Sir John Constantine Part 21

With all his fears he kept his reckoning admirably, and we half-sailed, half-drifted through the Strait, and so near to the Rock of Gibraltar that, pa.s.sing within range of it at the hour of reveilly, we heard the British bugles sounding to us like ghosts through the fog. Captain Pomery here was in two minds about laying-to and waiting for a breeze; but a light slant of wind encouraged him to carry the _Gauntlet_ through. It bore us between the invisible strait, and for a score of sea-miles beyond; then, as casually as it had helped, it deserted us.

Day broke and discovered us with the Moorish coast low on our starboard horizon. To Mr. Fett and Mr. Badc.o.c.k this meant nothing, and my father might have left them to their ignorance had he not in the course of the forenoon caught them engaged upon a silly piece of mischief, which was, to scribble on small sheets of paper various affecting narratives--as that the _Gauntlet_ was sinking, or desperately attacked by pirates, in such and such a lat.i.tude and longitude--insert them in empty bottles, and commit them to the chances of the deep. The object (as Mr. Fett explained it) being to throw Billy Priske's sweetheart off the scent. For two days past he had been slyly working upon Billy's fears, and was relating to him how, with two words, a Moorish lady had followed Gilbert a Becket from Palestine to London, and found him there--when my father, attracted by the smell of pitch, strolled forward and caught Mr.

Badc.o.c.k in the act of sealing the bottles from a ladle which stood heating over a lamp. In the next five minutes the pair learnt that my father could lose his temper, and the lesson visibly scared them.

"Your pardon, sir," twittered Mr. Fett. "'Twas a foolish joke, I confess."

"I may lend some point to it," answered my father grimly, "by telling you what I had a mind to conceal, that you stand at this moment at no far remove from one of the worst dangers you have playfully invented.

The wind has dropped again, as you perceive. Along the coast yonder live the worst pirates in the world, and with a gla.s.s we may all but discern the dreadful barracks in which so many hundreds of our fellow-Christians lie at this moment languishing. Please G.o.d we are only visible from the hill-country, and coast tribes may miss to descry us! For our goal lies north and east, and to fail of it would break my heart. But 'twere a high enterprise for England some day to smoke out these robbers, and I know none to which a Christian man could more worthily engage himself."

Mr. Badc.o.c.k shivered. "In our parish church," said he, "we used to take up a collection for these poor prisoners every Septuagesima.

Many a sermon have I listened to and wondered at their sufferings, yet idly, as no doubt Axminster folk would wonder at this plight of mine, could they hear of it at this moment."

"My father, his wrath being yet recent, did not spare to paint our peril of capture and the possible consequences in lively colours; but observing that Nat and I had drawn near to listen, he put on a cheerfuller tone.

"He will turn all this to the note of love, and within five minutes,"

I whispered to Nat, "or I'll forfeit five shillings."

My father could not have heard me; yet pat on the moment he rose to the bet as a fish to a fly.

"Yet love," said he, "love, the star of our quest, has shone before now into these dungeons, these dark ways of blood, these black and cruel hearts, and divinely illuminated them; as a score of histories bear witness, and among them one you shall hear."

THE STORY OF THE ROVER AND THE LORD PROVOST'S DAUGHTER.

"In Edinburgh, in the Canongate, there stands a tenement known as Morocco Land, over the second floor of which leans forward, like a figure-head, the wooden statue of a Moor, black and naked, with a turban and a string of beads; and concerning this statue the following tale is told.

"In the reign of King James or King Charles I.--I cannot remember which--there happened a riot in Edinburgh. Of its cause I am uncertain, but in the progress of it the mob, headed by a young man named Andrew Gray, set fire to the Lord Provost's house. The riot having been quelled, its ringleaders were seized and cast into the Tol-booth, and among them this Andrew Gray, who in due course was brought to judgment, and in spite of much private influence (for he came of good family) condemned to die. Before the day of execution, however, his friends managed to spirit him out of prison, whence he fled the country; and so escaped and in time was forgotten.

"Many years after, at a time when the plague was raging through Edinburgh, a Barbary corsair sailed boldly up the Firth of Forth and sent a message ash.o.r.e to the Lord Provost, demanding twenty thousand pounds ransom, and on a threat, if it were not paid within twenty-four hours, to burn all the shipping in the firth and along the quays. He required, meanwhile, a score of hostages for payment, and among them the Lord Provost's own son.

"The Lord Provost ran about like a man demented; since, to begin with, audacious as the terms were, the plague had spared him scarcely a hundred men capable of resistance. Moreover, he had no son, but an only daughter, and she was lying sick almost to death with the distemper. So he made answer, promising the ransom, but explaining that he for his part could send no hostage. To this the Sallee captain replied politely--that he had some experience of the plague, and possessed an elixir which (he made sure) would cure the maiden if the Lord Provost would do him the honour to receive a visit; nay, that if he failed to cure her, he would remit the city's ransom.

"You may guess with what delight the father consented. The pirate came ash.o.r.e in state, and was made welcome. The elixir was given; the damsel recovered; and in due course she married her Paynim foe, who now revealed himself as the escaped prisoner, Andrew Gray.

He had risen high in the service of the Emperor of Morocco, and had fitted out his ship expressly to be revenged upon the city which had once condemned him to death. The story concludes that he settled down, and lived the rest of his life as one of its most reputable citizens."

