THE LAST REVEL
March, 1588, was here; I had been restrained of my liberty since the
sixteenth day of September, 1586, Oliver and myself had made many
schemes for our deliverance, but they had all come to naught. We could
not cross the mighty sea without a vessel; there was nothing but frail
canoes here--light, fragile, they would suffice for a brief sail, but
they could never live through the thousands of miles of water that
rolled between us and England.
I had spent a great deal of my time in fencing and shooting with the
lad, until now I felt that I could hold my own against DeNortier
himself. My wrist was of steel, and my strength had grown enormously
with my exercise in the open air; I could hit a small coin at thirty
yards with a musketoon. Oliver, who knew nothing of a sword when he
landed, had become a fairly good swordsman under my training, and was
getting so that he could bring down the wild fowl on the wing with the
gun.
Returning from a long stroll one evening and going up to my room, I
found Oliver engaged in holding up to the light a splendid new doublet
of light gray silk. It was a beautiful garment, and he was so occupied
in admiring it that he did not hear me come into the door.
"What hast thou there, lad?" I asked. "Thou must have at thy disposal
the shops of London, that thou shouldst have such a doublet as that.
Faith, not but thou dost need one! That thou hast on now is almost in
rags."
The boy turned to me, his face aglow.
"Ah, Sir Thomas! thou mayest laugh, but it is full time that we had
some new garments. I have mended the one that thou hast on, until I
fear that not a piece of the original cloth remains," and he broke into
a merry, ringing laugh. "But the doublet that thou jeerest at is for
thee. I have a new lilac one," and turning, he lifted it from a chair
and held it up for my inspection.
"What means such prodigality?" I asked in astonishment. "What scheme is
on foot?"
"The men hold high revelry to-night," he answered. "Pepin, who came
up only a few moments ago, brought us each an entire outfit of new
clothing, and told me that the Count sails to-morrow with all his men;
that on his return he would resign command to one of his crew, and
depart for the great region from whence he came, to return here no
more. I asked him whether we were to go with the Count on his cruise
to-morrow, and he replied yes, that only the natives would remain
behind. He told me also that the Count DeNortier bade us dress in these
new garments, and be at the board to-night to join in the feast."
The candles had been lit. Slowly, with the lad's help, I dressed myself
in the silks and laces; it had been long since I had been garbed as
fitting my birth and station. The clothes brought back to me my old,
useless, happy life in far-away London, and the thought of the gayety
and pleasure of days gone by, when I had softly spoken into the dainty
ears of fair ladies the little useless whispers that went to make up
their lives; had moved among the gay throng, the petted plaything of
society. It had been sweet while it lasted, but it had passed from me.
Oliver had buckled on my gold-hilted sword, and given me a last touch.
"Thou art prepared, Sir Thomas," he cried, with a grand air and a
sweeping bow. "And though thou mayest jeer at me if thou choosest, I
will say to thy face, that thou art a goodly sight. Would that the fair
ladies of London might see thee to-night; it would create a sensation,
I can tell thee."
"Nonsense, boy!" I replied. "I have grown too old and rough to be a
pleasant sight for a lady. She would want some fawning tailor's model,
sweet-scented and delicate, and not a rude man such as I am."
But, nevertheless, pleased by his light flattery, I stepped forward to
where one of the great mirrors hung and glanced at myself. Was this the
silent, rough man, clad in his faded doublet, his sword in hand, ready
at a moment's notice to defend himself from the foes who sought his
life?
There looked back at me from the mirror the figure of a man, clad in
splendid silks, a rich collar of lace about his neck, elegantly and
richly dressed; his hair, in which the gray threads were beginning
to shine, was combed back and fell upon his shoulders. The little
pointed beard which he wore, was flecked with gray here and there; and
his face, tanned and brown, was one which seemed created to command.
The deep lines of suffering had purified and ennobled the face never
handsome; the youth and gayety were gone from it, never to return, but
'twas stronger, deeper, better than it had been in the old days. The
light hazel eyes, with that look of understanding that only sorrow
brings, were more sympathetic and kinder than they had been of yore.
Yet as I looked at myself in the glass, and saw the gray threads in my
hair and beard, I felt to-night as though I had reached the summit of
the hill of life, and was beginning the long descent down the other
side. Yes, to-night I realized that I was beginning to be an old man,
with the best in life behind me.
