MEN OF WAR AND PEACE
The following days passed in terrible suspense for all left behind at
Rye. Every morning all the points of vantage were crowded; the Ypres
tower itself was never deserted day or night; and all the sharpest eyes
in the town were bent continually out over that leaden rolling sea that
faded into haze and storm-cloud in the direction of the French coast. But
there was nothing to be seen on that waste of waters but the single boats
that flew up channel or laboured down it against the squally west wind,
far out at sea. Once or twice fishing-boats put in at Rye; but their
reports were so contradictory and uncertain that they increased rather
than allayed the suspense and misery. Now it was a French boat that
reported the destruction of the _Triumph_; now an Englishman that swore
to having seen Drake kill Medina-Sidonia with his own hand on his poop;
but whatever the news might be, the unrest and excitement ran higher and
higher. St. Clare's chapel in the old parish church of St. Nicholas was
crowded every morning at five o'clock by an excited congregation of
women, who came to beg God's protection on their dear ones struggling out
there somewhere towards the dawn with those cruel Southern monsters.
Especially great was the crowd on the Tuesday morning following the
departure of the ships; for all day on Monday from time to time came a
far-off rolling noise from the direction of Calais; which many declared
to be thunder, with an angry emphasis that betrayed their real opinion.
When they came out of church that morning, and were streaming down to the
quay as usual to see if any news had come in during the night, a seaman
called to them from a window that a French vessel was just entering the
harbour.
When the women arrived at the water's edge they found a good crowd
already assembled on the quay, watching the ship beat in against the
north-west wind, which had now set in; but she aroused no particular
comment as she was a well-known boat plying between Boulogne and Rye; and
by seven o'clock she was made fast to the quay.
There were the usual formalities, stricter than usual during war, to be
gone through before the few passengers were allowed to land: but all was
in order; the officers left the boat, and the passengers came up the
plank, the crowd pressing forward as they came, and questioning them
eagerly. No, there was no certain news, said an Englishman at last, who
looked like a lawyer; it was said at Boulogne the night before that there
had been an engagement further up beyond the Straits; they had all heard
guns; and it was reported by the last cruiser who came in before the boat
left that a Spanish galleasse had run aground and had been claimed by M.
Gourdain, the governor of Calais; but probably, added the shrewd-eyed
man, that was just a piece of their dirty French pride. The crowd smiled
ruefully; and a French officer of the boat who was standing by the
gangway scowled savagely, as the lawyer passed on with a demure face.
Then there was a pause in the little stream of passengers; and then, out
of the tiny door that led below decks, walking swiftly, and carrying a
long cloak over her arm, came Isabel Norris, in a grey travelling dress,
followed by Anthony and a couple of servants. The crowd fell back for the
lady, who passed straight up through them; but one or two of the men
called out for news to Anthony. He shook his head cheerfully at them.
"I know no more than that gentleman," he said, nodding towards the
lawyer; and then followed Isabel; and together they made their way up to
the inn.
* * * *
Anthony was a good deal changed in the last six years; his beard and
moustache were well grown; and he had a new look of gravity in his brown
eyes; when he had smiled and shaken his head at the eager crowd just now,
showing his white regular teeth, he looked as young as ever; but the
serious look fell on his face again, as he followed Isabel up the steep
little cobbled slope in his buff dress and plumed hat.
There was not so much apparent change in Isabel; she was a shade graver
too, her walk a little slower and more dignified, and her lips, a little
thinner, had a line of strength in them that was new; and even now as she
was treading English ground again for the first time for six years, the
look of slight abstraction in her eyes that is often the sign of a strong
inner life, was just a touch deeper than it used to be.
They went up together with scarcely a word; and asked for a private room
and dinner in two hours' time; and a carriage and horses for the servants
to be ready at noon. The landlord, who had met them at the door, shook
his head.
"The private room, sir, and the dinner--yes, sir--but the horses----" and
he spread his hands out deprecatingly. "There is not one in the stall,"
he added.
Anthony considered a moment.
