THE GOOD SHIP HARRY
"Yest'reen I saw the new moon
With the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm.
They had na' sailed a league, a league,
A league, but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, the wind blew loud
And gurly grew the sea."
_Scottish Ballad._
The evening was cold and grey; the shrill wind swept over the German
Sea, tearing the surf here and there from the crests of the murky
waves, which reflected the colour of the inky scud that traversed the
lowering sky heavily and swiftly in flying masses overhead.
Scattered far apart, three English ships are striving to make headway
against the freshening gale that blows from the east, and at every
fresh gust strains their almost close-reefed canvas as if to blow it
out of the bolt-ropes; and seizing their ponderous spars, their
intricate top-hamper and heavy-towering poops, every moment careens
them over to leeward. Hardly they beat, and bravely too; for a
foreign, and it may be a hostile shore is lying with all its rocky
terrors on their lee, for these ships are the _Harry_, the _Cressi_,
and _White Rose_.
They dared not signal for pilots as they passed the little fisher
towns that nestle in the creeks and crannies of that tremendous
coast, which rises like a wall of rock along the northern sea; and if
they had fired guns and shown their colours, it may be doubted
whether a pilot could have come off in such tempestuous weather "It
freshens fast, this plaguey breeze," said John o'Lynne, turning his
weather-beaten face to windward; "but ere this I have weathered many
a tough Levanter, and seen St. Elmo's light lay the spirit of the
storm, as it burned blue for half a fathom or so below our maintruck,
and along the topsail-yard."
"Ay, John," responded Howard, "thou mayst have been all round the
world, and outside it too--yea, have doubled the Cape of Storms, and
yet never have seen a more dangerous or damnable coast than this of
Buchan here!"
"Should we not take a reef in that foresail and the maintopsail?"
"Nay--ouf! what a mouthful of salt water!--nay, stand on; see, the
rocks fall back and the land opens! Ho!--St. George for England! we
may yet get into safe riding, and thank God and St. Mary we have
neither started tack or sheet."
"Or had aught carried away from truck to keel--from sprit-sail to
poop-lantern."
"A board of the forechain-plates hath been torn off; but we will
plank it anew in Scottish fir," said Howard, with a smile. "The old
_Harry_ hath carried her canvas and shipped her seas most nobly; she
is the most manageable craft 'tween Thames and Humber, and though we
have not a dry hammock or doublet on board, we will be all right and
ataunto ere long. Will Selby, pass the word forward for a posset of
sack, and then wear the ship round, John o'Lynne, for that bight on
the lee bow opens fast; and though I never was but once in these seas
before, I remember me of finding safe anchorage hereabout. Get ready
a culverin, as a signal to our craft to windward, and run up St.
George's cross, but for a minute only; lest the gimlet eyes of some
wary Scots may espy it from yonder devilish bluff, as we wear ship
and make to port."
"I hear a strange sound," said Dick Selby, putting a tarry hand
behind his red, weatherbeaten ear.
"'Tis the storm fiend laughing," said John o'Lynne.
"Nay," said Howard, "'tis the waves roaring in a cavern, and mingling
with the boom cf breakers on the beach; and now we should see
Phillorth Church and sands; and lo! there they are to leeward--let
her fall off a few points--so--yare--John, yare, and bravely!"
Rattray Point, that low and dangerous promontory, with its burgh
town, not a vestige of which now remains, were left astern, and soon
Kinnaird, that tremendous headland on the Buchan coast reared its
weatherbeaten brow above the foam, where the wave that rose upon the
far Norwayn shore breaks upon its iron front; and now, as Howard
said, Phillorth opened its friendly bay, overlooked by an ancient
castle belonging to the Frazers, and its kirk of St. Modan, the
confessor of King Couran.
The _Harry_ fired a gun as a signal to her consorts, and right before
the wind they stood in between the foam-drenched promontories of
Cairnbulg and Frazerburgh, and came to anchor in the bay or roads,
where, as the high bluffs protected them from the fury of the sea,
they rode in safety.
