CHAPTER XXVI
Certain men, whom misfortune and loss of riches have driven to seek comfort in philosophy, have devoured much paper and spilled an infinity of ink in dispraise of gold and silver, railing at those metals with a plentiful store of scornful epithets, to show their baseness and want of true value.
Had any such been with us now they would have found a very plausible argument for their conclusions. Rolling in gold and silver, we were destitute; though oppressed with wealth, we were poorer than church mice. Willingly we would have given all we had, and more, for one smart, well-furnished frigate in the road.
After the discovery of our forlorn state many were so moved that they cast away their gold, and, losing all hope of escape, gave themselves up to despair; and not without excuse. For we could not doubt but that our pinnaces had been taken, and that our stronghold at Fort Diego would be revealed by the torture of prisoners. Thus all hope of ever getting back to our homes was gone; and the greater part of the company, losing all heart, began to murmur and complain very bitterly against the captains who had brought them to such a pass. I can say no more of the depth to which our spirits sank, or the misery of that hour, than that it was one of those times when Frank Drake's nature rose to its greatest height. He leaped upon a log, and with his clear, cheerful voice addressed them without a note of fear or misgiving, where no one else could discern the smallest ray of encouragement or the forlornest hope of safety.
'Shame on you! shame!' he cried. 'What faint-heartedness is this? If you miscarry, so do I. You venture no further than I. And is this a time to wail and fear? If it be, then is it also a time to hasten to prevent what we fear. If the enemy have prevailed against our pinnaces, which God forbid, yet all is not lost. Only half their work is done. They must have time to search and examine their prisoners as to where our strength lies; and then they will want some time to form their resolution, and quarrel who is to command. Ah! you know not Spaniards. Then they will want time to order a fleet twice or thrice as large as needful; item, time to come to our ships; item, time to resolve upon their method of attack; item, time to find stomach to deliver it. And before all this will be discharged we can get to our ships, if you will so resolve, like the men that you have at divers times shown yourselves.'
'But how? how?' they cried, as he paused.
'Why, now you speak like men,' he said, 'and give a captain heart to save you. By land, I think, we cannot come to them, though our Pedro would have us so try. It is sixteen days' journey thither, and before that the Spaniards will have struck. Yet by sea we may. See you those trees God has sent down the river for you by last night's storm? Of those we can make a raft; and four of us sail aloof the shore and call the ships hither. Of those four I shall be one; who will be the others?'
The words were hardly out of his mouth when Harry had shouted 'I!' and then followed a clamour of 'I's' in English, French, and Spanish, as half the whites and all the blacks offered themselves when they understood what our captain's words should mean. Finally he chose Harry, as having spoken first, and two Frenchmen, who were great swimmers, because our fellow-venturers boldly claimed, as of right, a half-share in every danger as well as in all plunder.
So from despair our captain's resolute words, so cheerfully spoken, raised them all in a short space to a lively hope; and all hands set eagerly to work to bind together some of the trees which the swollen river had brought down.
Meanwhile, more grieved than I can say to think that Harry was going to what seemed almost certain death, in spite of what Frank had said, I went to him to try and dissuade him from his purpose.
'Tush!' said he, 'what is there to fear?'
'Nothing for you to fear, I know well,' I answered; 'it is not that. It is what I fear. I have a most evil foreboding that if you go on this venture we shall never see you again.'
'Well, and what matter?' he laughed; 'a man must die once.'
'Yes,' said I, 'but he need not rot to death in a Spanish prison, or die before his time. The Spanish shallops will be scouring all the coast, and must of a certainty pick you up like half-drowned rats ere ever you reach the Cabeças. Why should you do this when there is no need—you who of us all have most to live for?'
'And what have I to live for,' he answered, with clouding brow, 'that others have not?'
'You know! you know!' I said. 'Give me not the pain or shame of saying what. Nay, hear me then,' I went on, as I saw a bitter reply rising to his lips; and then, determined to leave no means untried to preserve him to the woman I had so cruelly wronged, I told him how I had gone back to Ashtead after that terrible night; how I had seen through the window his dear wife kissing his letter and weeping over his child; how I had marked a hundred signs whereby I knew her love for him was only the more pure and ardent for the trial it had undergone.
God be praised! if it was He that put the burning words in my mouth with which I told my tale and pleaded my cause. Long had I kept it pent up in my heart, for want of courage to tell him, as well as for fear of increasing his grief and his hate for me; and now it flowed with the full strength of the gathered flood which his long coldness had frozen up in me.
What joy was in my heart I cannot tell in words when, ere I had done, he seized my hand in his manly way and said, 'Have your will, brother! Go in my place. If we ever meet again we shall be brothers indeed once more, and brothers we should never have ceased to be had I known you as I should. Let what I do be a token to you. I know the danger of this service as well as you, and never did I think for any man I could turn back from such an attempt when I had offered myself and been chosen. To you, brother, and her, I sacrifice thus my honour in token of how high beyond all words I value this love you have both given me, who deserve it so little.'
Bright shone the sun in my heart, bright as the mid-day fire over our heads, as to the music of a hearty cheer we dropped down the river in our frail bark. Frank was steering her with a rude oar which had been shaped from a young tree, the two Frenchmen stood by with poles in case of need, and I managed the biscuit-bag whereof we had made our sail.
The Cimaroons had bitterly lamented not coming with us, but them Frank would have stay to succour those who remained, since there we had greatest need of them.
'No,' he had said; 'stay here for a little while to conduct my company by land if I return not. Yet, if it please God that I shall once put foot in safety aboard my frigate, I will, God willing, get you all aboard, in despite of all the Spaniards in the Indies.'
