The Buccaneer Part 53

Cromwell would have added, "shot," but he remembered what Robin had suffered at Hampton Court, when Barbara's death was mentioned before him, and, though chafed at the picture he had himself drawn of the ravages of the Buccaneer, yet the kind feelings of his nature prevented his opening the green wound in the Ranger's heart. No matter what distinction rank makes between man and man, Nature has inst.i.tuted a moral freemasonry, by which all her children understand the signals and symptoms of goodness and greatness in each other's bosoms. Robin blessed him for his forbearance with the fresh warm blessing of an affectionate heart; and the blessing ascended to the Almighty's throne, although breathed into no mortal ear!--it ascended, not on the wings of the wind, for the wind heard it not; yet there it was, and there it remains, registered in the book of life, amongst the few but holy offerings which are paid to the mighty, in secret, by those who look to them for aid,--whose homage is generally of the lip, not the heart.

After a pause, more full of meaning than if it had been crammed with words, Robin said----

"Please your Highness, the girl is not dead, though badly wounded."

"I thank G.o.d!--I thank G.o.d for every blessing. Have you so said to the Lady Constantia?"

"I did not like to mention it, yet, as I did not know----"

"Right, right," interrupted Cromwell, not permitting him to finish the sentence, "a silent tongue is ever harmless, and with it there is safety. But I must see Fleetword and the Jewess forthwith: say unto Dalton that so I desire it."

"The Skipper has secrets touching this family in his keeping which I have reason to think he will retain, unless----"

Wily as he was, Robin now paused, for he dreaded to rouse the Protector's ire, and Cromwell, seeing his hesitation, exclaimed,

"Speak on--speak out, young man--this fellow would dictate to us--but speak--speak, I say; what are his gracious terms?"

Although the last words were uttered in an ironical tone, Robin did speak, and boldly.

"Pardon for himself, his registered followers, and safety for his ship; I know such to be his feelings, and know he would so say."

The Protector replied calmly--"To the pardon for himself, I say, ay; to the other conditions, no. Once spoken is enough. My words are for eternity, young man; it is much that I pardon even him. Go to--what hinders that I blow not his nest into the sky? what care I for the vultures of his eyrie!

"But the doves, your Highness,--the doves that shelter there!"

"Look ye, sir amba.s.sador," returned Cromwell, "were I to twine a wreath of gunpowder round his nest, think ye he would suffer his child to perish, whatever fate in desperation he might award himself?"

"My Lord, he can look the sun in the face at noon-day; he could weigh with an unquailing eye the bullet that brought him death--he is a man of unspeakable firmness."

"Granted," said the Protector; "but I am a father--so is he; you are not, or you would feel that, were the female a vulture, not a dove, still he could not peril her life. She is his child. I forget, while I now speak, that which I am; for I could not speak thus if I remembered it. I send you to Dalton, to tell him, that in humble, most humble, imitation of the blessed G.o.d, whose unworthy servant I am, I say that 'though,' in the eyes of the world, 'his sins be as scarlet, they shall be as wool;' they shall be blotted from my memory, and I will stretch forth my right hand to save and not to punish; so much as regards himself, I will not hint at his misdeeds, provided that----" he stopped abruptly, and fixed his eye upon the timepiece that was set over the chimney--a huge heavy iron machine, that one would fancy even Time found it difficult to deal with. "You see the hour--the hand is on the stroke of nine: provided that, before that same hand rests upon the single figure which heralds in the morning, the Preacher, the Jewess, himself and his daughter are within this room--provided they are here I will seal his pardon: he shall go forth, or remain, a free subject of the Commonwealth. And more than this, my soldiers sleep till midnight, so that men, _all_ men may travel in safety,--in safety _by land_, I mean; for if the slightest attempt be made to rid the harbour of the pestilential vessel, whose crew keep such careful, or rather such prudent, watch upon her deck, if that the night were dark as blackness itself, there are eyes that see, and hands that avenge! The ship must not remain unpunished; of her, justice _shall_ have its due. Your Buccaneer should think of this, and bless the G.o.d that has made us merciful."

