OLD FRIENDS
The succession of blows that had been given to the power and commerce
of Spain had immensely benefited the trade of England and Holland.
France, devastated by civil war, had been in no position to take
advantage of the falling off in Spanish commerce, and had indeed
herself suffered enormously by the emigration of tens of thousands
of the most intelligent of her population owing to her persecution
of the Protestants. Her traders and manufacturers largely belonged
to the new religion, and these had carried their industry and knowledge
to England and Holland. Thus the religious bigotry of the kings of
Spain and France had resulted in enormous loss to the trade and
commerce of those countries, and in corresponding advantage to
their Protestant rivals.
Geoffrey Vickars and his partner reaped the full benefit of the
change, and the extensive acquaintance of the Spanish trader with
merchants in all the Mediterranean ports enabled him to turn a
large share of the new current of trade into the hands of Geoffrey
and himself. The capital which he transferred from Spain to England
was very much larger than that employed by the majority of English
merchants, whose wealth had been small indeed in comparison to
that of the merchant princes of the great centres of trade such
as Antwerp, Amsterdam, Genoa, and Cadiz, and Geoffrey Vickars soon
came to be looked upon as one of the leading merchants in the city
of London.
"There can be no doubt, Geoffrey," his brother said as he lay on
a couch in the garden in the early days of his convalescence, and
looked at the river dotted with boats that flowed past it, "the
falling of that mast was a fortunate thing for you. One never can
tell how things will turn out. It would have seemed as if, were
you not drowned at once, your lot would have been either a life's
work in the Spanish galleys, or death in the dungeons of the
Inquisition. Instead of this, here you are a wealthy merchant in
the city, with a charming wife, and a father in law who is, although
a Spaniard, one of the kindest and best men I ever met. All this
time I, who was not knocked over by that mast, have been drilling
recruits, making long marches, and occasionally fighting battles,
and am no richer now than the day when we started together as Francis
Vere's pages. It is true I have received the honour of knighthood,
and that of course I prize much; but I have only my captain's pay
to support my dignity, and as I hardly think Spain will continue
this useless struggle much longer, in which case our army in
Holland will be speedily disbanded, the prospect before me is not
altogether an advantageous one."
"You must marry an heiress, Lionel," Geoffrey laughed. "Surely Sir
Lionel Vickars, one of the heroes of Nieuport, and many another
field, should be able to win the heart of some fair English damsel,
with broad acres as her dower. But seriously, Lionel," he went on,
changing his tone, "if peace come, and with it lack of employment,
the best thing for you will be to join me. Mendez is getting on in
years; and although he is working hard at present, in order, as he
says, to set everything going smoothly and well here, he is looking
forward to taking matters more easily, and to spending his time
in tranquil pleasure with Dolores and her children. Therefore,
whensoever it pleases you, there is a place for you here. We always
contemplated our lines running in the same groove, and I should
be glad that they should do so still. When the time comes we can
discuss what share you shall have of the business; but at any rate
I can promise you that it shall be sufficient to make you a rich
man."
"Thank you, with all my heart, Geoffrey. It may be that some day I
will accept your offer, though I fear you will find me but a sorry
assistant. It seems to me that after twelve years of campaigning
I am little fitted for life as a city merchant."
"I went through plenty of adventure for six years, Lionel, but
my father in law has from the first been well satisfied with my
capacity for business. You are not seven-and-twenty yet. You have
had enough rough campaigning to satisfy anyone, and should be glad
now of an easier and more sober method of life. Well, there is no
occasion to settle anything at present, and I can well understand
that you should prefer remaining in the army until the war comes
to an end. When it does so, we can talk the matter over again; only
be well assured that the offer will be always open to you, and that
I shall be glad indeed to have you with me."
A few days after Lionel left him Geoffrey was passing along
Chepe, when he stopped suddenly, stared hard at a gentleman who
was approaching him, and then rushed towards him with outstretched
hand.
"My dear Gerald!" he exclaimed, "I am glad to see you."
The gentleman started back with an expression of the profoundest
astonishment.
"Is it possible?" he cried. "Is it really Geoffrey Vickars?"
"Myself, and no other, Gerald."
"The saints be praised! Why, I have been thinking of you all these
years as either dead or labouring at an oar in the Moorish galleys.
By what good fortune did you escape? and how is it I find you here,
looking for all the world like a merchant of the city?"
"It is too long a story to tell now, Gerald. Where are you staying?"
"I have lodgings at Westminster, being at present a suitor at
court."
"Is your wife with you?"
"She is. I have left my four children at home in Ireland."
"Then bring her to sup with me this evening. I have a wife to
introduce to yours, and as she is also a Spaniard it will doubtless
be a pleasure to them both."