With this courageous speech he left the whole company in good heart, because they knew of a surety, since he had so passed his word, that if they were lost it would not be for want of the last effort of the man who best in all the world knew how to save them.
Our voyage was evil enough to have damped any spirits less lifted with joy than mine, or less constant than Frank's. The whole time we were up to our waists in water as we sat, and as soon as we reached the open sea we found the swell so big that each wave surged up to our necks, and we had much ado to hold on. Moreover the sun so burned down upon us, all unprotected as we were, that what with the salt water and the scorching, we soon had little skin left that was not all blisters.
Yet a very smart breeze was blowing from the westwards, so that we made good progress towards the Cabeças, and so kept up our spirits. It was as the sun was getting low that Frank suddenly cried to me, 'Look! look! Jasper, ahead there off the point!'
I looked where he pointed and saw two large pinnaces struggling to weather the headland with oars against the freshening breeze.
'What shall we do?' said I. 'We must drive. We cannot stop. How shall we avoid them?'
'Avoid them!' said Frank, with a merry laugh. 'Why, lad, they are our own, and if we can but make them see, we are saved.'
'Yet perhaps they are prizes to Spaniards,' suggested one of the Frenchmen, 'and are manned by Spaniards.'
'No, monsieur, no,' said Frank; 'you never saw Spaniards row like that. See how they labour, and yet I think they make no head. Pray God they be not cast away on the point!'
Indeed as we drew nearer there seemed no small danger of this. The wind was shifting more and more on to the land as it freshened, and we could see they made a lot of leeway.
'They will never do it,' said Frank; 'they are too short of hands. It is hard to be so near safety, yet so far.'
Even as he spoke we saw them cease rowing and fall slowly under the lee of the point. In a few minutes they were out of sight, and we blankly confessed to ourselves that they must have resolved to ride out the rising gale and the night in the still water behind the point.
It was a bitter disappointment to us, and our new-found joy at finding our pinnaces were still safe gave way to a new-found grief. So intent had we been in watching them that we had not noticed how the shifting wind was driving us a-land. Straight ahead of us was the dark forest-clad point against which the surf was booming and spouting sheets of white spray. It was plain we could never weather it, and that if we continued as we were we must almost certainly be dashed to pieces in the foaming breakers.
Eagerly I watched, and tried to persuade myself our raft was bearing better room. Every tilt which the waves gave her I tried to fancy was a change of course, but still we drifted to leeward in spite of the rapid headway we made before the rising gale. All at once, as I watched, our head swung round to leeward and all chance was gone. I looked to see the cause and saw Frank very calm and stern with the helm hard up.
'Now, if ever,' said he; 'pray God to help us. Nay, look not scared, Jasper. It is our only chance. We cannot weather the point, and all that is left is to try and beach the raft this side, and then, if we land alive and whole, make about the point to the pinnaces afoot. All which we can well do, if it please God to send us a big wave and a pleasant beach.'
It was indeed a time for prayer. Soon close ahead we could see the breakers rolling in upon the shore rank after rank, a wilderness of boiling foam. I saw the two Frenchmen tighten their belts for the coming struggle. Each of them pulled out a great quoit of gold from his breast. Then they whispered together for a space and put them back. So I kept mine in spite of the danger, if we had to swim, and Frank kept his.
In a few minutes we were at the edge of our peril. Frank steadied the raft before the wind like the master hand he was; a raging mass of foam seemed to rise beneath us and shoot us towards the shore. What was in front we could not see. Like an arrow we flew, nor ever rested till we crashed upon the beach.
With that hoarse and terrible whistle with which the breakers on a shingly shore seem to draw their monstrous breath for a new effort to destroy, the wave that had borne us went screaming back. In a moment we had leaped on the rolling shingle and rushed up the beach as fast as our remaining strength and our shifting foothold would let us.
Again the angry sea swept at us, but it was too late. As once more it retired, drawing its strident breath, we dug hands, feet, and knees into the moving stones till it was gone, and then once more got up and ran. Ere another wave had burst we were in safety, lying breathless upon a flowery bank.
Frank was the first to move. I heard him mutter his words of thanksgiving for our safety, and then he called cheerfully to us in high spirit.
'Up, lads, up,' he said; 'we must lose no time. See yonder light to windward; the gale will lessen in another hour, and the pinnaces as like as not will sail. We will go about the point now as quick as we can, and when we see them run our fastest, like men pursued, to give them a rattling fright, that they may prove their quickness to save us since they have been so slow hitherto. It is but fair dealing to put this jest on them for giving us such an evil sail.'
This we did, and were no sooner come about the point than we saw the blessed sight of our two pinnaces anchored in a quiet cove. Away went Frank running towards them as hard as he could, and we after him crying at the top of our voices. They seemed terribly afraid to see their captain thus suddenly appear with but three followers, and made the greatest speed to take us aboard.
At first Frank did not speak, but sat very solemn and stern, and we, taking our cue from him, did likewise; nor did they ask anything of what our running and sudden appearance might mean. Indeed they feared our news was too terrible for them to be in a hurry to hear it.
'How does all the company?' said one at last.
'Well,' said Frank sullenly, which made them all look more alarmed than ever, till he could bear it no longer, and, bursting into a loud laugh, he drew his golden quoit from his doublet.
'Look there!' he cried, brandishing it in their faces. 'At last our voyage is made!'
And so he told them how we had sped, and told the Frenchmen amongst them how their captain was left behind sore wounded, and comforted them by letting them know how two of his company remained with him, and how it was our intention to rescue him.