"Well, what do you propose? We are willing to stay a day or two, if you
think that by then----"
"Ah," said the landlord, "to-morrow is another matter. I expect two of my
carriages home to-night, sir, from London; but the horses will not be
able to travel till noon to-morrow."
"That will do," said Anthony; and he followed Isabel upstairs.
It was very strange to them both to be back in England after so long.
They had settled down at Douai with the Maxwells; but, almost immediately
on their arrival, Mistress Margaret was sent for by her Superior to the
house of her Order at Brussels; and Lady Maxwell was left alone with
Isabel in a house in the town; for Anthony was in the seminary.
Then, in '86 Lady Maxwell had died, quite suddenly. Isabel herself had
found her at her prie-dieu in the morning, still in her evening dress;
she was leaning partly against the wall; her wrinkled old hands were
clasped tightly together on a little ivory crucifix, on the top of the
desk; and her snow-white head, with the lace drooping from it like a
bridal veil, was bowed below them. Isabel, who had not dared to move her,
had sent instantly for a little French doctor, who had thrown up his
hands in a kind of devout ecstasy at that wonderful old figure, rigid in
an eternal prayer. The two tall tapers she had lighted eight hours before
were still just alight beside her, and looked strange in the morning
sunshine.
"Pendant ses oraisons! pendant ses oraisons!" he murmured over and over
again; and then had fallen on his knees and kissed the drooping lace of
her sleeve.
"Priez pour moi, madame," he whispered to the motionless figure.
And so the old Catholic who had suffered so much had gone to her rest.
The fact that her son James had been living in the College during her
four years' stay at Douai had been perhaps the greatest possible
consolation to her for being obliged to be out of England; for she saw
him almost daily; and it was he who sang her Requiem. Isabel had then
gone to live with other friends in Douai, until Anthony had been ordained
priest in the June of '88, and was ready to take her to England; and now
the two were bound for Stanfield, where Anthony was to act as chaplain
for the present, as Mr. Buxton had predicted so long before. Old Mr.
Blake had died in the spring of the year, still disapproving of his
patron's liberal notions, and Mr. Buxton had immediately sent a special
messenger all the way to Douai to secure Anthony's services; and had
insisted moreover that Isabel should accompany her brother. They intended
however to call at the Dower House on the way, which had been left under
the charge of old Mrs. Carroll; and renew the memories of their own dear
home.
They talked little at dinner; and only of general matters, their journey,
the Armada, their joy at getting home again; for they had been expressly
warned by their friends abroad against any indiscreet talk even when they
thought themselves alone, and especially in the seaports, where so
constant a watch was kept for seminary priests. The presence of Isabel,
however, was the greatest protection to Anthony; as it was almost unknown
that a priest should travel with any but male companions.
Then suddenly, as they were ending dinner, a great clamour broke out in
the town below them; a gun was fired somewhere; and footsteps began to
rush along the narrow street outside. Anthony ran to the window and
called to know what was the matter; but no one paid any attention to him;
and he presently sat down again in despair, and with one or two wistful
looks.
"I will go immediately," he said to Isabel, "and bring you word."
A moment after a servant burst into the room.
"It is a Spanish ship, sir," he said, "a prize--rounding Dungeness."
In the afternoon, when the first fierce excitement was over, Anthony went
down to the quay. He did not particularly wish to attract attention, and
so he kept himself in the background somewhat; but he had a good view of
her as she lay moored just off the quay, especially when one of the town
guard who had charge of the ropes that kept the crowd back, seeing a
gentleman in the crowd, beckoned him through.
"Your honour will wish to see the prize?" he said, in hopes of a trifle
for himself; "make way there for the gentleman."
Anthony thought it better under these circumstances to accept the
invitation, so he gave the man something, and slipped through. On the
quay was a pile of plunder from the ship: a dozen chests carved and
steel-clamped stood together; half-a-dozen barrels of powder; the ship's
bell rested amid a heap of rich clothes and hangings; a silver crucifix
and a couple of lamps with their chains lay tumbled on one side; and a
parson was examining a finely carved mahogany table that stood near.