I knew not what the night or morrow held in store for me, but the
struggle and toil and suffering of the last year had taught me
patience; the fire of youth had burned out, and I would wait, and the
morrow would tell.
Oliver had already dressed himself; young and comely he stood there,
and I, for the moment, envied him his youth and buoyancy.
Together we descended the stairs, and passed into the great dining
hall; both of the large sliding doors between the dining and front room
had been thrown back, and now there was but one immense room.
The candlelight that night streamed down on a strange and motley crew.
Down the great room there ran three long tables; around them there sat
the entire crew of the ship, clad in the silks and satins of the nobles
of Europe; with fine collars of lace and gold about their bronzed
throats; their long hair perfumed and scented; their faces those of
every nationality. It was a scene such as I have never witnessed before
or since.
At a small table placed at the head of the room sat DeNortier,
stroking his black beard. He arose as we entered.
"Welcome!" he cried. "Welcome to the last revel! Gentlemen, to-morrow
we sail for the Spanish Main; who knows how many of us will ever
return? Come, be seated here with me," and he motioned us to seats at
his table.
There was only one vacant chair left; he noticed my glance at it.
"An old friend, detained by important business; he will not be here
to-night. I am sure that thou must regret it," and he grinned at me.
"It is perhaps best that he did not come," I answered. "The night air
possibly would not agree with him;" for I guessed that he referred to
Dunraven.
He did not answer me, but beat upon his table for silence. The hubbub
and noise ceased, and he arose to his feet, goblet in hand.
"My men," he said, "we go on a voyage long and perilous; I know not how
many will meet with us again. When we return, I leave thee forever;
Davis shall take my place, and be thy chief. I shall return to the Old
World and dwell in peace. But before we drink to our voyage, I have
one toast that I will give thee in honor of our guest, the Englishman.
I give thee the Virgin Queen, Elizabeth of England!--may her years be
full of glory and happiness!"
The men had arisen to their feet, glasses in hand; many of them were
Englishmen, and, degraded and besotten as they were, they still felt
a love for old England and a pride in the achievements of her Queen,
whose name and fame rang around the world. As DeNortier ceased, there
arose a shout that made the very candles upon the wall flicker in their
sockets; once, twice, thrice it rose and fell, like the deep beat of
the surf upon the beach--then it died out.
I arose to my feet, cup in hand.
"My men," I said, "I thank thee in the name of the Queen for thy
courtesy, and would give thee in return--King Philip of Spain!"
The Spaniards drank it with a cheer, but it was nothing like the shout
that had greeted the name of Elizabeth.
Then there were toasts of every sort and kind; the noise at the long
tables arose to an uproar as some toast was drank of more than usual
interest.
I glanced down the tables where the men sat, for we took no part in
their merriment, but sat at our own table, quiet and composed. There
were the spoils of many a galleon upon the board; goblets and drinking
cups of gold and silver; candlesticks and vessels from the monasteries;
richly embroidered altar cloths spread the long tables; and the heavy
carved chairs of the priests seated the pirates at their revel. Behind
the tables the natives, soft-footed and silent, filled the glasses as
oft as they were emptied.
Without the night, quiet and silent, brooded; within the lights, the
laughter, the song--revelry held high carnival. To-morrow they would
sail, and who knew how many would return? They would feast to-night;
what mattered the morrow, which might hold for them the halter? But
to-night--ah, yes!--to-night was theirs, and the night was young yet;
fill up again.
A tall fellow, his face flushed with the wine he had drunk, was roaring
out a wanton love song, his fellows keeping time to the tune with
their glasses upon the board. He finished amidst a storm of cheers and
applause. Far down the table one of the men had already fallen forward
upon the board, overcome by the wine that he had poured down.
A feeling of anxiety came over me; what were not the rogues capable of,
when later in the night they should be crazed by the liquor that they
had drunk, with nothing to hold them in check except the fear of their
chief, and he was but one man, no matter how resolute and determined?
What could he do against two hundred and fifty drunken, crazed
wretches, hardened to every scene of misery and woe, who feared neither
God nor man? Would they not, when they had reached the pitch of frenzy,
turn upon Oliver and myself, and vent their fury upon us? For myself, I
cared not, but I feared for the boy.
DeNortier must have seen the thought upon my face as I turned to him,
for he spoke immediately.
"Have no fear," he said. "I have often had such revels before, and no
harm came of it; my men know my hand too well to attempt to anger me."
