gentlemen,” returned the
Cripple, as he came forth and followed them to the
boat.
“Up with your anchor,” cried out Rob, when he
found himself on the deck of the brigantine. “Pedro,
make what sail thou think'st best, and stand out into
the bay.”
In less than half an hour the sailor waited on his
new captain for orders. “We have a fair berth up
and down, master. Whither do we steer?”
“To the Patuxent,” replied Rob.
“Ay, ay—our course is northward.” And the
brig was soon under easy sail with the wind abeam,
as it blew moderately from the west, with here and
there a star twinkling through the breaking clouds,
as she made her way towards the headlands of the
Patuxent.
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CHAPTER XIII.
[figure description] Page 205.[end figure description]
Both child and nurse are fast asleep
And closed is every flower,
And winking tapers faintly peep,
High from my lady's bower.
Bewildered hinds with shortened ken,
Shrink on their murky way;
Up rouse ye then, my merry men,
It is our op'ning day.
Joanna Baillie.
Cocklescraft had not communicated to his men
the exact nature of the expedition in which they had
embarked. They were only aware that their leader
had conceived a deep and mortal hatred to certain
individuals in the port; that he had fled from it as
an outlaw; and that their services were required in
some daring enterprise which was designed to inflict
chastisement upon his enemies: they cared to know
no more. Bred to rapine and aggression, knowing
no law but the law of their own fraternity; unpitying
and unsparing in their violence; the greater portion
of them strangers to the port,—for Cocklescraft
had recruited more than half of his band amongst
the islands of the Gulf, on his last voyage—these
desperate men were ready to do the behests of their
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chief in any act of outrage to which he might command
them.
In an hour they had doubled Cape Look-Out and
were making dextrous speed up the Potomac. The
refreshing breeze gradually swept away the clouds
and whistled, as it came directly a head upon the
course of the voyagers; the moon was just sinking
below the horizon and the stars shone forth through
a crisp and frosty atmosphere: the waving forest
murmured with a rushing sound from the land; the
billows of the wide estuary of the river, under the
impulse of the suddenly-changed wind, came in conflict,
with a sharp concussion that sometimes gave
forth a note resembling the scream of the human
voice: no friendly light was seen glimmering from
the shore nor from wandering craft upon the river:
the marauders were alone upon the water, plying
the lusty stroke to give a more fatal speed to their
purpose of crime, and the hour was beguiled with
ribald jests and obscene ballads, with wild and
drunken laughter, and the meditation of horrid outrage.
Cocklescraft himself was moody and silent. His
thoughts dwelt upon the past scenes of the night, and
upon his present long-revolved purpose, which, during
the last twenty-four hours, scarce left him leisure to
think of other matters. Even the accidental capture
of his enemy at the Chapel, and the escape of that
enemy from the fate allotted to him, lost their power
to move him, whilst he gloated upon the cherished
design of this night.
In another hour the boat had weathered the
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headland at the mouth of St. Mary's river. As the Skipper
entered the river the first of the Heron islands
lay upon his left, and he anxiously surveyed the
localities, to regulate the course of his retreat to his
brigantine, which by his order was to be in waiting
for him abreast the outer shore. “The blessed sun,”
he muttered to himself—“shall light me with his first
rays to-morrow, on my seaward track, with my vengeance
satisfied to the last scruple. Ay, by St.
Iago,” he added, as he shook his clenched hand, and
gnashed his teeth with the energy of his resolve,—
“to the last doit of the debt!”
Another interval of silent labour at the oar, and
the dim light in the windows of the Chapel attached
to the House of St. Inigoe's, yet far off, upon the
narrow strip of land which jutted entirely across the
direct line of the boat's course, as she hugged the
shore, showed the mariners that some one of the
officials of the house was at the service of early
matins on the vigil of the Feast of All Souls; and
their familiarity with the watches of the night apprised
them, that the hour approached four of the
morning.
And now the creek of St. Inigoe's is opened upon
their view; and on the further bank, the house of
the Rose Croft, with its embowering trees, is distinctly
traced against the clear starlit sky. A solitary
taper glimmering through an upper window,
denotes a lady's bower, where, under the protection
of the friendly ray, Blanche Warden, perchance,
reposes in innocent slumber,—her fancy sporting in
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dreams of him who day and night lives in her
thoughts.
This reflection flashed across the brain of Cocklescraft
as he directed the head of the boat into the
creek.
“Pull, with a long sweep and a quick,” he said in
a low but stern voice. “These watch dogs of the
fort may catch a glimpse of us.” Then having advanced
far enough to interpose the bluff bank of the
Rose Croft between him and the fort, he commanded
the men to cease rowing, whilst they muffled their
oars.
“Not a word above your breath,” he now added
in giving the orders which were to guide his followers
through the enterprise for which they had been
brought hither. “Listen to me: we land under
yonder bank—creep in silence to the dwelling you
see above, and pluck from her bed the fairest damsel
of this Western world. Mark me, comrades,—you
have sacked towns and spoiled many an humble
roof; you have torn children from the breasts of
their mothers, and wives from the arms of their husbands;
you have dragged maidens from the inmost
chambers of their dwelling and laughed at their
prayers for safety,—and you have rioted over all,
with the free license of the Bloody Brothers—but
take it to your souls this night, that if, in the assault
of yonder house, one unnecessary blow be struck, a
war cry be raised or deed of violence done, the man
who offends dies by my hand. And further, when
the maiden is brought into your presence let no rude
speech assail her ear. I go to seek a bride, not to
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plunder; and I command you all, on the duty you
owe your leader, as Brethren of the Coast, that you
do her all honour as mistress of the Escalfador. My
sweetest revenge,”—he muttered without intending
to be heard by the crew—“is to marry the worshipful
Collector's daughter without his leave—or her
own, by St. Iago! The rose shall consort with the
sea nettle, Anthony Warden!—though it be not to
your liking. Do ye heed me, messmates? Roche
del Carmine, to you I look to see this order enforced?”
“If it be but the taking of a single damsel,” murmured
Roche, “it was hardly worth leaving the
warm fire and the bottle of the Chapel. Ha! it will
be a story to tell in the Keys that our last frolic in
St. Mary's was at the Captain's wedding!”
“Dost thou prate, sirrah?” demanded Cocklescraft.
“By my sword, I am in earnest in what I
say—I will shoot down the man that disobeys my
order.”
“I will answer for the crew,” said Roche de
Carmine; “the lady shall be handled as gently as a
child in the arms of its nurse.”
“Ay,” responded several of the sailors; “the
Captain shall not complain of us.”
The oars were muffled and the boat was once
more in full progress towards her destination. A few
minutes sufficed to bring the voyagers to the small
wharf beneath the cliff of the Rose Croft, and in a
moment all were ashore, except a single mariner
who was left to guard the boat.
“Peace!” whispered Cocklescraft; “peace with
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that rattling of pikes. Form under the bank and
remain quiet until I ascend and examine the place.”
The leader now crept, with noiseless footstep, up
the pathway which terminated upon the plain in front
of the dwelling. He walked across the lawn, by the
very spot where, scarce a fortnight gone by, he had
had his hostile interview with Albert Verheyden.
The little rustic temple of St. Therese yet stood,
with its faded foliage, upon the grass-plot: the flower
stands were still there, although the plants were removed
to their shelter from the frost: nothing met
the eye of the foul-purposed rover but the images of
content and innocence which marked the abode of a
happy family: even the house dog, who at first
growled as with show of battle, changed his threat
into greeting as the Skipper proffered his hand and
claimed acquaintance. The tokens of confiding security
were all around him, and as he recalled the
last time he had visited this place, and remembered
the incidents of the festival of St. Therese—the
maiden's coldness, her father's disdain, and the Secretary's
favour, he laughed with the thought of the
mastery he now held over the fate of the household.
He could scarcely withdraw himself from the luxury
of his present rumination, but wandered to and fro
in front of the dwelling,—then made a circuit around
it, and, returning again to the front, stood beneath
the window through which the feeble taper shone
with that steady but subdued ray which of itself was
a symbol of the deep repose of the tenant of the
chamber.
“I could wake thee, lady gay,” he said, “with as
blithe a serenade as ever tuned thy dream to
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pleasant measures—but that I lack the instrument. And
though I be not the cavalier of thy fancy, Blanche
Warden, pretty Rose of St. Mary's,—yet, by my
soul, I love thee well enough to put myself to some
pains to teach thee how thou shalt love me. We
dance together on the green wave to-morrow, lass!—
little as you dream of such merriment now. And
as I would not have thy blushes seen, I must e'en
lead thee forth before the day.”
With this sally, he returned to his comrades, and
commanded them to ascend the bank. Three men
were detached around the house to keep a look-out,
and the other eight, following Cocklescraft himself,
approached the hall door.
“What, ho! Fire, thieves, robbers!” shouted
Cocklescraft, aided, in raising a clamour, by his
men, at the same time striking loudly with the butt
of a pike against the door. “Rouse ye, rouse ye,
or you will have a house about your ears! Fire,
Master Warden, thieves, rovers and savages!”
A scream was first heard in the chamber from the
window of which the light had been seen—and
Cocklescraft putting his hand to his ear, laughed as
he recognised the voice of the maiden.
“By our lady,” he said—“our gentle mistress
sings well!”
In the next instant a window was thrown open on
the opposite side of the house, and the figure of
Anthony Warden, in his night gown, with a candle
in his hand, was partially thrust out, whilst he exclaimed—
“What is this pother? Who comes at this hour
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to alarm the family? Who are ye, I say, that seek
to disturb the rest of my household with your villainous
shoutings?”
“Answer him, Roche,” whispered Cocklescraft;
“I dare not.”
“Open your doors, Collector,” said Roche; “we
have business with you.”
“Get you hence, drunken knaves!” returned Mr.
Warden. “I will call my servants and drive you off
the ground.”
“By my hand, if you do not open your doors,
Master Warden,” said Cocklescraft, finding that he
could not trust the conduct of the assault to his mate,
“we will break them open, and quickly—”
“Who are you that speak so saucily?” demanded
the Collector.
“Richard Cocklescraft—an old friend, Master Anthony,
who being about to put to sea, would make his
last visit to the officer of the Port. Throw wide your
doors and let us in, old man, or it may be the worse
for thy grey hairs.”
“Ho, Michael Mossbank, Nicholas, Tomkin!”
shouted Mr. Warden, as he withdrew his head from
the window; “up, get up—bring me my blunderbuss—
we are beset—stir yourselves, my trusty fellows!”
The house was now lighted in various parts, and
every one was on foot. Blanche at the first summons
sprang from her bed, and ran to her sister
Alice, screaming in a paroxysm of alarm; but whilst
the invaders parleyed with her father, she had sufficiently
resumed her self-possession to make a hasty
toilet, and then to repair to the protection of Mr.
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Warden's presence. The old man, not coolly—for
he was wrought into excessive rage—but with all
necessary discretion and forecast, made his arrangements
for the coming struggle. Two or three servants
had gathered around him, as he descended the
staircase to meet the assailants who were still battering
at the door; and it was with difficulty that he
could shake off the females, who clung around his
step with piteous intreaties that he would not venture
into collision with the band who, it was now evident,
must, in a few moments, make good their entrance
into the house.
