HOW THE EAGLE SAILED.
Now it is an easy matter to say a thing will be done, but it is hard,
sometimes, to carry out. However, I was so happy, when I felt I had not
loved in vain, that I thought it would be but a little quest to find
Lucille. She had, ’twas likely, found friends with whom she was
stopping, and I only had to search them out. First I must see if she had
been to the Governor for a pardon. And, when I called to mind this act
of hers, I was ashamed of the thoughts I had had concerning my dear one.
So, having arranged to send Nanette back to Salem, I turned my steps
toward the Governor’s, to make inquiries; for His Excellency had,
doubtless, seen Lucille.
I was in little fear of arrest, on the charge of treason, for which Sir
George held the Royal warrant, as I judged I could prevail on Sir
William Phips to let so old a matter rest.
As I walked up the broad steps, having left Kit in the roadway, I was
met at the door by a very proud-looking serving man.
“We want no beggars here,” he said, and I remembered, with a start, my
disordered and mud-stained clothes. I was not at all nice in appearance;
a veritable beggar on horseback, and wearing a sword at my side; a
strange sight, doubtless.
“I am no beggar,” I said, roughly, for I was in no mood for trifling.
“Stand aside,” I went on, placing my hand on my sword, “for I must see
Sir William.”
“Then you must get wings,” answered the man, smiling, and becoming more
respectful, “for the Governor sailed for London yesterday.”
Here was something I had not counted on.
“Is there no one here who knows aught of his affairs?” I asked. “I must
make some inquiries concerning a certain person.”
The servant said I might see the Governor’s private clerk, and he
ushered me into a room where a middle-aged man sat writing. To him I
related how I had come to Boston seeking a maid, Lucille de Guilfort,
who was my promised wife, and who, I said, I feared had met with some
harm, or was detained, since she had not been heard of in three weeks.
She would have called on the Governor on a private matter, I remarked,
but I did not say what it was, for even in Boston some folks were
witch-crazed.
The Governor’s man listened carefully, and asked me to describe Lucille
to him. When I had done so, he said:
“I recall, now, that about three weeks ago, such a maid came here, and
was closeted with His Excellency for about an hour. I remember, because
that day, I had upset the hour glass, and also on that day----”
“Yes, yes,” I interrupted, “tell me of that again, what of the maid?”
“I was coming to her,” he said, reproachfully. “Well, as I have said,
she was with the Governor for an hour. There were tear traces on her
cheeks when she went in, but a smile on her lips when she came out. I
remember because I heard a bird----”
“Never mind the bird,” I hastened to say. “She was smiling----”
“Yes, but why do you break in on me? I was telling of the smile. She was
all happiness, and in her hand she had a paper, sealed with the great
seal of the Colony, and with the Governor’s own signet. Then, as she was
going down the steps, having thrust the document into her bodice, she
was met by a man.”
“By a man?” I shouted. “What manner of man?”
“Why, he was a man. I remember he was a man because----”
“Aye, aye, because he was a man,” I cried, all on fire. “Never mind how
you recall it, but tell me, quickly, as if you had but another minute to
live, what manner of man he was.”
“Why, you are in great haste,” said the clerk, “you leave me no
thoughts.”
“Never mind your thoughts,” I said, “tell me who was the man?”
“Why, none other than Sir George Keith,” he answered, gazing with mild
wonder at me. “I remember it was because I knew him well, having often
seen him at the Governor’s house.”
“What then?” I asked, trying to be calm, though I stormed within.
“Oh, I looked no further, as I had many papers to prepare,” replied the
clerk. “The last I saw was the maid going up the street with Sir
George.”
“Did she go willingly?”
“Aye, I thought so. Though now I call to mind that Sir George appeared
to talk earnestly to her, pointing this way and that, ere she turned and
went with him. Is there any more I can tell you?”
“No,” I said. “I thank you most kindly. I have heard too--too much
already. Forgive my hasty words, I pray.”
Then I went out to Kit.
She rubbed her nose against my shoulder as I made ready to leap into the
saddle. I wondered if she understood, and if it was the sympathy she
could not speak, for it seemed she wanted to tell me she was still true.
Here was more than I had bargained for. Lucille was gone with Sir
George, and there could be but one meaning to that. He had met her,
having followed her from Salem, and had renewed his advances to her.
With light words he had been sorry for the past, had won her
forgiveness, and had awakened her old love for him.
