THE LOSS OF THE SUSAN
There were few people in Hedingham more pleased to see the two lads
on their return than John Lirriper, to whom they paid a visit on
the first day they went out.
"I am glad to see you back, young masters; though, to say the truth,
you are not looking nigh so strong and well as you did when I last
parted from you."
"We shall soon be all right again, John. We have had rather a rough
time of it over there in Sluys."
"Ah, so I have heard tell, Master Geoffrey. Your father read out
from the pulpit a letter the earl had received from Captain Francis
telling about the fighting, and it mentioned that you were both
alive and well and had done good service; but it was only a short
letter sent off in haste the day after he and the others had got
out of the town. I was right glad when I heard it, I can tell you,
for there had been nought talked of here but the siege; and though
your lady mother has not said much to me, I always held myself ready
to slip round the corner or into a house when I saw her come down
the street, for I knew well enough what was in her mind. She was
just saying to herself, 'John Lirriper, if it hadn't been for you
my two boys would not be in peril now. If aught comes to them, it
will be your doing.' And though it was not my fault, as far as I
could see, for Captain Francis took you off my hands, as it were,
and I had no more to say in the matter than a child, still, there
it was, and right glad was I when I heard that the siege was over
and you were both alive.
"I had a bad time of it, I can tell you, when I first got back,
young sirs, for your mother rated me finely; and though your father
said it was not my fault in any way, she would not listen to him,
but said she had given you into my charge, and that I had no right
to hand you over to any others save with your father's
permission--not if it were to the earl himself,--and for a long time
after she would make as if she didn't see me if she met me in the
street. When my wife was ill about that time she sent down broths
and simples to her, but she sent them by one of the maids, and
never came herself save when she knew I was away in my boat.
"However, the day after the reading of that letter she came in
and said she was sorry she had treated me hardly, and that she had
known at heart all along that it was not altogether my fault, and
asked my pardon as nice as if I had been the earl. Of course I said
there was nothing to ask pardon for, and indeed that I thought it
was only natural she should have blamed me, for that I had often
blamed myself, though not seeing how I could have done otherwise.
However, I was right glad when the matter was made up, for it is
not pleasant for a man when the parson's wife sets herself against
him."
"It was certainly hard upon you, John," Geoffrey said; "but I am sure
our mother does not in any way blame you now. You see, we brought
home letters from Captain Vere, or rather Sir Francis, for he has
been knighted now, and he was good enough to speak very kindly of
what we were able to do in the siege. Mother did not say much, but
I am sure that at heart she is very grateful, for the earl himself
came down to the Rectory and spoke warmly about us, and said that
he should always be our fast friend, because we had given his cousin
some help when he was roughly pressed by the Spaniards. I hope we
shall have another sail with you in a short time, for we are not
going back to the Netherlands at present, as things are likely to
be quiet there now. Although he did not say so, I think Sir Francis
thought that we were over young for such rough work, and would be
more useful in a year's time; for, you see, in these sieges even
pages have to take their share in the fighting, and when it comes
to push of pike with the Spaniards more strength and vigour are needed
than we possess at present. So we are to continue our practice at
arms at the castle, and to take part in the drilling of the companies
the earl is raising in case the Spaniards carry out their threat
of invading England."
Mrs. Vickars offered no objection whatever the first time Geoffrey
asked permission to go down to Bricklesey with John Lirriper.
"I have no objection, Geoffrey; and, indeed, now that you have
chosen your own lives and are pages to Sir Francis Vere, it seems
to me that in matters of this kind you can judge for yourself.
Now that you have taken to soldiering and have borne your part in
a great siege, and have even yourselves fought with the Spaniards,
I deem it that you have got beyond my wing, and must now act in all
small matters as it pleases you; and that since you have already
run great danger of your lives, and may do so again ere long, it
would be folly of me to try to keep you at my apron strings and to
treat you as if you were still children."
So the two lads often accompanied John Lirriper to Bricklesey,
and twice sailed up the river to London and back in Joe Chambers'
smack, these jaunts furnishing a pleasant change to their work of
practising with pike and sword with the men-at-arms at the castle,
or learning the words of command and the work of officers in drilling
the newly raised corps. One day John Lirriper told them that his
nephew was this time going to sail up the Medway to Rochester,
and would be glad to take them with him if they liked it; for they
were by this time prime favourites with the master of the Susan.
