"'OH, I ENVIED HER!' SHE CRIED" . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
"SIR JOHN THRUST HIMSELF BETWEEN THE TWO" . . . . . . . ._Facing p_. 16
"IT WAS BALDRY'S SHIP, THE LITTLE _STAR_" . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
"'DO YOU PURPOSE, THEN, THAT HE SHALL DIE?' DEMANDED BALDRY" . . . . 138
"'I BEG THE SHORTEST SHRIFT THAT YOU MAY GIVE'" . . . . . . . . . . 174
"'DAMARIS, THEY CALL HIM TRAITOR'" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
'"AH, LOOK NOT SO UPON ME!'" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
"THE FRIAR PRESENTED A BLANK COUNTENANCE TO SIR MORTIMER'S QUERIES" 260
"'LAD, LAD,' HE WHISPERED, 'WHERE IS THY MASTER?'" . . . . . . . . . 284
_Sir Mortimer_
I
"But if we return not from our adventure," ended Sir Mortimer, "if the
sea claims us, and upon his sandy floor, amid his Armida gardens, the
silver-singing mermaiden marvel at that wreckage which was once a tall
ship and at those bones which once were animate,--if strange islands
know our resting-place, sunk for evermore in huge and most unkindly
forests,--if, being but pawns in a mighty game, we are lost or changed,
happy, however, in that the white hand of our Queen hath touched us,
giving thereby consecration to our else unworthiness,--if we find no
gold, nor take one ship of Spain, nor any city treasure-stored,--if we
suffer a myriad sort of sorrows and at the last we perish miserably--"
He paused, being upon his feet, a man of about thirty years, richly
dressed, and out of reason good to look at. In his hand was a great
wine-cup, and he held it high. "I drink to those who follow after!" he
cried. "I drink to those who fail--pebbles cast into water whose ring
still wideneth, reacheth God knows what unguessable shore where loss may
yet be counted gain! I drink to Fortune her minions, to Francis Drake
and John Hawkins and Martin Frobisher; to all adventurers and their
deeds in the far-off seas! I drink to merry England and to the day when
every sea shall bring her tribute!--to England, like Aphrodite,
new-risen from the main! Drink with me!"
The tavern of the Triple Tun rang with acclamation, and, the windows
being set wide because of the warmth of the June afternoon, the noise
rushed into the street and waylaid the ears of them who went busily to
and fro, and of them who lounged in the doorway, or with folded arms
played Atlas to the tavern walls. "Who be the roisterers within?"
demanded a passing citizen of one of these supporters. The latter made
no answer; he was a ragged retainer of Melpomene, and he awaited the
coming forth of Sir Mortimer Ferne, a notable encourager of all who
would scale Parnassus. But his neighbor, a boy in blue and silver,
squatted upon a sunny bench, vouchsafed enlightenment.
"Travellers to strange places," quoth he, taking a straw from his mouth
and stretching long arms. "Tall men, swingers in Brazil-beds,
parcel-gilt with the Emperor of Manoa, and playfellows to the nymphs of
Don Juan Ponce de Leon his fountain,--in plain words, my master, Sir
Mortimer Ferne, Captain of the _Cygnet_, and his guests to dinner, to
wit, Sir John Nevil, Admiral of our fleet, with sundry of us captains
and gentlemen adventurers to the Indies, and, for seasoning, a handful
of my master's poor friends, such as courtiers and great lords
and poets."
"Thinkest to don thy master's wit with his livery?" snapped the
poetaster. "'Tis a chain for a man,--too heavy for thy wearing."
The boy stretched his arms again. "'Master' no more than in reason,"
quoth he. "I also am a gentleman. Heigho! The sun shineth hotter here
than in the doldrums!"
"Well, go thy ways for a sprightly crack!" said the citizen, preparing
to go his. "I know them now, for my cousin Parker hath a venture in the
_Mere Honour_, and that is the great ship the Queen hath lent Sir John,
his other ships being the _Marigold_, the _Cygnet_, and the _Star_, and
they're all a-lying above Greenwich, ready to sail on the morrow for the
Spanish Main."
"You've hit it in the clout," yawned the boy. "I'll bring you an emerald
hollowed out for a reliquary--if I think on't."
