Descending to the street again, he passed up Cheapside and through St.

Paul's Churchyard, down Ludgate Hill and through Ludgate, where he

beheld impaled on stakes a row of hideous heads of traitors, one of

which, Sherebiah told him with indignation, was that of Noll Crum'ell.

Then skirting the Fleet Ditch, once navigable, but now a noisome slimy

sewer, he came into Fleet Street, through Temple Bar to the Strand, and

at length arrived at Charing Cross, where he was nearly overturned by a

hasty chair-man, whose "By your leave!" was not yet familiar to his

ears. At Charing Cross stood a number of boys with boxes before them on

the pavement, and cries of "Clean your shoes!" "London fucus!" "Best

Spanish blacking!" came in eager competing tones. Sherebiah selected

one whose stand was in front of a barber's shop.

"Here's the blackguard for 'ee, Master Harry," he said. "He'll shine

your shoes while barber shaves my stubble. A penny; no more."

When the shoes were polished and the stubble mown, Sherebiah called up a

couple of chairmen who were sitting on their poles near by.

"Do 'ee know my Lord Godolphin's noble house?" he asked.

"Ay; servant, sir."

"Well then, carry my young master to that very house, and see 'ee don't

jolt 'n, or drop 'n, or let 'n get splashed. 'Tis under a mile, Master

Harry," he whispered at parting.

Harry would rather have walked. The men took what care they could, but

the press of people was so great that they had to dodge at every few

steps, and their fare gripped the seat to prevent himself from being

knocked against first one side, then the other, of the conveyance. At

the corner of Whitehall, as they turned into Scotland Yard, a passing

dray splashed up a shower of liquid mud, and Harry felt a moist dab upon

his nose. Fortunately the spot was soon removed with his handkerchief;

and when, after crossing by the Charcoal House and through the Wood

Yard, the chairmen at length set him down at the door of Godolphin's

house, he would have felt no anxiety about his personal appearance, if

he had been sufficiently self-conscious to think about it. He had put

on his best coat, silk stockings, and buckle shoes; at his side he wore

the sword about which he had spoken to Sherebiah. He sprang alertly up

the steps, and looked about him with a keen quick gaze that bespoke a

definite purpose.

The great entrance-hall was thronged. Servants, officers, government

officials, men about town, stood in groups or moved here and there in

pursuit of their several objects of business or pleasure. No one

appeared to remark the presence of the new-comer, who walked quietly

through the throng towards the broad staircase. At the foot a

gorgeously-dressed flunkey was standing, to whom one or two gentlemen

had already applied for information. As Harry was about to address him,

his attention was attracted by a woolly-pated wide-grinning black boy,

who at that moment ran down the stairs. He carried a silver tray, on

which a cup and jug of fine porcelain jingled as he ran.

"Done, Sambo?" asked the tall flunkey at the stair-foot.

"Yussir!" replied the boy with a white grin. "My lord jolly dis mornin;

oh yes; drink him chocolate without one cuss. Gwine to begin work now;

oh yes."

"Can I see the Lord Godolphin?" asked Harry, stepping up to the servant

as Sambo disappeared.

The man gave Harry a stare, but answered respectfully: "My lord's levee

is over, sir. The nigger brings down the tray when the last visitor has

gone."

"I have come specially to see my lord, and----"

"Have you an appointment, sir?"

"I think if you will take my name to my lord he will see me."

Harry spoke quietly; he was determined not to be turned from his purpose

by mere formality or red tape. The man eyeing him saw nothing but

self-possession and confidence in his air.

"My lord is now engaged with his correspondence," he said. "He does not

brook interruption."

"My name is Harry Rochester; I will answer for it that you will do no

wrong in acquainting his lordship."

After a moment's hesitation the man beckoned to a fellow-servant, and

gave him Harry's message. He went upstairs, and returning in a few

minutes said:

"What is your business with my lord, sir? His lordship does not

remember your name."

There was the suggestion of a sneer in the man's voice. With hardly a

perceptible pause Harry replied:

"Tell his lordship I am from Winton St. Mary, at his invitation."

A faint smile curled the lips of the two flunkeys. The second again

mounted the stairs. When he descended, his face wore its usual

expression of deference and respect.

