The Golden Galleon Page 8

  CHAPTER V.

  RAPIERS TO THE RESCUE.

  It was already dark as night when Gilbert Oglander and Timothy Trollope,having kept their tryst in the old market-place, made their way togetherout of the dimly-lighted town. The wind had changed to the north-east,and snow had come with it. The white flakes swept along with a madhorizontal rush, alighting only, as by accident, when some tree orcottage or human figure barred their onward career. The two lads pulleddown their caps about their tingling ears, bent their whitened bodiesforward against the blast, and strode along regardless of the slush andmud upon the road.

  Neither spoke much until they had walked almost a mile's distance awayfrom the town and were out in the open country. Here the snow seemed tobe falling thicker and the wind to be blowing almost a gale.

  "Methinks thou hadst best have kept thy cloak to thyself, MasterGilbert," remarked Timothy at length, as he passed under the friendlyshelter of a thick hedge, "for it had been of far greater use to theethan to the old man you so generously gave it to. Here are we exposed tothe bitterness of this storm, while he, I will warrant me, is already athome before a goodly fire, or else carousing with his boon companions insome comfortable tavern parlour."

  Gilbert walked on a few paces in silence.

  "It matters little to me whether the cloak hath been of use to the poorfellow or not," he presently said. "I saw him tremble with the cold, andcould not think of him going half-clothed while I had a garment tospare. And when one thinks on't, Tim, 'tis surely a hard matter for aseaman who hath spent half a lifetime in tropic countries to come homehere to England in the very depth of winter."

  "Pooh!" objected Timothy. "But 'tis said that an Englishman can endureany climate in the world and suffer no ill from it. What of Sir MartinFrobisher and his crews, who voyaged far up into the frozen regions ofthe Arctic, where, 'tis said, there be whole mountains of ice, and whereeven the salt seas be frozen over for a full half of the year? I willengage that Sir Martin and his men met not such kindly gentlemen up inthose parts to give them warm cloaks withal. And as for this old manHartop, I'd be in nowise astonished to-morrow if I heard that he hadsold your cloak to a pawnbroker and spent the money in strong liquors,or else thrown it away in the dice-box. You cannot persuade me, MasterGilbert, that a man who hath been for a score of years in foreign landscould come home so poor as this man, if he had not squandered all hisgains in wanton idleness."

  "Misfortune doth ofttimes come even to those who are righteous,"remarked Gilbert Oglander in a sober voice as he shook the wet snow fromthe front of his doublet and hitched his sword anew under his arm, "andI will not believe that the man who could devoutly thank God, as Hartopdid, for having brought him safely home, could be aught but an honestman at heart."

  "Nevertheless," pursued Timothy, "I do greatly fear that your charity inthis present case was misplaced; for as I was passing nigh to the signof the Three Flagons on my way to the market-place just now, Iencountered once again the dark-eyed youth whom we saw coming from offthe ship. He besought me to tell him, if I could, whither the old manHartop had gone, and did even offer to reward me if I could aid him inarresting the old rascal, as he called him. He spoke in such wise that Icould only believe that the old mariner had committed some cruel offenceagainst him. And, indeed, Master Gilbert, if you remember, this Hartopwas truly in a mighty desperate hurry to separate himself from hisshipmates."

  "Well, well, 'tis no affair of ours, Tim, howsoever it be," returnedGilbert. And he bent down his head and marched on in silence.

  Tim Trollope walked in advance of his young master to shield him fromthe snow; and thus they plodded on their way, until they came to anarrow lane bordered by high overhanging trees that increased thedarkness, and amid whose leafless, dripping branches the wind whistledand moaned. As the two turned into the lane Timothy dropped back to hiscompanion's side.

  "There is a matter upon which I listed to speak with you," he abruptlysaid, and then was silent for a dozen strides. "'Tis about the man wesaw to-day--" he added, "the man with the scarred cheek."

  "And what of him?" questioned Gilbert. "Hast learned peradventure thathe hath discovered a new Eldorado? or that his ship is laden with acargo of talking poll-parrots and gambolling monkeys? What of him,quotha?"