Within-doors, in the Triple Tun's best room, where much sherris sack was
being drunk, a gentleman with a long face, and mustachios twirled to a
point, leaned his arm upon the table and addressed him whose pledge had
been so general. "_Armida gardens_ and _silver-singing mermaiden_ and
_Aphrodite England_ quotha! _Pike and cutlass and good red gold!_ saith
the plain man. O Apollo, what a thing it is to be learned and a maker
of songs!"
Athwart his laughing words came from the lower end of the board a deep
and harsh voice. The speaker was Captain Robert Baldry of the _Star_,
and he used the deliberation of one who in his drinking had gone far and
fast. "I pledge all scholars turned soldiers," he said, "all courtiers
who stay not at court, all poets who win tall ships at the point of a
canzonetta! Did Sir Mortimer Ferne make verses--elegies and epitaphs and
such toys--at Fayal in the Azores two years ago?"
There followed his speech, heard of all in the room, a moment of amazed
silence. Mortimer Ferne put his tankard softly down and turned in his
seat so that he might more closely observe his fellow adventurer.
"For myself, when an Armada is at my heels, the cares of the moon do not
concern me," went on Baldry, with the gravity of an oracle. "Had Nero
not fiddled, perhaps Rome had not burned."
"And where got you that information, sir?" asked his host, in a most
courtier-like voice.
"Oh, in the streets of Rome, a thousand years ago! 'Twas common talk."
The Captain of the _Star_ tilted his cup and was grieved to find
it empty.
"I have later news," said the other, as smoothly as before. "At Fayal in
the Azores--"
He was interrupted by Sir John Nevil, who had risen from his chair, and
beneath whose stare of surprise and anger Baldry, being far from actual
drunkenness, moved uneasily.
"I will speak, Mortimer," said the Admiral, "Captain Baldry not being my
guest. Sir, at Fayal in the Azores that disastrous day we did what we
could--mortal men can do no more. Taken by surprise as we were, ships
were lost and brave men tasted death, but there was no shame. He who
held command that lamentable day was Captain--now Sir Mortimer--Ferne;
for I, who was Admiral of the expedition, must lie in my cabin, ill
almost unto death of a calenture. I dare aver that no wiser head ever
drew safety for many from such extremity of peril, and no readier sword
ever dearly avenged one day's defeat and loss. Your news, sir, was
false. I drink to a gentleman of known discretion, proved courage,
unstained honor--"
It needed not the glance of his eye to bring men to their feet. They
rose, courtiers and university wits, soldiers home from the Low
Countries, kinsmen and country friends, wealthy merchants who had staked
their gold in this and other voyages, adventurers who with Frobisher and
Gilbert had sailed the icy seas, or with Drake and Hawkins had gazed
upon the Southern Cross, Captain Baptist Manwood, of the _Marigold_,
Lieutenant Ambrose Wynch, Giles Arden, Anthony Paget, good men and tall,
who greatly prized the man who alone kept his seat, smiling upon them
from the head of the long table in the Triple Tun's best room. Baldry,
muttering in his beard that he had made a throw amiss and that the wine
was to blame, stumbled to his feet and stood with the rest. "Sir
Mortimer Ferne!" cried they all, and drank to the seated figure. The
name was loudly called, and thus it was no slight tide of sound which
bore it, that high noon in the year 158-, into the busy London street.
Bow Bells were ringing, and to the boy in blue and silver upon the bench
without the door they seemed to take the words and sound them again and
again, deeply, clearly, above the voices of the city.
Mortimer Ferne, his hand resting upon the table before him, waited until
there was quiet in the tavern of the Triple Tun, then, because he felt
deeply, spoke lightly.
"My lords and gentlemen," he said, "and you, John Nevil, whom I
reverence as my commander and love as my friend, I give you thanks. Did
we lose at Fayal? Then, this voyage, at some other golden island, we
shall win! Honor stayed with us that bloody day, and shall we not now
bring her home enthroned? Ay, and for her handmaidens fame and noble
service and wealth,--wealth with which to send forth other ships, hounds
of the sea which yet may pull down this Spanish stag of ten! By my
faith, I sorrow for you whom we leave behind!"
"Look that I overtake you not, Mortimer!" cried Sidney. "Walter Raleigh
and I have plans for next year. You and I may yet meet beneath a
palm-tree!"