"You astound me, Geoffrey. However, you shall tell me all about it
this evening, for be assured that we shall come. Inez has so often
talked about you, and lamented the ill fortune that befell you
owing to your ardour."
"At six o'clock, then," Geoffrey said. "I generally dwell with my
father in law at Chelsea, but am just at present at home. My house
is in St. Mary Ave; anyone there will tell you which it is."
That evening the two friends had a long talk together. Geoffrey
learnt that Gerald Burke reached Italy without further adventure,
and thence took ship to Bristol, and so crossed over to Ireland.
On his petition, and solemn promise of good behaviour in future,
he was pardoned and a small portion of his estate restored to him.
He was now in London endeavouring to obtain a remission of the
forfeiture of the rest.
"I may be able to help you in that," Geoffrey said. "Sir Francis
Vere is high in favour at court, and he will, at my prayer, I feel
sure, use his influence in your favour when I tell him how you
acted my friend on my landing in Spain from the Armada."
Geoffrey then gave an account of his various adventures from the
time when he was struck down from the deck of the Barbary corsair
until the present time.
"How was it," he asked when he concluded, "that you did not write
to my parents, Gerald, on your return home? You knew where they
lived."
"I talked the matter over with Inez," Gerald replied, "and we agreed
that it was kinder to them to be silent. Of course they had mourned
you as killed in the fight with the Armada. A year had passed, and
the wound must have somewhat healed. Had I told them that you had
escaped death at that time, had been months with me in Spain, and
had, on your way home, been either killed by the Moors or were a
prisoner in their galleys, it would have opened the wound afresh,
and caused them renewed pain and sorrow."
"No doubt you were right, Gerald, and that it was, as you say, the
kindest thing to leave them in ignorance of my fate."
Upon the next visit Sir Francis Vere paid to England, Geoffrey spoke
to him with regard to Gerald Burke's affairs. Sir Francis took the
matter up warmly, and his influence sufficed in a very short time
to obtain an order for the restoration to Gerald of all his estates.
Inez and Dolores became as fast friends as were their husbands; and
when the Burkes came to England Geoffrey's house was their home.
The meeting with Gerald was followed by a still greater surprise,
for not many days after, when Geoffrey was sitting with his wife
and Don Mendez under the shade of a broad cypress in the garden of
the merchant's house at Chelsea, they saw a servant coming across
towards them, followed by a man in seafaring attire.
"Here is a person who would speak to you, Master Vickars," the
servant said. "I told him it was not your custom to see any here,
and that if he had aught to say he should call at your house in St.
Mary Ave; but he said that he had but just arrived from Hedingham,
and that your honour would excuse his intrusion when you saw him."
"Bring him up; he may be the bearer of a message from my father,"
Geoffrey said; and the servant went back to the man, whom he had
left a short distance off.
"Master Vickars will speak with you."
The sailor approached the party. He stood for a minute before Geoffrey
without speaking. Geoffrey looked at him with some surprise, and
saw that the muscles of his face were twitching, and that he was
much agitated. As he looked at him remembrance suddenly flashed
upon him, and he sprang to his feet. "Stephen Boldero!" he exclaimed.
"Ay, ay, Geoffrey, it is me."
For a time the men stood with their right hands clasped and the
left on each other's shoulders. Tears fell down the sailor's weather
beaten cheeks, and Geoffrey himself was too moved to speak. For
two years they had lived as brothers, had shared each other's toils
and dangers, had talked over their plans and hopes together; and it
was to Stephen that Geoffrey owed it that he was not now a galley
slave in Barbary.
"Old friend, where have you been all this time?" he said at last,
"I had thought you dead, and have grieved sorely for you."
"I have had some narrow escapes," Stephen said; "but you know I am
tough. I am worth a good many dead men yet."
"Delores, Senor Mendez, you both remember Stephen Boldero?" Geoffrey
said, turning to them.
"We have never forgotten you," the Spaniard said, shaking hands with
the sailor, "nor how much we owe to you. I sent out instructions
by every ship that sailed to the Indies that inquiries should be
made for you; and moreover had letters sent by influential friends
to the governors of most of the islands saying that you had done
great service to me and mine, and praying that if you were in any
need or trouble you might be sent back to Cadiz, and that any moneys
you required might be given to you at my charge. But we have heard
nought of you from the day when the news came that you had left
the ship in which you went out."
"I have had a rough time of it these five years," Stephen said.
"But I care not now that I am home again and have found my friend
Geoffrey. I arrived in Bristol but last week, and started for London
on the day I landed, mindful of my promise to let his people know
that he was safe and well, and with some faint hope that the capture
of Cadiz had set him at liberty. I got to Hedingham last night,
and if I had been a prince Mr. Vickars and his dame and Sir Lionel
could not have made more of me. They were fain that I should stop
with them a day or two; but when I heard that you were in London and
had married Senora Dolores, and that Senor Mendez was with you--all
sof which in no way surprised me, for methought I saw it coming
before I left Cadiz--I could not rest, but was up at daylight this
morning. Your brother offered to procure me a horse, but I should
have made bad weather on the craft, and after walking from Bristol
the tramp up to London was nothing. I got to your house in the city
at four; and, finding that you were here, took a boat at once, for
I could not rest until I saw my friend again."