"But what was the elixir?" inquired Mr. Badc.o.c.k.

"T'cht!" answered my father testily.

"I agree with you, sir," said Mr. Fett. "Mr. Badc.o.c.k's question was a foolish one. Speaking, however, as a mere man of business, and without thought of rounding off the story artistically, I am curious to know how they settled the ransom?"

Captain Pomery had taken in all canvas, to be as little conspicuous as possible; and all that day we lay becalmed under bare poles.

Not content with this, he ordered out the boat, and the two seamen (Mike Halliday and Roger Wearne their names were) took turns with Nat and me in towing the _Gauntlet_ off the coast. It was back-breaking work under a broiling sun, but before evening we had the satisfaction to lose all sight of land. Still we persevered and tugged until close upon midnight, when the captain called us aboard, and we tumbled asleep on deck, too weary even to seek our hammocks.

At daybreak next morning (Sunday) my father roused me. A light wind had sprung up from the sh.o.r.e, and with all canvas spread we were slipping through the water gaily; yet not so gaily (doubted Captain Pomery) as a lateen-sailed craft some four or five miles astern of us--a craft which he announced to be a Moorish xebec.

The _Gauntlet_--a flattish-bottomed ship--footed it well before the wind, but not to compare with the xebec, which indeed was little more than a long open boat. After an hour's chase she had plainly reduced our lead by a mile or more. Then for close upon an hour we seemed to have the better of the wind, and more than held our own; whereat the most of us openly rejoiced. For reasons which he kept to himself Captain Pomery did not share in our elation.

For sole armament (besides our muskets) the ketch carried, close after of her fore-hatchway, a little obsolete 3-pounder gun, long since superannuated out of the Falmouth packet service. In the dim past, when he had bid for her at a public auction, Captain Pomery may have designed to use the gun as a chaser, or perhaps, even then, for decoration only. She served now--and had served for many a peaceful pa.s.sage--but as a peg for spare coils of rope, and her rickety carriage as a supplement, now and then, for the bitts, which were somewhat out of repair. My father casting about, as the chase progressed, to put us on better terms of defence, suggested unlashing this gun and running her aft for a stern-chaser.

Captain Pomery shook his head. "Where's the ammunition? We don't carry a single round shot aboard, nor haven't for years.

Besides which, she'd burst to a certainty."

"There's time enough to make up a few tins of canister," argued my father. "Or stay--" He smote his leg.

"Didn't I tell you old Worthyvale would turn out the usefullest man on board?"

"What's the matter with Worthyvale?"

"While we've been talking, Worthyvale has been doing. What has he been doing?" Why, breaking up the ballast, and, if I'm not mistaken, into stones of the very size to load this gun."

"Give Badc.o.c.k and me some share of credit," pleaded Mr. Fett.

"Speaking less as an expert than from an imagination quickened by terror of all missiles, I suggest that a hundredweight or so of empty bottles, nicely broken up, would lend a d--d disagreeable diversity to the charge--"

"Not a bad idea at all," agreed my father.

"And a certain sting to our defiance; since I understand these ruffians drink nothing stronger than water," Mr. Fett concluded.

We spent the next half-hour in dragging the gun aft, and fetching up from the hold a dozen basket-loads of stone. It required a personal appeal from my father before old Worthyvale would part with so much of his treasure.

During twenty minutes of this time, the xebec, having picked up with the stronger breeze, had been shortening her distance (as Captain Pomery put it) hand-over-fist. But no sooner had we loaded the little gun and trained her ready for use, than my father, pausing to mop his brow, cried out that the Moor was losing her breeze again.

She perceptibly slackened way, and before long the water astern of her ceased to be ruffled. An oily calm spreading across the sea from sh.o.r.eward overhauled her by degrees, overtook, and held her, with sails idle and sheets tautening and sagging as she rolled on the heave of the swell.

Captain Pomery promptly checked our rejoicing, telling us this was about the worst that could happen. "We shall carry this wind for another ten minutes at the most," he a.s.sured us. "And these devils have boats."

So it proved. Within ten minutes our booms were swinging uselessly; the sea spread calm for miles around us; and we saw no fewer than three boats being lowered from the xebec, now about four miles away.

"There is nothing but to wait for 'em," said my father, seating himself on deck with his musket across his knees. "Mr. Badc.o.c.k!"

"Sir?"

"To-day is Sunday."

"It is, sir. Six days shalt thou labour and do all thou hast to do, but on the Seventh day (if you'll excuse me) there's a different kind of feeling in the air. At home, sir, I have observed that even the rooks count on it."

"You have a fine voice, Mr. Badc.o.c.k, and have been, as I gather, an attentive hearer of sermons."

"I may claim that merit, sir."

"If you can remember one sufficiently well to rehea.r.s.e it to us, I feel that it would do us all good."

Mr. Badc.o.c.k coughed. "Oh, sir," he protested, "I couldn't! I reelly couldn't. You'll excuse me, but I hold very strong opinions on unlicensed preaching." He hesitated; then suddenly his brow cleared.

"But I can read you one, sir. _Reading_ one is altogether another matter."

"You have a book of sermons on board?"

"Before starting, sir, happening to cast my eye over the book-case in the bedroom . . . a volume of Dr. South's, sir, if you'll excuse my liberty in borrowing it."

He ran and fetched the volume, while we disposed ourselves to listen.