Although their mother had told them that they were at liberty to
go as they pleased, they nevertheless always made a point of asking
permission before they went away.
"If the wind is fair we shall not be long away on this trip, mother.
Two days will take us up to Rochester; we shall be a day loading
there, and shall therefore be back on Saturday if the wind serves,
and may even be sooner if the weather is fine and we sail with
the night tides, as likely enough we shall, for the moon is nearly
full, and there will be plenty of light to keep our course free of
the sands."
The permission was readily given. Mrs. Vickars had come to see that
it was useless to worry over small matters, and therefore nodded
cheerfully, and said she would give orders at once for a couple of
chickens to be killed and other provision prepared for their voyage.
"I do not doubt you are going to have a rougher voyage than usual
this time, young masters," John Lirriper said when the boat was
approaching Bricklesey. "The sky looks wild, and I think there is
going to be a break in the weather. However, the Susan is a stout
boat, and my nephew a careful navigator."
"I should like a rough voyage for a change, John," Geoffrey said.
"We have always had still water and light winds on our trips, and
I should like a good blow."
"Well, I think you will have one; though may be it will only come
on thick and wet. Still I think there is wind in those clouds, and
that if it does come it will be from the southeast, in which case
you will have a sharp buffeting. But you will make good passage
enough down to the Nore once you are fairly round the Whittaker."
"Glad to see you, young masters," Joe Chambers said, as the boat
came alongside his craft. "You often grumbled at the light winds,
but unless I am mistaken we shall be carrying double reefs this
journey. What do you think, Uncle John?"
"I have been saying the same, lad; still there is no saying. You
will know more about it in a few hours' time."
It was evening when the boys went on board the Susan, and as soon
as supper was over they lay down, as she was to start at daybreak
the next morning. As soon as they were roused by the creaking of
the blocks and the sound of trampling of feet overhead they went up
on deck. Day had just broken; the sky was overspread by dark clouds.
"There is not much wind after all," Geoffrey said as he looked
round.
"No, it has fallen light during the last two hours," the skipper
replied, "but I expect we shall have plenty before long. However,
we could do with a little more now."
Tide was half out when they started. Joe Chambers had said the night
before that he intended to drop down to the edge of the sands and
there anchor, and to make across them past the Whittaker Beacon
into the channel as soon as there was sufficient water to enable
him to do so. The wind was light, sometimes scarcely sufficient
to belly out the sails and give the boat steerage way, at others
coming in short puffs which heeled her over and made her spring
forward merrily.
Before long the wind fell lighter and lighter, and at last Joe
Chambers ordered the oars to be got out.
"We must get down to the edge of the Buxey," he said, "before the
tide turns, or we shall have it against us, and with this wind we
should never be able to stem it, but should be swept up the Crouch.
At present it is helping us, and with a couple of hours' rowing we
may save it to the Buxey."
The boys helped at the sweeps, and for two hours the creaking of
the oars and the dull flapping of the sail alone broke the silence
of the calm; and the lads were by no means sorry when the skipper
gave the order for the anchor to be dropped.
"I should like to have got about half a mile further," he said;
"but I can see by the landmarks that we are making no way now. The
tide is beginning to suck in."
"How long will it be before we have water enough to cross the Spit?"
Lionel asked as they laid in the oars.
"Well nigh four hours, Master Lionel. Then, even if it keeps a
stark calm like this, we shall be able to get across the sands and
a mile or two up the channel before we meet the tide. There we must
anchor again till the first strength is past, and then if the wind
springs up we can work along at the edge of the sands against it.
There is no tide close in to the sands after the first two hours.
But I still think this is going to turn into wind presently; and
if it does it will be sharp and heavy, I warrant. It's either that
or rain."
The sky grew darker and darker until the water looked almost black
under a leaden canopy.
"I wish we were back into Bricklesey," Joe Chambers said. "I have
been well nigh fifteen years going backwards and forwards here, and
I do not know that ever I saw an awkwarder look about the sky. It
reminds me of what I have heard men who have sailed to the Indies
say they have seen there before a hurricane breaks. If it was
not that we saw the clouds flying fast overhead when we started,
I should have said it was a thick sea fog that had rolled in upon
us. Ah, there is the first drop. I don't care how hard it comes
down so that there is not wind at the tail of it. A squall of wind
before rain is soon over; but when it follows rain you will soon
have your sails close reefed. You had best go below or you will be
wet through in a minute."
