The Plowshare and the Sword Part 37

"Though methinks as pale as any wench who had lost her lover. Not a wrinkle on the face of him, and the forehead of him wide and smooth, ay, and as cold looking as any slab of stone from Portland cliff. But the eyes of man! I caught the look of them, and they seemed to pa.s.s through my brain learning in one glance more about me than ever I knew myself. And the smile of man! Can see it now as he turned to his fellow and said: 'The sailor is the man to drive our care away, good Burbage.' And then he said softly those words you have now been singing, 'One foot in sea and one on sh.o.r.e, To one thing constant never.' A Christian gentleman, they told me. A great actor, and a poet who made money, they told me. Should watch his 'Tempest' played.

Would make you feel on shipboard, and hold on to a pillar of the pit to steady your feet withal."

"He loved a mariner," said a voice. "The Englishman smells of salt water, say they in France. 'Tis better, so honest Will did say, than to smell of civet."

"How goes the weather?" demanded the captain suddenly.

"Snowing. Our little barque is but a drift."

The sailor who had sought to learn the poet's name repeated his question, and while the information was being driven into his obtuse head by half a dozen of his mates in concert, the curtain dividing the cabin became suddenly agitated, a white hand fluttered for an instant, and a bright voice called:

"Your food is ready, children."

The sailors rose, laughing as heartily at the pleasantry as though they had not heard it before, and obeyed the summons gladly. To every man was set a great bowl of stew, and the fair cook, resting her hands upon her sides, watched them as they set to work.

"You are idle," she declared. "I have but little meat left, and you, great children that you are, require so much feeding. In the morning I shall turn you out to hunt. The snow shall have stopped by then, and you may follow the deer by their fresh tracks."

Madeleine nodded severely at the sailors as she thus made known to them her mind.

The crew were still over supper, and Silas was telling one of his sea stories to ears which had already heard it a score of times, but listened patiently because it was the master speaking, when a deep sound broke among the hills and rolled onward through the snow, making the rough coast throb.

The skipper's mouth was open to laugh at his own excellent wit, but that sound brought his lips together, as it caused all his listeners to start for the door. The same cry was upon every tongue, as their hands dragged away the sail which stretched across the entrance:

"A gun!"

They poured into the terrible whiteness, huddling as close as sheep.

Nothing was visible, except the steady ma.s.ses shed from the clouds like wool. Not a sound, nor any sign of life. They waited, straining their eyes out to sea, but the gun did not roar again.

"Cast your eyes over to the west," called a voice, and the master found Sir Thomas at his side.

A glow in that direction filled the sky, making the surroundings weird, and from time to time a red tongue of fire leapt up.

"'Tis a French ship bringing provisions," said the knight, pointing into the unfathomable ma.s.s. "She has signalled, and yonder fire burns to guide her in."

"Wreck her!" cried a Cornishman. "Let us build another fire on the cliff to the east. With fortune, she shall steer for our beacon instead of theirs."

"We should but make ourselves known," growled Upcliff.

A terrified shout broke upon his speech, and one of the men jumped against the huddled party, shrieking in fear.

"What ails you, Jacob Sadgrove?" cried the skipper.

"G.o.d save me! A foul spirit close at my side. She grinned out of the snow and floated away, her feet never touching ground. A warning--a death warning, and I a miserable sinner."

The man grovelled upon his knees up to his waist in snow, flapping his hands and groaning.

"Speak up, man!" said Sir Thomas. "What is that you saw?"

"He has seen a wyvern," spoke the master contemptuously. "Was always a man to see more than other folk."

"Stood at my side and grinned in a fearsome manner," whined the sailor.

"The nose of her was slit like man yonder, and the ears of her were like a dog's, and she breathed fire out of her mouth."

"Stay!" cried Hough, stepping out. "Say you that her face was marked like mine?"

"The same," panted the man. "But dead and cold, and her eyes like fish----"

The Puritan drowned his wailings by a bitter cry.

"Forgive me, friends," he cried. "The Lord delivered me that woman to slay, and I, weak vessel that I am, drew back, and now am punished, and in my punishment you must share. We are discovered."

"The name of that woman?" demanded Sir Thomas.

"The sister of your wife."

"I knew it," groaned the knight. "The agent of my son's death. Which way went she?" he cried at the terrified sailor.

"She flew there--there," stuttered the man.

"Follow the tracks!"

"Nay, there are none. The snow already covers them."

"Her feet ne'er touched the snow," wailed the man. "Her feet were hot from the everlasting fire."

"Peace, fool," said Upcliff. He turned to Hough. "Are our lives in danger?"

"Never in greater. The woman is an Indian spy, who is now on her way to the settlement, where rules a hot-headed priest who has sworn to kill every Englishman in the land. They will be on us ere morning."

"There is only one way," said the master. "We must break the ice, release our barque, and put out. The sea is calm."

"She will not float."

"She shall float."

Upcliff gave his orders coolly, and the sailors hastened to obey through the m.u.f.fling mists. The greater number attacked the ice with axe and saw, while the minority dismantled the shelter and reconveyed its contents to the ghostly ship. Every man worked his hardest, longing for the sea. The blow of axes and the snarl of a long saw sounded along the hidden coast.

Madeleine came down, all white with snow like a bride, and cheered them on, and presently brought each man a bowl of soup to renew his strength. A narrow lane opened through the ice, an ink-black pa.s.sage in the colourless plain, but beyond stretched a long white field before the jagged edge where the snow wave curled in a monstrous lip.

The brigantine righted herself with a flutter and a plunge, casting the snow from her yards, and the grinding of her keel made joyful music.

The toilers, sweating as though they had been reaping corn in summer, laboured to open the path to the stagnant sea.

"The rent in her hold is plugged by solid ice," called the skipper.

"She shall carry that cargo bravely through this calm."

The big feathers of snow became spots of down, which lessened to the degree of frost points before morning. The country began to unroll, all padded with its monstrous coverlet; the trees masqueraded as wool-stuffed Falstaffs; the cliffs seemed to have increased in the night; the heavens were nearer the earth. The coast appalled in its cold virginity.

"One more hour, and then for the sea," sang Upcliff. "Is everything aboard?"

"All but the stove, captain. We wait for it to cool."