“Leave me, daughters—get thee back to thy chamber,”
he cried, as he forced his way through their
feeble impediment, with a blunderbuss in his hand,
and, followed by the servants, took a station midway
in the hall, whence he was able to direct his defence
to either the front or the rear.
The precautions to which the inhabitants of the
province were accustomed to resort for the purpose
of guarding their dwellings against the attacks of the
Indians, had rendered, in fact, every house almost a
castle, and it was no easy matter, without the proper
tools, to force an admission against the will of the
owner. The stubborn character of the defences of
Mr. Warden's dwelling detained the assailants longer
than they expected, and gave time to the small garrison
within to take all measures for guarding themselves
that the condition of the house afforded.
The door at length yielded to the vigour of the attack,
and as it flew wide open, the veteran master of
the mansion stood with dauntless front, in full view
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of the eager seamen;--in the same instant his piece
was discharged with such effect, that the two foremost
men reeled and fell across the threshold.
“Give me thy gun, Michael,” he exclaimed, as he
turned to the gardener and seized the long Spanish
fowling-piece with which my reader has already had
some acquaintance; “I will teach these ruffians good
manners! Back knaves!—unhand me, villains!—
Michael, Nicholas!”
“Stay that blow, coward!” roared Cocklescraft at
the height of his voice, in the exertion of his full command
over the crew, as they had, immediately upon
receiving the Collector's fire, rushed forward and
overcome the old man by the press of numbers,—the
servants having fled at this onset. “Strike him, and
you shall fall by my own sword!” he continued, as
with his cutlass he turned aside the pike of a seaman
who had aimed it at the Collector's breast. “Is it for
men to war against grey hairs?”—
“Save my father—oh God, spare his life!” screamed
Blanche, as she now sprang, wild with terror, half
way down the stair. “Men of blood, have mercy on
his age!—he is old—too old to do you harm. Oh,
save him!”
“By the blessed Virgin, gentle mistress, I swear
not one hair upon his head shall suffer harm,--for thy
sake, dainty lady, if for no other!” exclaimed Cocklescraft,
as with one bound he placed himself beside
the maiden; and raising her aloft on his arm, he
leaped back to the hall and thence out upon the lawn.
“Follow me, comrades!” he shouted, as he bore the
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screaming maiden stoutly on his shoulder down the
bank, and laid her senseless upon the seat of the boat.
Here he threw his cloak over her person, and summoned
his men immediately to their posts,—having
taken care to bring away the two wounded seamen.—
The boat was about to be shoved off from the wharf,
when the figure of a female was descried coming, at
a rapid flight, from the direction of the dwelling, and
uttering a shrill note of lamentation, as she begged
them to stop:
“For the love of God, leave her behind! Oh, have
pity, good men, and do not tear away the Collector's
daughter, our young mistress! Christian men, spare
her to us! She will die of cold—she will perish on
the water—her blood will be on your heads!”
“Thou 'rt a good nurse, Mistress Coldcale,” said
the Skipper with a sportive tone which mocked the
distress of the sufferers; “and as our queen will want
an attendant, thou shalt even go with us. Put the
old woman aboard, comrades!” he added, speaking
to some of the men, who, almost before the housekeeper
could utter the shriek which now rose from
her lips, was lifted over half a dozen heads, and deposited
beside her young lady.
“Cheerily, now to your oars!” shouted Cocklescraft,
exulting in the success of his inroad. “Lay
your sinews to it, lads, until we get clear of the
creek, and then up with your sail!—we have a fair
wind and a merry voyage before us. Speed thee! I
scent the coming dawn.”
Almost in as brief space as we have taken to
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relate it, the boat had shot forth into the middle of the
creek, and now glided over the waters like an imp of
darkness flying homeward to his ocean cave freighted
with the spoils of some evil errand.
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CHAPTER XIV.
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And hurry skurry, forth they go,
Unheeding wet or dry;
And horse and rider snort and blow,
And sparkling pebbles fly.
Leonora.
Albert Verheyden, at the appointed signal from
the Cripple, had sprung into the surf, at the moment
when it broke with its greatest violence against the
bow of the boat, and, almost without an effort, was
swept in upon the hard beach. His first motion, on
gaining his breath, was to hasten to the hut, seize the
clothes that had been stripped from him, as well as
his weapons, and to speed, at the full measure of his
strength,—now animated by his mysterious and almost
miraculous deliverance,—northwardly along
the margin of the bay; keeping sufficiently remote
from it, however, to screen himself by the thickets,
which grew a short distance from the water's edge,
from detection by those who might, perchance, be
on the watch to observe his course. His limbs were
chilled, and it was only by violent and unintermitted
motion that he was able to preserve himself from the
dangerous consequences which were likely to attend
his exposure. By degrees, exercise threw a glow
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over his frame, and he soon found himself recovering
his suppleness of limb and power of enduring the
toilsome walk by which he laboured to reach the
friendly shelter indicated by Rob's hurried instruction
in the hut. After what seemed a progress of
at least twice the space in which he was told he
should find the dwelling of Jarvis, he was, at length,
greeted with the cheerful sight of an humble homestead,
seated so near the shore that the fence, which
bounded the curtilage of the dwelling, actually bordered
upon the confines of the tide-mark. He staid
not to consider how he were best to claim admittance,
but walked at once to the door and rapped
loudly, as a distressed man is apt to feel it his right
to do in a Christian land.
“I pray you, good people, open your door to me,”
he said; “rise, Master Jarvis, and admit a friend.
Rise, kind sir: in the name of charity, I intreat the
shelter of your roof.”
In a moment the door was ajar, and a sleepy voice
heard from within challenging the comer—
“Who are you that strays so late, in so lonely a
region?”
“A friend, good Master Jarvis.”
“Is it shipwreck?” inquired the master of the
house, as he opened the door and admitted the wanderer.
“Stand a moment, sir, until I get you a light.
Are you alone?”
Before an answer could be given to either of these
queries, the questioner had departed, and in a few
moments returned with a candle, whose light disclosed
to the Secretary a comfortable family room,
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furnished according to the primitive but useful fashion
of a substantial tiller of the soil of that era. It took
but little time for Albert to rehearse the eventful
story of the night, and his narrative was answered
with a kindness that gave him assurance of being
now under the protection of a friend. The good man
of the house seeing that nothing was so necessary to
his guest as sleep, detained him no longer than was
requisite to enable his dame to prepare a couch, to
which the Secretary, upon the housewife's summons,
eagerly repaired, and soon turned his sufferings to a
happy account, as, in self-felicitation at his escape,
and in rendering thanks to God for the mercy that
had raised him up a friend in his extreme need, he
sank into sweet oblivion of all the past.
At the dawn of day, he rose refreshed and invigorated,
and, being provided with a horse by the hospitable
farmer, staid only to express his gratitude to
his host for the favours he had received, and then,
with as much expedition as he could command,
pricked onward to the town.
The rising sun gilded the chimney-tops of the
dwelling of the Rose Croft, as the Secretary turned
a delighted eye upon that quiet scene, whilst he descended
from the distant hill which gave him a
glimpse of, what he deemed, that happy homestead,
through the embowering trees. The atmosphere
was instinct with a keen and bracing healthfulness
which gave a cheerful tone to the feeling of all animated
nature. As Albert stood in his stirrups and
looked around him, it was with an unwonted gladness
that he contemplated his near advance to his
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home; and he had already resolved that his first moments,
after refitting his disordered person, should be
spent in a visit to the mistress of his heart, to whom,
with an impassioned delight natural to the romance
of his mind, he hoped to tell his perilous and startling
adventure.
The roofs and bowers of the Rose Croft sank from
his view, as he hastened onward; and he, at length,
found himself on the skirts of the little city. There
were ominous gatherings of the burghers in the
street; and the speakers shook their heads, and
seemed to the Secretary to converse with a mysterious
gravity:
“They have heard,” he said to himself, “of my
mischance in losing my way, and are fancying that
I have encountered the Indians. No,—they see me
riding here, yet no one comes to greet me:—there
are other tidings in the wind.”
And with this conclusion, anxious to know what
had occasioned this early commotion in the little
mart of news, he pressed forward to the Proprietary
mansion.
An hour before the arrival of the Secretary, Rob
of the Bowl, mounted on a sober-paced horse,—his
thighs grasping the saddle with more security than
one might expect from his diminished quantity of
limb, his trencher hanging by a strap like a huge
shield at his back, (this being his customary mode of
travel when his occasions required him to assume the
equestrian,) entered the town. He had run the Escalfador
into the little inlet of Mattapany, just inside the
Patuxent, where he left her under the guns of the
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Fort which the Proprietary maintained at this post;
and repairing immediately on shore, he communicated
to the commander of the garrison the circumstances
which induced his visit, requesting that the
brigantine should be detained at her present mooring
until his Lordship's pleasure might be known.
Then, having procured a horse, he set forth, long
before day-light threw its flush upon the eastern sky,
upon his journey to St. Mary's, not doubting to hear,
upon his arrival there, a story of outrage (though
against whom or how perpetrated he could not guess)
done by the band of the Wizard's Chapel. Without
stopping to notice the wondering gaze of the towns-folk
at the strange, though not altogether unfamiliar
spectacle he exhibited to them, he made his way directly
to the dwelling of father Pierre.
By the aid of the good father himself, he was dismounted
from his horse and straightway conducted
into the study of the churchman.
“You have reason to be amazed at this early
visit, reverend father,” he said, “but my errand will
brook no ceremony.”
“Thou comest to tell somewhat of the ruffians,”
hastily answered father Pierre, with a look and tone
of sorrow, which informed the Cripple, at the outset,
that some deed of horror had already been done,—
“who last night violated the sanctuary of the worthy
Collector's roof, and stole away his daughter—”
“Hah!” exclaimed Rob, kindling with sudden wonder;
“was that the drift of Dickon Cocklescraft's
venture! He has stolen the damsel? Viper!
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hell-hound! I heard it not, holy father: but I guessed no
less an outrage. I have hastened hither, faster than
these crippled limbs are wont to travel, to tell thee
where the robber may be found. I knew his purpose
of mischief, though not against whom it tended—ha,
ha, ha! I have baulked him! I have baulked him!”
“Speak, old man, more coherently: we are lost in
doubt, and overcome with grief,—say, where has the
ravisher fled?”
“To the Heron islands, at the mouth of the river.
There he hopes to find his brigantine—but I have
cheated him, father Pierre! Lose no time—but set
pursuit on foot.”
“The town is wild with conjecture,” returned the
priest; “Master Warden's servants have told the
dreadful tale: but whither to search, no one yet has
told. Come instantly with me to the Proprietary's.
He who can point out the path of rescue will be a
welcome guest.”
The priest lost no time in causing Rob to be again
set in his saddle; and walking beside the horse across
the plain which separated the dwelling of the Proprietary
from the city, father Pierre soon halted with
his companion at the door.