'And tell me,' he said, 'how it was you discharged not the order I most straitly gave you to be in the Rio Francisco yesterday?'
'We did our best,' said the commander. 'Yet the gale was so strong from the west that with all our rowing we could get no farther than this.'
'Well, God be praised for His mercy,' said Frank. 'Surely is He wiser than man. Had you done as I said, you would have come to the river in the nick of time to be devoured by seven pinnaces from Nombre de Dios, which I doubt not were fitted out for that purpose. I think they have been driven in for fear of the gale, and will be out again as soon as it abates. Therefore we must make shift to continue our way with oars as soon as possible.'
And this they cheerfully did before an hour was gone. Their short rest and our news seemed to make new men of them, so that, partly by infinite labour at the oars with our help, and partly by an abating of the wind, we came by morning into the Rio Francisco. There we took all our company and treasure aboard, and so sailed back to our frigate, and thence without mishap to our ships.
CHAPTER XXVII
Fort Diego was now all astir with preparations for our homeward journey. The first care was to divide our vast booty between ourselves and the Frenchmen; and I, being merchant to the expedition, was so entirely occupied in this that I had no leisure to visit my Señorita, of which it must be said I was secretly glad, for I knew not how to approach her.
What little time I had, after my day's weighing and portioning and scheduling was done, I spent in Harry's company. These hours of extreme danger to which we had recently been exposed seemed to have changed the whole world to us. In his gratitude for the poor service I had sought to do him, in his joy to think how his wife still loved him, he seemed to forget all the past and to hold no pleasure so high as being in my company, that he might talk over the old happy days and build plans for spending our new-won wealth, so as best to delight her in the new happy days that were to come.
My joy would have been complete had it not been that there still hung over my head the words which my Señorita had used when I bade her farewell. Each hour I felt more keenly I must go to her and tell her plainly that what she wished could never be. I had no doubt of that. To me she was but a plaything. That I was more to her was a thing of which I felt pure shame. I accepted all the blame of it, as a man should. Yet however rightly he may look at it, the task is none the lighter when that man has to go to a woman and tell her he loves her not. The stoutest heart will feel a coward then.
It was not till the evening of the third day after our coming, when the plunder was all divided, and we had dismissed our French consorts with their share, that I found heart or leisure to approach her. As I neared the ship where the prisoners dwelt, and which had been hauled ashore for some time past, I could see her stretched lazily in her hammock. It was fastened between the mast and the bough of a tree which grew up hard by and spread its branches over the poop. Here it was that she loved to take her siesta, since it was a cool and shady place.
As I mounted the poop my discomfort at finding her alone, and at knowing I could not now honestly avoid saying my say, was only increased by her beauty, which never had seemed so great in my eyes. Dressed in a soft loose robe of white, she lay back at full length in her hammock, a picture of womanly grace. One white arm, on which her head rested, was half buried in her lustrous hair. It had become dishevelled in her sleep, and now fell in rich dark masses about her face and neck, enhancing their dazzling whiteness like some frame of ebony in which is set a magic crystal. Her soft cheeks were flushed like those of a newly-wakened child, her ripe lips half parted, her dark-fringed eyelids almost closed. Her other arm lay across her, listlessly moving a fan of crimson feathers. Beyond that languid movement there was no sign of life or motion in her, save the rise and fall of the soft white robe as she drew her breath troublously, like one who is deeply moved.
I could not choose but pause, fascinated by a picture whose luxuriant beauty surpassed even the tangled tropic growth that formed its background. But I was soon awakened from my dream, and that rudely too. From behind the mast, where I could not see, came the deep tones of a man's voice pleading very low and earnest. She did not raise her eyes even then, but I could fancy she drew her breath more hardly still.
I could not hear the words, and started quickly forward lest I should. Of retreating I never once thought. My coward hesitation was turned to something akin to anger by that half-heard voice, and my only thought was to find out what bold man it was to whom my Señorita gave such familiar audience.
She started as she saw me stride to her, but in a moment fell again into her listless attitude, and looked languidly at the man behind the mast. He started too, and I saw to my little ease it was Mr. Oxenham. We stared hard and stiffly at each other, saying nothing. He seemed disturbed by my coming, but hid his confusion by drawing himself to his full height, and gently twisting his well-grown moustache with one hand, while the other rested on his sword. So he stood looking at me and waiting, with eyebrows raised superciliously.
'Has my worshipper no offering for his goddess?' said the Señorita's musical voice. 'I expected something richer than silence after so long an absence.'
'Nay, silence is golden,' said Mr. Oxenham mockingly. 'What would you more? Mr. Festing brings his best.'
I know not whether it were self-love or love of her that made their words hurt me so sore, but I know I had much ado to bridle my lips.
'Truly, Señorita,' said I, 'silence is the most precious offering I have to give. Had I never laid on your altar aught less worthy than that, methinks I should have been a more loyal worshipper.'
She met my gaze with her dark eyes wide open for a moment, and then dropped them again with a strange little laugh.
'Save me, then,' she said, 'from loyal worshippers! Such barren heretic ritual I call no-worship.'
'Name it as you will, lady,' I answered; 'my comfort must still be that "no-worship" is better than sacrilege. If I cannot be a worshipper, at least I will not profane the shrine.'
She flushed a little higher at this, and looked at me again, half inquiring, half frightened, and then once more dropped her eyes.
'Was this what you came hither to say, false worshipper?' she said, as though a little vexed.
'No, lady,' I answered; 'I had much to say, and I came to crave that you would walk with me along the shore while I told my tale, but now I think it needs no telling.'