"The Fire-fly, to be towed into Chatham and about, and pointed at by the cowardly land-lubbers, as Hugh Dalton's fine vessel! 'Twould kill him, please your Highness, it would kill him. He would not take his life on such terms----"

"Let him lose it, then. Think ye that, though you were honest, there are not many who pant to discover the secrets of that nest? Came I here for pastime? The Lord he is righteous and merciful. The cavern and its wealth is ours. The goodness of the Lord is over all the earth; yet such is the corruption of all things that we have no leisure for repose, much less pastime. Men's pa.s.sions and evil propensities devour us, and fright comfort and often holy communing from our pillow. Go to, then. We have one who could lead us blindfold through your crag and its chambers. If we find Dalton armed, justice must take its course; even I could not save him then."

"It is little your guide would know what awaited him, if he did conduct the soldiers of your Highness," replied Robin, perhaps in a tone of momentary familiarity, the result of his long conference.

"It is enough," said Cromwell. "Though you have denied that you were directed by him to see us on this matter, yet you will not scruple to do our bidding. I need not repeat--within four hours from this time,--the Jewess, the man of G.o.d, Dalton and his daughter--secretly, mark, _secretly_--within this chamber. During this period my soldiers sleep; but the vessel must not be unmoored. Remember, if its anchor is weighed--or slipped," he added, with that extraordinary penetration which saw every possibility of even equivoque, and guarded against it, "the Buccaneer's life is forfeit."

Robin bowed with great submission, but still lingered.

"Please your Highness, he does so love that vessel!"

"You practise on our humanity, young man, and forget to whom you speak."

Robin bowed again more lowly than before, and retreated down the room.

While closing the door, he looked to where the Protector sat; Cromwell, observing the movement, raised his hand, and pointed to the time-piece, whose iron finger was fast travelling round the dial.

CHAPTER XII.

So up he arose upon his stretched sails, Fearless expecting his approaching death; So up he arose, that the air starts and fails, And overpressed sinks his load beneath; So up he arose, as doth a thunder cloud Which all the earth with shadows black doth shroud; So up he arose.

PHINEAS FLETCHER.

"The Lord deliver me! once more, say I," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Robin Hays, "and the Lord deliver Dalton! He would sooner submit to have his limbs hewed one by one from his body, than permit a single plank of his good ship to be touched: he loves it far more than his own life. I will not speak with him about it. There is no possibility of a hundred of our men, if we could summon them from the different stations, encountering the well-disciplined soldiers now upon the island. Nothing legal or illegal can withstand the power or turn aside the will of that most wonderful man. It is useless to commune more with Dalton; but I will save him, though I perish in the attempt!"

It may be almost said that he flew to the Gull's Nest. When there, he turned with a stealthy step towards the chamber which his mother occupied. There was no living being in the room save one, and she was busied in composing the limbs and features of his dead parent, chanting, in a low monotonous tone, fragments of old songs and s.n.a.t.c.hes of ballads appropriate to the gloomy task.

Robin clung to the door-post. However little he might have respected his mother, he knew she had loved him; and it is sad, in a world where so few affectionate ties are formed, to see the nearest and the dearest severed. He stood for a little watching the slow movements of the old crone, who was so withered and woe-looking that, with but slight effort of imagination, he might have believed the grave had given up one dead to prepare another for the sepulchre. The small lamp sent forth but little light, and the features of his mother, not yet decently arranged, had a scared and frightened look, as if terror, at the oncoming of death, had left her a powerless though unwilling captive.

"Has the spirit long pa.s.sed!" at length inquired Robin, in a voice so low that the aged woman started, as if the whisper sounded from below the earth.

"Anan, Master Robin, is it you? Ah! I little thought you'd ha' been away; not that I fancy she missed ye much, for she didn't make much struggle--that is, not to say much at the very last--

'And at the last your bed shall be, Ay, near the broad and briny sea!'"