Previous to the arrival of the Cripple, and afterwards,
during the conference between him and the
Proprietary, in which measures were debated for the
pursuit of the pirates, the excitement of the inhabitants
of St. Mary's was aroused to the most intense
agitation. The tidings brought from the Rose Croft
had awakened the town at the dawn of day, and
rumour told in every dwelling the sad history of the
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Skipper's onslaught. The fate of Blanche was bewailed
by all with bitter lamentation. Old and young
grew frantic at the thought of a delicate and defenceless
maiden, torn from her parent bower, in the dead
of the night, and abandoned to the custody of miscreants,
in whose bosoms not one sentiment of pity
or remorse mitigated the fury of their brutal passions;
and they uttered deep imprecations as they dwelt
upon the dreadful fate which had befallen their
cherished favourite, the Rose of St. Mary's. All
were astir to do something for her rescue, yet none
seemed to know what was proper to be done. The
women wrung their hands and wept, running wildly
from place to place; the elder burghers conversed in
doubting and dilatory consultations; and the young
men of the Port vented their anger in loud cries for
vengeance against the perpetrators of the outrage,—
suggesting as many plans of pursuit as there were
varying rumours of the retreat of the invaders, and
calling loudly to be led into immediate action.
“The Olive Branch did not slip off so quietly on
a harmless flight,” said Nicholas Verbrack, the lieutenant
of the fort, as he stood in the midst of some
eight or ten companions, on a bluff bank which, near
the middle of the town, gave a view of the whole
extent of the river. “I ever thought that there was
something too saucy both in the craft and in her
Skipper, to have either of them accounted honest
dealers in the Port.”
“Honest dealers!” exclaimed Master Wiseman,—
one of the five aldermen who were elected every
two years to preserve the corporate franchise of
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[figure description] Page 224.[end figure description]
the city, and who contrived to make up for the
want of official duty by a redundancy of official importance;
“Honest dealers, forsooth! That fellow
Cocklescraft hath ever been under the suspicion of
the board. We have noted him, masters: but what
could we do when his Lordship hath ever been personally
present in the city, and hath, I may say, encouraged
the fellow as a trader,—because, forsooth,
his custom helped to fill the exchequer of the province.
Morals before money has always been my
song; but it is preaching to a degenerate age—what
have we to expect?”
“And the women,” added Peregrine Cadger, “the
women ran away with the man's wits. Why, mark
you, sirs—what man, I would ask, but would grow
bold and freakish,—ay, and wicked,—who has wife,
maid, and widow ever at his heels, singing and saying
all manner of flatteries, till, at last, one would
think they had no other note.”
“Oh, but it was horrible,—most aggravating and
miserable,—this taking off!” groaned Willy, the
fiddler. “Proudly and gladly would I have felt to
be taken in her stead! I would suffer every misfortune,—”
“And the worst of it is, Master Willy,” interrupted
Wise Watkin, “they have taken Mistress Bridget
Coldcale—that's a loss to the province:—I should
not lie if I said to the whole town.”
“Why stand prating and grieving like gossips at a
funeral,” said John Firebrace, the smith, “whilst all
the time the rascal thieves are putting more land and
water between them and us. I think their worships
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of the council are somewhat tedious over the matter;
they talk longer than is necessary,—or else that old
crop-limbed, vinegar-face, Rob of the Bowl, hath
more to tell, than commonly it is his habit. It is
special matter that has brought him to the Port
this morning. He knows more devil's-dealing than
it pleases him, at all times, to let his neighbour hear.
Yonder rides Master Verheyden, the Secretary,” he
added, as Albert now appeared at a distance directing
his course towards the mansion of the Proprietary;
“he may hasten matters. I would that they
would put us in the way of doing something to save
our poor young lady from the jaws of these sharks!”
The smith had scarcely ceased speaking when
Captain Dauntrees was seen coming towards the
group. Whilst he was yet some fifty paces off, he
called out to the Lieutenant,—
“Master Verbrack,—quickly get thee to the fort,
and march me instantly twenty men down to the
quay. See that they be provided, Lieutenant, with
all things necessary for service. Lose no time; but
away.”
The Lieutenant instantly departed, and the Captain
approaching the assemblage, continued,—
“John Firebrace, get thy horse, man, and thy
weapon. Colonel Talbot rides down the opposite
bank of the river, with a score of good fellows at his
heels. He counts upon you and your friends. Meet
him quickly on the common behind the Town House.”
These orders, hastily given, separated the company;
and every one now hied towards the places
appointed for these gatherings.
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Already Colonel Talbot was on horseback collecting
some of the more active young men of the town:
and in an incredibly brief space—for in truth most
of them were expecting the summons—a troop of
some twenty were assembled, ready to follow wherever
he should command. Amongst these were
Arnold de la Grange and old Pamesack, both equipped
and mounted after their accustomed fashion, in a
manner that might have provoked a smile from the
furred, and laced, and feathered cavalry of more
orderly armies, but which, we may venture to believe,
was quite as effective as a more gaudy furniture.
Last in this marshaled array, came Albert Verheyden,
pale, breathless, and almost frenzied with the
narrative he had just heard of the disasters of the
night. He staid at the mansion but long enough to
substitute a more active horse for the clumsy animal
on which he had made his journey to the town; and
then hastened to join the party who were about to
be ferried across the river, and to scour the country
along the opposite shore.
Meantime the musqueteers arrived at the quay,
where two barges being in readiness, the men were
separated into equal divisions, and, very soon after
sunrise, were embarked under the respective charge
of Dauntrees and the Lieutenant, who, with all expedition,
shaped their course towards the islands at the
mouth of the river.
Talbot despatched a half dozen of the party to
scour the shore of the Potomac below St. Inigoe's:
the rest, under his own command, and attended by
Albert, were transported to the opposite side of St.
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Mary's river, by every boat that could be mustered
for such a service: and being now collected on the
further bank, sprang forward, at the orders of their
leader, on their career of duty, with an alacrity which
showed how deeply they took to heart the outrage
which it was now their purpose to chastise.
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CHAPTER XV.
[figure description] Page 228.[end figure description]
She turned her right and round about,
And she swore by the mold,
“I would not be your love,” said she
“For that church full of gold.”
He turned him right and round about,
And he swore by the mass,
Says—“lady, ye my love shall be,
And gold ye shall have less.”
Old Ballad.
When Cocklescraft and his crew had again doubled
the point of St. Inigoe's, on their retreat, the sail of the
yawl was spread before the breeze, and she skimmed
the waves like a bird of the sea. Blanche had yet
scarcely shown signs of animation, except in the
low and smothered moan that escaped from beneath
the folds of the cloak which, with an officious care,
the leader of the pirate gang had disposed for the
protection of her person from the cold. Beside her
crouched the housekeeper, sobbing and sighing and
uttering ejaculations of alarm—one moment for her
own fate—at the next, for the lot of her young
lady,—and at intervals shrieking with a causeless
terror, as the little bark, bending to the wind, dipped
the end of her sail into the wave.
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The seamen, now released from the oars, were
called to the care of their bleeding comrades. Roche
del Carmine, the mate, was already dead, and the
other writhed in the torments of an unstaunched
wound. The band were too familiar with the accidents
of war to be much moved by the fate of their
companions, and accordingly, after applying a bandage
to the hurt of the living man, and merely disposing
the body of the dead one in a position least inconvenient
to themselves, they assumed that gleesome
indifference to the hazards of their condition, which
has ever been a characteristic trait of the hardened
and reckless temper engendered by the discipline of
the Buccaneer's life.
The beams of the sun had begun to bicker on the
face of the waters when the fugitives reached the
island of St. George's, the first of those few scattered
islands in the Potomac which passed under the general
name of the Heron Islands. During this brief
voyage, Cocklescraft had in vain endeavoured to
soothe the maiden with kind words and protestations
that no harm should befall her. He took her cold
hand and it quivered in his grasp; and when he released
it, it fell lifeless back upon her bosom: he laid
his palm upon her brow, and a clammy moisture bespoke
the agony that wrung it.
“Dame,” he said, addressing Mistress Coldcale;
“thou art better skilled than I, in these woman
qualms,—look to thy lady, and tell me of what she
may stand in need. Thou shalt take her presently
on board of the brigantine, and the whole vessel, if
she require it, shall be given up to her comfort.”
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“She stands in need of her father's house,” replied
the dame, with more spirit than she might have
been thought, from her previous fright, to possess.
“She stands in need of friendly faces and kind hearts:—
her soul is bowed down by misery. She will never
open her eyes again, never, never—unless it be to
look upon the friends from whom you have stole her.
Oh, Master Cocklescraft—you have broken bread
under her father's roof and have sat in the warmth
of his fireside—his old eyes have looked kindly upon
you, and he has spoken words of welcome that have
gone to your heart with a blessing in the very sound
of them:—how can you heap torments on the head
of his child? In sorrow and wailing have you borne
her away, and she will quickly wither in your hand:—
you have stolen a flower that dies in the cropping.
And oh, her grey-haired father!—with a broken
heart, you have cast him down to the tomb.”
“By St. Mary, woman, but I honour, love and
cherish the maid!” returned Cocklescraft. “Have I
not loved her long, as never father loved her,—
thought of her on the wide waters of the ocean,
under every sun;—dreamed of her night after night,
in many a weary voyage;—borne her image before
me in storm and battle, in the chase and in the flight,
beneath the stars in the dead hour of midnight, and
at the feast at high noon? Have I not made honourable
petition for her, from her father—and been refused
with scorn and foul insult? And have I not
now, at last, entrapped her as gently as she doth the
winter bird that seeks a crumb upon her window
sill? By my faith, fairly have I won her, and
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proudly will I wear her, dame! Her father!—I owe him
nothing for his kindly greeting and warm fireside,
and breaking of bread: he hath paid himself by his
disdain and mockery of my suit. Have I not there,”
he added, speaking with an angry vehemence and
pointing towards the bow of the boat—“given the
life-blood of two of my best and bravest comrades
to the old man's wrath,—and yet did I not myself turn
aside the blow that would have laid him upon the
floor of his own hall?”
“Better that he had so fallen,” replied the dame,
“than live to witness what his old eyes saw last
night. Better that he died outright, than live to lose
his child.”
“Be silent, woman,” exclaimed the Skipper, “if
thou canst not give me fairer speech. When this anger
is gone, and the maiden is more resigned, I will
speak to you—not now. To your oars, good fellows,”
he said in a calmer tone to the seamen, as
with the rising sun the breeze had fallen away and
the sail flapped loosely against the mast. “We must
pass through this narrow strait to the opposite side
of the islands:—we shall find the brigantine there at
anchor.”
A confined and crooked channel, scarce above a
pistol shot wide from shore to shore, divided the two
islands immediately across the mouth of St. Mary's
river, and afforded a passage for a light boat between.
These islands, thickly timbered to the water's
edge, effectually prevented, by their forest screen,
the voyager along the inner shore from discerning
the largest vessel which might be in the river beyond.
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It was, therefore, with undoubting confidence in the
certainty of finding the Escalfador at her appointed
ground, that the leader of these rude Argonauts
commanded his men to labour at the oar whilst they
shot through the strait I have described.