'Shall he come with us, Señor?' she said to Mr. Oxenham, who still stood twirling the end of his moustache.
'It is for my queen to command,' he said, 'whether I escort her or not.'
'Then, my worshipper,' she said, after a moment's hesitation, 'for this day your attendance is excused;' and with a queenly gesture she held out her little hand for me to salute.
It was hard to be dismissed so, although an hour ago I should have looked on any dismissal as the happiest thing that could befall me. Now it angered me. It flashed across my mind to turn roughly away from her, and refuse the caress she offered with such pretty insolence. Yet I hold, however ill a woman may treat a man, yet shall he never better his case by a rude behaviour toward her. So I took the little hand in my fingers, and put it to my lips with ceremonious courtesy, and so withdrew.
I turned round at the poop-ladder to descend, and was surprised to see her gazing after me wistfully; but she looked away hurriedly when she saw my eyes upon her, and laughed merrily at something, as I suppose, that Mr. Oxenham said to her. I fancied her merriment seemed to ring a little false; but maybe that was only my fancy.
My thoughts were very ill at ease as I sought my lodging. All had gone as I wished. The bonds wherein I had suffered myself heedlessly to be bound to her were unloosed. I was free, and that more easily than I had thought; yet somehow I did not feel released, but rather thrust out and cast away.
Harry came in to me later, and fell, as usual, to talking of the joy of our return. Yet to-night it seemed wearisome to hear him. As he pictured the pleasures of his coming life, of the untold joy of living again at Ashtead with the wife whom he had lost a little while and found again, my old library rose up ever in my mind, very cold and dim and lonely, and I found it hard to share his content.
As I listened to him my long, low chamber, with its gloomy rows of books, its uneasy settles, and its great stiff chair beside the hearth, became a vivid picture to me, as though I saw it. Each moment it grew more real and gloomy and lonely, till suddenly, I know not how, I seemed to see the beautiful form of the Señorita glowing in the great high-backed chair, and brightening the whole chamber with her sunny presence.
I crushed the fancy as it rose, but to little purpose. Try as I would, I could not choose but picture it again and again, not only as Harry talked, but also afterwards as soon as I closed my eyes to sleep. There she always was, in that long, low room, which ever was to me the centre of my life, curled up so prettily in the grim old chair that it seemed quite proud and happy to hold the sweet burden in its rough old arms.
As my wife I pictured her there; but all the while I clearly saw what folly it was. How could I, a scholar, wed a wayward piece of Eve's flesh like that, with her wild temper, her empty little head, her utter ignorance of all that made my life? In her whole nature there was not a note to sound in harmony with me. It was a mad folly even to think of it. I knew that; yet how she seemed to brighten the room as she sat curled up in the great chair by the hearth!
With great vigour I threw myself into the work of preparation which was going forward, in order that I might forget my foolish fancy. There was plenty to do; for Frank had determined to thoroughly refit and furnish our frigate from the Pasha, which ship, being much worn, he purposed to give to the Spanish prisoners, that they might go whither they would. It was then his intention to move with the frigate and pinnaces to the Cabeças, and thence make an effort to recover Captain Tetú and the treasure we had left in the care of the land-crabs.
In spite of all my sharp reasoning with myself, I became each day more wretched and distraught as our work neared completion and the day for dismissing our prisoners approached. Yet I was resolved not to see her.
'At her shrine,' I said ever to myself, 'I cannot worship; if I go to her temple again it can only be for sacrilege.'
So I went not near her again. But Mr. Oxenham, I think, was continually both on the ship and walking with my Señorita on the shore and in the woods, till the time came for the prisoners departing.
It was about a fortnight after our return from capturing the recuas, when we had taken all we desired from the Pasha, and we no longer feared any danger from our hiding-place being revealed, that Frank announced to the prisoners that they were to be freed on the morrow, and entertained them in the fort by way of taking leave.
That night I was captain of the watch. It was close on midnight, as feeling very sad and lonely I was looking out over the land-locked haven to where the Pasha lay ready to sail on the morrow. The moon was rising in great beauty over the dark foliage of the island, and as it shed its light upon the peaceful waters I saw, to my surprise, the Pasha's gondola being rowed toward the shore.
I made quickly for the spot where it was likely to touch the beach, telling the guard to stand by and listen well for my whistle, as I suspected some design of the prisoners upon our treasure. Concealing myself in the brakes close to the sea, I waited, and very soon heard the boat grate on the stones. Then I stepped out to see what it might mean; and no less welcome sight could my eyes have seen.
For there stood Mr. Oxenham helping the Señorita ashore. I knew it was she, though for some reason I cannot tell she was dressed in the sailor garb in which I had seen her the night of the Cimaroons' attempt upon the prisoners. Whether those two had some wild scheme of escape together, or whether she hoped to pass observation till Mr. Oxenham could conceal her and carry her home in the vice-admiral, which he was to command, I cannot tell.
Maybe it was only a romantic fancy of hers to attempt her escape in this disguise, as she had heard of other women doing in old tales, or maybe, knowing well how dazzling was her beauty in that array, she thought thereby to charm her escort the more. This, indeed, I think it did, for as he lifted her out of the boat with great tenderness, I saw him kiss her very lovingly. Then all trace of love or respect for her seemed to leave me, and I felt quite calm as I stepped forward to do what seemed my plain duty, and passed them the challenge.
'What! again?' said Mr. Oxenham fiercely. 'Why, what a meddler are you, that have not heart to love a fair wench, and will yet prevent a man that has!'
She started away from him when she saw me. Had she clung to him for protection, I think I could hardly have kept as calm as I did.