"Be so good as to wait upon his lordship," he said, and led the way.

In a few minutes Harry found himself, hat in hand, making his bow to

Lord Godolphin in a large wainscoted apartment. Four large candles

burnt upon the mantel-piece, daylight being kept out by the heavy

curtains on either side of the narrow window. A huge log fire filled

the chimney-place; beyond it stood a broad table littered with papers,

which at that moment a young man was sorting by the light of a shaded

candle. Lord Godolphin was in dressing-gown and slippers.

"Well, sir?" he said.

"My name is Rochester, my lord."

"I am aware of that. I do not recall it. Well?"

My lord's tone was cold and uninviting.

"Your lordship will permit me to mention a little incident on the Roman

road by Sir Godfrey Fanshawe's park, when----"

"Stay, I remember now. You are the lad they called the young parson,

eh? I have a poor head for names. When my man spoke of Winton St. Mary

I supposed you might be a messenger from the gentleman who entertained

us there."

Now that Harry was actually face to face with the Lord Treasurer, he

felt some diffidence in opening the subject of his visit. My lord, in

spite of his deshabille, seemed far less approachable than he had been

on the old Roman road. Then he was the country sportsman; now he was

the chief minister of the Queen.

"Your shouting friend with the scriptural name--how is he?" he asked in

a somewhat more cordial tone.

"He is well, my lord; he is with me in London."

"And your father: has he won his case against the squire? I heard

something of him at Sir Godfrey Fanshawe's, I think."

"My father is dead, my lord."

"Indeed! Pray accept my condolences. And now, tell me what brings you

here."

"Your lordship may remember, after the scene with the highwaymen----"

"Yes, yes; you did me a service, you and your man; what then?"

"It was but a slight service, my lord; I do not presume on it; but you

were so good as to say that if, at some future time, I should find

myself in need of assistance, I was to come to your lordship."

"Why, I did speak of a country parsonage, I believe. But you,"--he

smiled--"why, I really may not venture to set you up in a cure of souls.

You have to take your degrees yet."

"That is impossible, my lord. My father impoverished himself in his

feuds with Mr. Berkeley; when his affairs were settled I found myself

possessed of but a poor twenty guineas. I have given up all thought of

going to Oxford; I must seek a livelihood."

"H'm!"

Lord Godolphin looked him up and down, as though estimating his chances

of making his way in the world.

"You wear a sword," he said. "Rochester--you are no connection of the

earl's?--no, of course not, he is a Wilmot. Where do you spring from?"

"My grandfather was a soldier, my lord; I have heard that he died young,

but my father seldom spoke of these matters; we have no relatives."

"H'm! I bethink me now, you yourself have an itch for martial life.

All boys have, I suppose. Young Lord Churchill was cut to the heart a

few months ago because my lady Marlborough would not permit him to

follow his father to Flanders. Well, to be frank with you, I see no way

of helping you. With twenty guineas you can no more buy a commission

than you can enter yourself at a college. To enlist as a common soldier

would be a last resource to one of your breeding. There are too many

young scions of good stocks for the lesser places at court to go round

among them. Yet I would fain do something for you."

He began to saunter up and down the room, his hands clasped behind him,

stopping for a moment to listen as the sound of cheers came from the

street. Suddenly the door was opened, and the voice of the servant was

heard announcing a visitor.

"My lord Marlborough."

Harry looked with eager curiosity as the great soldier entered the room.

He saw a tall, singularly handsome man, with short curved upper lip,

firm chin, long almond-shaped eyes, and a calm benignity of expression.

John Churchill, Earl of Marlborough, was at this time fifty-two years of

age. As captain-general of the English forces, in the summer of this

year, 1702, he had opened in concert with the Dutch a campaign in

Flanders against Louis the Fourteenth of France,--a new campaign in the

great war of the Spanish Succession which the policy of William the

Third had bequeathed to his sister-in-law. Venloo and other towns had

been captured by the confederate armies, Liege had been reduced, and the

forces having gone into winter quarters, Marlborough had returned to

England to support the Occasional Conformity Bill. He was a close

personal friend of Godolphin, and allied to him by the marriage of

Francis Godolphin to his daughter Henrietta.

"Welcome, my dear lord!" said Godolphin, starting forward to meet the

earl. "I did not know you had arrived."