  "Nay, I have learned but little concerning either him or his ship,"answered Timothy. "But when I was in at the Pestle and Mortar thisafternoon, he also was there, getting his hair and beard trimmed, and itchanced that he did question my father most curiously touching my lordyour grandfather and your late uncle Jasper. It seemeth that he knewboth your father and your uncle. And more especially was he interestedas to yourself, Master Gilbert."

  "How so?" exclaimed Gilbert, growing attentive now. "But if I heard himaright as he spoke to the woman who was with him, 'twas surely in thePortuguese that he spoke, and I marvel how any Portugal man could haveknown my father."

  "'Tis true that he did speak in a foreign tongue," responded Timothy,"but, for all that, I take him to be an Englishman born, if indeed he benot even a man of Devon. My reason for speaking of him, however, is thathe showed a very strange and surprising concern in the matter of my LordChampernoun's title and estates. When he was told that your uncleJasper had died of a malaria out on the Spanish Main, a smile came uponhis face. It was as if he knew a vast deal more about Jasper Oglanderthan we could tell him. 'Twas not my business to question one of myfather's customers; but had I been bold enough I should certainly haveasked him if 'twas not true, as I do suspect, that he had some part inthe death of your uncle; for you must not forget, Master Gilbert, thatthe matter was never very clearly explained to us. Even Sir RichardGrenville threw some doubt upon the report that he died of a fever, andsuggested that 'twas by the hand of man that he was taken off. And,indeed, if all we have heard of Jasper Oglander be true, he was a man(saving your presence) of such evil ways, that 'twould be no greatwonder to me if he had been murdered by some one whom he had injured outthere in wild Virginia."

  "Thou'rt too prone to listen to idle gossip, Tim," rejoined Gilbert in atone of reproof; "ay, and too ready to draw your own conclusions. For myown part I am willing to believe that Uncle Jasper was a far better manthan report hath made him out to be. 'Tis true that I never knew him,and that I never even set eyes upon him save when I was a little child,and too young to judge of his character. But my grandfather hath neverspoken an ill word of him in my hearing, and, prithee, what should thatbode but that Jasper was a very worthy and proper gentleman?"

  "Not in your hearing, it may well be," interposed Timothy, "but I doassure you that my lord hath no great cause to love his younger son'smemory. As for your father (God rest him!), he and his brother Jasperwere ever at enmity."

  Gilbert walked on for many moments without speaking, but at last hesaid:

  "I have heard more than once of that enmity, Tim, but never yet have Idiscovered its cause. Canst tell me why it was that they quarrelled,lad?"

  "There were divers causes, Master Gilbert," returned Tim. "But for themost part the enmity arose (or so at least I have been told) out ofJasper Oglander's envy and jealousy. He was jealous of your father'sgreater wit and learning; of his greater skill in all games and manlysports; jealous in that his brother Edmund was chosen by the Queen to beone of Her Majesty's pages at the court and afterwards one of herfavoured courtiers. But more than all else, 'tis said that he wasjealous in that your father was the elder son, and by consequence theheir to the Champernoun title and lands. Also, you must understand--"

  Gilbert suddenly gripped his companion's arm.

  "Hark!" he cried. "Prithee, what is that strange wailing sound that Ihear?"

  Timothy came to a stand-still and held his breath, listening for a fewmoments.

  "I hear naught whatsoever," said he, "naught but the wailing of the windamong the trees. Yet wait! there was in truth another sound. Was't notthe screech of some wild bird of the night? No; 'tis there again. 'Tissomeone singing--so
me wayfarer chanting a ditty to scare away theghosts."

  "Even so it is," agreed Gilbert. "Ay, and a likely place for a ghosttoo, down yonder in Beddington Dingle. I had rather travel a good fivemiles round than pass through that dark and desolate wood aftermidnight."

  "And I also," returned Timothy, resuming his steady strides; "but lessfrom the fear of ghosts and goblins than from dread of footpads andthievish vagabonds; for the place hath been overrun with them these manyweeks past. 'Twas in that self-same hollow that Farmer Uscombe wasrobbed of his purse, and ten angels in it, only a seven nights since.Faith, my master, but the man in front of us hath truly a lusty andtuneful voice! Ay, and a clear. You can e'en hear his very words. 'Tissome mariner's song he singeth, touching the taming of the blusteringwinds or some such theme. Hark at him!"