'Love or no love, Mr. Oxenham,' said I, 'it is no matter of that here. What you intend I know not, but it is against the general's plain orders that any prisoner should leave the Pasha before she sails, and this lady I must see aboard again.''
'What a pestilent meddler it is!' muttered Mr. Oxenham, drawing his sword. 'If you want her for your own, by heaven, you shall fight for her.'
'Pray you be content, Mr. Oxenham,' I cried, giving ground, 'or I must summon the guard. What madness is this?'
He pressed on so hard, crying fiercely to me to draw, that I saw an encounter could not be avoided; yet I would not whistle for the watch, half for her sake once more, seeing how she was clad and what men would say of her, half for shame of seeking help after Mr. Oxenham's blade was drawn on me.
Hoping the better to worst him without doing great hurt, I took my cloak upon my left arm instead of my dagger and drew. He was coming at me with his buckler advanced, and his sword uplifted for a cross-blow like to the mandritto sgualembrato, but very unscholarly. So I fell from my draw to the good ward di testa, as Marozzo teaches, to receive his blow on my rapier, and hay! straightway in punta reversa threatened my imbroccata at his throat over his hand. He was cleverly ready for it with his buckler, so I lowered my ward suddenly lunga e larga, and throwing a resolute staccato, under his defence, compelled him to spring backwards out of distance.
He came on again immediately with a good down-right fendant, as though he would have broken my ward by main force. I avoided it by a quick passado to the right, pushing at the same time a stoccata which he took again on his buckler. But it was only a feint of mine to make him advance his defence, and so stop him recovering quickly. It served its purpose well. For I was able to cast my cloak over his blade before he could make his recovery, and so, passing my left leg forward, I seized his sword by the hilt. At the same moment I threatened an imbroccata at his face, and while he raised his buckler to bear my thrust, gave his hilt-points such a mighty wrench with my left that, seeing he had not the Italian grip, I was able to tear his sword from his grasp.
It was no fair encounter. He was a pretty swordsman at the old swashing sword and buckler play, but having been at sea all his manhood he had never had occasion to learn the new fence as I had, and would not, I think, if he had been able, for, like most Englishmen of that time, he greatly despised it. I could not but be sorry for him to see him stand at my mercy, as he now did, nor could I resent his angry words.
'Curse on your foining Italian birdspit play,' said he savagely as I returned him his sword. 'Curse on your skewer scullion tricks. Did you fight like a man, you should not have won her. Still won her you have, and by that I abide. Take her, and rest you merry with your light-o'-love.'
With that he took his sword, and, with a mocking salute to the Señorita, strode rapidly away. I looked for no less in him. For in all points of arms I had ever found him a most precise gentleman, and had no doubt, since he was worsted, he would honourably leave the field to me. So I slowly went to where my Señorita's fairy form leaned against the boat.
'Lady,' said I, 'think not I deal hardly with you, but at a word you must indeed go back.'
'No, no, Gasparo,' she said, sinking on her knees before me. 'Take me, for the love of Mary, take me, since you have gloriously won me. Indeed I do not love him. I did but use him to play upon your love and make it grow as great as mine. Tell me not I have killed it. I did but go with him because he promised to deliver me from my misery. It was only that I hoped to win you at last.'
'Peace, peace, lady, as you value your honour,' said I, at my wits' end how to keep my resolution. 'This thing cannot be. The general would never suffer you to abide with us. It could only end in strife and dishonour. Indeed you must go back.'
'Oh, Gasparo,' she pleaded, clasping my knees, 'you know not what you do. You love me, and know it not. You love me, and send me back to my misery, when we might know such joy together. You cannot tell what it is you condemn me to. You cannot tell the horror of a woman's life when she is wedded to one she loathes.'
'Wedded?' cried I, aghast.
'Yes,' she answered wildly. 'Have pity on me. Do not hate me for it. I did not tell you, nor did the others, because I pleaded with my father to pass for unwed, that I might the better win favour for them. So I said, but in truth it was that I might taste the joys I had never known. I was hardly out of childhood ere they wedded me to an old man for his wealth. He was bitter and cruel and ugly, an ape that I loathed. Yet I had no respite from his detested presence till he went to Lima on his affairs. Afterwards he wrote for me to join him. I was on my way thither when you captured me, and at last I saw my occasion to know for once what it was to be wooed. Oh Gasparo, hate me not for it, but rather pity me. I am beautiful; I know it. I was made for men to love, yet never knew what it was to be wooed by one true man. Pity me and have mercy. I cannot go back now.'
Horror-struck to find, as it were, that my sin had followed me even to that far island in the West, where at least I might have hoped to be free, my courage almost forsook me. A destiny, such as one short year ago I might have laughed at as the last to be mine, seemed now for ever fastened upon me. Once more I grasped the hilt of Harry's sword for strength, and then firmly took the little hands in mine and freed myself.
She stood up before me then, gazing in sad entreaty in my face as I implored her to go back. I showed her how, even were I willing to do as she wished, Frank would never permit it. I tried, as well as I could for shame, to show her how great was the sin she would bring upon her soul.
'It is hopeless,' she said as I ceased. 'I see it is hopeless to move you. I must even return to the misery you have made doubly hard to bear. Farewell, Gasparo, farewell.'
She held out her hand to me as she spoke. I took it coldly, my other hand on my sword. But that was not the end. With a sudden wild impulse she flung her arms about me, and my lips were tingling with one last passionate kiss. She had sprung into the boat and pushed off ere I hardly knew what she had done.
