THE YOUNG HEIR OF MODBURY.
"I can scarce agree with you there," remarked the young man whom
Drusilla had described as a poor helpless wreck. He was a thin,
sallow-faced, sad-looking individual, with lank black hair, hollow
cheeks, and weary, lack-lustre eyes. His ruff was limp and frayed at the
edge, and his long scraggy neck rose out of it like the stump of a
mushroom that had difficulty in supporting the large head that
surmounted it. His sombre black cloth doublet hung loose about his
body, and its elbows were worn threadbare. One of his long bony fingers
was thrust between the closed leaves of a little book that he held
lovingly in his hand. His whole appearance suggested that his habit of
life was that of a student, and his discourse certainly did not give the
lie to his appearance.
"I can scarce agree with you, Sir Richard," said he in a thin, pipy
voice. "Your Ovid is indeed a prince among poets, but in my own poor
opinion Virgil is the greater of the two, inasmuch as the epic is
greater than the lyric."
"Nay, but I care not to dispute such deep and learned matters with you,
Master Pym," returned the other with a yawn that betrayed his weariness
of the student's argument. "You are a scholar who knoweth all these
things as I do know the ropes of a ship, while I am but a simple seaman,
devoid of learning, who hath scarce opened a book since I was a mere
stripling. Talk to me of travel if you like, or of Her Majesty's temper,
and I will give ear to you, but to books and poets I cry avast!" He
shifted his position on the fallen tree upon which he was sitting, and
turned his clear gray eyes in the direction of the plantation towards
which, a few minutes before, Drusilla had sailed off in quest of
adventure. "Ah!" he cried, observing the girl approaching with Timothy
Trollope at her heels. "Whom have we here--a prisoner of war? Why, I'll
be sworn 'tis the self-same young jackanapes that leapt into Sutton Pool
yester-morn to rescue the drunken fisherman that fell in! Dost know the
name of him, Master Pym?"
The scholar drew the wide brim of his hat over his brow to shield his
eyes from the glare of the sun.
"Ay," he said after a long pause, "I know him. 'Tis one of Barber
Trollope's brood--a wild, thoughtless ragamuffin, that doth spend his
days in loitering about the quays and picking up the talk of rough
mariners. But what, I'd like to know, can Mistress Drusilla mean by thus
dragging him hither? I warrant me she hath caught him in some poaching
business."
Sir Richard stroked his crisp dark beard and said with a laugh:
"'Tis far more likely she hath taken him for some Barbary corsair, and
is bringing him back as a prize. For you must bear in mind, Master Pym,
that the maid left us on a treasure-hunting cruise. Ay, I'll be bound
'tis as I say," he added, as Drusilla came into the harbour of the
trees. "She hath the rascal in tow, look you, with his belt for hawser."
At this moment a fleet of English merchantmen, in the boyish person of
Master Gilbert Oglander, hove into sight in the offing; and Drusilla,
relinquishing her prize and sternly bidding Timothy to remain at anchor
until her return, ran off to meet her brother.
Timothy respectfully took off his cap and stood mutely in front of the
handsome bearded gentleman whom Master Pym had addressed as "Sir
Richard", not daring to raise his eyes from the ground.
"How now, boy!" cried Sir Richard in a gruff voice, that seemed to have
in it something of the deep roar of the sea waves breaking upon
cavernous rocks. "What hath brought thee here? Hast been a-thieving of
his lordship's rabbits, quotha?"
"No, please your worship," stammered Timothy, "I have done no manner of
harm."
"Then wherefore are you here, a-trespassing on private lands?" demanded
Sir Richard.
"Mistress Oglander did arrest me, yonder by the trees," answered Tim. "I
was about to go home when she came behind me and seized me, declaring
that I was a Spanish treasure-ship. I yielded to her humour, and--"
"Ay," interrupted Sir Richard with a grim smile, "I'll be sworn you
yielded--as all Spaniards must when 'tis question of fighting with a
well-found English ship such as the one that conquered you. But,
prithee, what may it be that you have concealed in yon fat wallet at
your back? I'll engage it is a pheasant-bird, or else a brace of plump
partridges. Come, my young poacher, open your wallet that I may see!"
