IN PLYMOUTH.
The arrow sang its curving flight through the air and stuck, with a
quick quiver, in the very centre of the target. "Four times out of six
have I found his heart, and a pennypiece would cover the four,"
exclaimed Nick Johnson. "'Twill do!" He put his bow-point to his toe,
loosened the string, and laid the weapon aside. Brother Ned slipped
his own bow from his shoulder, strung it, tested its tautness and
rigidity, and took six arrows from the boy who waited upon the patrons
of archery ground. He shot; the arrow went wide. He sighed, rubbed
his eyes as though to clear them from mist, and shot again. The shaft
lodged on the outer edge of the target, almost splintering the wood.
"Better," said Nick encouragingly. Ned shot a third time; the string
twanged unevenly, and the arrow fell short. With a groan of despair
the sailor threw the bow aside, and called to the boy to fetch the
arrows. "'Tis no use," he cried; "I shall ne'er master the trick on't
again; left hand and eye will not go together as did right hand and eye
in the old days. Time was when I could outshoot thee three matches in
four; now should I miss the side of a house at a hundred paces. Thy
left arm serves thee better than thy right ever did. I know no better
marksman."
Nick pulled musingly at his sandy beard. "In truth," he admitted, "it
seemeth as though nature intended me for a left-handed man; 'tis
wonderful what skill I have acquired with it in a few months of
practice. Wilt thou not try again?"
"Not to-day. I'll to the witch-woman under the cliffs, and get her to
say some charms that have power over the left side of a man." Ned
strode moodily off, and Nick followed him. At the stile that led into
the highway they met Dan Pengelly coming in search of them. Yards away
his excited countenance heralded news. "They've turned up at last!"
he cried.
"Master Morgan and Rob?"
"No; the Papishers."
"How?"
"Get ye to the 'Blue Dolphin,' and Dame Gregory will tell ye all. I'll
be in hiding on the opposite side of the way, and a whistle will bring
me across. Give your legs full play. I'll not be seen with ye. Needs
must that we deal craftily when the devil's in person amongst the foe."
"Rest easy, Dan. Come on, Ned," cried Nick. And the two brothers
swung off for the harbour side of the town and the back parlour of the
"Blue Dolphin." Whilst they clatter along the cobbled highway, we will
explain their errand.
When Dan Pengelly babbled secrets into the ears of Brother Basil, he
unwittingly gave that worthy a new scheme of revenge. For some months
after the failure of the plot to burn the forest, the ex-monk had
remained in hiding amidst the mountains of South Wales. He stayed near
Newnham long enough to learn from the farmer at Arlingham the precise
fate of Father Jerome, his co-conspirator John, and Andrew Windybank.
Being assured of their deaths, and the absolute failure of the Spanish
plot, he disappeared. The foresters hoped, and at length believed,
that he was dead; they had learned that he was the fiercest and most
unscrupulous of the fanatics, and rumour had quickly clothed him with
all sorts of unholy attributes. That he was not dead, but plotting
further mischief, was known only to one man, and the knowledge helped
to darken that man's life. The farmer at Arlingham had never been
suspected of complicity in the plot; all, save Basil, who could have
blabbed his secret were amongst the slain on the night of the fight
with the _Luath_. He himself lost heart at the critical moment and
stayed at home, and his only share in the affair was to provide for
some of the wounded and receive the thanks of the admiral for his ready
generosity. Yet, whilst the wounded groaned and tossed on his beds,
Basil lay curled up, wolf fashion, in one of the barns. He lodged
there again for two days after the burning of Dean Tower, and whilst
the forest was being scoured with horse and hound for him. From thence
he had journeyed to Plymouth, hoping to secure the Spanish papers
hidden by the garrulous seaman. He succeeded in his object only a few
hours before Dan came hastening back from Blakeney, fearful for the
safety of his precious packet. The trick had been neatly played. Dame
Gregory had entertained, for one night, a very pleasant and gentlemanly
guest, who had speedily found his way into her good graces, and also
into the back parlour of the "Blue Dolphin," which was sacred to the
intimate cronies of her sailor spouse. It was there, behind a panel in
the wall, that the hostess kept treasures belonging to several homeless
mariners and adventurers who made her their banker and confidential
agent. The foolish Dan, tipsily anxious to let his little comrade know
how cunning he was, had explained the working of the panel and the
difficulty of any one, save those in the secret, getting access to the
precious hoard behind it. An evening's survey matured Basil's plans.
Early the next morning two strange sailor-men entered the inn, and kept
the landlady answering questions for the best part of half an hour.
Not long after she was rid of them, her pleasant guest also bade her
good day and departed.
No suspicions were aroused until Dan's return and discovery of his
loss. Then Basil's handiwork was apparent enough. His connection with
the two sailors was revealed in an early stage of Dan's search for the
thief. The three had been seen together in a neighbouring hostel the
previous day. No trace of them was discovered after the robbery. But
now, on the very eve of Morgan's arrival in Plymouth, Dame Gregory's
son, an urchin of about fourteen summers, had penetrated the rough
disguise of two mariners who had dropped into the kitchen of the "Blue
Dolphin." Guided by the child's eyes, the mother also had assured
herself of the identity of the two. Dan had been apprised, had given
the alarm to the Johnsons, and they were already lifting the latch of
the parlour door. The two spies were on the ale-bench in the kitchen.
There was a whispered consultation with the hostess. Was she sure of
her men? Quite. What was Dan going to do in the affair? Watch, in
the hope that the sallow priest-man would pass along by the inn.
Nick and Ned entered the kitchen. They were taciturn fellows, but they
gave the strangers a nod and a good-morrow! Conversation began, the
Johnsons leaving the lead, after the first words, to the strangers. In
those stirring times it was impossible for four mariners to meet in
Plymouth town and refrain from talking about the wonderful New World
across the Atlantic. All four had sailed its seas and navigated its
rivers. Nick Johnson said many hard things of the Spaniards, and he
expected the strangers to champion them a little. They did not; on the
other hand, they heaped curses on the heads of the arrogant Dons. The
talk turned on "El Dorado" and the fabulous treasures he had heaped up.
The Johnsons were eager with inquiries, but had no information to
offer. The strangers pretended to know a great deal about the
mysterious Indian potentate and his golden land, but they winked at one
another and kept their counsel. Ned Johnson made a plunge. Did the
strangers know that a ship was actually fitting in Plymouth harbour for
an unnamed port on the Orinoco? They did, and thought of trying for a
berth in her, having information that would be valuable to her captain.
By a casual remark, Ned hinted that he had personal knowledge of some
of the co-owners of the _Golden Boar_. Instantly a flood of questions
poured forth, but no answers were returned. The brothers professed a
bond of secrecy. For a full hour a cunning game was played, two
against two, but neither side secured an advantage. The strangers
departed, having promised the Johnsons to meet the next morning at an
inn lower down the harbour.
The spies were followed to their lodging-place, and a watch set upon
them. But Basil was wary and made no sign. For two or three days the
four sailors fraternized together, and Dan Pengelly and the landlady's
son hung about in their neighbourhood, hoping to catch sight of a
familiar and cunning face. Meanwhile the last touches were being given
to the _Golden Boar_; her captain, John Drake, younger brother of the
famous admiral, was daily aboard, and her three principal
owners--Raleigh, Johnnie Morgan, and Captain Dawe--had arrived in
Plymouth. They had given up all hope of seeing Dan's mysterious
Spanish papers. But hope was not dead in the volatile Dan.