"I am but just come from waiting on the Queen," said Marlborough. "I

arrived late last night."

"You are welcome indeed. All men's mouths are full of your praises."

"Ay," returned Marlborough with a smile; "your Londoners have lusty

throats. And I have a piece of news for you." He dropped his voice:

the secretary had vanished through a further door: Harry stood in a

quandary, the noblemen both seeming to ignore his presence. "The Queen

has been pleased to express her wish to make me a duke."

Godolphin laid his hand on his friend's arm, and said cordially: "I

congratulate you, Jack, with all my heart. Why, this very morning I have

a letter from Churchill at Cambridge; there are shrewd wits there; he

says 'tis whispered you are to be raised in the peerage, and the boy,

young dog, begs me to tell him what his own title will be then."

"Ah! 'tis over soon to talk of it. I must acquaint my lady first, and

methinks she will object."

"Stap me, Jack! 'tis few women would hesitate to exchange countess for

duchess.--God bless me, I'd forgotten the boy! My lord, this is the

hero of the little adventure at Winton St. Mary I writ you of. 'Twas he

that inspired the stout fellow to shout, and scared the highwaymen out

of their five wits."

[Illustration: My Lord Marlborough]

Marlborough looked towards Harry, who flushed and bowed. An idea seemed

to strike Godolphin. Linking his arm with the earl's, he led him slowly

to the other end of the room, and stood there talking earnestly to him

in tones too low for Harry to catch a word. Once or twice both glanced

at the tall youthful figure standing in some natural embarrassment near

the door. Once Marlborough shook his head and frowned, upon which

Godolphin took him by a button of his laced coat and spoke more

earnestly than before. At length Marlborough smiled, laid a hand on

Godolphin's shoulder, and spoke a few words in his ear. Then he turned

about, and coming slowly towards Harry, said, in his clear bell-like

tones:

"My lord Godolphin tells me you have lost your father and are all but

penniless. 'Tis an unfortunate situation for a lad of your years. You

would serve the Queen?"

"Ay, my lord."

"You have a quick wit, my lord says. I may make some use of you. Write

your name on a piece of paper, and the name of your lodging."

Godolphin motioned him to the table, where he found paper and a pencil.

He wrote his name and the name of his inn, and handed the paper to

Marlborough, who said, as he folded it and placed it in his pocket:

"I will send for you, Master Rochester, if I can serve you."

"My lord, I am much beholden to you--" began Harry.

Marlborough interrupted him.

"'Tis my lord Godolphin you should thank for his good word."

"'Faith, my lord," said Godolphin, "'tis due to Master Rochester that

the Queen is served by her present Lord Treasurer. I am glad, my lad,

that my friend Lord Marlborough chanced to come upon us here, and I hope

you will have reason to be glad also. Now, you will excuse us; we have

matters of state to speak of; I wish you well."

Harry murmured his thanks and bowed himself out. His nerves were

a-tingle with his unexpected good fortune. To have seen and spoken with

the greatest man in the kingdom was itself an unforeseen privilege; and

the prospect of assistance from such a powerful and august personage

filled him with elation. The earl had shown no great cordiality, it was

true; but Harry was inclined to draw good augury from the few words he

had uttered. They were probably more sincere than a warm volubility

would have been. He left the house with a sparkling eye and a springy

gait, and looked eagerly around to see if Sherebiah were near at hand to

hear his news. But Sherebiah was nowhere to be seen. Having no

particular business, now that his great errand was accomplished, Harry

walked through Whitehall into St. James's Park, in the hope that he

might catch a glimpse of Queen Anne herself. The guard had just been

changed at St. James's Palace, and a stream of people met him as he

strolled along the Mall. He was interested in watching them--the fine

ladies with their hoops and patches, the beaux with their many-coloured

coats, canes dangling at their buttons, toothpicks between their teeth,

and snuff-boxes in frequent use. So absorbed was he that he was

startled when all at once a hand struck him a hearty blow on the

shoulder, and a voice exclaimed:

"Hey, Harry, what make you, ogling the ladies?"

He turned and saw his friend Godfrey Fanshawe, the captain of the

cricket team to whose victory he had so much contributed. The two young

fellows shook hands heartily.

