Penfeather was at the casement, had whipped open the lattice and, pinning the intruder by the throat, thrust a pistol into his face all in a moment; and then I recognised Godby the peddler.
"Let be, Adam!" I cried, springing forward. "Let be, here's a friend!" Saying nothing, Penfeather thrust away the weapon, and gripping the little man in both hands, with prodigious strength jerked him bodily in through the window; which done, he clapped to the lattice and drawing the curtain stood fronting Godby grim-lipped.
"And now what?" says he softly.
"Lord!" gasped Godby, "Lord love me, but here's a welcome to a pal, here's the second pistol I've had under my nose this night—throttle me in a hayband else!"
"What d'ye seek?"
"My pal Martin, 'cording to his word."
"D'ye know this fellow, Martin?"
"Aye!" I nodded and told briefly how and where we had met.
"God-be-here Jenkins am I, master," said Godby, "and well beknown to Joel Bym as keepeth this house, strangle me else—ask Joel! And if you're Master Penfeather I've first, this here for ye, and second, a warning." And speaking, Godby drew a letter from the breast of his leathern jerkin.
"A warning?" says Penfeather, glancing at the superscription, "Against whom?"
"A black dog as goes erect on two legs and calls himself Gregory Bragg."
"You mean Lady Brandon's under-bailiff?"
"I do so. Well, he be no friend o' yourn, and what's more, he's hand and fist wi' others as be no friends o' yourn either, cut-throat sailor-men and black rogues every one."
"How d'ye know 'em for sailor-men?"
"By their speech, master—I was a mariner once—and moreover by a ranting, hell-fire chorus."
"Ha!" says Penfeather, shooting a glance at me. "A chorus, was it?"
"Aye, master, concerning murder and what not."
"And the words running like this—
'Two on a knife did part wi' lifeAnd three a bullet took O!But three times three died plaguilyA-wriggling on a hook O!'
Was that the way of it?"
"Smother me if it weren't!" quoth Godby, staring.
"Sit down, Godby, and tell me how you chanced on this," says Adam, seating himself at the table.
"Well, master, I happened to lie snug hid 'neath a heap o' straw—and for why, says you? Says I to you, by reason o' two lousy catchpolls as won't let poor Godby be. Now this straw chanced to be in my Lady Brandon's stables—and why there, says you? Says I to you, because these lousy catchpolls being set on poor Godby by this black dog Gregory, and him my lady's man, my lady's stables is the last place catchpolls would come a-seeking Godby. Well now, as I lie there I fall asleep. Now I'm a light sleeper and presently I'm roused by the sound o' your name, master."
"Mine?" says Penfeather, softly.
"Aye. 'Here's a black passage to Captain Penfeather—curse him!" says a voice. 'Aye,' says another, 'by knife or bullet or—' and here he falls to singing of a knife and a bullet and a hook. 'Avast!' says a third voice. 'Belay that, Abny, you'll be having all the lubbers about the place aboard of us!' 'Why,' says the man Abny, 'since you're wi' us well and good, but don't forget we was hard in his wake, aye, and ready to lay him aboard long before you hove in sight and damn all, says I.' 'Some day, Abny, some day,' says the other, "I shall cut out that tongue o' yourn and watch ye eat it, lad, eat it—hist, here cometh Gregory at last—easy all.' Now the moon was very bright, master, and looking out o' my hay-pile as the door opened I spied this rogue Gregory—"
"Did ye see aught o' the others?" questioned Adam.
"No master, not plain, for they kept to the dark, but I could see they was four and one a very big man. 'Ha' ye got it, friend, ha' ye got it?' says the big rogue. 'No, plague on't!' says Gregory. 'Look how I will, I can find nought.' 'Here's luck!' says the big fellow, 'Bad luck, as I'm a soul. Where's he lie?' 'Can't say,' says Gregory. 'His messages go to the Conisby Arms, but he aren't there, I know.' 'The Faithful Friend, was it,' says the big fellow, 'a-lying off Deptford Creek?' 'Aye, the Faithful Friend,' says Gregory, and then chancing to look outside, claps finger to lip and comes creeping into the shadow. 'Lie low!' says he in a whisper—here's my lady!' And then, master, close outside comes my lady's voice calling 'Gregory! Gregory!' 'Answer, fool!' whispers the big man. 'Quick, or she'll be athwart our cable!' 'Here, my lady!' says Gregory and steps out o' the stable as she's about to step in. 'Gregory,' says she in hesitating fashion, 'have ye seen a stranger hereabouts to-night?' 'Not a soul, my lady!' says Gregory. 'A tall, wild man,' says she, 'very ragged and with yellow hair?' 'No, my lady,' says Gregory. Here she gives a sigh. 'Why then,' says she, 'bear you this letter to Master Penfeather—at once.' 'To the Conisby Arms, my lady?' says Gregory. 'No,' says she, 'to the Peck-o'-Malt by Bedgebury Cross. And, Gregory, should you see aught of the poor man that suffered lately in the pillory, say I would speak with him. And now saddle and begone with my letter.' 'To Bedgebury,' says Gregory, 'the Peck-o'-Malt—to-night, my lady?' 'This moment!' says she, mighty sharp. 'And, Gregory, I hear tales of your hard dealing with some of the tenantry: let me hear no more or you quit my service!' And away she goes, leaving Gregory staring after her, letter in hand. ''Twas she!' says the big man in a whisper. 'I'd know her voice anywhere—aye, 'twas she whipped it from my girdle, my luck, shipmates—our luck, but we'll find it if we have to pull the cursed house down brick and brick.'"
"Godby," says Adam suddenly, leaning forward, "did ye get no glimpse o' this man's face?"
"Nary a one, master, and for why?—the place was dark and he wore a great flapped hat."
"Why then," says Adam, pinching his chin, "did ye chance to see his hands?"
"No whit, master, and for why?—he wore a loose cloak about him."
"And what more did ye hear?"
"No more, master, and for why?—because, as luck would have it a straw tickled my nose and I sneezed loud as a demi-culverin, and there's poor Godby up and running for his life and these murderous rogues after poor Godby. Howbeit they durst not shoot lest they should alarm the house, and I'm very light on my feet and being small and used to dodging catchpolls and the like vermin, I got safe away. Having done which and bethinking me of my pal Martin, I made for the Peck-o'-Malt. Now as luck would have it, Gregory overtakes me (as I had purposed he should, I being minded to get even wi' him for good and all). Down he gets from the saddle and me by the collar, and claps a great snaphaunce under my nose. 'So it was you, ye rogue, was it?' says he. 'That same,' says I, 'but who's that peeping over the hedge there?' The fool turns to see, I twist the pistol out of his grip, and have him very neatly trussed and gagged with his belt and my girdle, and so, heaving him i' the ditch, into the saddle and here I am."
"Godby," says Penfeather, viewing him keen-eyed, "I need men—will ye sail with us for the Main?"
"Does Martin sail?"
"He does! Will ye along?"
"Heartily, captain, heartily!"
"Are ye armed, Godby?"
"I've Gregory's dag here," says Godby, pulling out a long-barrelled pistol.
"Joel shall find ye another to go with it. And ye know the sea?"
"Aye, Captain, I sailed with Captain Myddleton as gunner and will lay you a gun with any man from a murdering-piece or minion to a great culverin."
"Good!" says Penfeather and summoned Joel Bym, who, beholding the peddler, stared, bellowed jovial greeting, and at nod from Penfeather, departed with him, arm in arm.
"Well, Martin," says Adam when the door had closed, "and what d'ye make o' this tale of sailor-men?"
"That they're the same rogues I fell out with."
"Beyond doubt, Martin. And what more?"
"That like enough they're on their road hither."
"Beyond any peradventure, shipmate."
"Well?"
"Well, let 'em come, Martin, let 'em come. There's somewhat here I don't understand and I mislike mystery. So let them come, here in this little room, in light or dark, I ask no better."
"And you such a timid man, Adam!"
"True, Martin, but there's occasion when a worm turneth." Here he took up the letter Godby had brought and breaking the seal, read it through, once with a glimmer of his grim smile, read it again and frowned and frowning, glanced across at me:
"Here's matter concerning you, Martin, hark'ee!" And he read this:
"To MASTER ADAM PENFEATHER:
Should you chance upon the poore man that suffered lately in the pillory (by no order or will of mine) you will I charge you do all you may to succour him in any manner soever: This letter I do write in much haste to instruct you that I purpose to sail in the 'Faithfull Friend' along with you and my good cuzen Sir Rupert in this quest for my father. Moreover I will you should sail as speedily soon as may be.
As regardeth the poore young man afore-mentioned, if he be quite destitute as I do think him, and will take no money as I do judge most like, then Master Adam you shall offer to him such employ in my ship the 'Faithfull Friend' as he will accept.
And this is my wish and command.JOAN BRANDON.
He is great and tall and fierce with yellow hair and cruell mouth, yet seemeth more cruell than he trulie is."
"So there you are to a hair, Martin, and here's our enterprise brought to nought if she sail on this venture!"
"Why then she mustn't sail!" says I.
"'Tis her ship, Martin, and she's a Brandon!"
"Then sail without her."
"And be taken before we're clear o' the Downs and strung up at Execution Dock for piracy."
"Why then if she goeth aboard I don't!"
"And wherefore not, Martin?"
"I'll take no service with a Brandon!"
"Aye verily there's your pride, Martin, which is cumbersome cargo."
"Call it what you will, I'll not sail."
"And your oath, comrade? Sail along o' me you must and shall! But having respect for your high-stomached pride you shall stow away in some hole or corner and she never know you're aboard."
Hereupon I scowled, but perceiving him so serene albeit a little grim, I said no more and he fell to pacing slowly back and forth, head bowed and hands locked behind him.
"I need you, Martin," says he at last, "aye, I need you even more than I thought, the one man I may trust to in a pinch. For, Martin, here's that I don't understand."
So saying he halted by the table, and presently taking up the dagger (and with a strange reluctance) fell to twisting it this way and that; finally he gave a sudden twist and the smiling head of the silver woman coming away, showed a hollow cavity, running the length of the haft, roomy and cunningly contrived. Slowly he fitted the head into place again and, laying the weapon down, shook his head:
"Here's Bartlemy's dagger true enough, Martin," says he, touching its keen point. "Here's what found Bartlemy's black heart—aye, and many another! Here's what went hurtling over cliff in Tressady's fist—and yet here it lies—which is great matter for wonder, Martin. And, since 'tis here—why then—where is the vile rogue Tressady? Which is matter for painful speculation, Martin—where?"
"Snoring, likely enough!" says I, "Not so far hence, or tramping hither."
"If so, Martin, then Death cannot touch him, the which is out of all reason!"
"'Tis more like the fall did not kill him, Adam."
"Had you but seen the place, shipmate! But if water won't drown him and steel won't harm him—"
"Like you, he wears a chain-shirt, Adam, that I do know. Moreover, the devil cherisheth his own, I've heard."
"Why here's reason, Martin, plain reason I grant, and yet—but 'tis late and you'll be for sleep, and there's reason in that too. Come, I'll show your bed—"
"Spare yourself—I want no bed," says I bitterly. "'Twere a luxury wasted on the likes o' me. My couch shall be the corner yonder."
"Ah, prideful youth! 'Tis sweet to be young, Martin!" says Penfeather with his sudden, whimsical half-smile and clapping his hand on my shoulder. "Sleep where ye will, that corner is as good as another. See, there stands my tuck, a Spanish blade of notable good temper, it hath been a true friend to me many a time ere now and should be a trusty bedfellow. As for me, I'm for a feather-bed. And, Martin," says he, pausing to pinch his chin and view me sideways, "if aught should chance to me—at any time—the chart and treasure will be yours. So good-night, comrade, and sleep sound, for 'tis like we shall wake betimes."
Saying which he turned, slow and thoughtful, and went out, closing the door softly behind him. As for me, being very drowsy, I wrapped myself in my weather-worn cloak, blew out the candles and, lying down in the corner, was presently fast asleep.
Now as I slept I dreamed that Penfeather's long rapier, standing in the dark corner close by, was stealthily endeavouring to free itself from its leathern scabbard with intent to skewer me to the floor as I lay; and, striving thus to draw itself, made soft, strange noises and rustlings insomuch that I presently woke, and staring motionless into the darkness above, knew that these sounds were real. Somewhere close by was a furtive whisper of sound that came and went, a soft-drawn breath, a scraping of fingers on the panelling above me in the darkness; and in that moment also I became aware that the lattice yawned wide upon a square of glimmering blackness. Suddenly a sly-creeping foot touched me unseen and then (even as the owner of this foot tripped over me) came the roaring flash of a pistol hard by, followed immediately by another and, as I lay deafened and half-dazed, the floor quivered to the soft, vicious thud of leaping, swift-trampling feet, and on the air was a confused scuffling, mingled with an awful, beast-like worrying sound. And now (though I was broad-awake and tingling for action) I constrained myself to lie still, nothing stirring, for here (as I judged) was desperate knife-play, indeed more than once I heard the faint click of steel. And now rose shouts and cries and a tramp of feet on the stair without. Someone reeled staggering across the room, came a-scrabbling at the open casement and, as I leapt up, the door burst open and Joel Bym appeared flourishing a naked hanger and with Godby behind bearing a lanthorn, whose flickering light showed Adam, knife in hand, where he leaned panting against the wall, a smear of blood across his pallid face and with shirt and doublet torn in horrid fashion.
"The window!" he gasped. "Shutters! 'Ware bullets!" I sprang forward, but Joel was before me, and crouching beneath the open lattice swung the heavy shutters into position, but even as he did so, a bullet crashed through the stout oak.
"Doors all fast, Joel?"
"Aye, Cap'n! But who's here—is't the preventive? And me wi' the cellars choke-full. My cock! Is't the customs, Cap'n?"
"Worse, Joel!" says Penfeather, wiping sweat from him.
"Art hurt, Adam?" I questioned, eyeing his wild figure, and now I saw that the thin, steel chain was gone from his sinewy throat.
"No, shipmate. But the dagger, look ye—'tis clean disappeared, Martin."
"And good riddance," quoth I. "But, Adam—what o' your chart—gone along o' the dagger, has it?"
"Tush, man!" says he, sheathing his knife, "'Tis snug in that wallet o' yours."
"My wallet!" I cried, clapping hand on it where it hung at my girdle.
"Aye, shipmate. I slipped it there as I bid ye good-night! But, Martin—O Martin, the dead is alive again—see how I'm all gashed with his hook."
"Hook?" quoth Joel, shooting great, hairy head forward. "Did ye—say a—hook, Cap'n?"
"Aye, Joel—Tressady's alive again."
"God love us!" gasped the giant and sank into a chair.
Penfeather drew clenched hand across his brow, and coming to the table reached the half-emptied flagon and drank what remained of the wine thirstily, while Bym, his great body huddled in the chair, stared at the bullet hole in the shutter with starting eyes: as to me, I picked up Penfeather's fallen pistols and laid them on the table, where Godby had set the lanthorn.
"Tressady!" says Bym at last in a hoarse whisper, "Tressady—O Cap'n, be ye sarten sure?"
"Sure!" says Penfeather, in the same hushed manner, and reaching powder and bullets from a cupboard he began methodically to reload his pistols. "He'll be outside now where the shadows be thickest, waiting me with Abnegation and Sol and Rory, and God knoweth how many more."
"Then he aren't dead, Cap'n?" Penfeather's black brows flickered and his keen eyes glanced from his rent doublet round about the room:
"Howbeit—he was here, Joel!" said he.
"Why then, Cap'n, the dying woman's curse holds and he can't die?" says Bym, clawing at his great beard.
"He was here, Joel, in this room," says Penfeather, busy with powder-horn, "man to man, knife to knife—and I missed him. Since midnight I've waited wi' pistols cocked and never closed eye—and yet here was he or ever I was aware; for, as I sat there i' the dark by the window above the porch, which is therefore easiest to come at, I spied Mings and him staring up at the lattice of this chamber. So here creeps I and opening the door saw him move against the open lattice yonder—a shot no man could miss."
"Aye, Cap'n—aye?"
"And I—missed him, Joel—with both weapons and I within three yards of him, aye, I missed him with both pistols."
"Which is small wonder," says I, "for as you fired he tripped over me, Adam—"
"And why should he trip just then—at the one and only moment, Martin? Chance, says you? Why, when he came leaping on me in the black dark should his hook meet and turn my knife from his throat? Chance again, says you? Why, when he flung me off and made for the window—why must I catch my foot 'gainst that staff o' yours and bring up against the wall with all the strength and breath knocked out o' me, and no chance for one thrust as he clambered through the lattice? By the Lord, Martin, here's more than chance, says I."
"Aye, by cock!" muttered Joel, shaking his head. "'Tis 'witched he be! You'll mind what I told ye, Cap'n—the poor lady as died raving mad aboard the 'Delight,' how she died cursing him wi' life. And him standing by a-polishing o' that hook o' his—ah, Cap'n, I'll never forget the work o' that same hook ... many's the time ... Bartlemy's prisoners ... men and women ... aboard that cursed 'Ladies' Delight!' By cock, I dream on't sometimes and wake all of a sweat—"
"Here's no time for dreams!" says Penfeather, ramming home the charge of his second pistol, "Is the passage clear?"
"Save for the matter of a few kegs, Cap'n, but 'twill serve."
"We start in half an hour, Joel."
"The three o' you, Cap'n?"
"Aye, we must be aboard as soon as maybe now."
"Captain," says Godby, "speaking as a master-gunner, a mariner and a peddler, I'm bold to say as there's nought like bite and sup to hasten a man for a journey or aught beside—flog me else! And there's nought more heartening than ham or neat's tongue, or brisket o' beef, the which I chanced to spy i' the kitchen—"
"Why then, master-gunner," says Penfeather, "go you and engage those same in close action and I'll join ye as soon as I've shifted these rags o' mine."
"Adam," says I, unstrapping my wallet as Bym and Godby descended the stair, "if we are to have our throats cut to-night, 'twere as well I handed back your chart first"; and I laid it on the table.
"Why 'tis as safe with you, comrade—but as you will!" says he, slipping the chain about his neck. "As for any throat-slitting, Martin, you'll find that with danger my inborn caution groweth to timidity—"
"Ha, yes!" I nodded. "Such timidity as walks under the very noses of desperate, well-armed rogues of a moonlight night."
"Why, the moon is down—or nearly so, Martin. And then, besides, this trim little inn hath divers exits discreetly non-apparent. 'Twas a monastery once, I've heard."
"And now a smuggling-ken it seems, Adam."
"Even so, comrade, and no place better suited! And there's the Bo's'n hailing!" says he, as a hoarse roar of "Supper O!" reached us. "Go down, Martin, I stay but to make things ship-shape!" and he nodded towards the books and papers that littered the table. Upon the stairs I met Godby, who brought me to a kitchen, very spacious and lofty, paved with great flagstones and with groined arches supporting the roof, and what with this and the wide fireplace flanked with fluted columns and enriched by carvings, I did not doubt that here had once stood a noble abbey or the like.
"Pal," said Godby, as I stared about me, "you'd never guess as there be nigh three hundred kegs stowed hereabouts besides bales and the like, choke me else! Ha, many's the good cargo I've helped Jo and the lads to run—eh, Joel?"
"So you're a smuggler, Godby," says I.
"Cock," says Bym reproachfully, and setting a goodly cheese on the table with a bang, "say free-trader, cock—t'other 'un's a cackling word and I don't like cackle—"
"Aye," nodded Godby, "that's the word, 'free-trader,' Mart'n. So I am and what then? 'Twas summat o' the sort as got me suspicioned by Gregory and his catchpolls, rot 'em." But here Adam entered, very soberly dressed in sad-coloured clothes, and we sat down to sup forthwith.
"Do we sail soon, Captain?" questioned Godby in a while.
"I hope to be clear o' the Downs a few days hence," says Adam.
"And you so short-handed, Cap'n," quoth Bym.
"Sir Rupert hath 'listed thirty new men, I hear, and rogues every one I'll be sworn."
"Sir Rupert—?" says I.
"My lady's cousin, Martin, and captain of the expedition."
"Is he a sailor, Adam?"
"No, Martin, like most o' your fine gentlemen-adventurers, he knows no more of navigation than this cheese, which is just as well, Martin, aye, mighty well!"
"How so?"
"Who shall say, Martin, who shall say?" And here he took a long draught of ale. In a while, our meal being ended, Penfeather rose:
"As to arms, Martin, ha' ye aught beside your knife?"
"My staff and this pistol," says I, taking out the silver-mounted weapon my lady Brandon had thrust upon me.
"Is't loaded, Martin?" I examined charge and priming and nodded. "Good!" says Adam, "Here's five shot betwixt us, that should suffice. Up wi' the trap, Jo, and we'll out." Hereupon Bym lighted his lanthorn and putting aside the great settle by the hearth, stooped and raised one of the flagstones, discovering a flight of worn, stone steps, down which we followed him and so into a great cellar or vaulted crypt, where stood row upon row of barrels and casks, piled very orderly to the stone roof. Along the narrow way between strode Bym, and halting suddenly, stooped and lifted another flagstone with more steps below, down which we followed him into a passage-way fairly paved, whence divers other passages opened right and left. And when we had gone some distance Adam halted.
"Best bring the light no further, Jo," says he. "And hark'ee, Joel, as to this black rogue—this—y'know who I mean, Jo?"
"Aye—him, Cap'n!"
"That same, Jo. Well, keep an eye lifting and if you find out aught worth the telling, let one o' your lads ride post to Deptford, Jo."
"Aye, Cap'n. Aboard ship?"
"Aboard ship."
"Cap'n," quoth he, grasping Adam's hand, "I'm man o' few words, an' thanks t' you I'm snug enough here wi' my wife and darter as is away till this cargo's run, but, say the word, and I'll sail along o' you come battle, murder or shipwreck—"
"Or a hook, Joel?" says Penfeather softly, whereat Joel clawed at his beard and blinked into the lanthorn; finally he gives a great tug to his beard and nods:
"Aye, Cap'n," says he, "for you—even that, by cock!"
"Good lad," says Penfeather, clapping him on brawny shoulder. "Bide where you are, Jo, and Fortune with you and yours. This way, Martin."
So having taken our leave of Bym, Godby and I followed Adam along the passage, guided by the Bo's'n's lanthorn until, turning a sudden, sharp corner, we plunged into pitchy gloom wherein I groped my way until Penfeather's voice stayed me:
"Easy all!" says he, softly. "Have your pistols ready and heed how you come." Creeping cautiously I found myself amid leaves that yielded before me, and stepping through this natural screen, I stumbled into a bush and presently found myself standing in a small copse dim-lighted by a waning moon; and never a sound to be heard save the soft whisper of leaves about us and the faint, far cry of some night-bird.
"Ha!" says Adam at last, gazing away to the sinking moon, "So our journey begins, and from the look o' things, Martin, from the look o' things here's going to be need of all your resolution and all my caution ere we can see the end. Come!"
We followed a roundabout course, now across broad meadows, now treading green cart-tracks, now climbing some grassy upland, anon plunging into the shadow of lonely wood or coppice until the moon was down, until was a glimmer of dawn with low-lying mists brimming every grassy hollow and creeping phantom-like in leafy boskages; until in the east was a glory, warming the grey mist to pink and amber and gold, and the sun, uprising, darted his level beams athwart our way and it was day.
And now from coppice and hedgerow, near and far, was stir and flutter, a whistling and a piping that rose ever louder and swelled to a trilling ecstasy of gladness.
"Hark to 'em—O pal, hark to 'em!" quoth Godby, lifting head to watch a lark that soared aloft. "Here's music, Martin, here's cure for the megrims, hope for the downcast and promise o' joys to come. O hark to 'em!"
All the day Penfeather led us on by lonely ways, never seeming to weary and never at a loss, silent for the most part as one in profound thought, and I speaking little as is my wont, but Godby talked and sang and laughed for the three of us.
It was as we sat outside a little ale-house snugged 'mid trees, eating of bread and cheese, that Penfeather turned suddenly and gripped my arm:
"Martin," says he, "'twill be plaguy business carrying women aboard ship—along o' these lambs o' mine—there's scarce a rogue but cheats the gallows with his every breath!"
"Why then, tell her so, Adam, plain and to the point."
"'Twould be vain breath, Martin, I know her too well—and she is a Brandon!"
"A curse on the name!" says I, whereupon Godby choked into his ale, stared in surprise and would fain have questioned me, but meeting my eye, spake no word.
"D'ye know aught of navigation, Martin?" says Adam suddenly.
"No whit, Adam, but I'll handle a boat with any man."
"Ha!" says he, and sat there pinching his chin until, our hunger being appeased and the ale all drank, we fared on again. So we tramped, and though our road was long I will here make short work of it and say that at last we came, very hot and dusty, into the village of Lewisham, where we would fain have baited awhile at the 'Lion and Lamb,' a fair inn; but this Adam would by no means permit, so, leaving the village, we presently turned aside from the main road into a lane very pleasantly shaded by tall trees and bloomy hedgerows, the which (as I do think) is called Mill Lane. In a while we reached a narrow track down which Adam turned, and now as we went I was aware of strange sounds, a confused hubbub growing ever louder until, deep amid the green, we espied a lonely tavern before which stood a short, stout man who alternately wrung his hands in lamentation, mopped at bloody pate and stamped and swore mighty vehement, in the midst of which, chancing to behold Penfeather, he uttered joyful shout and came running.
"Master Penfeather," cried he, "O Master Penfeather, here's fine doings, love my eyes! Here's your rogues a-fighting and a-murdering of each other, which is no great matter, but here's them a-wrecking o' my house, which is great matter, here's them has broke my head wi' one o' my own pottlepots, which is greater matter, here's me dursen't set of it i' the place and my wife and maids all of a swound—O Master Penfeather, here's doings, love my limbs!"
"Ha," says Penfeather, "fighting, are they, Jerry?"
"Like devils, Captain, your rogues and the rogues as my Lord Dering 'listed and brought here yesterday—O love my liver—look at yon!" As he spoke was a crash of splintered glass and a broken chair hurtled through the wide lattice.
"So!" says Adam, striding towards the inn, and I saw a pistol in his hand. Following hard on his heels I entered the inn with him and so to the scene of the riot.
A long, low room, full of swirling dust, and amid this choking cloud a huddle of men who fought and struggled fiercely, roaring blasphemy and curses. Two or three lay twisted among overturned chairs and tables, others had crawled into corners to look to their hurts, while to and fro the battle raged the fiercer. Leaning in the doorway Penfeather surveyed the combatants with his quick keen glance, and then the hubbub was drowned by the roar of his long pistol; the thunderous report seemed to stun the combatants to silence, who, falling apart, turned one and all to glare at the intruder. And, in this moment of comparative silence while all men panted and stared, from Penfeather's grim lips there burst a string of blistering sea-oaths such as even I had scarce heard till now; for a long minute he reviled them, the smoke curling from his pistol, his black brows knit across glittering eyes, his thin nostrils a-quiver, the scar glowing on his pallid cheek, his face indeed so changed and evil that I scarce knew him.
"... ye filthy scum, ye lousy sons o' dogs!" he ended. "Ha, will ye fight agin my orders, then—mutiny is it?"
"And who a plague are you and be cursed to ye!" panted a great fellow, flourishing a broken chair-leg threateningly and scowling in murderous fashion.
"He'll tell ye—there, behind ye, fool!" snarled Penfeather, pointing sinewy finger. The big man turned, Penfeather sprang with uplifted pistol and smote him, stunned and bleeding, to the floor, then bestriding the prostrate carcass, fronted the rest with head viciously out-thrust.
"And who's next—come!" says he softly, scowling from one to other of the shrinking company. "You, Amos Penarth, and you, Richard Farnaby, aye and half a dozen others o' ye, you've sailed wi' me ere now and you know when I say a thing I mean it. And you'd fight, would ye, my last words to you being 'see to it there be no quarrelling or riot.'"
"Why, Cap'n," says one, "'tis all along o' these new 'listed rogues—"
"Aye, master," says another, "and that's gospel-true, theer aren't a right sailor-man among 'em—"
"Then we'll learn 'em to be!" says Penfeather. "Stand forward the new men—show a leg and bustle, ye dogs!" Scowling and muttering, some twelve unlovely fellows obeyed. "I' faith!" says Penfeather, looking them over, "Here's fine stuff for the gallows! And where's the rest of 'em?"
"Gone aboard this morning along o' Toby Hudd the bo's'un!"
"See here, my bright lads," quoth Penfeather, eyeing each scowling face in turn, "learn this—when you come aboard my ship and I say to one o' ye do this or do that, he does it, d'ye see, or—up to the yard-arm he swings by his thumbs or his neck as occasion warrants. D'ye get me, my bully roarers?"
Not a man of them spake a word, but all stood shifting uneasily beneath Penfeather's quick bright eye, shuffling their feet and casting furtive glances on their fellows.
"Now as to this lump o' roguery," says Penfeather, spurning the still unconscious man with his foot, "have him into the yard and heave a bucket o' water over him. As to you, Farnaby, muster the hands, and stand by to go aboard in half an hour—every unhung rascal."
Without we came on the misfortunate landlord still in the deeps of gloom, but upon Adam's assurance that all damages should be made good, he brought us up a pair of stairs to a fair chamber and there served us a most excellent meal.
Scarce had we risen from table than comes the man Penarth a-knocking, cap in hand, to say the men stood ready to go aboard. We found some score fellows drawn up before the inn, and a desperate lot of cut-throats they looked, what with their hurts and general hang-dog air as they stood there in the light of a rising moon. Having looked them over each and every, Penfeather spat, and setting them in Godby's charge, ordered them to go on before.
"Well, Martin," says he as we followed together, "and how think ye of my lambs?"
"Call them raging tigers, rather—"
"Nay," says he, "tigers be cleanly creatures, I've heard."
"'A God's name, Adam, why truck with such ill rogues? Sure there be many honest mariners to be had?"
"Why as to that, Martin, good men be scarce and ever hard to come by—moreover these scum are a means to an end, d'ye see?"
"How so?"
"Just that, Martin," says he, glancing at me in his furtive manner, "a means to an end."
"What end?"
"Ah, who may tell, Martin?" he sighed, shaking his head. Now when I would have questioned him further he put me off thus with side answers, until we were come to the waterside, which is called Deptford Creek. Here, having seen the others safe embarked we took boat also, and were soon rowing between the huge bulk of ships where dim lights burned and whence came, ever and anon, the sound of voices, the rattle of a hawser, a snatch of song and the like, as we paddled betwixt the vast hulls. Presently we were beneath the towering stern of a great ship, and glancing up at this lofty structure, brave with carved-work and gilding, I read the name,
At a word from Adam the oars were unshipped and we glided alongside her high-curving side where hung a ladder, up which I followed Adam forthwith. She was a great ship (as I say) of some two hundred tons at least, with high forecastle and lofty stern, though I saw little else ere, at a sign from Adam I followed him down the after-gangway where, taking a flickering lanthorn that hung from a deck-beam, he led me 'twixt a clutter of stores not yet stowed, past the grim shapes of great ordnance, and so down and down to a noisome place beneath the orlop.
"'Tis not over sweet, Martin," says he, "but then bilge-water never is, you'll mind. But you'll grow used to it in time, shipmate, unless, instead o' swallowing this unholy reek you'll swallow your pride and 'list as master's mate."
"I've no knowledge of navigation," says I.
"But I've enough for the two of us, Martin. 'Tis a comrade at my back I need. What's the word?"
"No!" says I, mighty short.
"As you will, shipmate," he sighed, "as you will. Pride and bilge-water go well together!" which said he brought me to a dark unlovely hole abaft the mizzen. "'Tis none too clean, Martin," says he, casting the light round the dingy place, "but that shall be remedied and Godby shall bring ye bedding and the like, so although 'tis plaguy dark and wi' rats a-plenty still, despite the stench, you'll lie snug as your pride will permit of. As for me, shipmate, I shall scarce close an eye till we be clear o' the Downs, so 'tis a care-full man I shall be this next two days, heigho! So good-night, Martin, I'll send Godby below with all you lack."
Saying which Penfeather turned, and groping his way into the darkness, left me scowling at the flickering lanthorn.
And now within my gloomy hiding-place, dim-lit by flickering lanthorn, I passed many weary hours, while all about me was a stir and bustle, a confused sound made up of many, as the never-ending tread of feet, the sound of hoarse voices now faint and far and anon clear and loud, the scrape of a fiddle, snatches of rough song, the ceaseless ring and tap of hammers—a very babel that, telling of life and action, made my gloomy prison the harder to endure. And here (mindful of what is to follow) I do think it well to describe in few words the place wherein I lay. It was indeed a very dog-hole, just below the orlop, some ten feet square (or thereabouts) shut in 'twixt bulkheads, mighty solid and strong, but with a crazy door so ill-hung as to leave a good three inches 'twixt it and the flooring. It had been a store-room (as I guessed), and judging by the reek that reached me above the stench of the bilge, had of late held rancid fat of some sort; just abaft the mizzen it lay and hard against the massy rudder-post, for I could hear the creek and groan of the pintles as the rudder swung to the tide. Against one bulkhead I had contrived a rough bunk with divers planks and barrels, the which with mattress and bedding was well enough.
Now opposite my berth, within easy reach of my hand, was a knot-hole the which, by some trick of the grain, had much the look of a great staring eye, insomuch that (having no better employ) I fell to improving on nature's handiwork with my knife, carving and trimming around it; and in betwixt my sleeping, my eating and drinking (for Adam and Godby kept me excellent well supplied) I would betake me to my carving and fashioning of this eye and with my initials below it, the which foolish business (fond and futile though it was) served in no small measure to abate my consuming impatience and the dreary tedium.
Howbeit on the third day, my situation becoming unbearable, I stumbled out from my dog-hole, and groping my way past kegs and barrels firm-wedged in place against the rolling of the vessel, I climbed the ladder to the orlop. Here I must needs pause, for, dim though it was, the light from the open scuttle nigh blinded me. In a while, my eyes growing strong, I got me to the main-deck, where again I must stay to shade my eyes by reason of the radiance that poured through an open gun-port. Glancing around after some while, I saw no one and wondered, for here was the main gun-deck. Ten great pieces a side I counted, with ports for divers more. I was yet wondering at the emptiness about me when I heard sudden uproar from the deck above my head, shouts, cries, a rush and patter of many feet, and above all Penfeather's furious hail.
Wondering, I came to the open port, and leaning out saw it was evening with a heavy mist creeping down upon the waters, and through the mist loomed a great, black ship drifting lubberly across our hawse. Louder and more furious grew the shouting above, answered by a hail aboard the great, black craft as, broadside on, she swung towards us.