Geoffrey at once took him into the house and set him down to a meal;
and when the party were gathered later on in the sitting room, and
the candles were lighted, Stephen told his story.
"As you will have heard, we made a good voyage to the Indies. We
discharged our cargo, and took in another. I learned that there were
two English ships cruising near San Domingo, and the Dons were in
great fear of them. I thought that my chance lay in joining them,
so when we were at our nearest port to that island I one night
borrowed one of the ship's boats without asking leave, and made
off. I knew the direction in which San Domingo lay, but no more.
My hope was that I should either fall in with our ships at sea, or,
when I made the island, should be able to gather such information
as might guide me to them. When I made the land, after being four
days out, I cruised about till the provisions and water I had put
on board were exhausted, and I could hold out no longer. Then I
made for the island and landed.
"You may be sure I did not make for a port, where I should be
questioned, but ran ashore in a wooded bay that looked as if no
one had ever set foot there before. I dragged the boat up beyond,
as I thought, the reach of the sea, and started to hunt for food
and water. I found enough berries and things to keep me alive,
but not enough to stock my boat for another cruise. A week after
I landed there was a tornado, and when it cleared off and I had
recovered from my fright--for the trees were blown down like
rushes, and I thought my last day was come--I found that the boat
was washed away.
"I was mightily disheartened at this, and after much thinking
made up my mind that there was nought for it but to keep along the
shore until I arrived at a port, and then to give out that I was
a shipwrecked sailor, and either try to get hold of another boat,
or take passage back to Spain and make a fresh start. However, the
next morning, just as I was starting, a number of natives ran out
of the bush and seized me, and carried me away up into the hills.
"It was not pleasant at first, for they lit a big fire and were
going to set me on the top of it, taking me for a Spaniard. Seeing
their intentions, I took to arguing with them, and told them in
Spanish that I was no Spaniard, but an Englishman, and that I had been
a slave to the Spaniards and had escaped. Most of them understood
some Spanish, having themselves been made to work as slaves
in their plantations, and being all runaways from the tyranny of
their masters. They knew, of course, that we were the enemies of
the Spaniards, and had heard of places being sacked and ships taken
by us. But they doubted my story for a long time, till at last
one of them brought a crucifix that had somehow fallen into their
hands, and held it up before me. When I struck it down, as a
good Protestant should do, they saw that I was not of the Spanish
religion, and so loosed my bonds and made much of me.
"They could tell me nothing of the whereabouts of our ships, for
though they had seen vessels at times sail by, the poor creatures
knew nothing of the difference of rig between an English craft
and a Spaniard. I abode with them for two years, and aided them in
their fights whenever the Spaniards sent out parties, which they
did many times, to capture them. They were poor, timorous creatures,
their spirits being altogether broken by the tyranny of the Dons;
but when they saw that I feared them not, and was ready at any time
to match myself against two or, if need be, three of the Spaniards,
they plucked up heart, and in time came to fight so stoutly that the
Spaniards thought it best to leave them alone, seeing that we had
the advantage of knowing every foot of the woods, and were able
to pounce down upon them when they were in straitened places and
forced to fight at great disadvantage.
"I was regarded as a great chief by the natives, and could have
gone on living with them comfortably enough had not my thoughts
been always turning homeward, and a great desire to be among my
own people, from whom I had been so long separated, devoured me.
At last a Spanish ship was driven ashore in a gale; she went to
pieces, and every soul was drowned. When the gale abated the natives
went down to collect the stores driven ashore, and I found on the
beach one of her boats washed up almost uninjured, so nothing would
do but I must sail away in her. The natives tried their hardest to
persuade me to stay with them, but finding that my mind was fixed
beyond recall they gave way and did their best to aid me. The boat
was well stored with provisions; we made a sail for her out of
one belonging to the ship, and I set off, promising them that if
I could not alight upon an English ship I would return to them.
"I had intended to keep my promise, but things turned out otherwise.
I had not been two days at sea when there was another storm, for
at one time of the year they have tornadoes very frequently. I
had nothing to do but to run for it, casting much of my provisions
overboard to lighten the boat, and baling without ceasing to keep
out the water she took in. After running for many hours I was,
somewhere about midnight, cast on shore. I made a shift to save
myself, and in the morning found that I was on a low key. Here I
lived for three weeks. Fortunately there was water in some of the
hollows of the rocks, and as turtles came ashore to lay their eggs
I managed pretty well for a time; but the water dried up, and for
the last week I had nought to drink but the blood of the turtles.