"Thank God and St. George our anchor is down, and seems to hold
bravely too!" said Howard, as the ship swung round and everything was
furled, fore and aft.
"But how fareth this dainty Scottish dame to-day?" asked John o'Lynne.
Howard coloured deeply, and pretending not to have heard, looked
fixedly at the bluff of Cairnbulg.
"Dost thou affect her, shipmate o' mine?"
Still no answer.
"Ahoy, my captain! thou'st seen her to-day, I warrant."
"Who?" asked Howard, fretfully.
"The lady--our prisoner, who hath never set her pretty foot on our
wetted deck since that misty night we were off Tay mouth."
"How could she do so, when the wind hath blown a tempest since, and
we have shipped an ocean and more of this bitter Scottish sea? She
is low in heart, and sunk in health and spirit--poor little
damsel--my heart bleeds for her!"
"And yearns for her too--is it not so, Edmund Howard?"
"It yearns in vain, then," said Howard, with a sigh; "for she is
impregnable."
"Faith she must be if _thou_ has failed in getting the weather-gage
of her; thou hast been kind to her as father, brother, and lover, all
in one," continued the talkative lieutenant; "and I doubt not, she
will make such a report of thee to old King Harry as may win thee a
pair of golden spurs."
"A stout fellow who wears a sword and faces salt water--a Howard
least of all--should not owe his spurs to a petticoat, John o'Lynne,"
said his captain, coldly; "but I would to Heaven she had never set
foot on board the _Harry_; and I hope its heaviest malison will fall
on yonder villanous Scots who are plotting this poor girl's ruin, and
who brought her to us--on Borthwick more than all! That night his
face was white as our flag; but one day I hope to see it turn blue as
a Scot's one!"
Then, the coast which is now covered by one of the most thriving
burghs of regality in Scotland, was lonely and somewhat bare. The
high promontories, the level shore, the old castle of the Lairds of
Phillorth, the older church which was their burial place; the green
Mormond Hill, with thickets of fine oak and dense clumps of
red-stemmed Scottish firs, composed the scenery of the bay, in which
the waves rolled blue and calmly, notwithstanding the storm that
flecked with foam the sea without.
For several days the gale continued, and for these days the English
ships rode at their anchors, without their crews molesting the shore,
or being molested from thence: for it happened that the old Baron of
Phillorth was marching with his chief, the Lord Lovat, and all his
retainers, to join the king's host; so that none were left behind to
guard his lady and their tower but old men and boys. Moreover,
although Barton had been slain in the Downs, and Lord Angus had
ravaged all Northumberland, the kingdoms of Scotland and England were
rather in a state of suspicion and alarm, than of war, as the wary
Henry VII. had no wish for that event, being anxious to cement the
bonds of an offensive and defensive alliance by the projected
marriage of Rothesay with his daughter, the voluptuous Margaret Tudor.
Howard knew nothing of all that had been passing at Dundee, Stirling,
and elsewhere, during these several days of stormy and arduous
beating to windward; and Margaret Drummond, his prisoner, knew of
course no more. She had now become somewhat composed, and ceased
alike to threaten, to entreat, and to weep, save when she thought of
her motherless and abandoned infant.
While thus compelled by the stormy eastern wind to loiter off the
Scottish coast, the amiable and gallant Howard became deeply
impressed by the beauty, the gentleness, and sadness of Margaret
Drummond; and he felt all this the more keenly, because he was too
well aware that he was the contemptible instrument of causing sorrow
and distress to one so beautiful. Daily he resolved never more to
enter her cabin, and hourly he broke the resolution; for the charm of
her presence was too strong for his heart to resist.
Frequently in his secret thoughts he cursed the cruel and subtle
policy of his king, and the cupidity of the infamous Scottish
traitors who pandered to him, and sold for English gold their faith
and services.