He looked up at Anthony.
"For the church, sir," he said cheerfully. "I shall make application to
her Grace."
Anthony smiled at him.
"A holy revenge, sir," he said.
The ship herself had once been a merchantman brig; so much Anthony could
tell, though he knew little of seamanship; but she had been armed heavily
with deep bulwarks of timber, pierced for a dozen guns on each broadside.
Now, however, she was in a terrible condition. The solid bulwarks were
rent and shattered, as indeed was her whole hull; near the waterline were
nailed sheets of lead, plainly in order to keep the water from entering
the shot-holes; she had only one mast; and that was splintered in more
than one place; a spar had been rigged up on to the stump of the
bowsprit. The high poop such as distinguished the Spanish vessels was in
the same deplorable condition; as well as the figure-head, which
represented a beardless man with a halo behind his head, and which bore
the marks of fierce hacks as well as of shot.
Anthony read the name,--the _San Juan da Cabellas_.
From the high quay too he could see down on to the middle decks, and
there was the most shocking sight of all, for the boards and the
mast-stumps and the bulwarks and the ship's furniture were all alike
splashed with blood, some of the deeper pools not even yet dry. It was
evident that the _San Juan_ had not yielded easily.
Presently Anthony saw an officer approaching, and not wishing to be led
into conversation slipped away again through the crowd to take Isabel the
news.
The two remained quietly upstairs the rest of the afternoon, listening to
the singing and the shouting in the streets, and watching from their
window the groups that swung and danced to and fro in joy at Rye's
contribution to the defeat of the invaders. When the dusk fell the noise
was louder than ever as the men began to drink more deep, and torches
were continually tossing up and down the steep cobbled streets; the din
reached its climax about half-past nine, when the main body of the
revellers passed up towards the inn, and, as Anthony saw from the window,
finally entered through the archway below; and then all grew tolerably
quiet. Presently Isabel said that she would go to bed, but just before
she left the room, the servant again came in.
"If you please, sir, Lieutenant Raxham, of the _Seahorse_, is telling the
tale of the capture of the Spanish ship; and the landlord bid me come and
tell you."
Anthony glanced at Isabel, who nodded at him.
"Yes; go," she said, "and come up and tell me the news afterwards, if it
is not very late."
When Anthony came downstairs he found to his annoyance that the place of
honour had been reserved for him in a tall chair next to the landlord's
at the head of the table. The landlord rose to meet his guest.
"Sit here, sir," he said. "I am glad you have come. And now, Mr.
Raxham----"
Anthony looked about him with some dismay at this extreme publicity. The
room was full from end to end. They were chiefly soldiers who sat at the
table--heavy-looking rustics from Hawkhurst, Cranbrook and Appledore, in
brigantines and steel caps, who had been sent in by the magistrates to
the nearest seaport to assist in the defence of the coast--a few of them
wore corselets with almain rivets and carried swords, while the
pike-heads of the others rose up here and there above the crowd. The rest
of the room was filled with the townsmen of Rye--those who had been
retained for the defence of the coast, as well as others who for any
physical reason could not serve by sea or land. There was an air of
extraordinary excitement in the room. The faces of the most stolid were
transfigured, for they were gathered to hear of the struggle their own
dear England was making; the sickening pause of those months of waiting
had ended at last; the huge southern monster had risen up over the edge
of the sea, and the panting little country had flown at his throat and
grappled him; and now they were hearing the tale of how deep her fangs
had sunk.
The crowd laughed and applauded and drew its breath sharply, as one man;
and the silence now and then was startling as the young officer told his
story; although he had few gifts of rhetoric, except a certain vivid
vocabulary. He himself was a lad of eighteen or so, with a pleasant
reckless face, now flushed with drink and excitement, and sparkling eyes;
he was seated in a chair upon the further end of the table, so that all
could hear his story; and he had a cup of huff-cup in his left hand as he
talked, leaving his right hand free to emphasise his points and slap his
leg in a clumsy sort of oratory. His tale was full of little similes, at
which his audience nodded their heads now and then, approvingly. He had
apparently already begun his story, for when Anthony had taken his seat
and silence had been obtained, he went straight on without any further
introduction.
