THE FOREST AGAIN--AND THE SEA.
Johnnie Morgan had tramped up from Bristol to Berkeley, and now stood
on the Severn bank at the eastern end of the ferry to Gatcombe and the
snug ingle-corner of the old farmhouse. Such a crowd of thoughts,
hopes, dreads, rushed into his mind that the whirl and jostle of them
in his brain made him giddy. He had left Bristol at dawn; it was now
late afternoon and an April day. He had entered the "Berkeley Arms" in
the old feudal town, called for his ale, and been stared at by an old
crony, yet never recognized. A year of absence, danger, privation,
slavery had put five years at least on to the young yeoman's back. The
laughter had gone out of his eyes, the roundness out of his cheeks, and
his walk was stiff.
He hailed the ferryman. The man came slowly across from Gatcombe.
Johnnie recognized his stroke before he clearly detected the body from
the boat. Here was the real touch of home. Old Evan would stare at
him, doubtless, but only for a moment. Then would come the
affectionate cry, "Plague take me! if it b'aint Jack Morgan. Welcome
home, my son; we'd given thee up for dead!"
The ferryman came; his fare stepped in. The ferryman stared not once
nor twice, but apparently he gave up the puzzle that troubled his mind,
for he took the ha'penny fare with no other remark than that the day
had been very warm for the time o' year. Johnnie went up the hill
feeling very depressed. On a sudden impulse he turned aside from the
highroad and took the path by the river through the fields to his own
lands. He felt he could not bear another familiar face to look into
his and not give him an old-time affectionate greeting. He tried to
persuade himself that the light was getting weak, but looking around he
could distinguish small objects on the other side of the river, and he
recognized old Biddy Gale coming down to the well at the bottom of her
garden to draw water.
The red roofs of Blakeney showed up against the dark background of the
trees. He looked for his own house. No smoke curled from the
chimneys. His heart seemed suddenly to turn to a lump of lead. An
urchin was coming along the path; he determined to talk to him.
The boy came whistling along, spied the tall, gaunt, bearded stranger,
and ceased his piping. When Johnnie turned towards him he made as
though to bolt, but thought better of it and came on.
"Is yonder place Blakeney?" asked the young man.
"It is," was the reply.
"Doth one Master John Morgan live there?"
"A-did in the time past, good master; but, preserve us from evil! the
Spaniards roasted and eat him somewhere in the Indies."
A faint smile flickered across Johnnie's face. "How sad!" he cried.
"Who then lives in his house yonder?"
"Just a widow woman and her maid. They will not quit, they say, until
a twelvemonth and a day be gone by from the time the rascal Dons laid
hands on their master. They will have it that he will come back; and
Mistress Dawe of Newnham, and a sailor-man named Dan of Plymouth, do
hold with them."
Johnnie wanted to ask a question about Dolly, but the words would not
come. The lad relieved him by continuing to unload his budget of
information.
"The sailor-man be lodged at the farm, much against the widow's
wish--so she says; but he declares he will not budge, lest Master
Morgan should come home and find never the face of an old shipmate to
cheer him." (The smile flickered across Johnnie's face again.)
"Mistress Dawe be now at the house, if thou art minded to walk thither.
She comes there at times and stays for two or three days. Folks do say
that she expects John Morgan to walk in some evening. They were
lovers, ye know."
"Ah!" said Johnnie, with a catch in his breath.
"Yon's the house, behind the hayricks. Fine harvest Master Morgan had
last year. All the lads in this part of the forest looked after his
fields in turns. I helped to get in his hay and corn, and the widow
gave a harvest home just as the master would have done."
"Didst know this Morgan, sonnie?"
"Ay, I do mind him well. Thou dost favour him somewhat, only he was a
taller and properer man and had no beard."
"Well, I'll go to the house; here's a penny for thee. Tell thy father
that a tall man who hath been in the Indies hath been asking for Master
Morgan."
Johnnie walked on, his heart beating to the rhythm, "Dolly is there!
Dolly is there!" He jumped a stile. His own fields! He looked
around; no one was in sight, so he pressed his lips to the turf, then
whispered a quick, passionate prayer. Rising up again, eyes wet, knees
trembling, he walked on.
He had turned up the path from the river; his orchard was before him.
He turned to look behind at the rushing stream and the gulls circling
in the rays of the setting sun. There was a flutter of white at the
river-stile. His heart stood still. Could it be? No!--Was it?--Yes!
He started riverwards at a run; then stopped; hesitated; walked soberly
on.
The flutter of white again from the shadow of the hedge; the figure of
a girl, bonnetless, her hair gently lifting with the breeze, stood out
clear and unmistakable. He stopped. The maid stepped a little forward
and shaded her eyes with her hand. With an uncontrollable impulse his
arms stretched out.
"Dolly!"
A cry from the stile. A girl sprang forward, raced up the field, and
threw herself into his arms. "Johnnie! Johnnie! Thank God! thank
God! I dreamt you would come back and find me where we last met, just
like this!"
The next day the forest rang with the news that Johnnie Morgan was home
again, and foresters, miners, and fishers made so merry over the event
that Johnnie thought it worth while to have gone through so much in
order to give them such a jubilant time.
Three weeks afterwards the maidens chose pretty Dolly as "Queen of
May," and when she was crowned they led her to the church above the
river--all in her garlands gay--and there a tall, sun-browned youth
took her "for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer," till
death should part them. And there were rare junketings and feastings
to celebrate the union of the two woodland favourites.
Johnnie abode at home for one year. Then he was tempted to go again to
London, and from thence he went by sea to Plymouth. There he met the
admiral, his brother John, Jacob Whiddon, Sir John Trelawny, and other
sea-going worthies, and there was much talk concerning the Indies.
Johnnie came home, and one night he said to his wife Dorothy, "I have
been thinking that I left some honour behind me on the other side of
the world. Master Jeffreys sends me a letter this morning, and Sir
Walter hath written a postscript to it. I cannot forget what was done
at Panama, and there are some who should suffer for the cruelties done
to Nick and Ned Johnson and others who sailed on the _Golden Boar_.
The ship is fitting for another voyage, and I have still an interest in
her. What dost say, sweetheart? thou knowest the thoughts that are in
my mind."
Well, Mistress Morgan said nothing that night, but she wept a little
and sighed oft. But the next day she said "Go, husband, and God go
with thee!"
So the _Golden Boar_ went westward ho! again, and Dan Pengelly and all
her old company that were above ground went in her. And Captain Jacob
Whiddon went too, in a second ship called the _Elizabeth_. There was
no wild-goose chase this time after golden cities that could not be
found. But the Englishmen harried the Spanish settlements along the
South American coast and in the Mexican Gulf, and preyed upon King
Philip's shipping. They sent an expedition two hundred strong across
to Panama and raided the town, daringly marching back to the Atlantic
with no man presuming to stop them.
They came home to Plymouth laden with spoil, gotten mainly by piracy
and the breaking of the laws of nations. But their countrymen
acclaimed them to the skies, holding them to be no robbers, but heroes
and patriots all!