The great drops were pattering down on the deck and causing splashes
as of ink on the surface of the oily looking water. Another half
minute it was pouring with such a mighty roar on the deck that the
boys below needed to shout to make each other heard. It lasted but
five minutes, and then stopped as suddenly as it began. The lads
at once returned to the deck.
"So it is all over, Master Chambers."
"Well the first part is over, but that is only a sort of a beginning.
Look at that light under the clouds away to the south of east. That
is where it is coming from, unless I am mistaken. Turn to and get
the mainsail down, lads," for although after dropping anchor the
head sails had been lowered, the main and mizzen were still on her.
The men set to work, and the boys helped to stow the sail and
fasten it with the tiers. Suddenly there was a sharp puff of wind.
It lasted a few seconds only, then Joe Chambers pointed towards
the spot whence a hazy light seemed to come.
"Here it comes," he said. "Do you see that line of white water?
That is a squall and no mistake. I am glad we are not under sail."
There was a sharp, hissing sound as the line of white water
approached them, and then the squall struck them with such force
and fury that the lads instinctively grasped at the shrouds. The
mizzen had brought the craft in a moment head to wind, and Joe
Chambers and the two sailors at once lowered it and stowed it away.
"Only put a couple of tiers on," the skipper shouted. "We may have
to upsail again if this goes on."
The sea got up with great rapidity, and a few minutes after the
squall had struck them the Susan was beginning to pitch heavily. The
wind increased in force, and seemed to scream rather than whistle
in the rigging.
"The sea is getting up fast!" Geoffrey shouted in the skipper's
ear as he took his place close to him.
"It won't be very heavy yet," Joe Chambers replied; "the sands
break its force. But the tide has turned now, and as it makes over
the sand there will be a tremendous sea here in no time; that is
if this wind holds, and it seems to me that it is going to be an
unusual gale altogether."
"How long will it be before we can cross the Spit?"
"We are not going to cross today, that's certain," the skipper
said. "There will be a sea over those sands that would knock the
life out of the strongest craft that ever floated. No, I shall wait
here for another hour or two if I can, and then slip my cable and
run for the Crouch. It is a narrow channel, and I never care about
going into it after dark until there is water enough for a craft
of our draught over the sands. It ain't night now, but it is well
nigh as dark. There is no making out the bearings of the land, and
we have got to trust to the perches the fishermen put up at the
bends of the channel. However, we have got to try it. Our anchors
would never hold here when the sea gets over the sands, and if they
did they would pull her head under water.
In half an hour a sea had got up that seemed to the boys tremendous.
Dark as it was they could see in various directions tracts of white
water where the waves broke wildly over the sands. The second anchor
had been let go some time before. The two cables were as taut as
iron bars, and the boat was pulling her bow under every sea. Joe
Chambers dropped a lead line overboard and watched it closely.
"We are dragging our anchors," he said. "There is nothing for it
but to run."
He went to the bow, fastened two logs of wood by long lines to
the cables outside the bow, so that he could find and recover the
anchors on his return, then a very small jib was hoisted, and as it
filled two blows with an axe severed the cables inboard. The logs
attached to them were thrown over, and the skipper ran aft and put
up the helm as the boat's head payed off before the wind. As she
did so a wave struck her and threw tons of water on board, filling
her deck nearly up to the rails. It was well Joe had shouted to
the boys to hold on, for had they not done so they would have been
swept overboard.
Another wave struck them before they were fairly round, smashing in
the bulwark and sweeping everything before it, and the boys both
thought that the Susan was sinking under their feet. However she
recovered herself. The water poured our through the broken bulwark,
and the boat rose again on the waves as they swept one after
another down upon her stern. The channel was well marked now, for
the sands on either side were covered with breaking water. Joe
Chambers shouted to the sailors to close reef the mizzen and hoist
it, so that he might have the boat better under control. The wind
was not directly astern but somewhat on the quarter; and small as
was the amount of sail shown, the boat lay over till her lee rail
was at times under water; the following waves yawing her about so
much that it needed the most careful steering to prevent her from
broaching to.
"It seems to me as the wind is northering!" one of the men shouted.
The skipper nodded and slackened out the sheet a bit as the wind
came more astern. He kept his eyes fixed ahead of him, and the men
kept gazing through the gloom.
"There is the perch," one of them shouted presently, "just on her
weather bow!"