  The two lads gave no thought to the continuance of their brokenconversation, but walked silently onward through the dark lane, guidingtheir way by the level patches of snowy ground that lay between the highand shadowy banks at the roadside. The wayfarer in advance of them waseither walking very slowly or else coming towards them from the oppositedirection, for his merry ditty became more and more distinct with everystep they took.

  "Who thinks to strive against the stream, And for to sail without a mast,Or without compass cross the main, His travel is forlorn and waste;And so in cure of all his painHis travel is his chiefest gain.

  "So he likewise, that goes about To please each eye and every ear,He needs to have, withouten doubt, A golden gift with him to bear;For ill report shall be his gainThough he bestow both toil and pain.

  "God grant each man once to amend; God send us all a happy place;And let us pray unto the end That we may have our prince's grace:Amen, amen! so shall we gainA due reward for all our pain."

  Thus he sang. And at the close of each verse he broke out into a livelychorus that echoed through the woods. Towards the last, however, hestopped very suddenly, and his melody presently gave place to a loudalarming cry for help.

  "Thieves! Cut-purses!" he cried "Ah, had I but a sword!"

  The two lads set off at once at a quick run in the direction whence thecry had come.

  They had gone but fifty yards or so, when at a sharp turn in the lanethey came upon some four men whose figures loomed darkly through themist of falling snow. One of the men lay struggling on the groundtrying to disentangle his head and arms from his cloak, while two ofhis assailants knelt over him, the one evidently robbing him of suchvaluables as he might have about him, the other with a daggerthreateningly drawn. The fourth man stood apart, encouraging them intheir evil work.

  "TIMOTHY CAUGHT HIM BY THE NECK AND HURLED HIM BACK."]

  Gilbert and Timothy understood in a moment what was going on. The victimof this night attack was doubtless the wayfarer whom they had heard buta few minutes before carolling his moral ditty; and these threevagabonds had fallen upon him from their ambush in the dingle, wherethey had probably waited with intent to waylay the first passer-by androb him.

  "Out with your rapier, Master Gilbert!" cried Timothy as he drew his ownweapon. "We must e'en rescue the man. Yet use your blade discreetly, for'twill go ill with us if we do slay one of the rascals."

  He flung himself upon the man nearest to him--the one with the drawndagger,--caught him by the neck and hurled him back into the ditch.Gilbert Oglander was about to deal in like manner with the other robber,when the third man, who had hitherto stood apart,--a very tall man,wearing a wide slouched hat and a long cloak,--sprang upon him andforced him back.

  Timothy now stood over their fallen victim, guarding him while hestruggled to his knees. In the meantime the one whom Tim had flung intothe ditch had regained his feet and drawn his rapier. Wrapping the skirtof his cloak about his left arm, he leapt upon Gilbert Oglander. In thedarkness Gilbert scarcely saw his intention, and might have been takenwholly unaware had not Timothy warned him at the right moment. Gilbertcaught his adversary's rapier on his own blade and returned the attack.The man facing him was small, lithe, and evidently well skilled in theuse of his weapon. Bending his body forward, he stretched forth hiscloaked left arm, thus shielding himself. Gilbert made a thrust at theman's right side, but with no greater result than to strike a spark offire from the other's blade. In recovering his balance he felt his leftfoot slip upon a clod of snow; he fell forward, and at the same momentthere was a sharp twinge of pain in the upper part of his right arm. Hissword dropped from his grasp and he rolled over.

  When he rose to his feet again he saw that the three robbers hadescaped. Timothy, and the wayfarer who had been the cause of thisencounter, were down in the ditch, peering through a dark gap in thebank by which the three vagabonds had made their way into the wood.

  "The rascals! They have escaped us!" Timothy was saying. "Well, there issmall harm done, and no one is hurt!"