At one time he had almost resolved to land her on the coast, near
some seaport town or baronial castle, and then bear away for the
Thames, and surrender himself to Henry's wrath; or to quit his ships
and seek a shelter among the wild Northumbrian moss troopers. Thus,
fearful of adding fresh poignancy to her grief by commencing his
homeward voyage, he loitered in the bay near Frazerburgh, while the
gale moderated and veered round favourably to the north-west; while
water, wine, and provisions became scarce on board the ships; while
tall Dick Selby the gunner, Anthony Arblaster, captain of the
crossbows, who had lost an eye at the Battle of Bosworth, and others
of the crew, looked strangely in each other's faces, and muttered
under their bushy beards; and John o'Lynne, who had been gruffly told
to "haul taut and belay, and to mind his own affairs," strode sulkily
up and down the larboard side of the poop, with his hands thrust far
into the pockets of his coarse blue gaberdine, shouldering master
Quentin Kraft, for whom he had no great love or liking, and whistling
to console himself, as he sipped a peg-tankard of sack that stood on
the binnacle-head, and looked crossly from time to time at the flying
clouds, and the long whip-like pennon that streamed towards old
England.
In deep thought, poor Howard often walked quite as hurriedly on the
other side of the poop, and was frequently heard to mutter--
"Alas, for thee, Eddy Howard--thou art a lost and ruined man!"
"Ruined people are dangerous," grumbled John o'Lynne, under his long
wiry mustachios, which were always encrusted with saline particles;
"misfortune is infectious, and I would fain see the ship cleared of
this here piece of Scottish trumpery."
"And bearing away for the Nore and Thames, which we are never likely
to see again if this work lasts," added Dick Selby, emptying the
lieutenant's posset in pure inadvertence. "St. Mary be praised, we
gave these Buchan-bouillars a wide berth, though! else we had all
found our graves in the Scotsman's sea."
"I would rather you had taken a pull at your slack jawing tackle,
than my sack posset, Master Selby," said the lieutenant, gruffly; "so
please to sheer off when next it stands here, and before you come aft
again, give one look at the Book of Good Manners."
On this day the weather was calm and clear; the wind had almost died
away, and for the first time since she came on board, Margaret had
ascended to the poop, supported on the arm of Howard, and well
muffled in rich Muscovite sables, for the muffly (or muff and tippet)
were then worn by the ladies in Scotland. Howard dared scarcely look
his own lieutenant in the face; for now the weather had cleared so
completely that he was at last deprived of every vestige of excuse
for lingering off the Scottish coast.
Upon that coast--on the granite brows of Cairnbulg and the loftier
bluff of Kinnaird with its cavern a hundred feet in depth, on old
Phillorth with its woods, and the Mormond Hill covered to its summit
with green moss and purple heather, on the beach in front and the
flat champaign beyond, Margaret bent her sad and anxious eyes. Round
them the blue bay shone like a mirror; but not a Scottish ship was
near. Close by were the consorts of the _Harry_, lying at anchor,
with their yards braced sharply up and their heads to the wind, and
in the open sea without were a number of those Dutch vessels called
bushes, which, until the beginning of the seventeenth century, were
permitted by the Scottish government to fish in the Loch of
Strathbeg, which was _then_ an arm of the sea, though now it is more
than a mile from it.
Howard saw the expression of Margaret's dark and beautiful eyes, as
she gazed in silent sorrow on the shore and on the narrow strip of
water, little more than half a bowshot, that separated her from the
yellow beach on which that water rippled, and as she turned
pleadingly and reproachfully to him, he felt that his own gaze became
disordered; and dreading that she would renew those earnest
entreaties with which he dared not comply--entreaties to be landed on
any point or place from whence she could make her way to the nearest
hut or house--he begged her to be seated, and to excuse him, and
hurried to the fore-part of the vessel on some pretented duty,
despatching to her the pretty Cicely and the black-eyed Rose, who
were gaily chatting with Dick Selby and Anthony the archer, in the
waist, and in the sunny side of the starboard gun-tier, and were
looking as spruce and charming as the hideous dress then worn by the
women of England would permit; for their gowns were cut square at the
neck, with enormous sleeves confined at intervals from the elbow to
the wrist, or worn like "bishop's sleeves," as they were named in
London. On their heads were flowing capuchons turned back, as we may
still see them in some of Holbein's portraits.