"For myself, I fear not," I answered. "My only fear was for the boy; I
would not have him harmed." And I turned my head to look at Oliver, who
with wide eyes was surveying the scene before him.
"Thou needst not worry," he replied; "he is as safe as though he were
in his father's house."
"Where is the priest?" I asked. "It is strange that he is not here. I
would have thought that he would be the first to come."
The Count smiled. "I looked to see him here too," he answered, "but
perhaps he would not come for fear that thou wouldst kill him. He fears
thee as though thou wert the foul fiend himself," and he finished with
a laugh.
"He has good cause to," I said grimly. "If I had but given him his
deserts, he would have been now where no revelry could disturb him."
"He is a strange fellow," DeNortier said musingly, as though half
to himself, stroking his pointed black beard. "I picked him up in
London, five years ago; he had been expelled from the monastery for
drunkenness, and was adrift without chart or compass, when I discovered
him. But he has well requited me for my trouble, for he is a useful
fellow, and true as steel to me."
I looked at him; it might be that I could win him to my side, or if I
could but make him distrust Dunraven, it would be a good night's work.
"Be not so sure of that," I answered.
He started and peered at me, a look of suspicion upon his face.
"Why dost thou say that?" he cried. "Dost know aught of what thou
speakest?"
I leaned back in my chair, and regarded him with a cold smile.
"Am I a child, that I speak of what I know not of?" I said.
The look of suspicion deepened upon his face; then there came another,
a look of anger.
He spoke: "Show me some proof of that which thou sayest, Sir Thomas;
not that I doubt thy word, but this is a matter of importance that thou
talkest of, and not to be lightly decided."
"And of what advantage will this be to me?" I asked. "Why should I go
to the trouble, if it is to be of no benefit to me?"
He answered me, speaking slowly:
"It is of more importance than thou mayest think; thou art held here
by my power; did I but say the word thou shouldst go scot-free. Would
that be of advantage to thee? Could I think that the fat rogue played
me false, I would soon settle his fate. But why should he do that? It
would not be to his advantage, and he knows too well where his bread
lies to cut his own throat. His hopes are all based upon me; take me
away, and they fall to the ground. No, thou art mistaken, it could not
be so."
"Thou hast forgotten that Dunraven is rich and powerful; that he has
gold in abundance to reward his servants and tools. He wishes to keep
an eye upon thee, as well as myself. Perhaps he thinks that thou
mightst become a dangerous rival to him, or mightst be tempted to play
him false. What better spy could he choose on us both than Father
Francis?" I gazed at him, a smile of triumph upon my face.
He brought down his fist upon the table with a blow that made the
glasses ring.
"Show me the proof!" he cried--"but the proof, and then I shall know
how to act."
"Oliver," I said, turning to the boy, "go up into my room; move that
heavy chest which stands next the wall, and bring down to me the bundle
of papers that thou findest behind it."
He arose, and ran lightly from the room. I sat quietly in my seat, and
gazed at the Spaniard.
"What effect will this have upon my detention?" I asked. "Wilt thou
free me?"
"I shall know better how to answer when I see the papers," he replied
hoarsely.
The noise at the tables had redoubled. One of the seamen had brought
out a couple of flutes and was urging a short, squat sailor to give
them the sword dance. After much pressing by his friends, and after
drinking off a couple of glasses of wine, "only to steady his nerves a
bit," as he informed them, he announced that he was ready to begin.
A space was cleared in the middle of the room, and in it a dozen
swords were fastened, blades upward. The man had taken off his shoes,
and stood in his stocking feet, his eyes covered with a cloth.
The flute struck up a wild, barbarous air, and springing into the midst
of the swords he began to dance, while the men crowded eagerly around
him. Up he went, turning, twisting, whirling, all the while chanting a
low savage tune, now leaping to the right, now to the left, but always
alighting in the space, perhaps four inches in width, that lay between
each sword. Now advancing, now retreating, always evading the perilous
blades with a skill that was marvelous to me, when I thought of the
cloth over his eyes.
A loud burst of music; he had finished, and was untying the bandage
from about his face, midst the cries, "Well done!" of his companions.