He caught the boy by the shoulder and turned him round, grabbing at the
bag.
"'Tis but a few poor herbs, your honour, that I have been gathering for
my father," explained Tim, opening the bag.
"And what does your father with such wretched weeds?" demanded Sir
Richard.
"They are to be made into physic, sir," said the lad.
"Physic?" cried Sir Richard, shaking his head in doubt. "Nay, poison
more like! What is thy name, boy?"
"Timothy Trollope, at your honour's service," returned Tim. "Father's a
barber-surgeon."
"Ay, a barbarous surgeon truly, if 'twas he that patched up Jan
Coppinger's broken skull last week. I'd have made a goodlier job of it
myself. And so Timothy is your name, eh? Well, I'll bear it in mind,
boy; for 'twas you, if I mistake not, that I saw yester-noon helping to
drag tipsy Tom Vercoe out of Sutton Pool. 'Twas a kindly deed, to say
the least on't. And look you, Master Timothy, if ever you should take to
the notion, as most boys do if I know ought of boyhood, of joining Her
Majesty's service on the sea, you have but to acquaint me with it, and
I'll be sworn you shall not wait long for a ship. Dost know me?"
Timothy's face brightened as he answered:
"There be few boys in Plymouth town that do not know your worship. You
are Sir Richard Grenville that went out to Virginia, and that also
fought against the infidels at Lepanto."
The joyous young voice of Drusilla Oglander broke in upon this little
conversation.
"Come, Captain Grenville," said she, taking Sir Richard by the arm and
dragging him under the shadow of one of the beech-trees. "Y'are standing
in the middle of the sea where you are. We are about to play at a great
sea-fight, and you are to be the Spanish fleet."
It was strange to see the tall strong man being led about by this little
girl and made to do her bidding as if she had been his sovereign queen.
"Even as you list, good my mistress," said he with a docile submission
which was hardly to be expected in one who had the reputation of being a
cruel and relentless warrior. "I am willing to enact whatsoever part you
please; only, if, as I suspect, I am to be the Armada, as you made me on
the other occasion when you brought me to such disaster, I do beseech
you to excuse me the long voyage round the islands of Orkney, for my
limbs are scarce equal to the journey this morning."
"You shall take what part you choose," interposed Gilbert Oglander,
standing at his sister's side and glancing up into Sir Richard
Grenville's twinkling gray eyes.
Gilbert was a boy of thirteen years old, very agile and active. His hair
was very dark, and its darkness made his skin seem all the more fair and
clear. In stature he was not very tall for his age, but his limbs were
sinewy and strong, and one could see at a glance that he was of gentle
birth, that he had lived much of his life in the open air, and that he
was well fitted to endure all manner of fatigue.
"You shall take what part you choose," said he.
"Why, then, an that be so," returned Captain Grenville, "I will choose
to be Don Hugo de Monçada's great galleass, for then I may lie and rest
me on Calais beach and thus be out of the action, as she was when she
ran aground."
"Yes," agreed Drusilla; "but first you must be the whole Spanish fleet,
anchored in Calais Roads. Master Pym will help you to make a show of
numbers, while Gilbert will, of course, be Sir Francis Drake on board
the _Revenge_, and Sir Martin Frobisher on board the _Triumph_, and
whichever other of our English admirals he doth care to be. I am myself
to be the lord admiral's flag-ship."
"And, prithee, what ship or squadron of ships doth young Timothy
Trollope represent?" questioned Sir Richard Grenville. "Surely you will
not scorn so useful an addition to the game?"
"We had best make Timothy enact the part of the English fire-ships,"
suggested Christopher Pym, smiling as his eyes rested upon the lad's
bright red hair. And at his suggestion Drusilla clapped her hands
together and cried "Yes, he shall be the fire-ships!"
And she forthwith proceeded to point out to her strangely-assorted
playmates how the wide stretch of grass in front of them was to be
understood by them all to be the Narrow Seas, how the distant plantation
where Timothy had gathered his herbs was to represent the French coast
between Calais and Dunquerque, and how the embankment of the fish-pond
was to be Calais Roads. The higher ground under the beech-trees where
the five were now standing was to be looked upon as the Kentish cliffs.
