Part 3 (1/2)
Timothy shook his head, and then, after a short pause, he said:
”No, Master Gilbert, she is no foreigner at all, but one of our own brave English adventurers. Look at the tattered flag waving from the staff on her after-castle. 'Tis the red cross of St. George. And by the decayed and grimy look of her, I'd judge that she hath been on some long and perilous voyage--it may be to far Cathay, or the scorching coasts of Africa, or it may even be to the Western Indies of which we have heard so much.”
”An that be so,” returned Gilbert as he stood gazing with wondering eyes upon the approaching s.h.i.+p, ”methinks there will be some very strange surprising things for us to see and hear when she droppeth anchor in the haven yonder. She is deeply laden, look you. 'Tis the bars of silver in her hold that do weigh her down, or else the heavy chests of gold and precious stones. Ay, 'tis surely from the Spanish Main that she hath come; for now as she beareth round I can e'en see the s.h.i.+ning gold-dust clinging to her sides from out her port-holes like flour-drift from out the windows of Modbury Mill.”
Timothy smiled incredulously and moved apart from his companion.
”'Tis no gold-dust that you see, my master,” said he, ”but only the red iron from off her rust-eaten chains. Come, let us walk down unto the harbour, that we may get a nearer view of her and see what manner of voyagers she bringeth home.”
They walked together down the gra.s.sy slopes. In aspect, as in their natures, they differed one from the other as much as a heavy Flemish horse differs from an agile Arab steed. Timothy looked much the elder, although in truth he was his master's senior by no more than a twelvemonth. Gilbert had much ado to keep pace with his long measured strides, or perhaps it was his own great riding-boots of thick hard leather coming up above his knees which made his steps seem difficult.
The strong December wind, blowing from over the Channel, caught his ample cloak, and the garment was forever escaping from his careless hold and flapping outward behind him, a.s.sailing his ears or getting twisted about his long sword. As the cloak blew aside from his shoulders it revealed the pink silk slas.h.i.+ngs of his doublet of russet velvet and the glittering ornaments on his girdle. He wore a little velvet cap, embroidered with gold lace and surmounted with a gallant waving feather which was held in place by a pearl brooch.
Timothy towered a full head and shoulders above him, being indeed almost a man in height and build, with great broad shoulders and big strong hands and muscular arms, and plump cheeks that were as red as ripe Devon apples. But in spite of his great bulk and his somewhat ungainly figure, Tim was nevertheless alert and active when occasion required, as many of his acquaintance were well aware; for at a wrestling bout, at fencing, riding, climbing, swimming, and many other manly exercises, there were few who could excel him. He was dressed very plainly now, as beseemed one whose work it was to serve and to obey. His cap, which was set jauntily on his head of curly red hair, was not of silk or velvet, but simple knitted wool, unadorned with any gay-coloured ribbons or flaunting feathers. He wore no lace ruff about his thick neck, but only a simple white linen collar. His body was covered by a doublet of plain tan-coloured leather; his wide trunks were of fustian, trimmed with cotton braid and gartered below the knee; and he wore low shoes without any spurs. Like his young master, he carried a sword; and he also had in his belt a small dagger. He was well skilled in the use of both these weapons, and during the months that he had pa.s.sed in Master Oglander's service he had imparted much of this skill to Gilbert.
By the time that the two had got down to the level ground, and had pa.s.sed through several of the quaint narrow streets leading towards the harbour, the strange s.h.i.+p had sailed far to the eastward of Mill Bay; her men were aloft furling the sails, and she was slowly drifting with the tide into the sheltered basin of Sutton Pool.
Some fishermen and seamen had gathered in groups upon the wharf to watch her as she came nearer, and to make conjectures as to what might be her name and whence she had come. Gilbert Oglander strode into their midst and stood awhile listening to their talk.
”'Tis a full three years since she sailed out of Plymouth Sound,” said one of them.
”Ay, and the rest!” declared another. ”Why, 'twas in the summer of 1586 that she went out--in the self-same month, if not the same week, that Thomas Cavendish sailed with his three s.h.i.+ps to make the voyage round the world, and that, as I do reckon it, must be nigh upon four years and six months; though in truth it seemeth less. But the years do fly amazingly in these busy times!”
”Know you the name of this vessel that is now coming in, Master Whiddon?” asked Gilbert of a brown-faced mariner at his elbow.
”Ay, to be sure, Master Oglander,” returned Whiddon. ”We do make her out to be the _Pearl_--one of Sir Walter Raleigh's s.h.i.+ps--that went out along with two others upon a voyage of adventure to the Brazil, or some such place. Master Will Marsden, of Plymouth, was her captain; an old playmate of mine own, and a right fortunate seamen in his younger days.