"What brings you to London?" continued Fanshawe.

"I've come in search of fortune, like Dick Whittington. You heard of my

father's death?"

"Ay, but nothing since. They seldom write letters at home."

Harry then explained the course of events which had brought him to

London, concluding with his recent interview with Marlborough and

Godolphin.

"Egad, man!" exclaimed Fanshawe, "you're in luck's way indeed. Would

that I stood so well with the two greatest men in England. My lord

Marlborough will gazette you an ensign of foot or a cornet of horse; and

my cornetcy, I may tell you, cost my father a pretty penny. What luck,

Harry, if we make the next campaign together! The earl will surely go

back to Flanders when the winter is over."

"I should like nothing better."

"Where are you staying?"

"At the Angel and Crown, in Threadneedle Street."

"You must leave that and come westward. Are you alone?"

"Sherry Minshull is with me at present; but he'll get work for himself

as soon as I am settled."

"Sherry's a handy fellow; egad, I know no better! He'll tie a fly with

any man, and is as good with sword or quarterstaff as he is with his

fists. Well now, 'tis drawing towards dinner-time; come and dine with

me; the people of fashion here dine at four, but I stick to country

habits. We'll go to Locket's at Charing Cross; you're my guest to-day.

And we'll go to the play this evening; the first time, I warrant you,

you've seen a play. Come! I stand well with the people at Locket's, and

the sharp air this morning has given me an appetite."

It was but five minutes' walk to Locket's tavern. Entering, Fanshawe

bowed with elaborate courtesy to the fair dame in charge, and called for

the card.

"There's boiled beef and carrots, I see, and a goose, and look, a calf's

head. I adore calf's head. What say you? Yes? Boy, bring calf's head

for two, and quickly."

With calf's head and cabbage and a wedge of Cheshire cheese, the two

young fellows appeased their unjaded appetites. Fanshawe sat for some

time finishing his bottle of wine, Harry contenting himself with small

beer. Then, as there still remained a few hours to while away before

theatre time, Fanshawe proposed a row on the river. Harry eagerly

assented; they sallied forth, took boat at Westminster stairs and rowed

up to Chelsea, returning to Westminster in time for the performance of

Mr. Colley Cibber's new play, "She would and she would not", by Her

Majesty's Servants at Drury Lane. Harry was delighted with his first

visit to the theatre. He was tickled at the unabashed impertinence of

Trappanti the discarded servant, played by Mr. Penkethman, one of the

best comedians in London, as Fanshawe informed him; and fell in love

with Hypolita the heroine, a part which suited Mrs. Mountford to

perfection. But he was perhaps most interested in Mr. Colley Cibber

himself, who played the part of Don Manuel the irascible father. His

pleasure was complete when, after the performance, Fanshawe took him to

the Bull's Head tavern, and showed him Mr. Cibber with his paint washed

off, surrounded by a circle of actors, soldiers, lords, and even

clergymen. He had never seen an author before. Mr. Cibber had no

presence to boast of, with his thick legs, lean face, and sandy hair;

but the liveliness of his conversation gave him a sort of pre-eminence

among his coterie, and made a considerable impression on a youth ready

to admire and wonder at anything.

Fanshawe appeared quite at home among the company. He was indeed a

frequent visitor at the Bull's Head after the play, where all were

welcome on condition of providing their quota towards the general

hilarity. Fanshawe was the lucky possessor of a fine baritone voice,

and his spirited singing of west-country songs had won him instant

popularity. On this night, in response to the usual call, he began--

"Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me thy grey mare,

All along, down along, out along lee;

For I want for to go to Widdicombe Fair,

Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,

Dan Whiddon, Harry Hawk,

Old uncle Tom Cobleigh, and all";

and by the time he reached the end of the third of the eight stanzas,

the whole company were ready to join him in trolling the chorus,

"Old uncle Tom Cobleigh and all".

It was late when Harry reached the Angel and Crown. Sherebiah was

marching up and down before the tavern, blowing great clouds from his

pipe.