Finding herself an object of attention and considerable speculation
among the crew, who (honest souls!) knew little of the mission and
less of the object which had brought them into Scottish waters, the
sensitive Margaret soon retired again to her cabin, and there Edmund
Howard followed her, by a temptation which he could not resist--lured
by the sound of her voice, and the soft expression of her eyes; for
these, though speaking only of sorrow and reproach, were too powerful
and too seductive to be easily withstood.
Though his visit had been respectfully heralded by little Will Selby,
the gunner's brother, Howard found Margaret seated in a chair near
the cabin windows, still watching the shore, then shining in the
meridian sun. She had thrown aside her hood, and wore only her caul
of gold, under which her soft fair hair fell in a shower of
glittering curls down her back,--for such was then, and for long
after, the fashion. The sunlight streamed through the cabin window,
and Margaret's bright tresses seemed to form a glory round her mild
Madonna face, which was so pure, so fair, and exquisitely soft; while
the deep sadness and solemn thoughts that hovered in her heart, made
her eyes seem of a darker and a deeper blue than they really were.
She gave Howard but one glance as he entered, and turned again to the
stern windows, from whence the bright water rippled away like lines
of light towards the pebbled shore, from which she deemed herself
about to be taken as a punishment for having violated the laws of the
Church, and brought discord into the royal family.
"You have soon quitted the deck, lady," said Howard, on whose
handsome face there were impressed all the doubt and hesitation which
now rendered strange and abrupt his usually open-hearted and elegant
manner; "would not a little more of the breeze that blows from yonder
waving woods have revived you, after such long confinement in this
close cabin here."
"Not unless I was under their branches, sir, which I am not likely to
be while you are captain of this caravel," replied Margaret, without
raising her eyes.
Howard then pressed her to partake of a luncheon of preserved
strawberries, quince marmalade, macaroon biscuits, hippocrass and
orange wine, which stood untasted on the cabin table; but she coldly
declined. He stood silent for a minute, and his heart swelled under
his well-embroidered doublet, as he leaned over her chair and gazed
upon the bright soft tresses that fell on the girl's neck,--for
Margaret was yet a girl, though maternity had given a roundness to
her beautiful form, even as premature sorrow had given a sadness to
her charming face and manner.
Of that maternity and her marriage Edmund Howard was ignorant, but
knowing that the heir of Scotland loved her, he dared not speak of
his own growing passion; for what had he to offer, compared with all
of which he was depriving her. Yet Margaret could read that rising
sentiment in his speaking eye and kind persuasive voice, and in his
softened manner,--it fretted and provoked her. A woman has an
intuitive or instinctive perception when a man is in love with her,
let him do ever so much to conceal it; and in the present instance
Howard was too much of an English sailor, and too little of a
courtier, to show false colours.
"For the hundreth time, lady," said he, "I beseech you to be assured
that if your fate was in my own hands, you would be conducted to any
part of Scotland you desired; and there would I leave you, though in
doing so my heart should break for ever!"
Margaret smiled bitterly, but did not reply.
"Alas, lady, think better of me," urged Howard, sighing deeply;
"think better of me than to believe me a mansworn wretch like Sir
James of Sauchie, or a sordid slave like those other Scots who have
betrayed you to Henry of England. Lady, I see a cloud now gathering
on your beautiful brow; I am but a plain speaking English seaman
(somewhat of a courtier once, it might be); I have no wish to take
the wind out of any man's sails, but I do think, that while so many
rascals tread her soil, this same Scotland of yours is not worth
mourning for."
"And dost think I have only the woods and mountain to weep for? Have
I not my father--my four sisters, and my----" she dared not add
"child!"