When they emerged upon the open river, on the
outer side of the islands, the sun, looming through
the thick autumnal haze, shot his fiery beam over
the broad sheet of water, without disclosing to the
anxiously-searching eye of Cocklescraft trace of
brig or boat or sail of any kind. His vision, however,
was circumscribed within a narrow horizon;—
for the mist which, at this season, broods over the
landscape,—the forerunner of a genial day—scarce
brought within the compass of his observation the
nearer points of the mainland, and effectually shut
out all more distant objects;—a circumstance which,
however embarrassing to his present inspection, had
so far been favourable to his escape from the prying
eye of the sentinel on the look-out station of the Fort
of St. Mary's.
“Ha!—twice have I been fooled by that old dotard
of St. Jerome's,” he peevishly murmured, when,
after straining his sight in every direction, he became
aware that the brigantine was no where to be
seen; “he hath overslept himself, forsooth,—or must
stay to mumble a paternoster, or tell his beads.
Why did I trust a laggard with this enterprise! But
that I spoke somewhat hastily and with temper to
him last night, and would not have his displeasure,
I would have seen him gibbeted e'er I would have
given the brigantine into his charge. Yet he is
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trusty,—and hath a devil's spice in him that fits him
somewhat for such an outcome, too. He will be here
anon;—the wind has left him,—and what he had was
in his teeth: the Escalfador makes not such way as
may keep pace with my longings. Patience for a
season,—and meantime we will land on the island,
comrades, and wait for our crippled admiral.”
With this intimation he steered directly upon the
beach. “John of Brasil,” he continued; “use your
time to scoop a grave for our comrade Roche, and
see him bestowed with such honour as belongs to a
Brother of the Coast. Joseph, thou and a messmate
will kindle a fire under yonder oak—these women
are frozen into a dead silence. Harry Skelton, get
to the lower end of the island, and there keep watch
upon the river, and report every thing that comes in
sight. Now, Mistress Bridget, thou and our lady
Blanche shall have sway over the whole island;—
the lady shall be an empress and thou her maid of
honour. See, how quickly preferment comes! You
have your liberty, pretty Rose of St. Mary's—so
cheer up, and make a fair use of it.”
To this ill-timed jocularity the maiden yielded no
reply; and the Skipper believing that, upon being
left alone with Mistress Coldcale, she would perhaps
relent into a more tractable tone of feeling, quitted
the boat with the seamen who had gone to execute
his several orders, and thus abandoned the two females
to themselves.
“Alack, alack!” sobbed Blanche, as she raised
her head and then dropped it on the lap of the
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housekeeper; “dear Bridget, what will become of us? I
shall die, I shall die!—my poor father!”
“Poor indeed, mistress,” replied the dame. “If
we are not rescued, he will never hold up his head
after the loss of his child. Oh, if our townspeople
would but follow,—as I trust in the saints they will!”
“Is there a chance of it,” exclaimed Blanche,
“good Bridget, is there a chance of it?”
“Ay, truly, my dear young lady,—good and reasonable
hope that these villains have been watched
and will be followed. Be of good cheer, and trust
in Heaven. This bloodhound thought to find his
vessel at the island, but the saints have befriended
us, and the vessel has not yet come. All will go
well, mistress,—such wicked men shall not prevail
against the shield of innocence.”
“The fire blazes cheerily, Mistress Coldcale—I
pray thee intreat our lady to come ashore,” called
out Cocklescraft from a distance.
“Arouse thee, child, I shall be at thy side,” said
the dame; “it may be discreet not to provoke the
Skipper—he is a harsh man and may be rude, if we
be stubborn.”
“Mother of Grace, sustain me!” said Blanche, as
her frame shook from head to foot, and she grasped
the arm of her friendly attendant. “Even as thou
shalt advise, I walk, Bridget—I pray thee hold me,”
she added, as, raising herself on her feet, her loose
and disordered tresses fell over her wan cheek and
covered her breast and shoulders. “Oh, God, this
trial will craze my brain!”
“Do not sink, dear child—thou needest fire, and
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this barbarous Captain hath provided it—pray thee,
be of stout heart, and trust in coming help.”
Encouraged by the support of her companion,
Blanche feebly tottered towards the bow of the boat,
and thence landed on the beach. Whilst she leaned
upon Mistress Coldcale's arm and advanced towards
the fire, Cocklescraft came forward to meet her; and
as he was about to address her in that tone of light
salutation in which he had heretofore spoken, he was
arrested in his first words, by the maiden finging
herself upon her knees, immediately at his feet, and
looking up in his face with her eyes bedimmed with
tears, as she cried out for mercy—
“Spare me!” she exclaimed—“Oh, spare a
wretched girl, who has never imagined thought,
nor spoken word of harm against you. Save me
from a broken heart and bewildered brain—from
misery, ruin and disgrace! If I, or any friend of
mine have ever given you offence, on my knees and
in the dust, I intreat forgiveness:—pardon,—pardon
a fault whereof I have ever been unconscious. If
one touch of pity dwell in your bosom, oh think of
the miserable being at your feet and send her back to
her home. Land me but on yonder shore, and I will,
morning and evening, remember you in prayers and
invoke blessings on your head!”
“This posture doth not become our queen,” said
Cocklescraft, stooping to raise the maiden to her
feet, who shrinking from his touch crouched still
lower to the earth. “This is but a foolish sorrow.
Do I not love thee, Blanche? Ay, by the virgin!
and mean to do well by thee. I have stuffs of price
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on board the Escalfador, which shall trick thee out
as gloriously as a queen indeed:—our dame here,
shall ply her skill at the needle to set thee forth quickly.
And then that pretty robe of crimson and minever
which unthinkingly you did refuse, you shall
wear it yet, girl. I have chains of gold and jewels
rare, to make you gay as gaudiest flower of the field.
I will bear you to an enchanted island, where slaves
shall bend before you to do your bidding, and where
you shall have store of wealth to scatter with such
profusion as in dreams you have never even fancied.
We will abide in a sea-girt tower upon a sunny cliff,
and through your window shall the breeze from the
beautiful, blue Atlantic fan you to evening slumbers.
My gay bark shall be your servant, and ride, at your
command, upon the wave; whilst our merry men
shall take tribute from all the world, that thou mayst
go braver and more daintily. Cheer up, weeping
mistress; your mishap is not so absolute as at first
you feared. Thy hand, lass!”
Blanche sprang to her feet with a sudden energy,
and retreating a pace from her persecutor, cast upon
him a look of resolute and indignant pride:
“Base wretch,” she said, “I dare to spurn your
suit. Defenceless as I stand here, a weak and captive
maid,—if it be the last word I have to utter,—I
abhor you, and your loathsome offer.” Then relapsing
into that tone of grief from which this momentary
impulse had drawn her, she added, “Did you think—
did you think, Master Cocklescraft, when you stole
me from my father's house, that fair speech from you,
or promise of gold, could win me to be your wife?
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Oh, sir, if, in that error, you have heaped the sin of
this deed upon your soul, quickly learn that not all
the gold of all the mines, nor longest wooing, nor
promise of a kingdom, if that were yours to give,
might persuade me,—though the speaking of the
word should lift me from abject misery or the pangs
of death,—to give a favourable word to your suit.
With holy faith and saddest reverence, I call my
guardian, the ever-blessed virgin Therese, to hear my
vow;—I never will be thine.”
“A boat, a boat!” cried out the voice of the man
at the lower point of the island,—and instantly this
painful interview was at an end. The seamen had
since their landing been busy in depositing the body
of the mate in a shallow grave, and had just set up a
wooden cross, formed of the boughs of trees, to mark
the spot, when the alarm from the look-out reached
them. Cocklescraft repaired, with all haste, to the
end of the island, and was soon aware, not only of
the boat to which the seaman alluded, but also of a
second of the same description, dimly seen in the
haze, at no great distance behind the first. They
were both holding their course towards the mouth of
St. Mary's river, close on the eastern margin, as if
their purpose were to proceed down the Potomac.
St. George's Island lay abreast the opposite or western
shore, and it was therefore necessary for these
boats, if they were destined for the island, to take a
course nearly across the entire breadth of the river
at its mouth. As, at the moment when first descried,
they gave no indication of such a purpose, Cocklescraft,
(who did not doubt that these were parties in
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pursuit of him) began to assure himself that his retreat
to the island was not discovered, and that his
pursuers were most probably bound to St. Jerome's.
Again he cast a troubled eye over the waters, in the
hope to perceive the brigantine, for which, at this
moment, he looked with increased solicitude, as he
had reason to apprehend that, on her voyage up the
Potomac, she must pass the boats that were apparently
on their voyage downward. For some time,
he gazed keenly abroad in silence, or muttering only
inaudible curses on the delay of Rob with the Escalfador,
and on his own folly in committing the vessel
to the Cripple's guidance. It was not long before the
boats had reached the Potomac. Here, instead of
shaping their further voyage, as the Skipper had
been led to expect, towards the Chesapeake, they
took the opposite course and stood directly for the
island. They were near enough to make it apparent
to Cocklescraft that each was filled with armed men,
and if any doubts of their hostile purpose had existed
before, it now became altogether unquestionable.
Hastening towards the spot where the yawl was
drawn up on the strand, the buccaneer ordered his
crew immediately to their posts. Blanche and Mistress
Bridget were forced to take their former seats,
and the boat being shoved off, was directed towards
the point of land opposite the western extremity of
the upper island,—then only known as a nameless
sandy flat, thinly covered with pines, but of late rendered
somewhat more familiar to public repute, by
the comfortable accommodation with which it has
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been provided as a place of refuge against the heats
of summer, and for the luxury of its bathing.
“By St. Iago, we are hotly followed!” said the
retreating and anxious rover, as he now measured
the size of the barges with his eye, whilst they shot
out from behind the cover of the extreme eastern
point of the islands and disclosed themselves in
full pursuit; “and with swift craft, well manned.
The devil hath sent us a dead calm,—otherwise, with
this rag of canvass, I would show these lurchers the
trick of a sea-fight: as it is, we must give them a clean
pair of heels. Oh, that my good brigantine were
here! I would defy twenty barges, and sweep through
them all. Lustily, good fellows! slacken not:—halter
and harquebuss are on our track; we die by hemp or
leaden bullet if we are overtaken—so pull amain.
You have been in as great straits before and found
a lucky ending. We shall see Rob anon, when this
mist shall lift its curtain: and, once in sight of our
good bark, we shall fight our way to her side.
Courage, friends!”
In this strain of exhortation, Cocklescraft spoke at
intervals to his men, whilst anxiously looking to the
rear he watched the progress of his pursuers and
seemed to count every wave that broke against their
bows. Not even his experienced eye could tell which
of the struggling rivals in this race had the swiftest
keel. So intense became the competition that soon
all other cares were absorbed in the engrossing
thought of the escape. The boat's crew fell into
silence, and when the necessary orders were delivered
they were spoken in the low tone of familiar
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conversation, as if the speakers were afraid they might
be overheard by the enemy in their wake. If the
concern of the leader and his crew in their present
condition was eager, still more did it awaken the
feelings of Blanche Warden and Mistress Bridget.
The maiden seemed to have forgotten her tears; occupied
with a more absorbing emotion than her grief,
she found herself renovated in strength, and by degrees
assuming an upright posture in the boat, whence,
with an ardent and unblenching gaze, she kept her
eye fixed upon the barges that came like angel-messengers
to her deliverance.