These matters being arranged to the understanding of all, the Spanish
Armada, in the persons of Sir Richard Grenville and Master Christopher
Pym, sailed obediently up the English Channel, pursued at no great
distance by the English flag-ship and her consorts, who assailed their
enemy with round after round of heavy shot, discharged from their
chase-guns. There was one very tremendous engagement between Frobisher's
_Triumph_ and the Spanish _Santa Anna_, which presently grew into a
general conflict in which many ships were sunk. Then the Spaniards, much
crippled in the fray, were permitted to sail on again, only to be again
pursued by their persistent foes. The English ships bore down upon them,
and then, being within easy range, luffed up and poured their broadsides
into the enemy's hulls with relentless fury. But the Armada looked
always as formidable as ever, and again and again they formed themselves
in line of battle, to endure yet again the prolonged fire of the English
guns.
At last the Queen's fleet fell back and allowed the Spaniards to sail on
in calm security to their desired refuge in Calais Roads. When, as they
imagined, they were at a safe anchorage and hoped to repair the damages
of battle (for in truth Sir Richard Grenville had received some
surprising buffetings at the hands of Drusilla and Gilbert Oglander, to
say nothing of Master Pym, whose wide-brimmed hat lay abandoned in
mid-channel), the English ships drew near with the fell purpose of
dislodging the enemy and driving them out into the open sea. And when
night was supposed to have fallen, the lord-admiral and Sir Francis
Drake put their woolly heads together in warlike conference and decided
to send forth their fire-ships into the midst of the galleons.
Timothy Trollope received his instructions, and straightway drifted into
the bay, waving his hands aloft like leaping flames. His near approach
threatened to spread disaster among the ships of Spain, and at a given
signal from the _San Martin_ the dons all slipped their anchors, and in
a confusion of panic endeavoured to make an escape. In the panic the
great galleass of Don Hugo de Monçada ran aground on the sands and there
lay basking in the sun, an unconcerned witness of the conflict that
ensued between Pym and Trollope, who had now turned Spaniard, on the one
side and Drusilla and her brother on the other.
Drusilla was bent upon carrying through the mimic fight to the battle of
Gravelines, and, drawing Gilbert apart, she allowed Timothy and Master
Pym to sail out into the Channel for some distance before starting in
pursuit. It seemed to Sir Richard Grenville as he watched them that
there occurred some change in their tactics, for Gilbert Oglander,
having made pretence of sinking some half-score of the Armada ships,
suddenly drew off and approached a very tall tree that stood alone on a
wide expanse of grass. The lad placed his hands on the tree-trunk,
looked up into the leafy branches and presently began to climb upward.
"Peradventure he intends to assail the enemy from the tops with musket
and arquebus," mused Sir Richard, and he continued to watch his young
friend ascending from branch to branch. Up and up he climbed till he
reached one of the topmost boughs, and then he lay out upon the stout
branch and crept along it towards its more slender end. Suddenly he
slipped. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to fall to the
ground, some thirty feet below, but he caught the branch under his right
arm, and remained there suspended.
Understanding the boy's danger, Captain Grenville quickly rose to his
feet and ran towards the tree.
"Hold fast!" he cried as he got to the foot of the tree.
Gilbert raised himself a few inches until he could catch hold of the
bough with his second hand, and there he hung, calling aloud for help.
Sir Richard gripped the tree and was about to make the attempt to climb
up to the boy's rescue, when his shoulders were seized by a pair of
hands, someone leapt upon his back and clambered over him, crushing him
down under two heavy boots. When the weight was removed from him he
looked up and saw young Timothy Trollope scaling the tree with
astonishing speed.
"Help! help! or I shall fall!" cried Gilbert Oglander.
"Hold but another moment," returned Timothy; and ascending to the branch
from which Gilbert was hanging he worked his way along it, and, leaning
over like a very monkey, caught the lad in his one strong right arm and
raised him bodily up to a position of safety.
For some minutes the two lads sat astride the bough facing each other,
speaking never a word.
"Certes," cried Gilbert at last, breaking the silence, "'twas a narrow
escape that! I was as near as might be to falling."