  "Small harm, say you?" cried the wayfarer, speaking now for the firsttime. "But they have robbed me--robbed me of all that I had in theworld!"

  "Your all cannot surely have been much, my friend, since you carried itwith you so lightly," said Timothy. "There is little use in making suchdole over a trifle."

  "Ah, you do not know, you do not know!" said the other, pacing to andfro in his dire distress. "As well might they have taken my life as whatthey have gone off with."

  Timothy searched into the man's face, yet saw nothing to enlighten himin the black darkness.

  "Art thou of Plymouth?" he presently asked.

  "That I am, my master," came the reply. "My name, sirs, is JacobHartop--Jacob Hartop that went out with John Hawkins in the yearsixty-seven, and that hath now come home only to be waylaid and robbedby a parcel of villainous cut-purses that sprang upon me from among thetrees yonder. I had not heard them behind me, for it chanced that, beingsomewhat lonesome on dry land, I fell to chanting a little song, as itwere for company's sake. I warrant me the ruffians would not so haveoverpowered me had they not thrown my cloak over my eyes and mouth, andthus disabled me from defending myself."

  He drew the garment about his shoulders, turning up its high collarround his neck. "'Tis a cloak that a kindly young gentleman gave unto meas I stepped ashore," he went on. "Had I been without it I might haveworsted my assailants; and yet had I not had it I must surely have beenslain, for one of the villains stabbed at me with his dagger with intentto take my life, and by God's providence the blade, instead of enteringmy heart, struck upon one of these gay silver buttons."

  He paused and looked at Gilbert as the lad limped towards him. Even inthe darkness he seemed to recognize him.

  "Now, beshrew me if thou art not the self-same young gentleman who gaveme the cloak," he cried in grateful surprise. Then, noticing thatGilbert walked lame, he added, "But thou art limping! Hast hurt thy legin the scrimmage?"

  Timothy glanced in alarm at his young master, and besought him to tellwhat injury he had received.

  "I slipped on the snow," explained Gilbert, "and gave my foot a twist.'Tis naught to speak of. Come, let us hasten home. Sir Francis Drakehath gone to spend the night with my grandfather and certain of hisfriends from London, and we may yet be in time to hear him relate someof his adventures ere he returns to Plymouth. I will take thy arm,Timothy, for my foot is paining me, and--".

  He was about to tell that he had been wounded, but not wishing to alarmhis companions, or perhaps a little ashamed of being defeated by a merefootpad, he kept the matter to himself.

  "What do I hear?" exclaimed Jacob Hartop. "Didst thou not speak the nameof Francis Drake--Sir Francis Drake? God be thanked! Then he is stillalive, eh? And hath risen in the world since the days when he and I wereshipmates? Sir Francis, forsooth! Well, he deserveth all the honoursthat a prince can bestow upon him. Right well do I mind the time when wewere at Nombre de Dios. Ah! that was a time, my masters. But 'tis a longstory. Whither are ye bound for?"

  "We go to the manor-house of Modbury," answered Timothy.

  "Ah! I know it well," returned Hartop as he trudged along the lane atGilbert
's right side. "'Tis my Lord Champernoun's place, and I doubt notyou will both be in his lordship's service--pages in his householdbelike?" He did not wait for an answer to his last remark, but went onwith a cheerfulness that was surprising in an old man; a man, moreover,who had just been robbed of all his worldly wealth: "Prithee, have theymended the old bell that hung in the little turret above the stables?Ha, ha! 'Twas I that broke it, flinging a stone at a blue jay that wasperched upon the weather-vane. Many are the apples and pears I stolefrom out the orchard there; ay, and the rabbits and pheasants I trappedi' the woods! His lordship had a Flanders mare by name Nancy, that hewas wont to ride upon to London. She had a white star betwixt her eyes,and a most shrewish temper withal. None could ride her but his lordshipand William Stevens; though 'tis true she would willingly eat an appleo' mornings from out my lady's hand. Is the animal still as full of hertricks as she used to be?"

  "'Tis like enough that the animal is in her grave these twenty years,Master Hartop," said Timothy, smiling to himself at the old man's memoryof a time long past.