"And I also, Sir Mortimer," exclaimed Captain Philip Amadas. "Sir Walter
hath promised me a ship--"
"When the old knight my father dies, and I come into my property," put
in, loudly, a fancy-fired youth from Devon, "I'll go out over bar in a
ship of my own! I'll have all my mariners dressed like Sir Hugh
Willoughby's men in the picture, and when I come home--"
"Towing the King of Spain his plate-fleet behind you," quoth the
mustachioed gentleman.
"--all my sails shall be cloth of gold," continued wine--flushed
one-and-twenty. "The main-deck shall be piled with bars of silver, and
in the hold shall be pearls and pieces of gold, doubloons, emeralds as
great as filberts--"
"At Panama saw I an emerald greater than a pigeon's egg!" cried one who
had sailed in the _Golden Hind_.
Sir Mortimer laughed. "Why, our very speech grows rich--as did thine
long since, Philip Sidney! And now, Giles Arden, show these stay-at-home
gentlemen the stones the _Bonaventure_ brought in the other day from
that coast we touched at two years agone. If we miss the plate-fleet, my
masters, if we find Cartagena or Santa Marta too strong for us, there is
yet the unconquered land, the Hesperidian garden whence came these
golden apples! Deliver, good dragon!"
He of the mustachios laid side by side upon the board three pieces of
glittering rock, whereat every man bent forward.
"Marcasite?" said one, doubtfully.
"El madre del oro?" suggested another.
"White spar," said Arden, authoritatively, "and containeth of gold ten
pounds to the hundredweight. Moreover--" He sifted down upon the dark
wood beside the stones a thimbleful of dull yellow grains. "The sands of
Pactolus, gentlemen! Sure 'twas in no Grecian river that King Midas
bathed himself!"
Those of the company to whom had never before been exhibited these
samples of imperial riches craned their necks, and the looks of some
were musing and of others keenly eager. The room fell silent, and still
they gazed and gazed at the small heap of glistening stones and those
few grains of gold. They were busy men in the vanguard of a quickened
age, and theirs were its ardors, its Argus-eyed fancy and potent
imagination. Show them an acorn, and straightway they saw a forest of
oaks; an inch of a rainbow, and the mind grasped the whole vast arch,
zenith-reaching, seven-colored, enclosing far horizons. So now, in
addition to the gleaming fragments upon the table before them, they saw
mountain ranges with ledges of rock all sparkling like this ore, deep
mines with Indian workers, pack-trains, and burdened holds of ships.
After a time one lifted a piece of the ore, hesitatingly, as though he
made to take up all the Indies, scrutinized it closely, weighed it,
passed it to his neighbor. It went the round of the company, each man
handling it, each with the talisman between his fingers gazing through
the bars of this present hour at a pageant and phantasmagoria of his own
creating. At last it came to the hand of an old merchant, who held it a
moment or two, looking steadfastly upon it, then slowly put it down.
"Well," said he, "may God send you furthering winds, Sir Mortimer and
Sir John, and make their galleons and galliasses, their caravels and
carracks, as bowed corn before you! Those of your company who are to
die, may they die cleanly, and those who are to live, live nobly, and
may not one of you fall into the hands of the Holy Office."
"Amen to that, Master Hudson," quoth Arden.
"The Holy Office!" cried a Banbury man. "I had a cousin, sirs,--an
honest fellow, with whom I had gone bird's-nesting when we were boys
together! He was master of a merchantman--the _Red Lion_--that by foul
treachery was taken by the Spaniards at Cales. The priests put forth
their hands and clutched him, who was ever outspoken, ever held fast to
his own opinion!... To die! that is easy; but when I learned what was
done to him before he was let to die--" The speaker broke off with an
oath and sat with fixed gaze, his hand beating upon the table a
noiseless tattoo.
"To die," said Mortimer Ferne slowly. "To die cleanly, having lived
nobly--it is a good wish, Master Hudson! To die greatly--as did your
cousin, sir,--a good knight and true, defending faith and loyalty, what
more consummate flower for crown of life? What loftier victory, supremer
triumph? Pain of body, what is it? Let the body cry out, so that it
betray not the mind, cheat not the soul into a remediless prison of
perdition and shame!"
He drank of his wine, then with a slight laugh and wave of his hand
dismissed a subject too grave for the hour. A little later he arose with
his guests from the table, and since time was passing and for some there
was much to do, men began to exchange farewells. To-morrow would see the
adventurers gone from England; to-day kinsmen and friends must say
good-by, warmly, with clasping of hands and embracing, even with tears,
for it was an age when men did not scorn to show emotion. A thousand
perils awaited those who went, nor for those who stayed would time or
tide make tarrying. It was most possible that they who parted now would
find, this side eternity, no second inn of meeting.