And now the outer door opened, and from the darkness outside an Indian
appeared, leading by a rope a tame bear. Often had I seen the animal
about the native settlement. He was a huge, clumsy, good-natured brute,
and as he stood in the middle of the room sniffing the air, his little
eyes blinking in the light, his head rolling from side to side, he
looked anything but dangerous. His master had taught him to wrestle,
and as the animal stood erect on the floor, I saw one of the seamen
stripping off his doublet to struggle with him.
The Indian untied the rope from about the brute's head.
"The Señor had best treat him gently to-night," he said in his native
tongue to the sailor as he advanced, "for he has been in an ugly humor
all day, and it has been only within the last few moments that I have
been able to approach him."
I remonstrated with DeNortier.
"The man had best not wrestle with the bear to-night," I said. "The
Indian says that he is in an ugly humor, and he might do the sailor a
harm."
The Count shrugged his shoulders.
"The brute does not look dangerous," he answered. "I have seen him
around here for more than a year, and never have I known him to do any
mischief."
I looked at the beast again; truly he did not look dangerous. To-night
he seemed the same good-humored giant that he had ever been; only he
was a little restless, perhaps the light and the unaccustomed crowd
made him so. He was a tremendous fellow, standing six feet or more on
his hind legs, and with his long curved paws, he could tear a man to
pieces as if he were a leaf, should he become infuriated.
The sailor was ready, and advanced to meet the bear. He was as fine
a specimen of mankind as the brute was of the animal creation--tall,
broad-shouldered, with big corded arms, upon which the great muscles
stood out like the ivy upon some gigantic oak. He might well have stood
for a statue representing the brute strength of man.
The beast did not seem disposed to meet his antagonist, and it was only
by repeated blows with his stick that his master could persuade him to
advance toward the seaman, and then he did so very unwillingly.
The sailor threw his arms around the unresisting animal, and bore down
his great weight upon him; with a crash they went down, the man upon
the bear. The pirate arose lightly in an instant, but the beast lay
still, as if stunned by the fall. Angered by the easy overthrow of his
pet, the native brought down his heavy stick with a dull thud upon
the bear. With a hoarse growl, he sprang to his feet, his little eyes
flashing fire, his tongue protruding from his teeth.
"Do not approach him!" I cried out to the sailor.
But he, flushed with his easy victory and by the wine he had drunk, and
goaded on by the cheers of his fellows, would not listen to me. With an
oath he sprang forward, wrapped his arms about the brute again, and now
followed a terrible struggle.
The bear had wound his paws around the assailant's body, and to and fro
they moved, each endeavoring to throw the other. Twice, incredible as
it may seem, the man had put forth all of his bull strength, and the
bear had tottered--had almost fallen--but each time he had recovered
himself, and had borne the man back again. Both times the men had
raised a cheer as the bear had staggered, and each time silence had
fallen upon them as the brute had hurled back their favorite.
And now they were both becoming exhausted by the fury of the struggle.
The great drops of sweat stood out upon the head and arms of the man,
his shoulders heaved with the effort--but he was game; the little eyes
of the brute had grown dull and glassy, he was plainly tired. It was
time for the thing to stop. I had already opened my mouth to DeNortier,
to ask him to put a stop to this, when the end came.
The brute had almost ceased to struggle, and his victorious antagonist
was bending him backwards, when suddenly the bear stepped upon one of
the swords, which still lay edge upwards upon the floor, where the
dancer had left them. With a grunt of anger he straightened himself,
his eyes flashed fire; plainly his brute mind in some way connected his
assailant with the pain. In an instant he tightened his grasp about
the man's body, tighter, tighter, tighter; and even as a score sprang
forward to drag him from his prey, there was a dull crunch, and the man
bent double, fell limp and lifeless to the floor, crushed to death in
the terrible paws of his foe.
For an instant the beast stood there erect, his eyes upon the man as
he lay at his feet; then a dozen blades leaped from their sheaths,
and the seamen were upon him. The light flashed upon their swords for
an instant--then the beast fell, pierced in a dozen places, and a
convulsion passed over him.
The Indian, in a torrent of tears, threw himself upon his body.
"Pepin!" he moaned, "they have killed thee--Pepin, speak to me."
The dying beast opened his eyes, as though called back to life by the
voice of one whom he loved; a low grunt of pleasure came from him as
he recognized his master. Raising his muzzle, he rubbed it against the
Indian's face; then the head fell back upon the floor, a low whine, and
he lay still.
The seamen had gathered around the body of their companion, who lay
upon the floor where he had fallen. One of their number, who possessed
some knowledge of medicine, knelt beside him; rising, he shook his head
sadly. "He is dead," he said in a low voice.