'So, faint heart,' she cried, as she stood up beautiful in the moonlight, 'so I set my sign upon you. When another comes to whom you would give what you deny to me, may she taste my kiss still lingering there and learn, though you know it not, that you have loved before.'
With difficulty she rowed herself back to the ship. I watched her shapely figure grow less and less across the moonlit water, till she was lost behind the dark hull, and I was alone once more.
CHAPTER XXVIII
I never saw my Señorita again. Early next morning the Pasha's anchors were hove up, and Mr. Oxenham went aboard to work her out through the tortuous channels by which she had entered more than six months ago.
It took all one day and part of the next to get the ship free, and Mr. Oxenham did not quit her till she was quite clear of the shoals. What passed between him and my Señorita then I cannot say. Whether they found means whereby afterwards letters went between them I do not know, but when years after news of his end came I could not but think it might have been so; and, in spite of seeming contradictions in the varying reports that reached us, I have often wondered whether my Señorita were not the same fair lady for whose sweet sake, less than three years after, when he had won undying honour by having sailed the South Sea first of all Englishmen, he madly did that whereby he not only lost all the wealth he had taken there, but also his trusty company and his fair name, ay, and gave up his wasted life beside as a pirate on a Spanish gallows at Lima. But let that pass. I bear him no ill-will, and trust he rests in peace, as, for all his sins, his courageous spirit well deserves.
For such a spirit indeed he had, and, next to the general, our whole company had conceived greater hope in him than in any other. So that, when a few days after the release of the prisoners we came with the frigate and the pinnaces to the Catenas, he was chosen to lead the attempt to recover the French captain and the buried treasure. For in spite of all Frank could say we would not suffer him to go, saying his life was too precious to us now to be risked on so dangerous a service, seeing he was the only man on whom we could count to carry us back to England.
Mr. Oxenham undertook the desperate service with the same light heart wherewith he always faced the greatest perils, but was not rewarded according to his courage. For, on coming to the Rio Francisco, he found in most forlorn condition one of the men who had stayed behind with Monsieur Tetú. From him he had news that the brave captain had been taken half an hour after our departure, and his fellow a little later, because he would not cast away his treasure, and so could not run fast enough to escape.
Moreover he told us that some two thousand Spaniards and negroes had been digging and ranting up the ground for the space of a mile, every way about the place where they must have learned from the prisoners that our treasure was buried. This Mr. Oxenham found to be true; for, notwithstanding the report, he still would go and see for himself, and was rewarded by the discovery of thirteen silver bars and some quoits of gold, which the Spaniards had not been able to find.
At last, then, our voyage was indeed made, and all we wanted for our return homewards was another good stout frigate; and to this end the general resolved to beat the same covert we had always found so full of game—to wit, the coast beyond Carthagena, about the mouth of the Rio Grande.
All were very merry over the near hope of our return, except, I think, myself. As for me, I could not but brood over what I had lost or escaped from, I knew not which to call it. I fear I was but a very doleful companion, and Harry, being now in great spirits with all the world, would not let me rest.
'So your Señorita would not stay with you?' he said, with a twinkle in his eye that much belied his pretended seriousness.
'I did not ask her,' I answered.
'Not ask her!' said he, 'and wherefore not, in a devil's name? Why, lad, you were over ears in love with her.'
'You are merry,' said I, a little testily I think, for it angered me that both he and she should say this, while I was for ever telling myself I could not be so foolish. 'I could as soon have loved one of those glistening butterfly-birds that are all sparkle and humming, and nothing of them beside.'
'Well, what of that?' said he. 'Were I Pythagorean, I could find no better case for a true woman's soul than one of those same dainty, merry, little humming birds, that in these past months have so often beguiled us when there was little else to make us forget our troubles.'
'True,' I answered. 'Such qualities will make a plaything, but never a wife.'
'Well, I know not,' he said; 'but I think a wife is mostly what a husband makes her, and doubt if a man may not make as good a one out of a plaything as anything else.'
He should have known, yet I could not think him right, nor do I now. I had no heart to pursue such talk then, so when he continued to rally me I hastily told him the truth.
'Forgive me,' he said, growing serious directly, and putting his hand on my shoulder, 'if you can forgive such a brute-beast as I am to torment you thus. What a curst unbroken tongue is mine! You would have kept her marriage from me to shield her fame. Truly, lad, in comparison to you, I deserve no woman's love.'
So he said, not knowing himself, for never was woman's love better bestowed than on him, yet he knew it not, and I verily believe, felt that he never could do enough for his wife to repay her generosity in marrying him. She thought no less, and often told me so. What wonder that their lives were happy!
We fell in with our French consort again soon after this, and they bore us company till they heard we were going past Carthagena, but this they would not venture with us, since the whole Plate Fleet lay there with its well-armed wafters ready for sea.
So we parted company once more at St. Bernardo, and then Frank stood in towards the city, and ran past with a large wind hard by the harbour's mouth, in sight of the whole fleet. Not one dared stir out after us, though we braved them with our music, and the Cross of St. George at our top, and all our silken streamers and ancients floating down to the water defiantly. Perhaps it was a bit of foolish bravado, but Frank laughed and rubbed his hands, and said it was worth another recua to have done it, which the whole company agreed, being half mad to think how we had succeeded in our wild adventure in despite of the whole power of the Indies.