The skipper nodded and held on the same course until abreast of the
perch, which was only a forked stick. The men came aft and hauled
in the mizzen sheet. Chambers put up the helm. The mizzen came
across with a jerk, and the sheet was again allowed to run out.
The jib came over with a report like the shot of a cannon, and at
the same moment split into streamers.
"Hoist the foresail!" the skipper shouted, and the men sprang forward
and seized the halliards; but at this moment the wind seemed to
blow with a double fury, and the moment the sail was set it too
split into ribbons.
"Get up another jib!" Joe Chambers shouted, and one of the men
sprang below. In half a minute he reappeared with another sail.
"Up with it quick, Bill. We are drifting bodily down on the sand."
Bill hurried forward. The other hand had hauled in the traveller,
to which the bolt rope of the jib was still attached, and hauling
on this had got the block down and in readiness for fastening on
the new jib. The sheets were hooked on, and then while one hand
ran the sail out with the out haul to the bowsprit end, the other
hoisted with the halliards. By this time the boat was close to the
broken water. As the sail filled her head payed off towards it.
The wind lay her right over, and before she could gather way there
was a tremendous crash. The Susan had struck on the sands. The next
wave lifted her, but as it passed on she came down with a crash
that seemed to shake her in pieces. Joe Chambers relaxed his grasp
of the now useless tiller.
"It is all over," he said to the boys. "Nothing can save her now.
If she had been her own length farther off the sands she would have
gathered way in time. As it is another ten minutes and she will be
in splinters."
She was now lying over until her masthead was but a few feet above
water. The seas were striking her with tremendous force, pouring
a deluge of water over her.
"There is but one chance for you," he went on. "The wind is dead
on the shore, and Foulness lies scarce three miles to leeward."
He went into the cabin and fetched out a small axe fastened in the
companion where it was within reach of the helmsman. Two blows cut
the shrouds of the mizzen, a few vigorous strokes were given to the
foot of the mast, and, as the boat lifted and crashed down again
on the sand, it broke off a few inches above the deck.
"Now, lads, I will lash you loosely to this. You can both swim,
and with what aid it will give you may well reach the shore. There
are scarce three feet of water here, and except where one or two
deeps pass across it there is no more anywhere between this and
the land. It will not be rough very far. Now, be off at once; the
boat will go to pieces before many minutes. I and the two men will
take to the mainmast, but I want to see you off first."
Without hesitation the boys pushed off with the mast. As they did
so a cataract of water poured over the smack upon them, knocking
them for a moment under the surface with its force.
For the next few minutes it was a wild struggle for life. They
found at once that they were powerless to swim in the broken water,
which, as it rushed across the sand, impelled alike by the rising
tide behind it and the force of the wind, hurried them along at a
rapid pace, breaking in short steep waves. They could only cling to
the mast and snatch a breath of air from time to time as it rolled
over and over. Had they not been able to swim they would very
speedily have been drowned; but, accustomed as they were to diving,
they kept their presence of mind, holding their breath when under
water and breathing whenever they were above it with their faces
to the land. It was only so that they could breathe, for the air
was thick with spray, which was swept along with such force by the
wind that it would have drowned the best swimmer who tried to face
it as speedily as if he had been under water.
After what seemed to them an age the waves became somewhat less
violent, though still breaking in a mass of foam. Geoffrey loosed
his hold of the spar and tried to get to his feet. He was knocked
down several times before he succeeded, but when he did so found
that the water was little more than two feet deep, although the
waves rose to his shoulders. The soft mud under his feet rendered
it extremely difficult to stand, and the rope which attached him
to the spar, which was driving before him, added to the difficulty.
He could not overtake the mast, and threw himself down again and
swam to it.
"Get up, Lionel!" he shouted; "we can stand here." But Lionel was
too exhausted to be capable of making the effort. With the greatest
difficulty Geoffrey raised him to his feet and supported him with
his back to the wind.
"Get your breath again!" he shouted. "We are over the worse now and
shall soon be in calmer water. Get your feet well out in front of
you, if you can, and dig your heels into the mud, then you will
act as a buttress to me and help me to keep my feet."
It was two or three minutes before Lionel was able to speak. Even
during this short time they had been carried some distance forward,
for the ground on which they stood seemed to be moving, and the
force of the waves carried them constantly forward.
"Feel better, old fellow?" Geoffrey asked, as he felt Lionel making
an effort to resist the pressure of the water.
"Yes, I am better now," Lionel said.