DeNortier had arisen, and following him, I passed down to where
the sailor lay. The face of the man was stern and set, as he had
looked when he was wrestling with the animal. He had had no time for
preparation; as he lived, so had he also died. We looked at him for a
moment. Only a few brief minutes before he had been among us, in the
prime of his magnificent manhood; now he lay there cold and stiff, fit
food for the worms and foul reptiles of the earth.
Turning to the pirates, the Count ordered them to remove both the man
and the beast, and he made his way back to his seat without so much as
another glance. I lingered a moment where the Indian lay upon the body
of the animal, his arm locked about its rough head. Here was love, deep
and deathless.
The rough sailors were removing the body of one whom they had eaten and
caroused with, one who had faced death with them many a time, a comrade
and friend, and yet they knew no such love as this. True they stepped
softly and spoke in low voices, but that was out of their awe for the
unknown; of that cold hand which had beckoned to one with whom they had
feasted to leave the board, and he could but obey.
But the poor untaught savage loved the wild beast whom he had trained
and fed. His love was something higher, finer, nobler than they could
know; and treading softly, I stood by his side with uncovered head and
dropped a coin beside him. But he did not move, and quietly I passed
back to where DeNortier sat.
Some wise man hath said truly that "in the midst of life we are in
death." He was one who knew of the secrets of the soul, had drank deep
of the wine of understanding, and who realized how uncertain is our
brief hour.
They had carried out both the sailor and the bear, together with the
Indian, who had refused to leave his pet, when the door opened and
Oliver appeared, the package in his hand.
"I would have returned sooner," he panted, as he extended it towards
me, "but the chest was heavy, and I had much work to move it; for the
package had slipped under the bottom, and it was some time before I
could discover where it lay."
"Why didst thou not call for aid?" I asked, as I cut the cord with
which it was secured.
"It was not necessary," he answered, his eye upon me; plainly he
thought that I had some reason for remaining behind.
"Here is the proof," I said, as I turned to the Count and laid the
bundle of papers upon the table.
It contained the diary and all the notes, save that of my lady, which
had lain next my heart ever since I had discovered it. He took the
package, and opening it, began methodically to read the papers.
Oliver and myself had resumed our seats, to await the result of
DeNortier's investigation. I glanced down the long tables; the men had
taken their seats, but, hardened as they were, the tragedy had cast a
gloom over their spirits, and they sat in silence, drinking deeply of
the wine, only speaking softly among themselves. Their silence, deep
and unbroken, was a strange contrast to the mirth and turmoil that only
a few minutes before had rung through the room.
There is something in silence that oppresses the mind; we can bear the
noise and roar with a good grace, but silence is a quality that strikes
dismay within the breast of man. To-night, as I gazed upon these silent
men, I felt a thrill of something pass over me--'twas not fear, it was
more like dread, that foe I had seldom experienced since I came to
man's estate. They were dangerous thus; in the feasting and revelry
they had not had time to plot, but now they were silent and had the
opportunity.
I was now aroused by Oliver, who caught my sleeve.
"What is it?" he whispered. "Why have the men grown so silent?"
I whispered to him what had happened.
"Awful," he murmured, as he covered his face with his hands, "I am glad
that I missed the sight."
The pirate had spoken not a word since he had taken the papers. Slowly,
carefully, he glanced over them one by one, but now he had finished.
With an oath, he threw them from the table.
"Thou didst speak truth, Sir Thomas," he said. "He is false!--false as
hell! And I trusted him, and believed him devoted to me. All the while
he played spy upon me, and reported every motion to his master, Lord
Dunraven. He shall pay dear for this," he continued, his voice rising,
"for I will hang him as high as Haman. "Thou art free," he said,
looking at me, "both thou and the lad. We will join forces against my
lord, fool that he is to think he could deceive me thus; but I will
settle with him, once and for all. Come," he continued, "this is to
be thy last night here. Thou art free--free as the wind. To-morrow we
will talk of plans to outwit Dunraven, and to punish this dog, the
priest--but to-night we will drink. Fill up thy glass, both thou and
the lad. Here is confusion to Lord Dunraven, and success to all his
foes!"
"I drink that toast with a good grace," I said, and I drained the
brimming goblet, as did Oliver also.