She gave out the rhyme while smoothing back the hair from the haggard features of the corpse; and her trembling treble voice, so weak, so shrill, added a most miserable and desolating effect to the awful scene.

"Do it decently, good dame, decently and gently too, and you shall be rewarded," said Robin, deeply affected,--aware how impossible it was for him to remain and see that every thing was well ordered.

"Ay, ay, I warrant it shall all be done rightly, master, as rightly as if she decked herself, poor soul! which she was well fond of in days long ago."

Robin turned towards the cliff. As he commenced the descent, the wail of the corpse-dresser fell upon his ear with the sighing of the wind that was straying amongst the many hollow crags--the mysterious wind that comes--whence?--we know not; and goes--where?--we cannot tell--yet moves along upon its appointed way--felt, although unseen, on the vast earth and the wide sea--now rejoicing over pleasant fields, and filling the leaves with harmony--kissing in its gentleness the blushing bosom of the rose, and wafting the humble bee on its industrious voyage!--then stirring up oceans by its breath, and shouting to the clouds its mandates!--Thou playfellow of thunder, and mate of the fierce lightning!

whether as a hurricane or a zephyr, great source of good and evil, hail to thee on thy way!

Robin stood on the smooth beach at the bottom of the cliffs, and, taking in at one glance all the objects within sight, perceived that the government ships had certainly moved closer to the vessel, whose ident.i.ty had puzzled even him, keen observer though he was. The night was dark but clear--no haze, no moon--the clouds not heavy nor light, yet few stars made their appearance: now and then, as a shadow pa.s.sed, one would twinkle for a moment, until obscured by some ambitious vapour soaring from earth to become purified by heaven. The ocean was calm and still, sleeping the sleep of waters in their immensity! Persons unaccustomed to such scenes could hardly have distinguished the vessels in the offing, so much of the same colour did they appear with the waves themselves. Robin then scanned the cliffs as he had done the ocean, and whistled soft, low, but audibly,--a note like that of the frightened plover. It was speedily answered, and in a moment Roupall stood by his side.

"Are any gone off to the ship?--and where is the Skipper?"

"The Skipper's with the women, and, I think, has been looking out for you," replied Roupall.

"Tell him, then,--tell all--that it will not be safe for any of ye to venture off to the Fire-fly till I give ye a signal. The ships have got closer to her, and a boat going off now would be sunk by a shot, for, night as it is, they can see; and, if it continues clear over head, the moon will not be needed to light to mischief--the stars shine bright enough for that. And now, Jack, I'm going to make a confidant of you--a proof that I think ye an honest rascal, at all events. Do not give what I am going to write on this parchment to the Skipper until I have made a signal from the ship. He is too old a sailor not to be on the look out; but you and Springall must be with him. You owe me thus much service for a wrong you once did me. It is meet that I forget and forgive it now."

"As to the wrong, Robin, it is clear out of my memory," replied Roupall.

"Gad! you must be a good scholar to write in the dark; but, I say, your signals and book learning could be much clearer, if you would just step in to the Skipper and explain. Here are we, like a parcel of bats and owls, stowing away in the cliffs, waiting to get out to the ship; and I know, from what old Hugh said, he is only watching for some messenger, with some answer or another. I know he is about a negotiation, which I'd never consent to, but fight a thousand troopers, had it not been that as good as eight or ten took his permission, and walked off for the other holdfast--fellows, to be sure, that never cruised with him above once.

Let us a-board, and we're safe. Would that the night were darker! for I think, by the movement of the watchers, (to the Devil with them!) that they suspect--ah! now you've finished, pray tell me what the signal will be--a red light?"

"A red light!" repeated Robin musingly, as he rolled up the parchment; "oh, yes! it will be a very red light."

"But, Bob, won't that alarm the ships?"

"Never mind if it does," replied Robin, casting off his boots, and throwing away all the loose portions of his dress, so as to stand only in his shirt and hose; "Give me your belt--it is broader than mine."

Roupall did as he requested, demanding, in his turn, if Robin was mad enough to think of swimming to the Fire-fly.