From his perch beside the door, the boy in blue and silver watched his
master's guests step into the sunlight and go away. A throng had
gathered in front of the tavern, for the most part of those within were
men of note, and Sir John Nevil's adventure to the Indies had long been
general talk. Singly or in little groups the revellers issued from the
tavern, and for this or that known figure and favorite the crowd had its
comment and cheering. At last all were gone save the adventurers
themselves, who, having certain final arrangements to make, stayed to
hold council in the Triple Tun's long room.
Their conference was not long. Presently came forth Captain Baptist
Manwood of the _Marigold_ with his lieutenants, Wynch and Paget, and
Captain Robert Baldry of the _Star_. The four, talking together,
started towards the waterside where they were to take boat for the ships
that lay above Greenwich, but ere they had gone forty paces Baldry felt
his sleeve twitched. Turning, he found at his elbow the blue and silver
sprig who served Sir Mortimer Ferne.
"Save you, sir," said the boy. "There's a gentleman at the Triple Tun
desires your honor would give him five minutes of your company."
"I did expect a man of my acquaintance, a Paul's man with a good rapier
to sell," quoth Baldry. "Boy, is the gentleman a lean gentleman with a
Duke Humphrey look? Wait for me, sirs, at the stairs!"
Within the Triple Tun, Sir John Nevil yet sat at table pondering certain
maps and charts spread out before him, while Mortimer Ferne, having
re-entered the room after a moment's absence, leaned over his
commander's shoulder and watched the latter's forefinger tracing the
coastline from the Cape of Three Points to Golden Castile. By the window
stood Arden, while on a settle near him lounged Henry Sedley, lieutenant
to the Captain of the _Cygnet_; moreover a young gentleman of great
promise, a smooth, dark, melancholy beauty, and a pretty taste in
dress. In his hands was a gittern which had been hanging on the wall
above him, and he played upon it, softly, a sweet and plaintive air.
In upon these four burst Baldry, who, not finding the Paul's man and
trader in rapiers, drew himself up sharply. Sir Mortimer came forward
and made him a low bow, which he, not to be outdone in courtesy, any
more than in weightier matters, returned in his own manner, fierce and
arrogant as that of a Spanish conquistador.
"Captain Robert Baldry, I trusted that you would return," said Ferne.
"And now, since you are no longer guest of mine, we will resume our talk
of Fayal in the Azores. Your gossips lied, sir; and he who, not staying
to examine a quarrel, becomes a repeater of lies, may chance upon a
summer day, in a tavern such as this, to be called a liar. My
cartel, sir!"
He flung his glove, which scarce had felt the floor before the other
snatched it up. "God's death! you shall be accommodated!" he cried.
"Here and now, is't not? and with sword and dagger? Sir, I will spit you
like a lark, or like the Spaniard I did vanquish for a Harry shilling
at El Gran' Canario, last Luke's day--"
The three witnesses of the challenge sprang to their feet, the gittern
falling from Sedley's hands, and Sir John's papers fluttering to the
floor. The latter thrust himself between the two who had bared their
weapons. "What is this, gentlemen? Mortimer Ferne, put up your sword!
Captain Baldry, your valor may keep for the Spaniards! Obey me, sirs!"
"Let be, John Nevil," said Ferne. "To-morrow I become your sworn man.
To-day my honor is my Admiral!"
"Will you walk, Sir Mortimer Ferne?" demanded Baldry. "The Bull and
Bear, just down the street, hath a little parlor--a most sweet retired
place, and beareth no likeness to the poop of the _Mere Honour_. Sir
John Nevil, your servant, sir--to-morrow!"