"Lady, the love of kings and princes is like foam on the sea--a thing
that comes and goes with every puff of wind, and so passes away for
ever. Kings are but a hollow-hearted race at best; their lives and
their loves are made alike subservient to policy and statecraft; and
your Scottish kings have ever, as it were, been among breakers and
shoal water since Scotland had a name; for her nobles are a race of
hereditary traitors, such as have no parallel in Europe--men ever
ready to sell her liberty and barter her honour for foreign gold."
"Who spoke of kings or princes," asked Margaret; "not I surely,
sir--my lips never uttered the name of king or prince?"
"But your heart did, madam," said Howard, sadly. "Oh, do not conceal
your secret thoughts from me. My own sentiments enable me to sound
the depth of yours too surely for my own peace."
"I think, sir captain, I might have wearied you by this time."
"Nay, lady, nay; does the miser ever weary of his treasure?"
continued poor Howard, getting into deeper water every moment. "I
count not the hours you are with me, unless to reckon how long it may
be till we are separated by King Henry, and my sun sets in a dark and
hopeless sea."
"And when will this happen?" asked Margaret, making a violent effort
to control a rising sob.
"When we drop our anchors by the Tower of London."
"Oh, thou art a wretch--a minion--the slave of servile slaves!" said
Margaret, covering her face, and giving way to one of those wild
bursts of grief which always convulsed her when the memory of the
babe from which she had been so cruelly torn, arose more poignantly
within her; "begone, and leave me to the horror thou hast wrought me."
"Madam," said Howard, with increasing sadness, "I take kind Heaven to
witness, that I seek no higher ornament than the admiration you
withhold from me; no greater glory than the love I can never win.
You have thrice held out bribes to me, as if I wore some sordid
Scottish lord or servile English clown, instead of being a gentleman
of spotless coat-armour and reputable bearing. I have not deserved
contempt thus, even at your hands, for your presence here has wrecked
my peace as surely as it has wrecked your own; but alas! from very
different causes. Dearly as he loves you, madam--and God who hears
him only knows how dearly,--Edmund Howard will never again ask grace
of one who has stigmatised him as a king's minion and a sordid
wretch. I dare not land you on the Scottish coast; and I have now
but one hope--that we shall fall in with old Andrew of Largo, and
that after I have died fighting on my deck, you may be given to those
whom you love by the lads I leave behind me; though I fear much that
bold Dick Selby would rather throw a match in his magazine and blow
the old _Harry_ up, than see St. Andrew's cross above St. George's
ensign! Farewell, madam--I will never trouble you more."
Repenting her harshness, and impressed by Howard's calm and noble
demeanour, Margaret would have called him back; but he sprang upon
deck, and summoning John o'Lynne, ordered him to prepare for
sailing--to man the windlass and heave short, and to cast loose the
courses, while Dick Selby fired a culverin as a signal to their
consorts, the _White Rose_ and _Cressi_, to put to sea.
"I will no longer act the traitor to my king," thought Howard, "or be
the plaything of this proud beauty, who wrongs me in her heart, and
treats my honest passion with the cold indifference of an
anchor-stock. Too long have I been the laggard and the lover, and
now the play is ended!"
"Ho! for England--cheerily, my hearts!" cried the gunner, as he
summoned a squad, who cast loose and loaded a culverin; "I thought we
should have ridden in this here cove till our anchors rusted and our
cables rotted--or till the hungry devils of the Scottish sea had
picked our ribs as clean as ivory. Ready the match! we have cruised
long enough in these here northern latitudes to wish for home again!"
The culverin flashed redly from the dark port-hole; the woods of
Phillorth, the cave and rocks of Kinnaird, and the shores of the bay,
gave back the report with a hundred reverberations, as the courses
fell and swelled out in the western breeze, when the anchors were
apeak, and the topsails sheeted home, and the white flags with St.
George's red cross were displayed from the gaff-peak and
mainmast-head, as the stately _Harry_ moved slowly out of that lonely
northern bay, and once more began to roll upon the stormy waters of
the Scoto-German sea, which broke in foam above the ghastly reefs
then known as Phillorth Briggs.