  "Ay, like enough, like enough," mused the old man. "Time doth slip bywith astonishing speed--though, indeed, 'twas laggard enough in thegalleys and in the prison of Cadiz."

  "I pray you tarry a moment," interposed Gilbert, suppressing a groan ofpain. "I cannot walk so fast. My ankle hurts me at every step. I beg youhaul off my boot, Tim, to give me a few moments' ease. Come closer,Master Hartop, and let me lean on your shoulder."

  The old man obeyed, while Timothy went down on his knees in the mud andtried, but with little success, to remove the offending boot. He wasinterrupted by a sudden cry from Hartop.

  "God bless us all, what is this?" the mariner cried, running his handover Gilbert's right arm. "There be surely more wet here than hath comefrom a few flakes of snow. Why, 'tis blood, my master, 'tis blood! Thouart wounded!"

  "Wounded?" echoed Timothy rising excitedly to his feet. "Oh, my master!Wherefore didst thou not tell us of this before? Where is the wound?"

  "The fellow's rapier pierced me in the arm," explained Gilbert in afaint voice, as he leaned yet more helplessly on Hartop's shoulder. "But'tis not much, I do assure you."

  Timothy Trollops pressed his open palm upon the lad's sleeve, and,finding it wet from shoulder to wrist, "Not much?" he cried. "Why,thou'rt scarce able to stand, so much blood hath streamed from thee!Thou'rt well-nigh fainting! Had I but known of this at the time, Iwarrant me the scoundrel should not have escaped so easily. Wouldst knowthe man again, my master?"

  "Not I," murmured Gilbert in a yet fainter voice. "I saw not his face."

  "Nor I neither," added Jacob Hartop. "'Twas too dark to see aught buttheir shadowy forms, even if mine own face had not been half-smotheredunder my cloak. But they are clean gone now you'll be saying, and 'twillavail us little to go in search of them or to tarry here any longerwhile one of us is sore wounded." He put his arms about Gilbert andadded: "Heave thyself on to my back, young friend, and I will carrythee. 'Tis but a small distance if I mind aright from here to ThomasSoutham's mill, where peradventure we shall get help, and a horse tocarry thee further."

  Timothy gently pushed the old man aside.

  "Thy memory is like to an old almanack, Master Hartop," he said, "and ofas little value for present use. Southam's mill was burnt to the grounda good ten years ago, and hath never yet been rebuilt."

  "What?" cried Hartop, and, as if the information concerning the mill hadstaggered him, he stepped backward, allowing Gilbert Oglander to slipfrom his grasp. "Burnt to the ground!" he repeated. "Then prithee, youngsir, what hath become of the miller's fair young daughter Betty--BettySoutham that promised to wait for me when I sailed away to foreignlands, ay, and to marry me when I should come back with the fortune thatI meant to gain for her? What hath become of her, I say?"

  Timothy lifted Gilbert upon his knee and held him there while heanswered:

  "Betty Southam? Ah! I knew her when I was a little child. But I doprotest she was then neither young nor fair. As to what hath become ofher, 'tis soon told, Master Hartop. She was found lying dead onewinter's morning in Beddington Woods."

  "Alas!" cried Hartop. "Then was my song indeed prophetic, for all mytravel hath in very truth been 'forlorn and waste'."

  "Listen!" interrupted Timothy. "Hear you not the sound of horses' feetupon the road? 'Tis surely our robbers, riding away."

  "I hear them plainly," returned Hartop. "There be two horses, as I judgeby the sound. And, far from retreating, they are coming nearer andnearer. I pray Heaven that they be friends who will help us!"

  Gilbert Oglander had now somewhat recovered from his faintness, and withthe help of his two companions he limped to the side of the road, where,sitting on the edge of the ditch, he at length succeeded in pulling offhis boot, for his ankle had been badly sprained and was already somewhatswollen.

  The three waited there in silence at the roadside until the horsemenwhom they had heard approaching came within a few yards of them, whenTimothy Trollope stepped out in front of them, and waving his handsaloft called aloud to them to halt. His call was not needed, however,for the horsemen had already drawn rein.