[Illustration: "SIR JOHN THRUST HIMSELF BETWEEN THE TWO"]
"My servant to-day, sir," thundered the Admiral, "in that I will force
you to leave this quarrel! Death of my life! shall this get abroad? Not
that common soldiers or mariners ashore fall out and cudgel each other
until the one cannot handle a rope nor the other a morris-pike! not
that wild gallants, reckless and broken adventurers whose loss the next
daredevil scamp may supply, choose the eve of sailing for a duello, in
which one or both may be slain; but that strive together my captains,
men vowed to noble service, loyal aid, whose names are in all mouths,
who go forth upon this adventure not (I trust in God) with an eye single
to the gain of the purse, but thinking, rather, to pluck green laurels
for themselves, and to bring to the Queen and England gifts of waning
danger, waxing power! What reproach--what evil augury--nay, perhaps,
what maiming of our enterprise! Leaders and commanders that you are,
with your goodly ships, your mariners and soldiers awaiting you, and
above us all the lode-star of noblest duty, truest honor--will you thus
prefer to the common good your private quarrel? Nay, now, I might say
'you shall not'; but, instead, I choose to think you will not!"
The speech was of the longest for the Admiral, who was a man of golden
silences. His look had been upon Baldry, but his words were for Mortimer
Ferne, at whom he looked not at all. "I have been challenged, sir,"
cried Baldry, roughly. "Draw back? God's wounds, not I!"
His antagonist bit his lip until the blood sprang. "The insult was
gross," he said, with haughtiness, "but since I may not deny the truth
of your words, John Nevil, I will reword my cartel. Captain Robert
Baldry, I do solemnly challenge you to meet me with sword and dagger
upon that day which sees our return to England!"
"A far day that, perhaps!" cried Baldry. "But so be it! I'll not fail
you, Sir Mortimer Ferne. Look that you fail not me!"
"Sir!" cried Ferne, sharply.
The Admiral struck the table a great blow. "Gentlemen, no more of this!
What! will you in this mood go forth side by side to meet a common foe?
Nay, I must have you touch hands!"
The Captain of the _Cygnet_ held out his hand. He of the _Star_ first
swore, then burst into a great laugh; finally laid his own upon it.
"Now we are turtle-doves, Sir John, nothing less! and the _Star_ and the
_Cygnet_ may bill and coo from the Thames to Terra Firma!" Suddenly he
ceased to laugh, and let fall his hand. "But I have not forgotten," he
said, "that at Fayal in the Azores I had a brother slain."
He was gone, swinging from the room with scant ceremony, loudly ordering
from his path the loiterers at the inn door. They whose company he had
quitted were silent for a moment; then said Sir Mortimer, slowly: "I
remember now--there was a Thomas Baldry, master of the _Speedwell_.
Well, it was a sorry business that day! If from that muck of blood and
horror was born Detraction--"
"The man was mad!" thrust in young Sedley, hotly. "Detraction and you
have no acquaintance."
Ferne, with a slight laugh, stooped to pick up the fallen gittern. "She
kept knighthood and me apart for a year, Henry. 'Tis a powerful dame, a
most subtle and womanish foe, who knoweth not or esteemeth not the rules
of chivalry. Having yielded to plain Truth, she yet, as to-day, raiseth
unawares an arm to strike." He hung the gittern upon its peg, then went
across to the Admiral and put both hands upon his shoulders. The smile
was yet upon his lips, but his voice had a bitter ring. "John, John,"
he said, "old wounds leave not their aching. That tall, fanfaronading
fellow hath a power to anger me,--not his words alone, but the man
himself.... Well, let him go until the day we come sailing back to
England! For his words--" He paused and a shadow came over his face.
"Who knows himself?" he said. "There are times when I look within and
doubt my every quality that men are pleased to give me. God smiles upon
me--perhaps He smiles with contempt!... I would that I had followed, not
led, that day at Fayal!"
Arden burst into a laugh. The Admiral turned and stared at him who had
spoken with a countenance half severity, half deep affection. "What!
stings that yet?" he said. "I think you may have that knowledge of
yourself that you were born to lead, and that knowledge of higher things
that shame is of the devil, but defeat ofttimes of God. How idly do we
talk to-day!"
"Idly enough," agreed Ferne with a quick sigh. He lifted his hands from
the other's shoulders, and with an effort too instantaneous to be
apparent shook off his melancholy. Arden took up his hat and swung his
short cloak over his shoulder.
"Since we may not fight," he said, "I'll e'en go play. There's a pretty
lady hard by who loves me dearly. I'll go tell her tales of the Carib
beauties. Master Sedley, you are for the court, I know. Would the gods
had sent me such a sister! Do you go to Leicester House, Mortimer? If
not, my fair Discretion hath a mate--"
"I," answered Ferne, "am also for Greenwich."