"In sooth I believe you were," agreed Timothy; "and it had been a goodly
fall whichever way you had landed."
"But for your timely help I should have been sorely hurt for a
certainty," remarked Gilbert; and then after a brief pause he added:
"Prithee, how shall I reward you withal?"
"Nay, I need no reward, and will take none," returned Timothy.
"Yea, but you shall have a suitable recompense; for it hath cost you
something as I see," said Gilbert. "Look at your doublet, 'tis torn down
the front. And you have scratched your face too."
Timothy examined into his own hurts and said with a careless smile:
"Tut! 'tis nothing. Both the rent and the scratch will easily mend;
whereas if your worship had fallen to the ground it must surely have
been a matter for the physician, and haply a month's idleness in your
bed. And now, so please you, we will, if you are ready, climb down
again, for Sir Richard Grenville is calling to you, bidding you tell him
if you are hurt."
When the two had got down to the ground again, it was to find that
Drusilla had run off to a farther end of the meadow, where a double row
of giant trees marked the long avenue leading up from the lodge gates to
Modbury Manor. From where he stood Timothy could hear the sound of
horses' feet and the jingling of stirrups and harness. It was the
hawking party returning from the chase, and not until he saw them among
the trees of the avenue did he remember the resolve he had made a little
while before, to seek out his lordship's steward and ask him for work in
the stables. Turning to Master Gilbert Oglander, who was on the point of
following Drusilla, Timothy ventured to say:
"I beg your honour's pardon, but since you were so gracious a moment ago
as to offer me a favour in return for the slight help I gave you, I have
a boon that I would ask of you."
"Name it," demanded Gilbert.
"Ay, name it, lad," urged Sir Richard Grenville, playfully slapping Tim
on his broad back. "Thou'rt a deserving boy, that hath the makings of a
man in him, and shalt have whatsoever boon thou dost name. So out with
it, and be not over-modest in thy request."
Timothy's eyes rested still upon the handsome young countenance of
Master Gilbert Oglander.
"'Tis this that I would crave," said he, "that you would by your favour
help me to get work as a stable-boy or a shepherd or a falconer in his
lordship your grandfather's service."
Gilbert Oglander nodded and said smilingly:
"Gladly will I do that for you, Master Trollope; ay, and more, for it
seemeth to me you are fit for better work than to groom horses or to
feed greedy hawks; and, moreover, I have taken somewhat of a fancy to
you." He looked aside at Sir Richard Grenville. "What say you, Captain
Grenville?" he questioned. "Dost think he'll do in the place of Will
Leigh? Will is about to join Her Majesty's service, you know."
Thus appealed to, Sir Richard spoke very highly of Timothy Trollope, and
added that he would himself see Lord Champernoun touching the matter.
And at this Timothy thanked them both and presently turned on his way
back to Plymouth, overjoyed at the new prospect that had so unexpectedly
opened out before him.
As he trudged homeward along the leafy lanes he sang over and over again
the snatch of a song of the time:
"I would not be a serving-man
To carry the cloak-bag still,
Nor would I be a falconer
The greedy hawks to fill;
But I would be in a good house,
And have a good master too;
And I would eat and drink of the best,
And no work would I do."
It was not many days afterwards that Lord Champernoun, riding into
Plymouth, halted at the sign of the Pestle and Mortar and informed the
barber-surgeon that his son Timothy was to consider himself engaged as
squire and personal attendant to Master Gilbert. His lordship gave
instructions that Timothy was to go at once to Silas Quiller, the
tailor, to be measured for two suits of the Oglander livery, and that as
soon as the lad was fitted-out he was to repair to the manor and to
begin his duties.
Those duties were very simple, as Timothy early discovered. He was to
act as valet to the young heir of Modbury; to comb his hair in the
mornings, keep his wardrobe in good order, attend him on his journeys,
and do his bidding in all things. At the first Timothy was very humble,
as he deemed it his duty to be; but as the months went on and he
acquired some of the manners of the gentlefolk among whom he was placed,
he became more familiar with his young master, who treated him more as a
companion and a playmate than as a servant. Yet Timothy never
overstepped the limits of his position, but was always respectful and
submissive and loyal.