Surely this was an end to it all now.
Though I had believed her his wife before, I felt I had her love. Now he
had both her love and herself, and I had naught save bitter
memories--and my love.
I cursed that, and tried to separate it from me--to cast it aside, but I
could not. I knew, no matter what she did, no matter where she was, no
matter were she now in his arms, with his kisses on her lips, that I
loved her. For, when a man loves, he loves not always with wisdom.
I did not think of her as false to me. I believed she had fled with him
after trying to elude his temptation. For it would appear she started
from Salem loving me, and I hugged that cold comfort to my heart.
Despair, hope, then despair again had been my feelings that day. Now
came a new one, revenge. If I could not have Lucille I would have her
lover, and I laughed aloud as I thought how pleasant it would be to have
him at my sword point.
I saw him shifting back from my attack. I saw the terror in his eyes, I
saw his futile effort to parry my fierce thrust, I heard Lucille cry
out, and then--and then I felt my keen weapon sheath itself in his
heart.
Down he fell at my feet a shapeless mass, his red, warm lips, that she
had kissed, growing cold and white.
And I laughed aloud.
A sorry uncanny mirth it must have been, for it made Kit prick up her
ears and break into a trot.
Now I thought I would live but for one end--to kill Sir George. But to
do that I must find him. I have ever believed that good wine is, in
moderation, a safe friend. Over a glass or two I knew I could better
think of what I might do next, for I had resolved to follow Sir
George--and Lucille.
I went to the tavern I had left a little while before, and, while
sipping my wine, I fell to thinking of a remark Nanette had made while
there, of how she had heard that her mistress had taken a boat near the
tavern. In the excitement of what she told me after that I had forgotten
to ask the servant what she meant by it, and where she had heard the
rumor.
While thus musing and grumbling at my stupidity I heard two men talking
in the room next to mine. The voices rose in anger now and then, and
seemed to be in dispute over the division of some money. At length one
of the men cried out:
“The boat was more mine than yours. You were as anxious to sell to Sir
George as was I, and I made the better trade. For I knew he must have
the craft at any price, as it would not do to let the little lady wet
her feet.”
Sir George! A boat! A lady! Had I stumbled on what I wanted; the trail
of my enemy?
I listened with all attention, but I learned no more. Shortly after that
I heard the men leaving, and I contrived to go out at the same time, and
caught a glimpse of them.
They appeared to be sailors, both roughly dressed, while one was taller
than the other. I left my mare at the inn, and followed the men, not
letting them see me, though. They separated after going a little way,
and I kept after the taller one. In my eagerness I came too close to
him. He turned, saw me following, and quickened his pace. But I went
faster also, and, when he was at the edge of the town, I was close at
his heels. He turned suddenly, picked up a heavy stick and snarled at
me:
“Who are you and what do you want, following me? If it’s to rob----”
“I am not a highwayman,” I said. “I only want a word or two with you.”
“Suppose I have no words for you?”
“Then I’ll find a way to make you.”
“Bold talk,” he sneered.
“I am a bold man,” I answered.
I saw his eyes shifting, first on one side of me and then on the other,
as he sought a path of escape, but I stood in the way.
“Go your journey, and let me go mine,” he said, “for I’m no pleasant
person to provoke, mate.”
“Until I have done with you, our journey is together,” I remarked. “You
may go when you have answered some of my questions.” Then assuming to
know more than I did, I asked:
“Where did Sir George Keith and the woman sail to in your boat?”
The sailor started back as if I had struck him, and his face grew white
with fear.
“Damn you!” he cried, raising his club.
I had drawn my sword, and with it I knocked the clumsy weapon from his
hand. Before he could pick up another I had him by the shoulder, and my
steel was at his throat.
“Will you answer now?” I asked gently.
“I suppose I must,” he said sullenly.
“Unless you would rather lie here dead,” I responded.
“Well, then, here is all I know,” was his answer, given with no very
good grace. “It was this way. Some three weeks back my mate and I were
in our boat at the end of the wharf. The Eagle was the name of the
craft. We were mending a torn sail, me and my mate, when along comes a
fine gentleman, Sir George Keith, no less, as we afterward learned. He
had his sword dangling at his side, and was mincing his steps in the
mud. He hailed us and wanted to know what we’d hire out the Eagle for?”