Two miles or more yet lay between the parties in
the chase. Cocklescraft steered towards the upper
headland of Piney Point—to use its modern designation—
and reaching this, found a long sweep of the
river ahead of him, bounded by a smooth strand unmarked
by creek or inlet. At one moment he thought
of running for the Virginia shore, and there, by doubling
back upon his pursuers, aim to win the Capes of
Potomac, in the hope of meeting the Escalfador; but
he could not count sufficiently on the speed of his
boat to risk so dangerous a hazard.—
“If I can but keep my way till night, I shall baffle
these hounds upon my track;” he said, in pondering
over the emergency. “A weary day it is before
me, and a long run till night. Perchance, I may
meet some stouter craft upon the water, some up
river trader, whom I may easily master,—and once on
a broader deck, I will fight these landsmen with all
their odds against me. Or, at the worst, I shall run
ashore, if I am pressed, and take to the thicket,
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where at least, till day be done, I may lie concealed,
and after find my way to the Chapel.”
In this perplexity and doubt he still pursued his
voyage. The point which he had passed momentarily
screened him from the view of his pursuers;
but in due time the barges were again seen across
the white sandy flat, apparently, by the effect of that
optical deception which may be observed on a low
shore, raised above the level of the land and looming
to twice their natural size.
“They come, they come—Heaven be praised,
they gain upon us!” involuntarily ejaculated Blanche,
as she rose from her seat and gazed across the extremity
of the point.
“Not so fast, my merry queen,” said Cocklescraft,
for the moment attracted by the lively utterance of
the maiden; “they do not gain upon us, mistress: you
forget that they must weather the point by that same
circuit which you may see traced by our wake.
Thou wilt be a better sailor anon. Steadily, good
lads! do not overwork yourselves; we are likely to
have a long run of it.”
Now, for some miles, the chase continued with
little diminution of the space between the parties.
At length it began to be perceptible that the barges
drew nearer to the object of their pursuit: the shortened
stroke of the oar denoted the flagging strength
of the labouring Buccaneer, whilst the unabated
vigour of the pursuers showed that the chase was
urged by men enured to the toil of rowing. Still,
there was the energy of desperate men in the force
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with which the flying band held on their way, and
Cocklescraft did not yet abandon the hope of wearying
down the strength of those from whom he fled.
Another hour, and the barges still crept up nearer to
their chase. A death-like stillness prevailed on board
the latter, broken only by the monotonous dipping of
the oar and its dull jar upon the boat, as the seaman,
with unvarying time, turned it in the row-lock and
repeated his stroke. Still nearer came the barges
and nearer, with fearful certainty.
“They come within musket shot!” exclaimed
Cocklescraft. “To the land, boys! we must even
fight them on the land.”
“Back your oars!” cried out Dauntrees, from the
leading barge: “back, and lay to, or by St. Michael,
I fire!”
A scream from Bridget Coldcale was, for a moment,
the only answer that reached the ears of the
Captain.
“To your feet, mistress!” said Cocklescraft, as
seizing Blanche by the arm he placed her erect in
the boat. “Fire at your peril!” was the reply he
now gave to the accost of his enemy; “my crew
sail under the protection of the Rose of St. Mary's.
Have your weapons at hand!” he added, addressing
his men; “we must e'en leave our boat, and this
precious freight to these land-rats, and take to the
wood. You cannot call me cruel, pretty maiden,—
for I give you up, in pure courtesy, to your friends.
You will remember the Master of the Esealfador as
a gallant who would have made you mistress of as
pretty a dowry as ever won maiden's good will.
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We have had a merry morning of it, lady—I would
it had been longer—but these churls behind forbid it:
so, without more ceremony in the leave-taking—for
thou seest I must needs be in haste—fare thee well,
girl! Even without asking this favour, I kiss thy
cheek. To the shore, lads!”
As he spoke, and made good his word by stooping
over the maiden and enforcing her submission to this
parting token of his gallantry, the boat struck the
sand, and, in an instant, leader and crew had sprung
into the shallow water and bounded to the shore,
leaving but their wounded comrade and the maiden
with her faithful companion on board of the boat.
A volley was discharged from the nearest barge at
the fugitives, but the result served to show that the
common deception of distance on the water had
misled the party who fired: the balls fell short of
their mark, and the persons aimed at were soon out
of sight in the forest that covered the shore.
Upon the land side an enterprise was afoot of
almost equal excitement to that upon the water.
The party of horsemen that had crossed with Colonel
Talbot to the opposite shore of St. Mary's River,
submitting to the guidance of Arnold de la Grange
and his old Indian comrade, were conducted along
a path which threaded the thickets lying around the
head of an inlet, that now bears the name of St.
George's, and thence took a course down the peninsula
towards Piney Point. Whilst galloping upon
the further margin of the inlet by which the eastern
side of the peninsula was formed, and yet two miles
from the point, they perceived the yawl of Cockles
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[figure description] Page 244.[end figure description]
craft stretching across from the islands towards the
main. A halt was immediately called by the commander
of the party, and they were ordered to
screen themselves and their horses from observation
amongst the wild shrubbery of the spot.
“It is even as the Cripple of St. Jerome's told us,”
said Talbot. “This is the boat of the Olive Branch
with her thieving knaves. You may know the Skipper,
Master Verheyden, by his flat bonnet and scarlet
jacket. See, he looks sternward and waves his hand
to his rowers as if he would hasten their speed.”
“And I see the forms of cowering females at his
feet,” added Albert. “The boat makes for the point.
A blessing on the day!—these marauders design to
land. Oh, happy chance that we are here! let us
not delay to set upon them.”
“Hold, Master Secretary! be not too eager,” replied
the leader. “Think you they will land, if they
see us lying at lurch to attack them? No, no! our
honest friend of the Bowl hath stolen away their
brigantine, and the cheated felons, all agaze at their
mishap, are now seeking a hiding place where they
may abide till night, and then, perchance, repair their
misfortune by some other villany. We should mar
our best hope if they but catch a glimpse of us. So,
quiet, gentlemen; your impatience shall find action
soon enough e'er we get home again. Ah, good
luck, friends! see how bravely sets the wind of our
fortune; yonder comes old Jasper Dauntrees, like a
trusty comrade, hot in chance, with his barge trimmed
to the nicety of an arrow's feathering. He follows
close in the wake of the Freebooter—and at his
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heels, by my faith, there opens now, from behind the
point of the island, his second party. Push for it, old
friend! The good powers cheer thee in thy race!”
“Master Cocklescraft,” said Arnold, “will not be
so fool-hardy as to land on that deep sand with two
helpless women to take care of, whilst he has a soldier
like Captain Dauntrees to track his march.”
“You are right, Arnold,” returned Talbot, after
watching the leading boat for a space; “the Skipper
steers wide of the beach, and means to make a run of
it up the river: he is already passing by the point.
Gentlemen, to horse again! we will get back towards
the highland and there keep even speed with the
chace, and, like well trained hawks, stoop upon our
quarry in the nick of time. Beware the open ground,
that the Skipper may not see us on the heights.”
In obedience to this command, the party set out
quickly, by a retrograde movement, towards the upland
which, although somewhat remote from the
river, gave them, at frequent intervals, where the
cleared forest allowed, an extensive range of river
view. Having gained this height, they traversed it
in a line parallel to the course of the shore, ever directing
their anxious eyes to the fierce contention
between the boats for mastery in the race. Occasionally,
in this progress, ravines were to be passed,
a piece of marshy land to be avoided, or an open
field, which might expose the party to the view of
the boatmen, to be shunned. In all such passages of
the journey, the services of Pamesack and of Arnold
de la Grange contributed greatly to the speed with
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which this scouting company were enabled to keep
pace with the rapid flight of the boats. With deep
and intense speculation did the horsemen watch the
progress of the chace, and measure the distance between
the fugitives and their pursuers. Albert Verheyden,
almost counting the strokes of the Skipper's
oars as their wet blades flashed the sunbeams upon
his sight, rode, for some time in despairing silence.
“He loses not an inch!” he breathed to himself, as
his thought ran upon the Freebooter's chance of
evading his enemies; “he has men at the oar used to
the sleight, and he will tire down his pursuers.”
Again he gazed, and with no better hope. But when,
after losing sight of the river for a long space whilst
the party galloped over a piece of wooded low ground,
he came again in view of the boats, joy beamed from
every feature of his face as he exclaimed to his companions,
“We advance upon his flight and shorten
the space between! The Skipper grows weary of his
labour:—thanks to the Captain and his noble comrades,
the day begins to brighten on our enterprise.”
“We will halt here,” said Talbot, reining up his
steed upon a summit which commanded a near view
of that region, recognised at the present day as Medley's
Neck; “the game is nearly run down—and presently
will come our time to speak a word of comfort
to this renegade spoiler. He strains for yonder
point, as if there he meant to land. By the body of
Saint Ignatius! it is a wise choice he has made. We
have him, if his folly be so bold as to touch that
strand—we have him in a trap. He comes—he
comes, driving headlong into our hands. Follow!”
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Without waiting to marshal his troop, and even
without looking behind, Talbot spurred his horse to
a gallop, and plunged into the forest which covered
the lowland even down to the river brink.
As Cocklescraft and his band deserted their boat
and fled into the wood, Dauntrees with the barges
drove rapidly in upon the shore. A loud huzza from
his men announced the recapture of the maiden and
Mistress Bridget. The Captain himself, by the aid
of a boat-hook, made a spring from his barge with
an agility that would not have passed unapplauded
even at an earlier period of his life, and was the first
to board the Skipper's abandoned yawl.
“God bless thee, gentle damsel!” he exclaimed as
he eagerly seized Blanche by both hands and almost
lifted her into his arms, whilst the maiden, with
scarce less alacrity,—her eyes laughing through the
big drops that rolled down her cheeks,—threw her
head upon his breast, and sobbed with convulsive
joy—“God bless thee, dear Mistress Blanche! we
will make your father a happy man again. And you,
old sweetheart, Bridget, they would have stolen you
away! By my troth, that Trojan war and rape of
Helen the poets tell of, was but a scurvy adventure
compared with this!—Lieutenant,” he added, almost
in the same breath, “leave six files with our oarsmen
to guard the boats; and see that they draw off from
the shore into a fathom water, there to await our
signal when we return. The rest of the men will
push forward on the track of the runaways. Follow,
comrades; we have no time to lose.”
As the Captain spoke, he was already pushing his
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way into the wood, on the footsteps of the retreating
pirates, at the head of some dozen files of musqueteers.
In another moment, the two females were left alone
with the boats and their appointed guard.
“Spread yourselves across the neck,” said Arnold
de la Grange, as with a small division of the horsemen
he had now reached a position not more than
half a mile from the Point. “Pamesack, creep down
on the shore of Britton's Bay, and report whatever
comes in sight. The first man who finds the enemy
will discharge his firelock. Scatter, gentlemen, scatter.”
This little party of scouts were at the next moment
extending their line across the extremity of Medley's
Neck, and cautiously drawing towards the Point.
Some distance in their rear was to be seen Talbot
and the rest of the horsemen moving at a walk, in a
compact body, upon the trail of the ranger's advance,
and silently awaiting the signal by which they
were to be guided to the quarter where their attack
was to be made. After a short period of suspense,
the report of a carbine, from the direction taken by
Pamesack, arrested the general attention, and, on the
instant, Albert, with three or four companions, set off
at high speed towards the spot. On reaching the
margin of the little bay which formed one confine of
the neck of land, he discovered, advancing at a quick
pace, though yet some distance off, the handful of
men whom the wild adventure of the Skipper had
brought into these desperate circumstances. They
were in close array, armed with pikes, and led forward
by their reckless captain. The confidence with
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which they hurried upon their march seemed to indicate
an unconsciousness of any foe except the party
in their rear. This conviction was now instantly
changed, as they became aware of the presence of
Verheyden and his friends. Staggered by this unexpected
disclosure, they were observed to halt for a
moment, as if to receive some counsel from their
chief, and then to advance with a steadiness that indicated
prompt and desperate resolve. Their ranks
were formed with more precision; their pace gradually
quickened, as they came nearer to their enemy;
and having approached so near as to enable
either side to hear the commands of the other, Albert
could distinctly recognize the voice of Cocklescraft
exhorting them to the onset. In another moment, they
set up the war-cry which they had learned from the
Spaniards of the Gulf, and which had grown to be
their own, from the recollections of the bloody frays
with which it was associated—“A la savanna, perros!—
to the field, dogs!”—and thus shouting, anticipated
the attack of their enemies by themselves
striking the first blow.
Talbot had delayed to follow Verheyden, only until
he could assure himself that the signal shot truly announced
the presence of Cocklescraft's party. This
was rendered certain by a messenger who rode back
to report the fact, and, without loss of time, the commander
of the troop repaired to the scene of the
assault. The pirates had already forced the little
party of horsemen to give ground, when Talbot
reached the spot.
“Upon them, gentlemen,” he cried aloud, without
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[figure description] Page 250.[end figure description]
halting to form his men; and, in an instant was seen,
opening his way through the pikes of the buccaneers
with his sword. Albert Verheyden, leading on the
little band of untrained cavalry, followed with impetuous
haste in the track of his commander. The
compact array of the pirates being broken, a confused
pell-mell fight ensued, with sword, pike and
pistol, which was marked by various success. Two
or three of the horsemen were thrown to the ground,
and as many of the seamen slain. Albert's horse was
killed by a pistol-shot, and the rider for a moment was
brought into imminent peril. Cocklescraft, animated
as much by revenge, as by a determination to sell
his life at a dear price, no sooner perceived the prostrate
Secretary than he sprang upon him, and would
have done the work of death, if Arnold de la Grange,
who had followed Albert's footsteps through the fray,
had not thrown himself from his horse and rushed to
his comrade's rescue. he arrived in time to avert
the stroke of the Skipper's sword, by interposing his
carbine, and, at the same moment, seized Cocklescraft
by the shoulder and dragged him backward to the
earth. The active seaman was, in an instant, again
upon his feet, but before he could renew the fight
with effect, he found himself overwhelmed by the
musqueteers, whose unobserved approach now put
an end to the struggle.
“Hands off!” exclaimed Cocklescraft, shaking from
him some two or three assailants, who had now crowded
upon him, as the blood of a recent wound over the
eye trickled down his cheek; “hemmed in and overnumbered,
I surrender:—you may do with me as you
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will—I ask no favours at your hands.” And saying
this, he flung his sword, with a moody and sullen
anger, upon the ground. “A fairer field on land or
water, and by St. Iago! we would have disputed it
with you till set of sun. We came not prepared for
this fight—we have neither arms nor ammunition to
cope with an equal force, much less with the swarm
that you have brought on horse and foot against this
little boat's crew. Take your victory and make the
best of it!”
“Silence!” said Dauntrees with the habitual calmness
of an old soldier: “Call your men to the foot of
yonder tree, or I may prick them thither with a halbert.”
Under a chestnut hard by, the remnant of the buccaneers,
amounting to not more than seven men beside
their leader, were assembled. Some of them
bore the marks of the severity of the conflict in
wounds upon their persons. Three of the Skipper's
men were found dead upon the field. Their opponents
had escaped with better fortune. Two only
were found severely though, it was believed, not
mortally wounded;—a few others slightly. A guard
was detailed to conduct the prisoners to the boat;
the dead were hastily buried in the wood, and the
wounded borne on the shoulders of their comrades to
the point of embarcation.
It was already afternoon when victors and vanquished
were bestowed in due order in the boats.
The horsemen had by this time set forward on their
homeward journey, eager to report the good tidings
of the day. The captured yawl, manned with a
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proper complement of rowers, was consigned to the
maiden and her faithful Bridget, attended by the Secretary
and Captain Dauntrees—the former of whom,
we may imagine, had many things to say to the
maiden, which, however agreeable to the narrator,
would make but dull entertainment on our pages.
All matters being now disposed for sailing, the
squadron of boats, led by the yawl, put off in order
from the shore, and, with moderate speed, bent their
course towards the anxious little city.
Before sundown the maiden was placed in her father's
longing arms on the little wharf of the Rose
Croft, and, in due time, the prisoners were marched
through a crowd of gaping townspeople into the Fort
of St. Mary's.
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CHAPTER XVI.
[figure description] Page 253.[end figure description]
No more the slave of human pride,
Vain hope and sordid care,
I meekly vow'd to spend my life
In penitence and prayer.
The Hermit of Warkworth.
Oh were I free, as I have been,
And my ship swimming once more on the sea,
I'd turn my face to fair England,
And sail no more to a strange country.
Old Ballad.
During the day occupied by the events narrated
in the last chapter, the Cripple of St. Jerome's remained
in the dwelling of father Pierre. His misanthropy
had relaxed into a kinder tone, and contrition
had spread a sadness over his mind. In this temper
he had made his shrift, and abjured the lawless life
and evil fellowship into which his passions had
plunged him, and now offered up a sincere and
needful vow of penitence, to which he was resolved
to devote the scant remainder of his days. The good
priest did not fail to encourage the convertite in his
wholesome purpose nor to aid him with such ghostly
counsel as was likely to strengthen his resolution. At
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the period of life to which the Cripple had attained,
it is no difficult task to impress upon the mind the
value of such a resolution. When age and satiety
have destroyed the sense of worldly pleasure, the
soul finds a nourishment in the consolations of religion,
to which it flies with but slight persuasion; and
however volatile and self-dependent youth may deride
it, the aged are faithful witnesses to the truth,
that in the Christian faith there is a spell to restore
the green to the withered vegetation of the heart,
even as the latter rain renovates the pastures of
autumn.
The Proprietary had directed the brigantine to be
brought from Mattapany to St. Mary's, and she had,
in consequence, been anchored in the harbour, a
short distance from the quay, before Dauntrees had
returned from his late expedition: the men left by
Cocklescraft to navigate her were held on board as
prisoners, under a small guard from the Mattapany
Fort. The provincial court, the chief judicial authority
of the government, had assembled on the same
day, with the intention to continue its sessions until
the cases of the conspirators were disposed of. The
sitting of this court had attracted, from all quarters
of the province, an unusually large crowd of attendants;
and the town was accordingly filled with farmers,
planters and craftsmen from the interior, who,
in character of suitors, witnesses, men of business, or
mere seekers of news, occupied every place of public
accommodation.
Such was the state of things at the close of the
day to which we have referred. The faction
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adverse to the Proprietary, notwithstanding the vigilance
with which they were watched, still found
means for private conference. A few of the principal
men who had not yet fallen under the suspicion
of the public authorities, assembled in familiar guise
under the roof of Chiseldine, and there consulted
upon their affairs. The hope of rescuing Fendall
and his companions by force, although somewhat
depressed by recent events, was not abandoned.
There were some sufficiently bold still to encourage
this enterprise, and they spoke confidently of the
assistance of friends, now in the port, who were
anxious to bring about an immediate conflict with the
Proprietary. It was deemed essential to the success
of this attempt that the Olive Branch should be got
into the possession of the conspirators: without the
aid of the brigantine, neither the escape of the prisoners,
nor the assistance of their confederates on
the opposite shore of the Potomac could be relied
on, even if all the other chances turned up favourably
to the design.
These topics were duly debated in conclave, and
the result was a determination to leave the enterprise
in the hands of those who had projected it, either to
be pursued or abandoned as the means at their command
might counsel. With this conclusion the restless
spirits, who had met at Chiseldine's, retired to
organise their plans amongst their kindred malcontents
throughout the town.
On the following morning when the hour for commencing
business drew nigh, an unwonted throng of
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customers frequented the tap-room of the Crow and
Archer. There was but little of that cheerfulness
which usually characterizes such a resort: the occupants
of the place seemed to be chiefly engaged with
matters that rendered them thoughtful, and their
conferences were held in under tones; many loitered
through the room in silence; and it was manifest
that the aspect of public affairs had impressed all
with a sense of the weightiness of the issues which
were pending. The concourse was no less conspicuous
upon the quay. Here little knots of burghers
and inland inhabitants, sorted according to the complexion
of their political sentiments, whether of hostility
or attachment to the Proprietary, were scattered
about in quiet communings, and exchanging distrustful
and hostile glances as they came within the sphere
of each other's observation. The yawl of the Skipper
lay secured to the wharf by a rope, and the
Escalfador, scarce a cable's length out in the stream,
was near enough to present to the view of the townspeople
the sentinels that paced her deck, and kept
guard over the remnant of the pirate band, who were
yet detained on board until their presence might be
required by the authorities.
The arrival of Lord Baltimore at the Town House
attended by Albert Verheyden and the greater number
of the members of the Council, as it indicated
his Lordship's intention to examine the prisoners in
person, served to increase the public interest in the
events of the day, and to draw a considerable portion
of the crowd into the immediate neighbourhood of
the Hall of Justice. The Proprietary with his friends
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took possession of a chamber opposite to that occupied
by the court, where they were soon joined by
the sturdy old Collector who, with an erect and vigorous
carriage, and a face flushed with mingled
resentment and pride of manhood aroused by the
recent events, rode up to the door and alighted
amidst the salutations of his townsmen and the clamorous
expressions of their joy at the good fortune
which had restored him his daughter. A brief interval
brought father Pierre, conducting Rob of the
Bowl, to the same spot, and by order of the Proprietary
they were both admitted into the chamber.
The prisoners had not yet arrived. In the mean
time the Council were occupied with such inquiries
as the presence of Albert Verheyden suggested.
The appearance and demeanour of the Cripple of
St. Jerome's engrossed the chief interest of the assembly.
His age, his deformity, his singularly harsh
and shrewd features, the extraordinary mystery of
his life, his connexion with the ruffians of the Chapel,
his apparent contrition, amounting to melancholy,—
above all, his presence in this conclave, amongst
persons with whom he had never before exchanged
a word, were circumstances of a nature to throw
around him the eager regard of the bystanders.