"Well, we will go on as we are as long as we can; let us just try
to keep our feet and give way to the sea as it rakes us along. The
quicker we go the sooner we shall be in shallower water; but the
tide is rising fast, and unless we go on it will speedily be as
bad here as it was where we started."
As soon as Lionel had sufficiently recovered they again took to
the spar; but now, instead of clasping it with their arms and legs,
they lay with their chest upon it, and used their efforts only to
keep it going before the wind and tide. Once they came to a point
where the sand was but a few inches under water. Here they stood
up for some minutes, and then again proceeded on foot until the
water deepened to their waists.
Their progress was now much more easy, for the high bank had broken
the run of the surf. The water beyond it was much smoother, and
they were able to swim, pushing the spar before them.
"We are in deep water," Geoffrey said presently, dropping his feet.
"It is out of my depth. Chambers said there was a deep channel
across the sands not far from the island; so in that case the shore
cannot be far away."
In another quarter of an hour the water was again waist deep.
Geoffrey stood up.
"I think I see a dark line ahead, Lionel; we shall soon be there."
Another ten minutes and the water was not above their knees. They
could see the low shore now at a distance of but a few hundred yards
ahead, and untying the ropes under their arms they let the spar
drift on, and waded forward until they reached the land. There was
a long mud bank yet to cross, and exhausted as they were it took
them a long time to do this; but at last they came to a sandy bank
rising sharply some ten feet above the flat. They threw themselves
down on this and lay for half an hour without a word being spoken.
"Now, Lionel," Geoffrey said at last, raising himself to a sitting
position, "we must make an effort to get on and find a shelter.
There are people living in the island. I have heard that they are
a wild set, making their living by the wrecks on these sands and
by smuggling goods without paying dues to the queen. Still, they
will not refuse us shelter and food, and assuredly there is nothing
on us to tempt them to plunder us."
He rose to his feet and helped Lionel up. Once on the top of the
bank a level country stretched before them. The wind aided their
footsteps, sweeping along with such tremendous force that at times
they had difficulty in keeping their feet. As they went on they came
upon patches of cultivated land, with hedgerows and deep ditches.
Half a mile further they perceived a house. On approaching it
they saw that it was a low structure of some size with several out
buildings. They made their way to it and knocked at the door. They
knocked twice before it was opened, then some bolts were withdrawn.
The door was opened a few inches. A man looked out, and seeing two
lads opened it widely.
"Well, who are you, and what do you want?" he asked roughly.
"We have been wrecked in a storm on the sands. We were sailing from
Bricklesey for Sheerness when the storm caught us."
The man looked at them closely. Their pale faces and evidently
exhausted condition vouched for the truth of their story.
"The house is full," he said gruffly, "and I cannot take in strangers.
You will find some dry hay in that out house, and I will bring you
some food there. When you have eaten and drunk you had best journey
on."
So saying he shut the door in their faces.
"This is strange treatment," Geoffrey said. "I should not have
thought a man would have refused shelter to a dog such a day as
this. What do you say, Lionel, shall we go on?"
"I don't think I can go any further until I have rested, Geoffrey,"
Lionel replied faintly. "Let us lie down in shelter if it is only
for half an hour. After that, if the man brings us some food as he
says, we can go on again."
They went into the shed the man had pointed out. It was half full
of hay.
"Let us take our things off and wring them, Lionel, and give ourselves
a roll in the hay to dry ourselves. We shall soon get warm after
that."
They stripped, wrung the water from their clothes, rolled themselves
in the hay until they felt a glow of returning warmth, and then
put on their clothes again. Scarcely had they done so when the man
came in with a large tankard and two hunks of bread.
"Here," he said, "drink this and then be off. We want no strangers
hanging round here."
At any other time the boys would have refused hospitality so
cheerlessly offered, but they were too weak to resist the temptation.
The tankard contained hot spiced ale, and a sensation of warmth
and comfort stole over them as soon as they had drunk its contents
and eaten a few mouthfuls of bread. The man stood by them while
they ate.
"Are you the only ones saved from the wreck?" he asked.
"I trust that we are not," Geoffrey replied. "The master of the
boat tied us to a mast as soon as she struck, and he and the two
men with him were going to try to get to shore in the same way."
As soon as they had finished they stood up and handed the tankard
to the man.
"I am sorry I must turn you out," he said, as if somewhat ashamed
of his want of courtesy. "Any other day it would be different, but
today I cannot take anyone in."