One morning I saw a ship passing not far off; and making a signal
with the mast of the boat that had been washed ashore with me
I attracted their attention. I saw that she was a Spaniard, but
I could not help that, for I had no choice but to hail her. They
took me to Porto Rico and there reported me as a shipwrecked sailor
they had picked up. The governor questioned me closely as to what
vessel I had been lost from, and although I made up a good story
he had his doubts. Fortunately it did not enter his mind that I was
not a Spaniard; but he said he believed I was some bad character
who had been marooned by my comrades for murder or some other crime,
and so put me in prison until he could learn something that would
verify my story.
"After three months I was taken out of prison, but was set to
work on the fortifications, and there for another two years I had
to stop. Then I managed to slip away one day, and, hiding till
nightfall, made my way down through the town to the quays and swam
out to a vessel at anchor. I climbed on board without notice, and
hid myself below, where I lay for two days until she got up sail.
When I judged she was well away from the land I went on deck and
told my story, that I was a shipwrecked sailor who had been forced
by the governor to work at the fortifications. They did not believe
me, saying that I must be some criminal who had escaped from justice,
and the captain said he should give me up at the next port the ship
touched. Fortunately four days afterwards a sail hove in sight and
gave chase, and before it was dark was near enough to fire a gun
and make us heave to, and a quarter of an hour later a boat came
alongside, and I again heard English spoken for the first time
since I had left you at Cadiz.
"It was an English buccaneer, who, being short of water and fresh
vegetables, had chased us, though seeing we were but a petty trader
and not likely to have aught else worth taking on board. They
wondered much when I discovered myself to them and told them who
I was and how I had come there; and when, on their rowing me on
board their ship, I told the captain my story he told me that he
thought I was the greatest liar he had ever met. To be a galley slave
among the Spaniards, a galley slave among the Moors, a consorter
with Indians for two years, and again a prisoner with the Spaniards
for as much more than fell to the lot of any one man, and he, like
the Spanish governor, believed that I was some rascal who had been
marooned, only he thought that it was from an English ship. However,
he said that as I was a stout fellow he would give me another
chance; and when, a fortnight later, we fell in with a great Spanish
galleon and captured her with a great store of prize money after
a hard fight for six hours, the last of which was passed on the
deck of the Spaniard cutting and slashing--for, being laden with
silver, she had a company of troops on board in addition to her
crew--the captain said, that though an astonishing liar there was no
better fellow on board a ship, and, putting it to the crew, they
agreed I had well earned my share of the prize money. When we had
got the silver on board, which was a heavy job I can tell you,
though not an unpleasant one, we put what Spaniards remained alive
into the boats, fired the galleon, and set sail for England, where
we arrived without adventure.
"The silver was divided on the day before we cast anchor, the
owner's share being first set aside, every man his share, and the
officers theirs in proportion. Mine came to over a thousand pounds,
and it needed two strong men to carry the chest up to the office
of the owners, who gave me a receipt for it, which, as soon as I
got, I started for London; and here, as you see, I am."
"And now, what do you propose to do with yourself, Stephen?" Geoffrey
asked.
"I shall first travel down again to Devonshire and see what friends
I have remaining there. I do not expect to find many alive, for
fifteen years make many changes. My father and mother were both
dead before I started, and my uncle, with whom I lived for a time,
is scarce like to be alive now. Still I may find some cousins and
friends I knew as a boy."
"I should think you have had enough of the sea, Stephen, and you
have now ample to live ashore in comfort for the rest of your life."
"Yes, I shall go no more to sea," Stephen said. "Except for this
last stroke of luck fortune has always been against me. What I
should like, Master Geoffrey, most of all, would be to come up and
work under you. I could be of advantage in seeing to the loading
and unloading of vessels and the storage of cargo. As for pay, I
should not want it, having, as you say, enough to live comfortably
upon. Still I should like to be with you."
"And I should like to have you with me, Stephen. Nothing would give
me greater pleasure. If you are still of that mind when you return
from Devonshire we can again talk the matter over, and as our
wishes are both the same way we can have no difficulty in coming
to an agreement."
Stephen Boldero remained for a week in London and then journeyed
down to Devonshire. His idea of entering Geoffrey's service was
never carried out, for after he had been gone two months Geoffrey
received a letter from him saying that one of his cousins, who had
been but a little girl when he went away, had laid her orders upon
him to buy a small estate and settle down there, and that as she
was willing to marry him on no other terms he had nothing to do
but to assent.
Once a year, however, regularly to the end of his life Stephen
Boldero came up to London to stay for a fortnight with Geoffrey,
always coming by road, for he declared that he was convinced if he
set foot on board a ship again she would infallibly be wrecked on
her voyage to London.