There was a peculiarly subdued and sorrowful expression
in his countenance, as he gazed with silent
intensity, upon the features of Albert Verheyden and
listened to his story of the disasters of that night
of horrors, in which Rob had first become acquainted
with him. The old man's lip quivered and
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his eye glistened with a tear, as he dwelt upon
the tones of the Secretary's voice, and watched the
changes of his countenance. At length, whilst the
Secretary still continued his eventful narrative, unable
longer to control his feelings or restrain his eagerness
to catch every word that fell from Albert's lips,
he heaved an involuntary but deep sigh, and muttered,
loud enough to be heard by every one in the
apartment—“Oh, God, I have been reserved for this
deed!—in mercy, have I been spared to save his
life.” After a pause, he added in a voice of loud
and fervent entreaty—“I pray you, gentlemen, raise
me to the table that I may look him nearer in the
face:—my eyes are old and dim;” he continued,
wiping away the tear with his hand,—“this seared
and maimed trunk holds me too near the earth;—it
hath placed me below my fellow man and taught my
spirit to grovel—to grovel,” he repeated with a bitter
emphasis—“in the very mire of the basest fellowship.—
Lift me on the table, I beseech you.—I
have saved his life!—the saints be thanked, I have
saved his life!” he uttered with a wild gesticulation.
“Albert, I had made up my mind to save it with loss
of my own!—I had, boy!”
The strange frenzy that for the time seemed to
possess the deformed old man, the wild glance of his
eye and the nervous tone, almost of raving laughter,
with which he ejaculated these last words, gave rise
to an instant doubt of the sanity of his mind; but in
a moment he subsided into a calmer state, and resumed
his original self-command.
Upon a sign from the Proprietary his request was
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complied with, and he was lifted upon the table that
occupied the middle of the room.
“Go on, boy,” he continued, as soon as he was
adjusted in this position; then suddenly checking
himself for the familiarity of the address, “I crave
pardon—I forget—Master Verheyden,” he added,
choking with the utterance of the name, as now within
a few feet of the Secretary he still more narrowly
gazed upon his face—“I pray thee, go on!”
When the Secretary had concluded his narrative,
a deep silence prevailed throughout the room, and all
eyes were bent upon the Cripple in expectation that
he had something to disclose which all were anxious
to hear. He however remained mute, still fixing his
gaze upon Albert; and when the Secretary casually
turned his back upon him, he reached forth his hand
and caught the skirt of the young man's cloak, with
an evidently unconscious motion, as if he sought by
this constraint to prevent the Secretary from leaving
him.
The Proprietary at length, as much struck with
the deportment of the Cripple as the rest who witnessed
it, and hoping to draw from him some history
of himself, addressed him in a tone in which the severity
of rebuke seemed to have been softened by
the anxious interest he took in the endeavour to learn
more of the singular person to whom he spoke. It
was therefore with a grave, though scarcely stern
manner that Lord Baltimore accosted him:
“Master Robert Swale,” he said, “the Secretary's
narrative which we have just heard has a
dreadful import: nor is it coloured by a distempered
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fancy. We are all witnesses to facts connected with
this fearful tale that leave no room to doubt the scrupulous
truth of all that has been told—”
“True—in every syllable, true!” interrupted Rob,
with quick assent. “As God shall judge us, it is all
true.”
“It is a tale,” continued the Proprietary, “fraught
with crimes of ruthless men who, we find, have lived
in near companionship with you. Long has the province
been frightened with stories of wicked rites
celebrated in the Black Chapel,—as our people have
been taught to call that accursed house. The common
terror could solve the mystery only by referring
it to the acts of the Fiend, and it has ascribed to you
some fearful intercourse with evil spirits.”
“It hath—it hath, and with reason! mea culpa,
mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!” muttered Rob, as
he vehemently struck his bosom with his open palm.
“More sober eyes have seen in your sequestered
life and rare communion with your fellow men, but
the evidences of a mind soured by adversity—a mind,
it would seem, not so humbly cast as your condition
might infer, but stricken, as the common belief has
signified, by some heavy blow of fortune.”
A stifled groan spoke the listener's apprehension
of the Proprietary's words.
“All have been deceived: you have not lived that
secluded life which in charity many have imputed to
you. No sorcery nor witchcraft hath wrought these
terrors, but the trickery of lawless ruffians; and
what was deemed your solitude, it is now confessed,
was active and commanding fellowship in this den
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of robbers. Thou art too far journeyed in the vale
of years to be reproved, even if time, which seldom
fails to do his office, had not already been the avenger
of the past. Your interposition in behalf of the
Secretary's life, your removal of the brigantine and
prompt repairing hither, as well as rumours, which
I trust are true, of clear shrift and penitential vow,
announce an honest though a late purpose of amendment.
We think you owe it now to the consummation
of this good purpose, that you divulge all
it concerns us to know of that wicked haunt, the
Wizard's Chapel, the scene of so much grief and
crime, and of its inmates. Speak freely, old man.”
“My Lord,” answered Rob, with a calm though
somewhat tremulous voice; “the story of my life I
have confided to this holy man. Until my sand is
run—would that its stream were spent!—that story
lies in his bosom under the seal of the confessional.
I dare not again rehearse it:—when I am gone he
will tell it. It will be heard with curses by many—
I deserve them;—but if a life clouded by disgrace
and stung with misery may atone for a deed of passion,
I pray, with an humble spirit, that my story
may raise one voise of pity—but it doth not concern
us to speak of this,” he said as in deep emotion he
paused for some moments with his hand closely
pressed across his eyes—“these are unaccustomed
tears, my Lord,—I have not wept before to-day this
many a long year.
“What concerns my coming to the province, the
life I have led here and the history of the Black
House,” he resumed after an interval in which he
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had regained his composure—“of these, I have no
scruple to speak. Sixteen years ago, my Lord, I
sailed from a port on the other side of the Atlantic,
with some little store of wealth consisting chiefly of
jewels. My destination was the islands: my name
was hidden from the world, and I had hoped to hide
myself. Disasters at sea drove us upon this coast,
where in a winter's storm, such as I have never
known but that, our ship was wrecked. I know not
who survived—I only know that it pleased Heaven
for my sins, to prolong a life that I could have better
parted with than any who found their grave beneath
the waters. I chanced to save the larger
portion of my valuables, and, on a raft of floating
spars, was drifted into the Chesapeake, where a fisherman
took me up almost lifeless, famished and
starved with cold. He put me down at St. Jerome's—
I had no wish to face my fellow men,—and, for
such hire as I gave him, provided me with comforts,
the scant comforts my condition needed, in that forsaken
house, which then was terrible, as it hath been
since—the house where Paul Kelpy murdered his
own family. There, my Lord, I lived a solitary
lodger, with no attendant near me except an aged
woman, who afterwards abandoned me and took up
her habitation at Warrington on the Cliffs:—she hath
of late again returned. That winter passed away
in suffering—ay, to the full measure of my deserts—
and when spring came, my frosted limbs had rotted
off, and I lay on my pallet that wretched, deformed
and unsightly thing thou seest me now.
There, for many weary years, I dwelt, a man
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of sin and misery. Use made my state familiar,
and I began to think that my penance would, at last,
restore my peace of mind. In this lone spot, from
which all the world turned away with shuddering, I
did not dream that worldly passions could again be
awakened. But it so fell out that, four years ago, a
band of baccaneers in a trim brigantine, led by this
ravening wolf Cocklescraft, tempted their fortune
in these waters. They came in the disguise of traders,
pitched upon the Chapel as their lurking place,
won me to their purpose of unlawful commerce, and
drove their craft with such success as you, my Lord,
have seen. I consorted with them, first because
they were outlawed men, and in that thought I took
pleasure;—there was sympathy, the food for which
my heart was hungered. They built me a lodge,
and came and went as my familiar guests—and I
made money by them. Can you wonder, my Lord,
that I became their comrade? they made me their
chief—I had their secret,—they gave me friendship,—
and they brought me that devil's lure, gold—gold
more than I had ever known before. Can you
wonder, my Lord, that I became their companion?
The treasures of the Chapel needed guarding from
curious eyes. I made the spot to be doubly desecrated—
we had visors, masks and strange disguises.
I had the skill to compound chemical fires:—we had
sentinels on the watch, and plied our game of witchcraft
seasonably, till the whole country was filled
with alarm—”
At this moment, some tumult from without
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attracted the attention of the inmates of the chamber,
and interrupted the further narrative of the Cripple.
At a distance, in the direction of the Fort, was
seen a guard of some ten or twelve musqueteers advancing
along the principal street of the city, led by
Captain Dauntrees in person, and forming an escort
to Cocklescraft and the prisoners who had been captured
with him. Their progress was impeded by the
crowd that thronged upon their path, amongst whom
were some who scarcely attempted to conceal their
sympathy with the prisoners, and who by signs, if
not by words, cheered them with the hope of deliverance
from their present durance. Nods of recognition
were exchanged with Cocklescraft, and significant
gestures made which he was at no loss to
comprehend. The press increased as they drew
near the door of the Town House, and in the disorder
incident to the introduction of the prisoners
into the building, more than one of the movers in
the late sedition found an occasion to assure the
master of the Escalfador, by a brief hint, of their
readiness to co-operate in seizing the brigantine.
Cocklescraft and his crew were conducted into
the presence of the Proprietary by Dauntrees, who,
leaving the guard in the hall or passage way that separated
the court-room from that occupied by the
Council, ranged the prisoners within the apartment
on either side of the door, which, being left open,
exposed to view the musqueteers, who were thus in
a position to do their duty in case any difficulty
should render their interference necessary; whilst
the crowd, at the same time, intruded itself into the
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hall with such importunity as to leave but little space
for the occupation of the guard.
Cocklescraft had lost none of the moodiness that
characterized his demeanour after his surrender on
the day previous. He was somewhat paler, owing to
the wound upon his brow, which was now bound up
with a bandage of black silk that, in some degree
enhanced the sickly aspect of his complexion. Still
the fire of his spirit sparkled in his unquenched eye,
and a sullen scowl, as he looked Albert Verheyden
in the face, rested on his features. A slight but
guarded expression of surprise flashed across his
countenance when his glance encountered Rob of
the Bowl. He was unaware of the presence of the
Cripple in the Port; nor had he, up to this moment,
ever entertained a suspicion that Rob had deserted
him. The escape of the Secretary he imputed alone
to the carelessness of the seamen; the failure of the
brigantine to meet him at the rendezvous, he set down
to accident and unskilfulness, and her presence now
in the harbour to a cause altogether disconnected
with any conjecture of treachery in the Cripple.
Even the old man's presence before the Council, he
attributed to force, and believed him to be, like himself,
a prisoner. In this conviction he now found
himself before the chief authorities of the province.
He was, of course, weaponless; and as all eyes were
turned upon him, he stood with folded arms, his
cloth cap dangling from his hand, gazing in silent
defiance upon the assembly. He meditated no purpose
of defence to the charges which he expected to
hear: the facts of his late outrage admitted none, and
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the presence of the Secretary assured him that the
crime he had attempted to perpetrate on All Soul's
Eve had been divulged in all its enormity, and with
such full identification of the actors in it as to render
useless all attempt even at palliation.
The unabashed gesture of the Buccaneer, his confident
port and look, even of scorn, provoked an instant
emotion of resentment in the Proprietary as
well as of the greater number of those who surrounded
him.