Well do I mind how we all envied him when he set out on this same voyage. But alas! by the look of his s.h.i.+p at this moment, and the fact that he hath come home alone and unattended, I much doubt that he hath left the better part of his good fortune behind him. Ah, there be blackamoors aboard of her!”
”Ay,” interposed another of the group, who by his ap.r.o.n and his turned-up sleeves was evidently an artisan and a landsman. ”And at seaman's work too. A woeful sign, my masters! Where be all the brave men of Devon that set sail in her, I'd like to know? Down among the coral and the shrimps at the bottom of the sea, I suppose, or else toiling in Spanish galleys, imprisoned by the Inquisition, or lying dead with the crows a-picking of their bones out yonder in Panama. 'Tis ever so with these buccaneering cruises. I like them not, for they do ever end with disaster.”
”Thou'rt over-quick with thy conjectures, Jack Prynne,” said the man named Whiddon. ”The craft is short-handed, 'tis true; but how know you that the brave men you speak of have not given up their lives for old England in honest fight against the Spaniards? Had you yourself been as brave as they--G.o.d rest 'em!--you would not have taken flight from Plymouth the last week, as you did with the other timid fools, because of a mere idle alarm that the king of Spain was sending over another armada, forsooth. A brave thing, truly, thus to take to your heels. Why, man, I marvel that y'are not ashamed to show your craven face in the town again!”
Jack Prynne stroked his beard, partly hiding his shamed face with his big work-worn hand.
”When we went away,” said he, ”the town was ill-defended. Sir Francis Drake was absent.”
”The more reason why every man should have remained to protect his home and do his duty by his neighbours,” returned Whiddon. ”Drake cannot well be in two places at once. What astonisheth me is, that you should all have come trooping back the instant you heard that Sir Francis had again taken up his residence in the town. Sure, 'tis a very high compliment to a man when his mere presence among us should inspire such confidence and allay such a general panic.”
”There goes her anchor!” cried Timothy Trollope. And as he spoke there was a splash of water at the s.h.i.+p's bow, followed by the familiar rumbling noise of her hempen cable as it tore through the hawse-pipe.
Now that the vessel was close at hand it could be seen that she was very much battered by the storms and conflicts through which she had pa.s.sed during her long voyaging in distant seas. The lower timbers of her hull were overgrown with barnacles and slimy green weeds. Above the water-line there were many shot-holes, patched up with raw hides, sheets of lead, or rough-hewn balks of wood; and in one place, abaft her main-chains, a cannon-ball could be seen deeply embedded in the stout oak. In place of her original mizzen-mast there was the trunk of a forest tree, with the bark still upon it; and the lateen yard was made of spliced bamboo. Her standing rigging was mended with strands of twisted cow-hide. She was a s.h.i.+p of about a hundred tons burden, built with a high castle at her p.o.o.p and with bulging sides. Her bows were as round and blunt as the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the noisy sea-birds that floated near her in the harbour, feeding on the garbage thrown from the fis.h.i.+ng-boats.
She had not long been at anchor when a boat was put off from her, and was rowed by two men towards the stone-built slip beside which Gilbert Oglander and Timothy Trollope were standing. The boat had four occupants in addition to the two seamen who pulled at the oars. They were a black-bearded, middle-aged man who sat on the stern gunwale, and who seemed by his frequent commands to the rowers to be in authority; a woman, who sat near him; a beardless youth, who was crouching down in the bottom of the boat; and an aged, white-haired man, with a brown sunburned face and a long silvery beard, who was bending forward over the prow as if in desperate eagerness to spring on sh.o.r.e.
As the little craft came yet nearer, Timothy Trollope observed that the pa.s.sengers seemed to be no less weary and tattered than the s.h.i.+p from which they had just come. The old man at the bow wore no clothing save a ragged canvas s.h.i.+rt and a pair of wide, ill-made trunks. One of the rowers had but a single sleeve to his jerkin, and his hair was long and matted. The woman wore a large black cloak, whose hood was drawn over her head, leaving visible no more of her than her thin olive-coloured face and her sparkling dark eyes. She paid scarcely any regard to what was pa.s.sing, but sat like an image, gazing stonily before her.
”s.h.i.+p your oar, Pascoe!” cried the man at the stern. ”Pull three more strokes, Mason!”
He rose to his feet as he gave these orders, showing himself to be very tall. None of the men on sh.o.r.e seemed to know him; nor did he greet them, even as a stranger newly arrived from foreign climes might have been expected to do.
The old man at the bow was the first to leap on sh.o.r.e. And, having done so, he fell down upon his knees, reverently pressed his lips upon the stones, and murmured the words: