CHAPTER XXIV.

Gilbert took the proffered food, yet hesitated to begin.

They quitted the cabin and mounted the stairs. When they regained the deck Philip Oglander was not to be seen. They called him, but he did not answer. Already the dusk was falling and they became anxious. But Timothy felt well assured that Philip was still on board, and surmised that he had found his way below into some one of the cabins. Nevertheless a further search was made for him, and it was only the growing darkness that urged them once more to return to what they believed to be the captain's room. Here Timothy made a beginning upon one of the candles, and, finding it not altogether disagreeable, he recommended Gilbert to make a similar meal. So hungry were they both that they would fain have finished the whole of their store, but they remembered Philip, and in fairness they put aside for him his due share.

It was, as Timothy had remarked, a sorry sort of food, but in the absence of any better it served for the time, and having partaken of it they cleared the table of the things that were upon it, stretched themselves out upon its hard substance, and, committing themselves to God's keeping, fell asleep. A gnawing thirst disturbed their slumbers, but the rest was welcome after all their troubles and dangers, and when a beam of morning sunlight pouring in through the stern-ports awakened them they arose, conscious that they had been refreshed.

Timothy's first act was to go to one of the open port-holes to look at the weather. The sea was now much calmer than when he had last looked upon it, and instead of the great broken waves with their caps of foam and showery spray, there was a long, regular rolling swell, only slightly rippled by the fresh morning breeze. That breeze was so refreshing that Timothy lingered at the port-hole, breathing it with joy. He crept outward, too, and tried to make out some of the devices that were carved upon the vessel's stern. Suddenly he hastened back into the cabin. His face was ghastly, and a strange agitation shone in his eyes.

"Master Gilbert!" he cried, "Master Gilbert—my lord, my lord!"

Gilbert stared at him in amazement, thinking for the moment that he had lost his senses.

"What hath come over thee, Timothy?" he asked. "Hast seen a ghost?"

"Haply I have," answered Timothy, his limbs shaking under him. "Dost know what ship we are in?"

"Nay, how should I know?" returned Gilbert, still in doubt as to Timothy's sanity.

Timothy grasped Gilbert by his two shoulders and said in a hollow, awe-stricken voice:

"'TisThe Golden Galleon!"

Gilbert started back in astonishment.

"How know you?" he cried.

"By the devices I have now seen carven upon her stern," said Timothy. "I knew them again. They are the same that we saw in the midst of that weird green light on the Sargasso Sea, and 'tis the self-same ship,as I'm a living son of a barber. 'Tis Jacob Hartop's Golden Galleon—or else her ghost, as Jacob averred."

"Her ghost!" echoed Gilbert; and he put his hand upon the table as if to assure himself that it was a solid substance. "Nay, Tim, 'tis no ghost," said he, "although I will not deny that she may be Jacob's galleon." He paused for many moments reflecting. At last he went on: "Prithee, Tim, didst ever hear from Jacob how long it was since he deserted that same golden galleon of his?"

"Three years at the least," answered Timothy; "for 'tis not to be forgotten that when he had left her he voyaged yet again to the Spanish Main, where he fell in with your uncle Jasper and the good shipPearl."

Now, in preparing the table as a bed on the night before, Timothy had left only one thing lying there, and that thing was a large book which he had placed as a pillow for Gilbert. The book lay still upon the table close to Gilbert's hand. Gilbert idly turned back its first page. His eyes rested upon a line of cramped and almost illegible writing. He looked at it closer and then started back.

"Tim!" he cried. "'Tis true—'tis true what you say, for here is his very name writ in this book!" He put his finger on the page while Timothy drew nearer. "There, where I point," he added. "'Tis his own hand, see—'Jacob Hartop, Buccaneer, Hys logg booke'."

"Nay, I must e'en take thy word for't, my master," said Tim; "for thou knowest that although I can make shift to read a line of print, yet writing done with a quill is beyond me. So," he mused, "this ispoor Jacob's treasure-ship—the same that he hath so oft spoken of. Ay, and I'll engage 'tis, as he hath reported, loaded full deep with gold. Such wealth might make us great and glorious did we but have it in England, Master Gilbert. But of what avail is it now? 'Tis of no use under the sun. For my own part, I'd exchange it all for a barrel of good Devon apples or a loaf of my mother's home-made bread."

"And I also," added Gilbert.

They were silent for some minutes. Timothy was the first to speak.

"'Tis passing strange where thy cousin Philip hath got to," said he. "Methinks 'twere well that we now made another search for him."

Gilbert agreed, and together they went and searched the ship. During their search they discovered that the galleon was indeed laden with gold. But they cared not for this while their vitals were being gnawed with hunger and their lips were blue and parched with thirst.

Philip Oglander, it would seem, was more familiar with the structure of a galleon than were either Timothy or Gilbert. For instead of going at once to the poop-cabins he had found his way down to the rooms amidships, where it was customary to keep the stores. What little food he had found was either saturated with salt-water or rotten with decay, or else so hard and dried up that it would have required a pickaxe to break it, much less human teeth. In his quest, however, he had discovered what Gilbert and Timothy had not even dreamt of, namely, some huge bins ofSpanish wine. Into one of these he had managed to bore a hole with the point of his dagger. Unlike Timothy, he had not for an instant thought of sharing his discovery. He had taken his fill of the wine, leaving a stream running from the bin, and finding some stale and mildewed bread, he had cleaned it and put it to soak and soften in a bath of the red liquid.

When Timothy and Gilbert at last came upon him he was lying on the floor in an intoxicated sleep, with a flood of wine about him. Timothy regarded him in horror and disgust.

"It seemeth to me that Master Philip might almost have acquainted us of such a discovery as this," said he, and picking up a little golden cup from the floor he held it to catch the drippings from the bin. He presently passed the cup to Gilbert.

"Drink, my master," said he; "'twill do thee good. But take not much at the first, for there is naught so bad upon an empty stomach as strong liquor. Thy cousin hath seemingly been so unwise as to drink his fill."

"'Tis naught to marvel at," said Gilbert, having taken a mouthful, "for of a surety it doth put new life into one. Ay, even to wet one's lips with it doth send the blood racing through the body like the water in a mill-dam."

Timothy espied Philip's bread soaking in its silver dish of wine, and he took some out, sharing it with Gilbert, and they ate it and were refreshed.

Suddenly as they were leaving Philip to finish his sleep, they were startled by hearing from across thesea the report of a cannon-shot. Timothy bounded forward, and was speedily upon the deck. Gilbert followed at his heels. Looking over to the eastward they saw a gallant little ship in full sail bearing down towards them. A faint mist of smoke was being wafted by the wind from one of her forward guns. From her sprit-topmast there waved the glorious flag of St. George.

"'Tis an English ship!" cried Timothy with joy.

"Ay," added Gilbert; "and what is more, 'tis one that is no stranger to me. Thou shouldst know her even better than I, Tim; for, if I mistake not, 'tis none other than Jacob Whiddon'sPilgrim. I know her by the token that her fore-topsail hath got a round patch of lighter canvas in it. And, mark you, 'tis Master Whiddon's ancient that flieth from her mainyard. Ay, 'tis thePilgrim. And of that I have now no manner of doubt."

"Then are we saved!" murmured Timothy. "Prithee, Master Gilbert, hie thee below and bid thy cousin Philip come up, while that I climb to the top of the poop-deck and make a signal."

And so saying Timothy sought about for some flag or rag which he might wave to the ship as a sign that there were people on board the galleon. No flag could he find, but taking a strip of red silk that he had discovered in Hartop's cabin, he tied it by the corners to the end of a pike, and this he waved to and fro from the highest part of the galleon's hull. His signal was answered from thePilgrim, and the ship bore down before the wind with a belt of whitefoam streaming off from her round bows, and her white sails glimmering in the bright sunlight.

Meanwhile Gilbert Oglander had gone below to arouse his cousin. Philip was very sound asleep; but after many efforts Gilbert awakened him, and he staggered to his feet. Glaring at Gilbert with bloodshot eyes he did not speak for many minutes. Gilbert told him of the approaching ship, and added that now they might hope to be taken home to England.

This mention of England seemed to have aroused strange thoughts in Philip's brain, and without warning he closed the cabin door and planted himself with his back against it.

"Thou, at least, shalt never see England again!" he cried. "By the Holy Mother thou shalt not! Dost think that I will brook the thought of thee being Baron Champernoun, while I, who am a better man than thee, am plain Philip Oglander? No! This ship hath wealth enough aboard her to serve me in plenty for the rest of my days. And thou shalt not share it; neither shalt thou ever live to hear thyself addressed by the great title of Champernoun!"

He spoke the words in a thick drunken voice, his eyes fixing themselves upon his cousin in terrible menace.

Gilbert could not repress the smile that came to his lips.

"Hush, good my cousin!" said he. "Thou hast taken overmuch of this strong wine, methinks, and thy tongue doth say things which thy heart cannot mean."

"HE MADE A LUNGE AT GILBERT, AIMING A BLOW AT HIS HEART."

"What?" cried Philip. And whipping his daggerfrom his belt he made a lunge at Gilbert, aiming a blow at his heart.

Gilbert drew aside and avoided the blow, and Philip's head struck with a resounding knock against the bulkhead. The pain enraged him, and swearing a great Spanish oath he renewed the attack, rushing at his cousin with wild fury. This time his foot slipped on the slimy, wine-flooded floor. He fell with a heavy thud; his weapon hand was under him, and the dagger, which he had held sword-wise, with the point upward, buried the full length of its blade in his chest.

Gilbert turned to the door and opened it. As he looked round at Philip he saw a stream of blood issuing from under him. Philip tried to rise, but rolled over on his back. Only the handle of his dagger could be seen. Gilbert bent down to withdraw it, but it was tightly wedged between the ribs.

"The Saints protect me!" groaned Philip. "I am done for!"

"Much do I fear that thou art indeed. God forgive thee," said Gilbert, and quitting the store-room he returned to the deck to summon Timothy. It was at this moment that Timothy had seen the answering signal from thePilgrim. He went below with Gilbert and when they entered the store-room they found that Philip Oglander was dead.

PETER TROLLOPE SHUTS UP SHOP.

ONa certain gray, windy morning in late October, Peter Trollope's shop was more than usually busy. Every bench had its occupant, and the talk was loud and animated. In the big chair near the fire sat that great courtier Sir Walter Raleigh, smoking a stick of twisted tobacco, to which he gave the Spanish name ofcigarro. He joined not much in the gossip, for he had already recounted all that was so far known concerning the last fight of theRevenge, news of which had come to England some few days earlier, and he was passing doleful in spirit over the death of his noble kinsman, Sir Richard Grenville. Now and again he did indeed put in a word when it was question of deciding the number of Spanish galleons that had been vanquished in the fight, or the number of Spaniards that had been slain, but for the most part he was gloomily silent.

"My brother Tom was aboard of her, and I'll engage that he gave not up his life ere he had laid a good dozen of the Dons low," said a burly fisherman from one of the corners of the shop.

"Ay," added another man, "and my son Bill was among 'em; likewise my good wife's brother Dick."

Peter Trollope snipped his scissors over the head of the young gallant whose hair he was trimming.

"My boy Timothy went also out with the fleet," saidhe; "though 'twas not on one of Her Majesty's ships that he sailed, but aboard Jacob Whiddon'sPilgrim, of which there hath been no word."

"She was seen taking some part in the battle," remarked Sir Walter Raleigh, puffing a cloud of blue smoke in a column above his head, "for since Whiddon was but an adventurer and owed no duty of obedience to my Lord Thomas, he was free to do what he listed. And he listed to have a shot at the galleons, and so, for aught I know, came to grief."

"Ah!" sighed the barber. "Then peradventure Timothy hath, after all, been slain?"

"As like as not," nodded Sir Walter; "as like as not. And you may take it that since naught hath been heard of thePilgrim, she hath either gone to the bottom in the battle, or else been broken on the rocks of the Western Isles, as so many others were in the great storm that followed on the heels of the fight."

"The rascal was full eager to join theRevenge," continued the barber, "and did declare most positively to me that Sir Richard had promised him a berth. 'Twas his desire to be with his young master, Master Gilbert Oglander, that took him away—"

"Touching Master Gilbert Oglander," broke in Christopher Pym, addressing Sir Walter Raleigh, "he was on board theRevenge. I pray you, Sir Walter, I pray you, tell me is there aught of news concerning the lad?"

Sir Walter shook his head.

"No," he answered. "Much do I fear me that he hath gone with the rest. And 'tis a pity if it be so, fornow that the vile traitor, his uncle, hath paid the penalty of his treachery—"

"The penalty!" interrupted Christopher Pym. "Hath he then been proven guilty?"

"Ay," returned Raleigh. And at this the whole room was silent, for the information was new. Sir Walter Raleigh, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, held his two hands in front of him, busying his be-ringed fingers with adjusting the outer leaf of tobacco about his cigar. "Ay," he went on, "Jasper hath paid the penalty, for being found guilty by the judgment of the Star Chamber, he was on Monday morning last beheaded on Tower Hill."

Sir Walter paused, and having adjusted his cigar to his satisfaction he took up the fire-tongs, and with them picked out a piece of burning wood from the fire the while he lighted the end of his cigar.

"You may be sure," he went on, "that 'twas not as Lord Champernoun that the rascal was tried. For apart from the fact that he had not yet proved that his nephew, Master Gilbert Oglander, was dead, and that therefore he was himself by right of succession the real Lord Champernoun—apart from this, I say, he had neither taken out his license as a baron nor taken his seat in Her Majesty's House of Peers. He had been over eager to claim his dead father's name and estates, you see, my masters, and by very reason of his too great eagerness he revealed his trickery and the vile treachery that lay behind it."

"Ay, but his treachery and his machinations and intrigues with the King of Spain would yet have beendiscovered," said Peter Trollope, "even although he had not sought to make himself Baron Champernoun. For it hath been amply proven that even before my Lord Thomas Howard's fleet departed out of Plymouth, Jasper Oglander had connived at the escape of the Spanish prisoners of war—had even planned their escape, indeed,—and had sent off his son Philip to Spain to inform the Spanish king of the purpose of my Lord Thomas's expedition against the plate fleet."

"All that and more than that was brought out at the man's trial in London," said Sir Walter Raleigh. "And now it seemeth that that same son of his, Philip Oglander, was present on board Don Alonzo Bassan's galleon."

"'Twere well, methinks, that the lad had accompanied his father to Tower Hill," remarked Peter Trollope. "And now," he added, "a strange thought hath occurred to me. It is that, should Master Gilbert—or Lord Champernoun as he should truly be named—have been slain in the fight on theRevenge, and should his cousin have escaped, then the cur Philip Oglander must now be regarded as the head of the Oglander family, and the rightful owner of the title and estates."

No one seemed to take notice of this remark, but at last Christopher Pym spoke.

"Better that the title and estates should fall into oblivion than that," said he. "Howsoever it be," he added, rising and taking up his walking-staff, "I am now impelled to take horse and journey to Willoughby Grange, there to inform my Lady Betty Oglander ofthis news, and bid her return to her rightful home at Modbury."

"I pray you give her ladyship my most devoted remembrances," said Raleigh; "and bid her from me to be of good cheer concerning her son Gilbert, for if the lad be no more, he hath at least given up his life for the honour of his Queen and country, even as his sire and so many other of his noble family hath done before him. Give you good-day, Master Pym, and God speed you."

An hour or so after this conversation had ended, Peter Trollope sat alone in his shop thinking sadly over the remark that had fallen from Sir Walter Raleigh touching the probable fate of thePilgrim. Trade had not been brisk at the "Pestle and Mortar" during the months of Timothy's absence. Of hair cutting and the trimming of beards there had been plenty, but it chanced that a very skilful man of medicine had opened a business a few doors away, and had succeeded so well that he had drawn all Master Trollope's surgical trade away from him, so that, but for an occasional customer who came in to have a tooth drawn, Peter could scarcely with justice call himself a barber-surgeon, but merely a barber. Also, he had fallen into debt, and his creditors were pressing him for a settlement. Upon all his other distresses had come the word that in all probability his son Timothy had been either killed in battle or drowned in a storm; and this was the destruction of all his hopes, for he had in his more sanguine moments nursed the thought that Tim, even though he returnedpenniless and ragged, might yet be a help to him at this present time, and a joy to him in the future. But if Tim were really dead, what more could be looked to in this world but continued poverty and hard work and unhappiness?

In the midst of his doleful sorrowings and regrets he heard the clatter of horse's feet on the stones of the street outside. The door of the shop was swung open, and in bounced Timothy himself.

His face was rosy brown and it wore a joyous smile, and although his clothing was woefully ragged and white with the salt of the sea, yet there was an air of dignity about him that was quite foreign to the lad who had gone away seven months earlier. He strode into the shop as though he had been one of the lords of the land, and stood in front of his father with his arms akimbo, looking down upon the amazed barber and laughing at his confusion.

"Father," said Timothy, "I am come back."

"In sooth," said the barber, "my eyes give me ample evidence of the fact."

"And art glad to see me, father?"

"Ay, God knoweth I am that, Tim. Give me thy hand!"

"What, though I am dressed as a beggar withal?"

"Ay, though thy rags were e'en raggeder than they are," said Peter, the tears filling his eyes. He shook the lad's hand with a grip whose strength betokened his fulness of joy. "Tim, my lad," he added after a brief pause, "tell me, I pray you, hast thou been in battle?"

"Ay," returned Timothy, "the most glorious battle that ever was. I have fought, father, as my wounds shall presently prove to thee, and have killed as many Spaniards as might fill thy poor shop."

"An thou hast proved thyself a man and not a coward?"

Timothy nodded.

"'Tis enough for me," said Peter. "And now, I pray you, tell me where is thy ship?"

"Lying in Polperro Bay," answered Timothy, "where we dropped anchor but a half-dozen hours since. Master Whiddon and my Lord Champernoun—Master Gilbert Oglander that was—have come with me into Plymouth, and bade me beseech thee to come with me to the sign of the Crown, where they now are, and where we are presently to sit down to the lordliest banquet mine host can provide. So get thee ready instanter, while that I go within to see my mother and don some goodlier raiment."

"Nay, but I cannot leave my business at this hour of the day," objected Peter.

At which Timothy laughed and said:

"Hark ye, father, and listen to me. Thou hast cropped thy last head of hair and shaven thy last chin. No more work shalt thou do for the rest of thy days. Thou shalt have a coach to drive in, and a lordly mansion to live in, with a tribe of serving people to do thy bidding, and shalt live on the best in the land—"

"Nay, mock me not, boy," cried the barber. "I can ill bear thy jests just now; for of a truth I amdeep in debt, and know not how we shall contrive to live without charity beyond another week."

"A truce to your charity," cried Tim. "Hark'ee, father, I am rich. Ay, rich as a king." He plunged his hands into his pockets and scattered many golden coins upon the chair near which he stood. "These be but a few trifles that have slipped into my pockets unawares, and are but a small sample of thePilgrim'scargo. If more be needed for the nonce, thou hast but to send a cart round to Polperro and get more. But bear this in mind, good my father, thou shalt shut up shop for good and all, and never again shall thine ears be assailed by the snipping of barber's scissors or the fizzling of curling-tongs!"

Now this that Timothy promised did actually come to pass. Nor was Peter Trollope the only one in Plymouth who enjoyed some benefit from the treasures ofThe Golden Galleon. Every man and boy of the ship's company of thePilgrimreceived his proportionate share of the wealth, while Captain Whiddon—without whom Timothy and Gilbert might never have returned to England—received only less than Gilbert and Timothy.

ThePilgrimhad not been large enough to hold all the treasure thatThe Golden Galleonhad contained, not even although her very ballast had been jettisoned to make more room. But when she had been loaded with as much as she could safely carry, she had been brought home as quickly as the winds would drive her. What became of the old derelict, whether she sank to the bottom as a consequence of the shots thatwere fired into her hull by the departingPilgrim, or whether she remained afloat long enough for yet another ship to board her and take toll of her remaining treasure, Gilbert Oglander and his companions never learned. But, judging by circumstances, it is pretty certain that she sank to the bottom, and that, as Jacob Hartop had expressed it, her treasures went down to the mermaid's halls, where her precious gems might serve to bedeck the mermaid's necks.

It was on the third day after the return of thePilgrimthat Gilbert Oglander—or, as we may now call him, Lord Champernoun—rode along the familiar lanes to Modbury. He had thus delayed his home-coming because he had heard that his mother and Drusilla were still absent. But on this morning Christopher Pym had come to him and told him that they had returned, and were expecting him.

Timothy rode in his company, not now as his squire but as his companion, for it was as companions and loving friends that they were always afterwards to regard each other.

Gilbert waxed indignant when he saw the work that his uncle had done in hewing down the trees in the avenue of the manor, but his indignation was soon overcome by the joy of meeting his mother and Drusilla.

To tell of that meeting, and to record all that was said and done on that momentous day would make a long story in itself. In the evening Gilbert sat at the head of the table with his dearest friends and all hishousehold about him. It was a happy occasion, not only for himself who had endured so much, but also for his mother and for Drusilla, who now realized for the first time that the terrors held over them by Jasper Oglander were no more to be feared, and whose anxiety concerning Gilbert was at last allayed by seeing him there alive and well, occupying his rightful place, and bearing within himself the promise of a great and useful manhood.

"English boys owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. Henty."—Athenæum.

————Large Crown 8vo, Cloth Extra, Olivine Edges————

G. A. HENTY

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"In this story of the South African war Mr. Henty proves once more his incontestable pre-eminence as a writer for boys."—Standard.

—Bonnie Prince Charlie:A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. 6s.

"A historical romance of the best quality."—Academy.

—Through Russian Snows:or, Napoleon's Retreat from Moscow. 5s.

"Very graphically told."—St. James's Gazette.

—The Tiger of Mysore:A Story of the War with Tippoo Saib. 6s.

"A thrilling tale."—Athenæum.

—Wulf the Saxon:A Story the Norman Conquest. 6s.

"We may safely say that a boy may learn from it more genuine history than he will from many a tedious tome."—Spectator.

—With Kitchener in the Soudan:A Tale of Atbara and Omdurman. With 3 Maps. 6s.

"Characterized by those familiar traits which endear Mr. Henty to successive generations of schoolboys."—Pall Mall Gazette.

—At the Point of the Bayonet:A Tale of the Mahratra War. With 2 Maps. 6s.

"A brisk, dashing narrative."—Bookman.

—Through Three Campaigns:A Story of Chitral, the Tirah, and Ashanti. With 3 Maps. 6s.

"Every true boy will enjoy this story of plucky adventure."—Educational News.

—St. George for England:A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. 5s.

"A story of very great interest for boys."—Pall Mall Gazette.

—With the British Legion:A Story of the Carlist Wars. 6s.

"It is a rattling story told with verve and spirit."—Pall Mall Gazette.

—True to the Old Flag:A Tale of the American War of Independence. 6s.

"Mr. Henty undoubtedly possesses the secret of writing eminently successful historical tales."—Academy.

—At Aboukir and Acre.5s.

"For intrinsic interest and appropriateness,At Aboukir and Acreshould rank high."—Spectator.

—Redskin and Cow-Boy:A Tale of Western Plains. 6s.

"A strong interest of open-air life and movement pervades the whole book."—Scotsman.

—With Buller in Natal:or, A Born Leader. With a Map. 6s.

"Just the sort of book to inspire an enterprising boy."—Army and Navy Gazette.

—By Conduct and Courage:A Story of the days of Nelson. 6s.

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