The same night we fell in with a frigate of twenty-five tons, well laden with victuals, coming out of the river. We told the crew of our necessity, and used other persuasions to such good effect that at last they were content to go ashore, and leave their ship in our hands. Whereupon we returned to the Cabeças, and there, having rested seven days to careen our ships and prepare them for the voyage home, we bade farewell to our trusty Cimaroons, greatly contenting them with the iron-work of the pinnaces, which we broke up. To Pedro Frank presented a very goodly scimitar, which poor Monsieur Tetú had given him in return for his hospitalities at their first meeting. So greatly did the Cimaroon chief value this toy that he would not be content till Frank had accepted four great wedges of gold from his particular store.
It was a private gift to our general, and I think it noteworthy, as showing his just dealings with his mariners and venturers, that he would not keep those wedges, but cast them into the common store.
'Had not the venturers set me forth,' said he, 'and had not you, my lads, so truly borne your parts, I should never have had this present; wherefore I hold you should all enjoy the proportion of your benefits, whatsoever they be.'
So we took our leave of the Spanish Main, and, bearing room for Cape Antonio, passed to Havana, where we took a bark, the last of all our captures, which had been many, indeed, both for numbers and humanity in dealing with them, past anything that had been seen before. For at that time there were above two hundred frigates belonging to the cities of the Spanish Main and the Islands, ranging from ten to one hundred and twenty tons. Most of these we dealt with during our stay, and some of them twice and thrice, yet of all the crews we captured we hurt not a single man, save in the heat of fight, nor did we burn or sink one ship save in act of war, nor keep any save for our bare necessity. And so it was that Frank won himself a name of terror along the whole Spanish Main, and therewith a reputation for kindliness and mercy, both of which were never forgotten, and stood him in good stead many a time in after years.
He protested that God manifestly blessed him for the just chastisement, tempered with mercy, which he had inflicted on the idolaters; for that He so bountifully supplied us with rain for our necessities, and wind for our speeding, that we had no cause to touch at Newfoundland for our refreshing, but within twenty-three days we passed from the Cape of Florida to the Isles of Scilly, and on Sunday morning, the 9th day of August 1573, swaggered bravely into Plymouth harbour, amidst the thunder of our great pieces, the braying of our trumpets, and the gay fluttering of all our flags and streamers and ancients.
It was a sight to make a man forget all his sorrows, to see the Hoe quickly brighten like a flower-bed with the Sunday clothes of the godly people of Plymouth, and yet not godly enough to stay with the preacher when they knew whose salutations were disturbing their prayers. So with one accord they left the poor man, and hurried off to hear the sermon Frank was preaching with his ordnance and his music.
'Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into Heaven?' That was his text, and so well he expounded it with a sight of our ballast to all who came aboard, that I think there was hardly one that day who did not vow he would no longer stand still disputing and railing against Antichrist, but go forth and win gold for God out of the idolaters' treasure-house.
Wild were the rejoicings in Plymouth, and there was no one to check them. The Queen's grace was in no mood just then to hide our achievement under a bushel. Nay, rather she liked nothing better than to flaunt it in Philip's eyes, to show him she had a power he little dreamed of to answer the late-discovered felonious practices of Spain against her glorious crown and life.
Yet I tarried not longer than our business demanded, for Harry could not rest till he was at Ashtead again, nor would he depart thither without me. In vain I urged him to go alone and let me follow later, after he had seen his wife and all was smooth again.
'No, lad,' said he; 'we fled together, let us return together. It was one cause drove us forth. That is ended and forgotten. If I can go back, it is because you also may go back. Therefore one must not go without the other.'
So we rode together, Harry, the Sergeant, and I, and all the way to London it was for us a triumphal procession. The news of Frank's daring exploit had spread from town to town before us. The people were half wild at the tidings, and came gaping to see us with their own eyes, and hear from our own lips the truth of the tale that seemed too glorious to believe; to hear how Englishmen at last had trod that inviolate soil which seemed to give a magic and resistless power to Spain, their dreaded enemy, and had broken its mysterious spell for ever, and how we had so plenteously enriched ourselves out of their very heart-wells in despite of all their boasted power.
It seemed a strange and merry thing to them. They could only laugh as though it were some rude jest we had put on the Spaniards, and make merry over Philip's and Alva's wry faces to think of a poor English captain quietly plucking their beards with one hand, and cutting their purses with the other. That looming shadow in the South which yesterday was a monster of terror, to-day was only a bogie to frighten babies withal. So they strutted about, boasting that though the King of Spain might set all the silly geese over the sea in a flutter with his braggadocio, yet one quacking of an English drake was enough to set him shivering on his throne.
I trust we were more modest than they. Yet in those young days of England's growing strength I cannot blame her if she laughed and crowed like a lusty baby over each new step he learns to take.
Our triumphal progress should have put us in good heart; yet, as we approached our journey's end, a weight seemed to settle on us both. As we rode from Gravesend each well-known object served to recall the misery of the day we saw them last; and for the first time, I think, Harry began to doubt whether it would be so easy to bring things back to the old track again.
He had sent word forward that he was coming, but no more, not knowing what to write. Thus we could not tell how things stood at Ashtead, or even whether Mrs. Waldyve were there at all.
It was afternoon before we reached Rochester, and we stayed at the 'Crown' to dine, but did scant justice to the host's provision. Harry grew only more melancholy when we were alone.
'Would I could tell if she would forgive me!' he said at last. 'How can I hope for it, who left her so basely in the midst of all her grief? Tell me again, Jasper, all you saw when you went back to Ashtead after that sad day.'
So I told my tale again, and dwelt on those words she sang, giving him to hope for the best.
'Yet I think I will tarry till to-morrow,' he said. 'It is late; I am weary. It will be too sudden for her at so late an hour. I will tarry, and send her word I am waiting here for her to bid me come. Maybe she is not there, and maybe grief has killed her.'