And now, creeping in the mist, I beheld a small boat with a great, shapeless bundle in the stern-sheets and rowed by a single waterman who swung easily to his oars, scanning now the "Faithful Friend," now the great black ship, like one who bided the inevitable crash. Sudden I heard the roar of one of Penfeather's ever-ready pistols followed by his voice up raised in vicious sea-curses, and glancing up saw the black ship right aboard of us and braced myself for the impact; came a shock, a quiver of creaking timbers and the groan of our straining hawsers as the black ship, falling off, drifted by in a roaring storm of oaths and blasphemy. Now when her battered stern-gallery was nigh lost in the mist, bethinking me of the boat I had seen, I glanced about and beheld matter that set me wondering; for he was the fellow plying his oars with a will and so near that I might have tossed a biscuit aboard him; moreover the great misshapen bundle had lain in the stern-sheets was there no longer, which set me mightily a-wondering. Long after man and boat were swallowed up in the fog I sat there lost in thought, insomuch that I started to feel a hearty clap on the shoulder and, turning, beheld Godby, a pair of great gold rings in his ears, and very sailor-like in all things from sea-boots to mariner's bonnet.
"Here's a ploy, Mart'n!" says he with a round oath. "Here's yon curst lubberly craft carried away our starboard cat-head and six-feet o' the harpings wi't, sink him! And us but waiting for my lady to come aboard to trip anchor and away. And now here's we shorebound for another two days at the least as I'm a gunner! And all on account of yon black dog, burn him! A plaguy fine craft as sails wi' no name on her anywheres, keelhaul me else! But Penfeather winged one o' the lubberly rogues, praise God, Mart'n! Which done and with due time to curse 'em, every mother's son of 'em, he turns to—him and the carpenter and his mates—there and then to repair damages. Ha, a man o' mark is Captain Adam, pal."
"Godby," says I, "did ye chance to see aught of a boat carrying a great bundle in the stern-sheets and rowed by a man in a red cap?"
"Nary a blink, Mart'n—why?"
"I'm wondering what came of that same bundle—"
"Hove overboard belike, pal—there's many a strange thing goes a-floating out to sea from hereabouts, Mart'n—drownd me!"
"Belike you're right!" says I.
"Mart'n, Sir Rupert's ashore to meet her ladyship, so you'm free to come 'bove deck if so minded?"
"Nay, I'll bide where I am, Godby."
"Why then come, Mart'n, clap your eye on my beauties—here's guns, Mart'n, six culverins and t'others sakers, and yonder astern two basilisks as shall work ye death and destruction at two or three thousand paces; 'bove deck amidships I've divers goodly pieces as minions, falcons and patereros with murderers mounted aft to sweep the waist. For her size she's well armed is the 'Faithful Friend,' Mart'n!"
Thus Godby, as he led me from gun to gun slapping hand on breech or trunnion, and as I hearkened 'twas hard to recognise the merry peddler in this short, square, grave-faced gunner who spake with mariner's tongue, hitched ever and anon at the broad belt of his galligaskins, and rolled in his gait already.
"She's a fair ship!" says I, seating myself on one of the great guns mounted astern.
"She is so, Mart'n. There's no finer e'er sailed from Deptford Pool, which is saying much, split me if it isn't. Though, when all's said, Martin, I could wish for twenty more men to do justice to my noble guns, aye thirty at the least."
"Are we so short?"
"We carry but ninety and two all told, pal, which considering my guns is pity—aye, vast pity, plague me else! 'Twould leave me shorthanded to serve my guns should they be necessary, which is fair and likely, Martin."
"And black rogues they are!" says I.
"Never clapped eyes on worse, pal, kick me endwise else! But Captain Adam's the man for such and I mean to work 'em daily, each and every, at my guns as soon as we be well at sea. Ah, there soundeth Toby Hudd's pipe—all hands on deck—this should be her ladyship coming aboard. So here's me aloft and you alow, and good luck to both, pal." Saying which he nodded, gave a hitch to his wide galligaskins and rolled away. Now coming to the gun-port I have mentioned I must needs pause there awhile to look out across the misty river already darkening to evening; and thus presently beheld a boat, vague and blurred at first, but as it drew nearer saw in the stern-sheets four gallants who laughed and talked gaily enough, and the muffled forms of two women, and in one, from the bold, free carriage of her head, I recognised, despite hood and cloak, my Lady Joan Brandon; nay, as the boat drew in, I heard the sweet, vital tones of her voice, and with this in my ears I caught up my lanthorn and so descended to the orlop. Now as I paused at the narrow scuttle that gave down to my noxious hiding-place, I thought to hear a step somewhere in the gloom below.
"Ha, Godby!" says I. "Are you down there, man?" But getting no answer, I descended the ladder, bethinking me of the rats (whereof I had no lack of company), and coming into my dog-hole, closed the rickety door, and having supped, cast myself down upon my bed and blew out the light, and despite the rustle and scutter away there in the dark beyond my crazy door I was very soon asleep.
And in my sleep what must I dream of but rats with eyes that glared in the dark, that crawled ever nearer, while one that crept upon my bosom grew and swelled into a great fellow with a steel hook in place of one hand, a face with flashing white teeth and glowing eyes that peered close ere eyes and teeth vanished, and I sunk down and down into a black emptiness of dreamless slumber.