Arden laughed again. "Her Grace gives you yet another audience? Or is it
that hath come to court that Nonpareil, that radiant Incognita, that
be-rhymed Dione at whose real name you keep us guessing? I thought the
violet satin was not for naught!"
"In that you speak with truth," said the other, coolly, "for thirty
acres of good Devon land went to its procuring. Since you are for the
court, Henry Sedley, one wherry may carry the two of us."
When the two adventurers and the boy in blue and silver had made half
the distance to the pleasant palace where, like a flight of multicolored
birds, had settled for the moment Elizabeth's migratory court, the
gentlemen became taciturn and fell at length to silent musing, each upon
his own affairs. The boy liked it not, for their discourse had been of
armor and devices, of war-horses and Spanish swords, and such knightly
matters as pleased him to the marrow. He himself (Robin-a-dale they
called him) meant to be altogether such a one as his master in violet
satin. Not a sea-dog simply and terrible fighter like Captain Manwood or
Ambrose Wynch, nor a ruffler like Baldry, nor even a high, cold
gentleman like Sir John, who slew Spaniards for the good of God and the
Queen, and whose slow words when he was displeased cut like a rope's
end. But he would fight and he would sing; he would laugh with his foe
and then courteously kill him; he would know how to enter the presence,
how to make a great Queen smile and sigh; and then again, amid the
thunder and reek of the fight, on decks slippery with blood, he would
strain, half naked, with the mariners, he would lead the boarders, he
would deal death with a flashing sword and a face that seen through the
smoke wreaths was so calm and high!--And the Queen might knight
him--one day the Queen might knight him. And the people at home, turning
in the street, would look and cry, "'Tis Sir Robert Dale!" as now they
cry "Sir Mortimer Ferne!"
Robin-a-dale drew in his breath and clenched his hands with
determination; then, the key being too high for long sustaining, came
down to earth and the contemplation of the bright-running Thames, its
shifting banks, and the shipping on its bosom. The river glided between
tall houses, and there were voices on the water, sounding from stately
barges, swift-plying wherries, ships at anchor, both great and small.
Over all played mild sunshine, hung pale blue skies. The boy thought of
other rivers he had seen and would see again, silent streams gliding
through forests of a fearful loveliness, miles of churned foam rushing
between black teeth of jagged rock to the sheer, desperate,
earth-shaking cataract, liquid highways to the realms of strange dreams!
He turned involuntarily and met his master's eye. Between these two,
master and boy, knave and knight, there was at times so strange a
comprehension that Robin-a-dale was scarcely startled to find that his
thoughts had been read.
"Ay, Robin," said Ferne, smiling, "other and stranger waters than those
of Father Thames! And yet I know not. Life is one, though to-day we
glide through the sunshine to a fair Queen's palace, and to-morrow we
strive like fiends from hell for those two sirens, Lust of Gold and Lust
of Blood. Therefore, Robin, an you toss your silver brooch into the
Thames it may come to hand on the other side of the world, swirling
towards you in some Arethusa fountain."
"I see the ships, master!" cried the boy. "Ho, the _Cygnet_, the bonny
white _Cygnet!_"
They lay in a half-moon, with the westering sun striking full upon the
windows of their high, castellated poops. Their great guns gleamed; mast
and spar and rigging made network against the blue; high in air floated
bright pennants and the red cross in the white field. To and fro plied
small boats, while over the water to them in the wherry came a pleasant
hum of preparation for the morrow's sailing. Upon the _Cygnet_, lying
next to the _Mere Honour_, and a very noble ship, the mariners began
to sing.
"Shall we not row more closely?" cried Sedley. "The _Cygnet_ knows not
that it is you who pass!"
Sir Mortimer laughed. "No, no; I come to her arms from the Palace
to-night! Trouble her not now with genuflections and salutings." His
eyes dwelt with love upon his ship. "How clearly sounds the singing!"
he said.
So clearly did it sound over the water that it kept with them when the
ships were passed. Robin-a-dale had his fancies, to which at times he
gave voice, scarce knowing that he had spoken. "'Tis the ship herself
that sings," he now began to say to himself in a low voice, over and
over again. "'Tis the ship singing, the ship singing because she goes on
a voyage--a long voyage!"
"Sirrah!" cried his master, somewhat sharply. "Know you not that the
swan sings but upon one voyage, and that her last? 'Tis not the _Cygnet_
that sings, but upon her sing my mariners and soldiers, for that they go
forth to victory!"