The landlord leaned over to Anthony. "The _San Juan_," he whispered
behind his hot hairy hand, and nodded at him with meaning eyes.
"And every time they fired over us," went on the lieutenant, "and we
fired into them; and the only damage they did us was their muskets in the
tops. They killed Tom Dane like that"--there was a swift hiss of breath
from the room; but the officer went straight on--"shot him through the
back as he bent over his gun; and wounded old Harry and a score more; but
all the while, lads, we were a-pounding at them with the broadsides as we
came round, and raking them with the demi-cannon in the poop,
until--well; go you and see the craft as she lies at the quay if you
would know what we did. I tell you, as we came at her once towards the
end, I saw that she was bleeding through her scuppers like a pig, from
the middle deck. They were all packed up there together--sailors and
soldiers and a priest or two; and scarce a ball could pass between the
poop and the forecastle without touching flesh."
The lad stopped a moment and took a pull at his cup, and a murmur of talk
broke out in the room. Anthony was surprised at his accent and manner of
speaking, and heard afterwards that he was the son of the parson at one
of the inland villages, and had had an education. In a moment he went on.
"Well--it would be about noon, just before the Admiral came up from
Calais, that the old _Seahorse_ was lost. We came at the dons again as we
had done before, only closer than ever; and just as the captain gave the
word to put her about, a ball from one of their guns which they had
trained down on us, cut old Dick Kemp in half at the helm, and broke the
tiller to splinters."
"Old Dick?" said a man's voice out of the reeking crowd, "Old Dick?"
There was a murmur round him, bidding him hold his tongue; and the lad
went on.
"Well, we drifted nearer and nearer. There was nought to do but to bang
at them; and that we did, by God--and to board her if we touched. Well, I
worked my saker, and saw little else--for the smoke was like a black
sea-fog; and the noise fit to crack your ears. Mine sing yet with it; the
captain was bawling from the poop, and there were a dozen pikemen ready
below; and then on a sudden came the crash; and I looked up and there was
the Spaniards' decks above us, and the poop like a tower, with a grinning
don or two looking down; and there was I looking up the muzzle of a
culverin. I skipped towards the poop, shouting to the men; and the dons
fired their broadside as I went.--God save us from that din! But I knew
the old _Seahorse_ was done this time--the old ship lurched and shook as
the balls tore through her and broke her back; and there was such a yell
as you'll never hear this side of hell. Well--I was on the poop by now,
and the men after me; for you see the poop of the _Seahorse_ was as high
as the middle deck of the Spaniard, and we must board from there or not
at all. Well, lads, there was the captain before me. He had fought cool
till then, as cool as a parson among his roses, with never an oath from
his mouth--but now he was as scarlet as a poppy, and his eyes were like
blue fire, and his mouth jabbered and foamed; he was so hot, you see, at
the loss of his ship. He was dancing to and fro waiting while the poop
swung round on the tide; and the old craft plunged deeper in every wave
that lifted her, but he cared no more for that nor for the musket-balls
from the tops, nor for the brown grinning devils who shook their pikes at
him from the decks, than--than a mad dog cares for a shower of leaves;
but he stamped there and cursed them and damned them as they laughed at
him; and then in a moment the poop touched.
"Well, lads--" and the lieutenant set his cup down on the table, clapped
his hands on his knees, laughed shortly and nervously once or twice, and
looked round. "Well, lads, I have never seen the like. The captain went
for them like a wild cat; one step on the rail and the next among them;
and was gone like a stone into water"--and the lad clapped his hand on
his thigh. "I saw one face slit up from chin to eye; and another split
across like an apple; and then we were after him. The men were mad,
too--what was left of us; and we poured up on to the decks and left the
old _Seahorse_ to die. Well, we had our work before us--but it was no
good. The dons could do nothing; I was after the captain as he went
through the pack and came out just behind him; there were half a dozen of
them down now; and the noise and the foreign oaths went up like smoke;
and the captain himself was bleeding down one side of his face and
grunting as he cut and stabbed; and I had had a knife through the arm;
but he went up on to the poop; and as I followed, the Spaniards broke and
threw down their arms--they saw 'twas no use, you see. When we reached
the poop-stairs an officer in a blue coat came forward jabbering some
jargon; but the captain would have no parley with him, but flung his dag
clean into the man's face, and over he went backwards--with his damned
high heels in the air."