And now the men had resumed their revelry. They had drunk deep, several
of them had fallen under the table, and their fellows, flagons in hand,
were now roaring out right lustily the chorus of a drinking song. Many
of the glasses had been overturned, and the wine ran in little rivulets
over the costly covering of the table; but with their faces lit up with
mirth, they heeded it not. Their voices rose to a yell that deafened my
ears; then died out--they had finished the song.
DeNortier was drinking deep; fooled in his most trusty man, and
chagrined and vexed, to hide his anger he had poured down goblet after
goblet of the wine. It was in vain I tried to check him; he was deaf to
all my words of warning, and heard me unmoved, as without a moment's
hesitation he kept up his debauchery. Although his head was as marble,
it would have been more than human if the wine had not begun to tell on
him. He said nothing, but silently drank again and again, as though he
were an automaton.
I had sipped my wine sparingly, as had also Oliver; for I knew not how
the drunken debauchery would end. I could not withdraw as yet, but as
soon as DeNortier lost consciousness, as he was sure to do in a few
moments if he kept up his mad course, I had determined to take Oliver,
and barricade ourselves in our room, where we would be safe until the
men became sober and the Count was himself.
And now a whisper circulated among the pirates, who, keyed up to a
drunken frenzy by the wine they had drunk, were but looking for someone
to vent their insane rage upon, and were ripe for any mischief. I had
heard the whispered word: "What do these Englishmen as the guests of
our captain? Let us bind them, and string them up to the nearest tree.
They are intermeddlers, and have no business in our midst." I heard a
burly ruffian whisper this to his neighbor, and saw him pass it on,
until now it had gone around the table, and all eyes were turned to me.
They had seen me practice with the sword, and shoot with the musketoon;
plainly they hesitated before attacking so formidable a foe. But all
they needed was a few more glasses to nerve them up to the work; then,
careless of consequences, they would rush upon Oliver and myself and
overpower us by sheer force of numbers.
The time had come for me to retire; for DeNortier was asleep, and could
take no offense when he found out later what I had done. Bending over,
I whispered to the lad to rise and leave the room.
The Count stirred at the sound of my low tones; his head had fallen
upon the table and he was wrapped in a drunken sleep, but even as we
moved to rise, he staggered to his feet, his eyes red and bloodshot.
"Up, every man!" he cried to his crew. "Up and drink one last toast
with me! Fill high the goblets! It is the last that we shall drink
together, and the best."
Habit is near akin to nature; and the habit of obedience brought every
one of these drunken brutes to his feet, cups in hand. There, lurching
and tipsy, they stood.
The Count had filled his goblet high, and as he did so his eye fell
upon us where we sat.
"Up, my noble ally!" he cried. "I give a toast that thou canst not
refuse. Why sittest thou silent? Up, I say!"
Whispering to Oliver to rise, I stood up, cup in hand. We would leave
when we had drunk this toast, as it would take only a few minutes, and
I did not care to offend the Count.
He waited, swaying to and fro, until we had arisen, and then, steadying
himself against the table, he looked around.
It was a wild and ungodly sight. One of the great tables had fallen
with a crash, and the wine ran down the room in a stream, and over the
pirates, as they lay in sodden slumber upon the floor. Some of the
candles had burned down to the sockets and gone out; the blood was
clotted upon the floor where the man and bear had fallen and died. The
chairs lay strewn all about the floor; and the ruffian crew laughed in
drunken glee as they swayed, goblet in hand. DeNortier, drunken and
solemn, gazed at me, as he reeled opposite. Oliver and myself were the
only sober men in the room.
"I give thee a toast," he repeated, a strange smile upon his face. "A
lady, the fairest and loveliest upon the earth! My bride--for I am
soon to wed," he continued, not noticing the drunken exclamations of
surprise which came from the men, "and the lady is the most beautiful
in England. Drink! Drink to the noble bride!--drink to the Lady
Margaret Carroll!"
I leaned forward, and before he could stir, I gave him a blow with my
fist, which sent him sprawling backwards upon the floor. A loud cry
from Oliver, and turning quickly, my eyes fell upon the priest, Father
Francis, who had entered, and stood by one of the great tables in the
room.
Even as I turned, he caught up one of the heavy gold drinking cups
and hurled it full at me. I attempted to dodge it--but too late; with
a crash, it struck me upon the forehead, and I went down, as though
cuffed by the very hand of Hercules himself.