He put his hands behind his head, and with a light in his eyes looked
back to the dwindling ships. "Victory!" he repeated beneath his breath.
"Such fame, such service, as that earthworm, that same Detraction, shall
raise no more her lying head!" He turned to Sedley: "I am glad, Harry,
that your lot is cast with mine. For we go forth to victory, lad!"
The younger man answered him impetuously, a flush of pride mounting to
his smooth, dark cheek. "I doubt it not, Sir Mortimer, nor of my
gathering laurels, since I go with you! I count myself most fortunate."
He threw back his head and laughed. "I have no lady-love," he said, "and
so I will heap the laurels in the lap of my sister Damaris."
By now, the tide being with them, they were nearing Greenwich House.
Ferne dipped his hand into the water, then, straightening himself, shook
from it the sparkling drops, and looked in the face of the youth who was
to make with him his maiden voyage.
"You could heap laurels in the lap of no sweeter lady," he said,
courteously. "I thought you went on yesterday to say farewell to
Mistress Damaris Sedley."
"Why, so I did," said the other, simply. "We said farewell with our
eyes in the presence, while the Queen talked with my Lord of Leicester;
in the antechamber with our hands; in the long gallery with our lips;
and when we reached the gardens, and there was none at all to see, we
e'en put our arms about each other and wept. It is a right noble wench,
my sister, and loves me dearly. And then, while we talked, one of her
fellow maids came hurriedly to call her, for her Grace would go
a-hawking, and Damaris was in attendance. So I swore I would see her
again to-day though 'twere but for a moment."
The rowers brought the wherry to the Palace landing. Sir Mortimer,
stepping out upon the broad stairs, began to mount them somewhat slowly,
Sedley and Robin-a-dale following him. Half-way up, Sedley, noting the
rich suit worn so point-device, and aware of how full in the sunshine of
the Queen's favor stood for the moment his Captain, asked if he were for
the presence. Ferne shook his head: "Not now.... May I know, Henry,
where you and your sister meet?"
"In the little covert of the park where we said good-by on yesterday."
There were surprise and some question in the youth's upward glance at
the man in violet satin, standing a step or two above him, his hand
resting upon the stone balustrade, a smile in his eyes, but none upon
the finely cut lips, quite grave and steady beneath the slight mustache.
Ferne, reading the question, gave, after just a moment's pause, the
answer. "My dear lad," he said, and the smile in his eyes grew more
distinct and kindly, "to Mistress Damaris Sedley I also would say
farewell." He laid his hand upon the young man's shoulder. "For I would
know, Henry--I would know if through all the days and nights that await
us over the brim of to-morrow I may dream of an hour to come when that
dear and fair lady shall bid me welcome." His eyes looked into the
distance, and the smile had crept to his lips. "It was my meaning to
speak to her to-night before I left the Palace, but this chance offers
better. Will you give me precedence, Henry? let me see and speak to your
sister alone in that same covert of which you tell me?"
"But--but--" stammered Sedley.
Sir Mortimer laughed. "'But ... Dione!' you would say. 'Ah, faithless
poet, forsworn knight!' you would say. Not so, my friend." He looked far
away with shining eyes. "That unknown nymph, that lady whom I praise in
verse, whose poet I am, that Dione at whose real name you all do vainly
guess--it is thy sister, lad! Nay,--she knows me not for her worshipper,
nor do I know that I can win her love. I would try ..."
Sedley's smooth cheek glowed and his eyes shone. He was young; he loved
his sister, orphaned like himself and the neglected ward of a decaying
house; while to his ardent fancy the man above him, superb in his violet
dress, courteous and excellent in all that he did, was a very Palmerin
or Amadis de Gaul. Now, impetuously, he put his hand upon that other
hand touching his shoulder, and drew it to his lips in a caress, of
which, being Elizabethans, neither was at all ashamed. In the dark,
deeply fringed eyes that he raised to his leader's face there was a
boyish and poetic adoration for the sea-captain, the man of war who was
yet a courtier and a scholar, the violet knight who was to lead him up
the heights which long ago the knight himself had scaled.
"Damaris is a fair maid, and good and learned," he said in a whisper,
half shy, half eager. "May you dream as you wish, Sir Mortimer! For the
way to the covert--'tis by yonder path that's all in sunshine."