There was a sudden murmur of laughter from the room; Anthony glanced off
the lieutenant's grinning ruddy face for a moment, and saw the rows of
listening faces all wrinkled with mirth.
"Well," went on the lad, "up went the captain, and I after him. Then
there came across the deck, very slow and stately, the Spanish captain
himself, in a fine laced coat and a plumed hat, and he was holding out
his sword by the blade and bowed as we ran towards him, and began some
damned foreign nonsense, with his _Señor_--but the captain would have
none o' that, I tell you he was like Tom o' Bedlam now--so as the Señor
grinned at him with his monkey face and bowed and wagged, the captain
fetched him a slash across the cheek with his sword that cut up into his
head; and that don went spinning across the poop like a morris-man and
brought up against the rail, and then down he came," and the lad dashed
his hand on his thigh again--"as dead as mutton."
Again came a louder gust of laughter from the room. Anthony half rose in
his chair, and then sat down again.
"Well," said the lad, "and that was not all. Down he raged again to the
decks and I behind him--I tell you, it was like a butcher's shop--but it
was quieter now--the fighting was over--and the Spaniards were all run
below, except half-a-dozen in the tops; looking down like young rooks at
an archer. There had been a popish priest too with his crucifix in one
hand and his god-almighty in the other, over a dying man as we came up;
but as we came down there he lay in his black gown with a hole through
his heart and his crucifix gone. One of the lads had got it no doubt.
Well, the captain brought up at the main mast. 'God's blood,' he bawled,
'where are the brown devils got to?' Some one told him, and pointed down
the hatch. Well, then I turned sick with my wound and the smell of the
place and all; and I knew nothing more till I found myself sitting on a
dead don, with the captain holding me up and pouring a cordial down my
throat."
Then talk and laughter broke out in the audience; but the landlord held
up his hand for silence.
"And what of the others?" he shouted.
"Dead meat too," said the lad--"the captain went down with a dozen or
more and hunted them out and finished them. There was one, Dick told me
afterwards," and the lieutenant gave a cackle of mirth, "that they hunted
twice round the ship before he jumped over yelling to some popish saint
to help him; but it seems he was deaf, like the old Baal that parson
tells of o' Sundays. The dirty swine to run like that! Well, he's got his
bellyful now of the salt water that he came so far to see. And then the
captain with his own hands trained a robinet that was on the poop on to
the tops; and down the birds came, one by one; for their powder up there
was all shot off."
"And the _Seahorse_?" said the landlord again.
There fell a dead silence: all in the room knew that the ship was lost,
but it was terrible to hear it again. The lad's face broke into lines of
grief, and he spoke huskily.
"Gone down with the dead and wounded; and the rest of the fleet a mile
away."
Then the lieutenant went on to describe how he himself had been deputed
to bring the _San Juan_ into port with the wounded on board, while the
captain and the rest of the crew by Drake's orders attached themselves to
various vessels that were short-handed, and how the English fleet had
followed what was left of the Spaniards when the fight ended at sunset,
up towards the North Sea.
When he finished his story there was a tremendous outburst of cheering
and hammering upon the table, and the feet and the pike-butts thundered
on the floor, and a name was cried again and again as the cups were
emptied.
"God save her Grace and old England!" yelled a slim smooth-faced archer
from Appledore.
"God send the dons and all her foes to hell!" roared a burly pikeman with
his cup in the air. Then the room shook again as the toasts were drunk
with applauding feet and hands.
Anthony turned to the landlord, who had just ceased thumping with his
great red fists on the table.