“‘How long?’ I says. ‘A year and a day,’ says he, and he looked at me,
and smiled in a queer sort of a way. By that I knew he was bound on a
voyage he couldn’t see the end of.
“‘Oh, it’s to buy the boat you want,’ says I, smelling a bargain, and he
nodded his head. Well, I asked him fifty pounds, and he gave it over
with never a word. I asked him when he wanted the craft, and he says in
an hour’s time. So me and my mate took ashore what baggage we had and
went to the tavern, where we were lately, to drink to the success of our
bargain. A little while after we seen a sailor with a cock eye come down
to the wharf, and he begun to load provisions into the Eagle.”
I stopped the progress of the tale.
“Was the sailor one with a scar on the left cheek, and a blur or cock of
the right eye?” I asked.
“He was that,” answered the former owner of the Eagle.
“My old acquaintance, Simon the sailor, who urged the men to force me to
surrender Pemaquid,” I whispered to myself. Verily he was becoming my
evil genius.
“Being curious,” resumed the Eagle’s captain, “me and my mate hid where
we could watch the boat. At dusk we saw Sir George come down to the
wharf and he was leading by the hand a woman or maid, close wrapped in a
gray cloak.”
I could not repress a start.
“Well, what then?” I asked.
“Sir George says, he says, ‘Is all ready, Simon?’ ‘Yes, my lord,’ says
the cock-eyed sailor, and then he hoisted the jib, while Sir George and
the lady went down in the cabin.”
“Together?” I asked.
“Surely, and why not?” replied the man. “It was getting dark, and there
was a chill wind.”
“Well, what then?”
“Why, the wind freshened and the Eagle stood out down the bay. That is
the last I have seen of her or Sir George either.”
“But her destination, man,” I cried. “Surely you must have heard some
name mentioned. Some town on the coast to which they were bound.”
The sailor shook his head. Then, as if something had suddenly occurred
to him, he said:
“I recall now that when Sir George with the maid joined the cock-eyed
sailor, my lord addressed some words to his man, but all I could catch
was ‘Elizabeth.’ I took it to be the woman’s name, and paid no heed.
After the boat had sailed me and my mate talked the whole matter over,
and we liked its looks so little, we agreed to say nothing to nobody
about it.”
“Elizabeth, Elizabeth,” I murmured, as the sailor, seeing I had turned
aside from him, slunk away. “’Tis a woman’s name, sure enough, but I
have heard it somewhere in the Colonies, too. I have a small notion
there is a town called that.”
I made a quick pace back to the centre of the town, and by inquiries
along the wharves learned there was a settlement in New Jersey that went
by the name of Elizabeth town. It was near to New York, they told me,
down on the Jersey coast, but somewhat inland.
“That is the place,” I said to myself.
How was I to get there? I wanted no companion, and I could not manage a
boat alone. Clearly I must make the trip on horseback, and a long
journey it would be. I felt there was no time to be lost. It was now
growing dark, and I could not start until morning. I went back to the
tavern, where I had left Kit, engaged a bed for myself, and then set
about making ready for my trip. I got a flask of brandy and a good
blanket. Next I laid out a good part of what little ready money I had on
a serviceable flint-lock, a horn of powder, a pouch of bullets and some
spare flints.
The blanket I strapped back of my saddle, and the flask of brandy I put
in the bags, together with some dry biscuits and a piece of bacon. I ate
my supper and went to bed. I had a long journey before me. As the crow
flew it was quite 200 miles, but with the turnings I must make ’twould
be a good 300. My plan was to ride along the coast all the way, for I
thought that contrary winds might compel Sir George to lay to, at least
for a time, and I might come up to him then.
I knew he dared not stand far out from the shore in so small a craft,
because of storms. Likewise he would be obliged to come in to replenish
his stock of fresh water, for he could not carry a large supply. So I
was in hopes I could get some trace of the voyagers by picking my way
along the coast.
There would be hard riding by day and by night. Cold and hunger,
doubtless, and wind and rain. Danger of attacks by Indians and wild
animals. Yet I felt that I could persevere through it all for the sake
of a sweet revenge. Would love, I wondered, serve to urge me on through
such a journey as awaited me.
I awoke with the rising of the sun, made a hurried meal, and, leading
Kit from the stable, vaulted into the saddle. The orb was well above the
horizon, and the air was clear and cool when I looked back on the town I
was leaving, thought of its bitter and sweet memories, and bade a glad
good bye to Massachusetts and her witches.