"I thank you for what you have given us," Geoffrey said. "Can you
tell us which is the way to the ferry?"
"Follow the road and it will take you there. About a couple of
miles. You cannot mistake the way."
Feeling greatly strengthened and refreshed the lads again started.
"This is a curious affair," Geoffrey said, "and I cannot make out
why they should not let us in. However, it does not matter much.
I feel warm all over now, in spite of my wet clothes."
"So do I," Lionel agreed. "Perhaps there were smugglers inside,
or some fugitives from justice hiding there. Anyhow, I am thankful
for that warm ale; it seems to have given me new life altogether."
They had walked a quarter of a mile, when they saw four horsemen
coming on the road. They were closely wrapped up in cloaks, and as
they passed, with their heads bent down to meet the force of the
gale and their broad brimmed hats pulled low down over their eyes,
the boys did not get even a glimpse of their features.
"I wonder who they can be," Geoffrey said, looking after them. "They
are very well mounted, and look like persons of some degree. What
on earth can they be doing in such a wretched place as this? They
must be going to that house we left, for I noticed the road stopped
there."
"It is curious, Geoffrey, but it is no business of ours."
"I don't know that, Lionel. You know there are all sorts of rumours
about of Papist plots, and conspirators could hardly choose a more
out of the way spot than this to hold their meetings. I should not
be at all surprised if there is some mischief on foot."
Half a mile further three men on foot met them, and these, like
the others, were closely wrapped up to the eyes.
"They have ridden here," Geoffrey said after they had passed. "They
have all high riding boots on; they must have left their horses
on the other side of the ferry. See, there is a village a short
distance ahead. We will go in there and dry our clothes, and have
a substantial meal if we can get it. Then we will talk this business
over."
The village consisted of a dozen houses only, but among them was a
small public house. Several men were sitting by the fire with pots
of ale before them.
"We have been wrecked on the coast, landlord, and have barely escaped
with our lives. We want to dry our clothes and to have what food
you can give us."
"I have plenty of eggs," the landlord said, "and my wife will fry
them for you; but we have no meat in the house. Fish and eggs are
the chief food here. You are lucky in getting ashore, for it is
a terrible gale. It is years since we have had one like it. As to
drying your clothes, that can be managed easy enough. You can go
up into my room and take them off, and I will lend you a couple of
blankets to wrap yourselves in, and you can sit by the fire here
until your things are dry."
A hearty meal of fried eggs and another drink of hot ale completed
the restoration of the boys. Their clothes were speedily dried, for
the landlady had just finished baking her week's batch of bread,
and half an hour in the oven completely dried the clothes. They
were ready almost as soon as the meal was finished. Many questions
were asked them as to the wreck, and the point at which they had
been cast ashore.
"It was but a short distance from a house at the end of this road,"
Geoffrey said. "We went there for shelter, but they would not take
us in, though they gave us some bread and hot ale."
Exclamations of indignation were heard among the men sitting round.
"Ralph Hawker has the name of being a surly man," one said, "but
I should not have thought that he would have turned a shipwrecked
man from his door on such a day as this. They say he is a Papist,
though whether he be or not I cannot say; but he has strange ways,
and there is many a stranger passes the ferry and asks for his
house. However, that is no affair of mine, though I hold there is
no good in secret ways."
"That is so," another said; "but it goes beyond all reason for a
man to refuse shelter to those the sea has cast ashore on such a
day as this."
As soon as they had finished their meal and again dressed themselves,
the lads paid their reckoning and went out. Scarcely had they done
so when two horsemen rode up, and, drawing rein, inquired if they
were going right for the house of one Ralph Hawker.
"It lies about a mile on," Geoffrey said. "You cannot miss the way;
the road ends there."
As he spoke a gust of wind of extra fury blew off one of the
riders' hats. It was stopped by the wall of a house a few yards
away. Geoffrey caught it and handed it to the horseman. With a word
of thanks he pressed it firmly on his head, and the two men rode
on.
"Did you notice that?" Geoffrey asked his brother. "He has a
shaven spot on the top of his head. The man is a Papist priest in
disguise. There is something afoot, Lionel. I vote that we try and
get to the bottom of it."
"I am ready if you think so, Geoffrey. But it is a hazardous
business, you know; for we are unarmed, and there are, we know,
seven or eight of them at any rate.
"We must risk that," Geoffrey said; "besides, we can run if we
cannot fight. Let us have a try whatever comes of it."