  "So-ho!" cried one of them as he unsheathed his sword, and spurring hishorse again he drove the animal on as if to run Timothy down. "We havecaught you, you rascals, have we?" he cried with an oath. "We shallteach you better than to go about a-pillaging of honest folks' farmyardsand carrying off their ducks and hens! 'Tis Plymouth gaol that shall beyour lodging to-night if I be not vastly in error." He turned to hiscompanion, "Now, Jake," he ordered, "look you to those two in the ditchthere! See that they escape not into the wood."

  Timothy sprang forward and seized the horse's bridle.

  "Hold hard, Bob Harvey," he cried, addressing the rider. "Have a carewhere y'are driving your horse. Can you not see who we are, man? Here beMaster Oglander, bleeding and well-nigh dead of a great sword-cut givenhim by a thief of a footpad but a few minutes since."

  "Od's life, Master Tim, is't yourself then?" cried the horseman drawingback. "Faith, lad, I had nearly run you through. What bringeth you hereat such an hour? And Master Gilbert wounded, say you?--and by footpads?Prithee, how many were there? I'll be sworn 'twas the self-same gangthat we are now seeking."

  "There were three of them," answered Timothy. "And after robbing thispoor old man here and wounding Master Gilbert they made off throughBeddington Woods."

  "Ay, three there were at the Manor Farm. I warrant me, they are the samelot," declared Bob Harvey. Then he added, turning to his follower,"Come, Jake, we may catch them yet if so be we gallop round to the otherroad." And he dug his spurs into his horse's side.

  "Stay!" cried Timothy, gripping the reins. "Thou'dst best dismount, Bob,and give up thy horse to the young master; or else take him up besidethee and ride home with him. As for the thieves, or poachers, orwhatever they be, Jake Thew may continue the chase alone."

  "As you will, Master Timothy," returned Harvey; "but methinks MasterGilbert had better get up in front of me. 'Tis an ill-mannered animalthis, and hard to manage."

  So Gilbert Oglander mounted on the horse's back and rode slowlyhomeward, while the second horseman galloped off alone along the lane inthe direction of the town. Timothy intended to go home afoot, runningall the way by his master's side, but ere he started off he turned toJacob Hartop.

  "And now, Master Hartop," said he, "prithee, where go you to-night? Hastgot a home in these parts?"

  Jacob was silent for some moments. At last he said:

  "I had meant to rest myself at Southam's Mill, where they have dailyexpected me these twenty years and more. But if, as you say, the millhath been burnt down, why, then, there is not a house in the land that Ican call my home. Howbeit, I doubt not I shall find goodly shelter underthe lee of some friendly haystack. 'Twill not be the first, no, nor thehundredth time that I have slept in the open air. And believe me, mymaster, he is a happy man who hath none to thank for his food andshelter saving only his God."

  "I d
o perceive that thou art an easily contented mortal," remarkedTimothy with a ring of sympathy in his voice.

  "Privation hath made me so," returned Hartop.

  "Nevertheless," pursued Tim, "you will, so please you, think no more ofthe haystack, but come on to the manor of Modbury; for sure I am thatMaster Oglander would blame me most severely were I to suffer you to goadrift like a lost creature."

  Hartop answered very seriously and firmly: "Were there no other house inall England, my master, I should still refuse to take shelter in themanor of Modbury."

  "And wherefore?" asked Timothy in surprise.

  "Because," returned the old mariner, "it is in that same house that mybitterest enemy doth live--Jasper Oglander to wit."

  "Pooh!" rejoined Timothy. "Jasper Oglander is dead these many years."

  "Not so," declared Hartop. "You, indeed, and many others may believe himdead. But in this matter, at the least, I make no mistake; for hark ye,my friend, Jasper Oglander is as much alive at this moment as you or I.You and your young friend may not have known him--how should you?--but'twas he whom you saw this very day coming ashore from the ship _Pearl_;he and his wife and his son. If you should see him again,--as I doubtnot you will ere many hours be past,--you shall know him by the tokenthat he hath an old knife-cut across his cheek: a cut that was dealt tohim by one whom he sought to treacherously murder."