“Viper!” he said, “dost thou approach us with this
shameless front to brave our authority in the province!
Does no sense of crime abash thy brow, that
here, in the presence of those whom thou hast most
foully wronged, thou showest thy dastardly face without
a blush! Richard Cocklescraft, you came hither,
as all men thought, a peaceful trader, and found the
friendship of the Port accorded to you, without stint
or question. Again and again you left us, and returned;
and the townspeople ever gave you hearty
welcome to their homes. How brief a span is it,
since we saw you breaking bread and sharing the
wine-cup with this aged father, whose daughter,
execrable villain, thou soughtest to carry off by force,
in the dead hour of the night? Hast thou not plotted
against the life of the Secretary? Didst thou not
murder the fisherman, bloody and remorseless man?
Didst thou not, like a coward, strike at the gray hairs
of this venerable man, when thou stol'st upon him
in his sleep?”
“No!” replied the pirate leader, in a voice loud and
angry, undaunted by the presence of the chief
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functionaries of the province, and untamed by his captivity.
“He lies who says I struck at the Collector!
though, by St. Iago, Anthony Warden may claim no
favour at my hands,—”
“Favour at thy hands!” exclaimed the Collector,
who could not sit quiet whilst the Skipper spoke—
“A boy, who undertakes to play at man's game, with
men!—A boy, to prate me thus!”
“I pray you, Master Warden,” interposed the Proprietary,
mildly, “do not interfere.”
“I struck not at the Collector,” repeated Cocklescraft;
“I look to match my sword with men not
spent with age. When others would have beaten this
old man to the ground, I saved him. I plotted not
against the Secretary's life,” he continued, answering
the accusations which the Proprietary had at random
heaped upon him. “I slew the fisherman, as a hound
that had been set to track my path. I carried away
this old man's daughter, because I loved her. Are
you answered, Lord Baltimore?”
“Impudent outlaw!” returned the Proprietary,
with an excitement of speech altogether unaccustomed,
“dost thou beard us with the confession of thy
crimes? Have the laws of the province no terrors
for thee?”
“I never acknowledged your Lordship's laws,”
retorted the seaman, scornfully. “I have lived above
them—coming when I would, and going when it
pleased me. By St. Anthony, your Lordship hath
but a sorry set of lieges! You might do well to teach
the better half of the freemen to remember that
Charles Calvert claims to be Lord and master of this
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province—they seem to have forgotten it. You think
I am saucy, my Lord; I have but one master here—
Old Rob of the Trencher, my fellow prisoner:—we
will die in company.”
“Peace, knave!” ejaculated Rob, in his former
peevish voice of command. “I know thee and thy
villanies of old. Never again call me comrade of
thine. Thou shalt not depart in ignorance of the
favour you owe me, Dickon Cocklescraft. Know
that I saved the Secretary's life—that I gave back
the daughter to her father's bosom—”
“Thou!” exclaimed Cocklescraft, with a deeper
storm thickening on his brow. “Thou! didst thou
betray me?”
“I foiled thee,” replied Rob, as a vengeful smile
played on his features, “in thy horrid plot;—I saved
the boy's life—ha, ha! I saved his life!—and left thee
on the island without a refuge—thy villany deserved
it.”
“Betrayed,—betrayed by thee!” vociferated the
Pirate, as with the swift spring of the tiger he threw
himself upon the Cripple, and seized the long knife
from the old man's girdle, and plunged it deep into
his bosom, shouting as he struck the blow, “By St.
Iago, I have paid thee for it!”
The suddenness of the deed took all by surprise,
and scarce a step was made, nor a hand raised to
arrest the murderer, who, with a quickness that defied
orderly resistance, turned towards the door, with the
bloody weapon in his hand, and pronouncing aloud
the watchword that seemed to electrify his men—
“A la savanna!” rushed, at the head of his crew,
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into the hall. The guards at the door were no less
unprepared for resistance than the persons within,
whilst the crowd in the hall gave ground, with that
sudden panic which belongs to all unorganized masses
of men, and fled tumultuously before the Buccaneer
and his band—thus increasing the confusion and
rendering it impossible for the weak guard of the
hall, either to follow the fugitives with the necessary
expedition to overtake them, or to fire upon them,
without risk of greater injury to friend than
foe.
As soon as Cocklescraft was seen on the open
ground in front of the Town House, driving with
headlong haste towards the quay, the partisans of
Coode and Fendall, constituting a considerable number
of those who frequented the spot, increased
the disorder by a clamour which, under the show
of pursuit, in truth retarded the movement of those
who endeavoured to intercept the flying band. The
momentary consternation in the chamber being
over, the Proprietary and those around him, sprang
from their seats and ran to the great door, whence
they could witness the struggle of pursuit. Dauntrees,
at the first moment, had repaired to his men, and
was immediately busy in attempting to open a way
through the crowd, in which he was greatly impeded
by the tumultuous interference of the malcontents.
Albert Verheyden, in the act of moving to leave the
apartment, was recalled by the voice of the wounded
man, and instantly returned to his side, where, with
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father Pierre, he awaited, in anxious suspense, the
recapture of the prisoners.
Meantime Cocklescraft furiously urged his onward
course. He had snatched a sword in the crowd, with
which he became a formidable enemy to all who crossed
his path, and soon discovered, from their shouts, that
his nearest pursuers were in fact aiding his escape.
The only exception to this was Talbot and our old
friend Arnold, who, foremost in the melee, had at one
moment, as they sped down the bank, come in actual
contact with the fugitives, and Talbot had exchanged
more than one pass with Cocklescraft. The crowd
thickened on the quay; shouts rent the air, and cries
of encouragement and strife resounded from all sides.
The passage over the quay was opened—the boat
gained, the rope severed, the oars in place,—and in
another instant the buccaneers were in full flight
upon their accustomed element. The musqueteers
hasten to the wharf,—their small band jostled, pressed,
and swayed by the encumbering crowd—an ineffectual
volley is fired—Cocklescraft waves his hand in
triumph—the Escalfador is won from the feeble resistance
of her light guard, and the pirates are again
upon their own deck. The cable is slipped, sail after
sail drops from the yard or runs up along the mast—
the brigantine swings round to a fair and stiff
breeze under a cloudless heaven, and cleaves her
way mid-stream towards the mouth of the river. A
few harmless shot were fired from the fort, as she
bounded past; and almost before the bewildered
burghers were aware, she had swept beyond the
limit of the harbour—her daring master standing at
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the helm and looking back at the town, scarce able
to realize the truth of his own escape, as he waved
his bonnet in derision of the gaping crowd. Many
eyes still lingered upon this fleeting vision, until the
white sails of the Escalfador disappeared behind the
projecting headland which opened to her prow the
broad current of the Potomac.
Not all could note this stirring strife of flight. A
melancholy attraction drew back the Proprietary and
his council to the chamber. When Albert was recalled
to the side of the wounded man, it was but to hear
his own name pronounced in a whispered accent, and
then to see the sufferer faint away. For some minutes,
father Pierre and the Secretary, the only persons
in the room, thought life was fled; but whilst
they still watched, the light of the eye flickered upon
them, and, by degrees, a sickly animation returned
to the body. When Lord Baltimore and the others
had gathered around, Rob was able to speak. His
voice was faint, and his gaze was upon the Secretary.
“My web is wove,” he said, in that figurative
language which had grown to be his habitual form
of expression. “Albert Verheyden thou look'st upon—
upon thy father—William Weatherby—a man of
crime—and misery. Thy hand, boy—thy lips upon
my brow—there—there,” he whispered, as his son,
pale as a spectre and trembling with emotion, bent
down over his prostrate trunk and kissed his forehead.
“Pity me, my son, and forgive me for thy
mother's sake. Poor Louise—Louise—” and with
this name again and again breathed from his lips,
when no other sound could be heard, his spirit was
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gradually wafted from its mutilated and weary tenement
of clay.
“I forgive thee—I forgive and pity!” breathed
Albert, with sobs that shook his whole frame, as
he threw himself upon the lifeless body of his father.
“My dear Albert, leave this place,” said father
Pierre; “let us go to the Chapel, and there thou
may'st temper thy grief with prayer. His Lordship
will take order for the disposal of the body. I have
a paper which I was charged, when this event should
take place—and in his reckoning it was not far off—
to deliver into thy hands. Come, and when we have
done our duty at the altar, I will give it thee.”
With silent step and slow, Albert leaning on the
arm of the priest, they left the Town House, and
walked towards the little Chapel of St. Mary's.
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CHAPTER XVII.
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Here ends my tale. We have no longer an interest
to follow the fortunes of the personages who have
been brought to view in this motlied narrative of
trivial and tragic events. A brief memorandum will
tell all that remains to gratify the inquiries of my
readers.
After the crossings of fortune which we have read
in the history of Albert and Blanche, we may presume
the time, at last, came for the current of true
love to run smooth as a glassy lake. The next festival
at the Rose Croft found father Pierre in a prominent
official position, and the maiden a blooming
bride upon the arm of the happy Secretary.
The worldly wise will be pleased, perhaps, to learn
that, after some most liberal appropriations to charitable
uses, by way of purification of the more than
doubtful uncleanness of the Cripple's wealth, Albert
fell heir to no small hoard; and this gear, as it was
generously distributed in acts of hospitality and
bounty to the poor, we would fain hope the straitest
casuist will allow, was not unjustly taken by the
Secretary,—his title to it resting upon the will of
William Weatherby, which was produced in due
time by father Pierre.
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As to the conspirators, they were losers in every
way. First the Buccaneer and his Brigantine came
not to their rescue; and secondly, the trials proceeded
without interruption. Josias Fendall was
fined in a very heavy sum, and imprisoned at the
pleasure of the Proprietary. His brother and John
Coode, from some apprehension of rousing too keenly
the popular grudge, were more mildly dealt with.
George Godfrey was sentenced to death, but finding
favour upon the petition of his wife, had his punishment
commuted into a rigorous confinement in the
gaol of St. Mary's.
What became of the other confederates of Coode
and Fendall, the records do not inform us; but we
may infer that the dominant party in the province
felt their authority too slender to prosecute them
with much severity—
“They fear to punish, therefore do they pardon.”
Touching our unfortunate friend of “the gentle
craft,” the warlike corporal, history happens to have
embalmed his memory with the unction of a favourite,
and to have consigned him to the notice of posterity
with a distinctness of fame that would, if he
could have contemplated it, have almost made him,
in spite of his miseries, in love with rebellion. I find
in the proceedings of the council, in the month of
March following these events, the “the humble petition”
of Edward Abbott, a “poor, distressed, and
sorrowful penitent,” who most dolorously complains of
his insufferable confinement, meekly confessing his
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sins, and affirming, by way of extenuation, that, in
the commission of them, “he was so much in drink
that he did not remember any thing either what was
done or spoken at the time.” And to this petition is
appended the following entry,—
“The petitioner making his submission in open
court, upon his knees begging pardon for his offence,
the Justices are ordered to wave sentence passing
against him, his Lordship having granted his pardon.”
And so, gentle reader, good night! We part, I
would even indulge the hope, but for a short period;
after which we may find motive to look again into
the little city and renew our acquaintance.
THE END.