He sank his voice very low as he uttered this new fear, and before I could tell what to answer him—for, God knows, I too had little heart for this meeting—the Sergeant came in and said the horses were ready. Harry looked at me, but I could give him no help. My shame was still quick within me, and my only desire was to put off the end, which I could not foresee, but only fear.
'Sergeant,' said Harry at last, desperately, 'we think it too late to go on. We will lie here to-night, and come to Ashtead betimes to-morrow.'
'Cry you mercy, sir,' said the Sergeant, in a rebellious burst. 'If you can be within two hours' ride of that peerless lady and not go to her, it is more than I have power or discipline for. So I crave leave to ride on alone with all speed.'
'But how know you we are within two hours' ride of her?' said Harry weakly, under the Sergeant's rebuking glance.
'Save your worship,' cried the Sergeant, 'is that what ails you? Then take it from me, you can ride thither without fear of not finding her, for my good friends the drawers tell me she has abode at home ever since your departing, though it is true that none have seen her abroad of late.'
And with that the Sergeant brought us our rapiers and cloaks, and for very shame we were bound to take them and beat an honourable retreat along the line which, by accident or design, he had left open for us.
So, without more ado, we rode out through the throng which had assembled to greet us when they heard we had come. The good people followed us up the street to the gates, and then fell to cheering us for two heroes, little thinking what sorry hearts those same heroes carried. So they cheered us, and Drake, and the Queen, as we rode out across the low land by the river, nor ceased till we began to climb the downs.
The Medway lay glistening in its mazy channels below us as we topped the hill. Rainham church-tower rose dimly before us; on either hand the turf swept downward from the road, broken by clumps of trees in every hollow where they could find shelter from the wind. These and a score of other familiar landmarks seemed to bring the past very near, and only increased my fear that the short time we had been away could not avail to heal the fearful wound I had made.
Gladly would I have turned off on the road which led to Longdene, as I had that first day I had seen Harry's wife, but I was resolved to go on to the end with him, not knowing how great his need might soon be of a comforter; for his doubts had infected me with a heart-sickness as sore as his own.
The bright picture of her as she was that day faded away as the gables and turrets of Ashtead came in sight, and I gave way to wondering what she looked like now, and of what she thought within those dim walls. And that wondering ceased as we rode under the gateway and dismounted. I could only then think of my brother. He was deadly pale, and clutched at my arm as he trod the steps, and stopped like one about to faint.
'Would she had come out to meet us,' he murmured, 'when she heard our horses in the court. She must have heard them.'
I knew not what to say, but pressed his hand and put my arm through his to steady him up the steps. He made a great effort as he reached the top and threw open the door of the hall.
There she stood in the lurid torch-light by the great hearth, as though just risen from her seat. She was pale and wild-eyed, and stood irresolute, gazing her heart out at him, with her white hands spread out a little in front of her as though the last spark of hope were dying within her, and she hardly dared to plead. Ah me! it was a picture of long-endured misery as I pray God I may never see again, and, still less, cause.
Harry stood, it seemed so long, waiting for some sign from her, but she stood like a statue with no power to move. Then he advanced slowly towards her, and I followed into the hall.
I had hardly stepped within when a sudden light came into her eyes as she caught mine. She had seen me then for the first time. She had seen me, and, God be praised, knew by my being there that all must be forgiven.
With a little glad cry she sprang forward, and in a moment those two I loved so well, and had wronged so deeply, were locked lip to lip in each other's arms.
I heard a stifled sob behind me, and turned to see the tears rolling down the Sergeant's bronzed face. Then we went forth that those two might be alone; but very soon they came and called me back, and fed me with such loving words as I could not have looked for had I been their greatest benefactor and not their curse.
Their most gentle dealing with me quite unmanned me, so that I easily was persuaded to lie at Ashtead that night, but on the morrow I thought it best to go.
Very dim and lonely was my library that night. My consuming grief was dead, drowned in their happiness and gentle usage of me. Yet it was very lonely. I tried to read, but each book I sought availed less to fasten my thoughts. So I sat musing on all that had befallen me those last months, and trying not to think how empty and sad my great chair looked without the sweet burden which, as it were, I had once seen nestling there.
That fancy grew dim as the months wore on, and I was ever at Ashtead as of old playing with little Fulke, or hunting with Harry, or talking over old times with Sergeant Culverin, who quickly settled down as Harry's right-hand on his estate, and so continued till his honest spirit passed away. But with Mrs. Waldyve I read no more then, nor till years after, when, through my thrice-blessed friendship with Signor Bruno, a deep-set faith came to comfort my ripening years and hers.
Indeed it was little I read at all, save in books of travel and cosmography. Study seemed a very poor and dry food to me at that time, the more so as there was no longer any one to urge me to it. Mr. Cartwright's strife was now nothing but a din of unmeaning words in my ears. Good Mr. Follet, my only other scholar friend, was dead, and his cherished 'Apology' still-born; for though he bequeathed the manuscript to me to set forth, I found its original obscurity and tangled learning (in so far as it was legible) so over-laid and involved and interlined with added matter from the four quarters of earthly and unearthly wisdom as to be past human understanding.
Each day then I saw more clearly that all was changed with me, and grew to know that thenceforth, till age should bring me peace and studious quiet, my content could only be found at Frank Drake's side, or in such great and stirring work as his.
And so it was, and not without good reward either, both in honour and riches. Yet there was nothing which my unworthy service earned of Her Majesty's grace and bounty that I valued higher than the loving welcome which was so plentifully bestowed on me at Ashtead each time I came home.
THE END