The Golden Galleon Part 32

"The rascal was full eager to join the _Revenge_," 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 the _Revenge_. 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, for now 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 been discovered," 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 Ba.s.san'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 the _Revenge_, 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 t.i.tle and estates."

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

"Better that the t.i.tle 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 of this 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 n.o.ble family hath done before him. Give you good-day, Master Pym, and G.o.d 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 the _Pilgrim_. Trade had not been brisk at the "Pestle and Mortar" during the months of Timothy's absence. Of hair cutting and the tr.i.m.m.i.n.g 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 returned penniless 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, G.o.d 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 am deep 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 the _Pilgrim's_ cargo. 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 a.s.sailed by the snipping of barber's scissors or the fizzling of curling-tongs!"

Now this that Timothy promised did actually come to pa.s.s. Nor was Peter Trollope the only one in Plymouth who enjoyed some benefit from the treasures of _The Golden Galleon_. Every man and boy of the ship's company of the _Pilgrim_ received 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.

The _Pilgrim_ had not been large enough to hold all the treasure that _The Golden Galleon_ had 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 that were fired into her hull by the departing _Pilgrim_, 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 the _Pilgrim_ that 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 his household 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 grat.i.tude to Mr. Henty."--_Athenaeum._

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