"What was the captain's name?" he asked, when a slight lull came.
"Maxwell," said the crimson-faced man. "Hubert Maxwell--one of Drake's
own men."
* * * *
When Anthony came upstairs he heard his name called through the door, and
went in to Isabel's room to find her sitting up in bed in the gloom of
the summer night; the party below had broken up, and all was quiet except
for the far-off shouts and hoots of cheerful laughter from the dispersing
groups down among the narrow streets.
"Well?" she said, as he came in and stood in the doorway.
"It is just the story of the prize," he said, "and it seems that Hubert
had the taking of it."
There was silence a moment. Anthony could see her face, a motionless pale
outline, and her arms clasped round her knees as she sat up in bed.
"Hubert?" she asked in an even voice.
"Yes, Hubert."
There was silence a moment.
"Well?" she said again.
"He is safe," said Anthony, "and fought gallantly. I will tell you more
to-morrow."
"Ah!" said Isabel softly; and then lay down again.
"Good-night, Anthony."
"Good-night."
But Anthony dared not tell her the details next day, after all.
* * * *
There was still a difficulty about the horses; they had not arrived until
the Wednesday morning, and were greatly exhausted by a long and
troublesome journey; so the travellers consented to postpone their
journey for yet one more day. The weather, which had been thickening,
grew heavier still in the afternoon, and great banks of clouds were
rising out of the west. Anthony started out about four o'clock for a walk
along the coast; and, making a long round in the direction of Lydd, did
not finally return until about seven. As he came in at the north-east of
the town he noticed how empty the streets were, and passed on down in the
direction of the quay. As he turned down the steep street into the
harbour groups began to pour up past him, laughing and exclaiming; and in
a moment more came Isabel walking alone. He looked at her anxiously, for
he saw something had happened. Her quiet face was lit up with some
interior emotion, and her mouth was trembling.
"The Armada is routed," she said; "and I have seen Hubert."
The two turned back together and walked silently up to the inn. There she
told him the story. She had been told that Captain Maxwell was come in
the _Elizabeth_, for provisions for Lord Howard Seymour's squadron, to
which his new command was attached; and that he was even now in harbour.
At that she had gone straight down alone.
"Oh, Anthony!" she cried, "you know how it is with me. I could not help
it. I am not ashamed of it. God Almighty knows all, and is not wrath with
me. So I went down and was in the crowd as he came down again with the
mayor, Mr. Hamon; we all made way for them, and the men cheered
themselves scarlet; but he came down cool and quiet; you know his
way--with his eyes half shut; and--and--he was so brown; and he looks
sad--and he had a great plaister on the left temple. And then he saw me."
Isabel sprang up, and came up to Anthony and took his hands. "Oh!
Anthony; I was very happy then; because he took off his cap and bowed;
and his face was all lighted; and he took my hand and kissed it--and then
made Mr. Hamon known to me. The crowd laughed and said things--but I did
not care; and he soon silenced them, he looked round so fiercely; and
then I went on board with him--he would have it so--and he showed us
everything--and we sat a little in the cabin; and he told me of his wife
and child. She is the daughter of a Plymouth minister; he knew her when
he was with Drake; and he told me all about her, so you see----" Isabel
broke off; and sat down in the high window seat. "And then he asked me
about you; and I said you were here; and that we were going to stay a
little while with Mr. Buxton of Stanfield--you see I knew we could trust
him; and Mr. Hamon was in the passage just then looking at the guns; and
then a sailor came in to say that all was ready; and so we came away. But
it was so good to see him again; and to know that he was so happy."
Anthony looked at his sister in astonishment; her quiet manner was gone,
and she was talking again almost like an excited child; and so happily.
It was very strange, he thought. He sat down beside her.
"Oh, Anthony!" she said, "do you understand? I love him dearly still; and
his wife and child too. God bless them all and keep them!"
The mystery was still deep to him; and he feared to say what he should
not; so he kissed Isabel silently; and the two sat there together and
looked out over the crowding red roofs to the glowing western sky across
the bay below them.