"Hey now, Master Harry," he said, with an expression of mingled wrath

and relief; "'tis a mighty scurvy trick you have played me, i' feck 'tis

so. Here we are, your second day in London, and you must go off along

by your lone self on who knows what errand o' foolery. Ay, 'tis strong

words for me, and a man o' peace and all, but not too strong, seee'n as

I knows the wicked ways o' the town and you be unfledged. Zooks, sir,

I've been in a terrible way, thinken all manner of awsome an' gashly

things, as how you med ha' been trepanned, or slit by the Scourers, or

trampled by some high lard's horses, or rifled and beat by footpads, or

'ticed into a dicing den by sweetners always on the look-out for a

country gudgeon, or----"

"Hold, Sherry, you forget yourself," said Harry, who was, however, not

displeased to find the honest fellow so solicitous about him. "In

truth, I forgot all about you. I can take care of myself, I think. I

dined with Mr. Godfrey Fanshawe, whom I chanced to meet, and we went to

the play afterwards, and I never laughed so much in my life. Mrs.

Mountford's a beauty, Sherry, and Mr. Cibber--when he doesn't

squeak--has the pleasantest voice ever I heard--nay, not that, after

all; 'tis not so pleasant as my lord Marlborough's. What d'ye think,

Sherry? I met the earl himself at Lord Godolphin's, and he has my name

on a scrap of paper, and to-morrow or next day I shall hold the queen's

commission, and then off with the troops to Flanders, and I shall make

my fortune, man, and then----"

"Huh!" put in a voice from the doorway. "Haastige spoed is zelden

goed."

Harry's excitement was dashed by the slow drawl of Mynheer Grootz, whose

little eyes were twinkling as he puffed at his big pipe.

"Ay, a true word," said Sherebiah. "'More haste, less speed,' as the

Dutch words mean put into rightful language. 'Counten chickens afore

they be hatched,' as ye med say."

Though he was a little nettled, Harry had too much good sense not to see

that his elation had carried him too far. He could laugh at himself--an

excellent virtue in man or boy.

"I am an ass, Mr. Grootz," he said; "but really I did not expect such

good luck. My lord Godolphin was very kind, and so was the earl, and as

he used but few words I do think he meant what he said. I am sorry my

absence made you uneasy, Sherry; but I don't understand why you should

imagine all manner of harm."

"An ye knew----" began Sherebiah; but he paused, hemmed, and changed his

sentence. "All's well as ends well, Master Harry; I axe your pardon for

my free words; and here be a fine stout piece of ash I bought in Fleet

Street for your hand. Feel un; 'twill crack a pate as quick as speaken,

and I'll be more easy in mind knowen you have such a good staff in

company."

"Thanks, Sherry!" said Harry with a laugh, weighing in his hand the

stick with which the man presented him. "But I'm a man of peace, you

know, eh?--at present. Now let's to bed."

As they went from the room Harry remarked, "By the way, Sherry, how is

it that you know Dutch?"

"Me know Dutch? Why, sir, what makes ye think I know that outlandish

tongue?"

"Why, didn't you tell me just now the meaning of what Mynheer Grootz

said to me?"

"Ay, so I did, now. It must ha' been as a dog knows his master's

speech, or just as I knowed the meanen o' the holy things your good

feyther was used to speak in the high pulpit, for egad, word by word I

knowed no more than the dead what a' said, not I."

The explanation struck Harry as rather lame, but he merely said, with a

laugh:

"Well, you'll make a very faithful watch-dog, Sherry. Good-night! I

shall sleep well;--if I don't dream too much of battle and glory."

*CHAPTER VII*

*Snared*

Hope Deferred--Motes in the Sunbeam--Mynheer makes an Offer--Sherebiah

on Guard--New Quarters--Tumblers--Solvitur Ambulando--Doubling--Sick at

Heart--Too Late--A Debit Balance--Gloom--Cold Streets--Three

Sailors--Muffled

Several days passed--days of unfailing happiness for Harry. Though he

spent hours in roaming the town, there was always something fresh to

see, something novel to capture his interest. He saw the state entrance

of the new Venetian ambassador. He visited the Tower, the Abbey, and

St. Paul's, saw Winstanley's water-works in Piccadilly near Hyde Park,

and witnessed a football match at Covent Garden. He accompanied

Fanshawe several times to the theatre, and somewhat offended that

sparkish young gentleman by constantly refusing to join him in

card-parties and night escapades in the streets. He saw a back-sword

match at the Bear Garden in Hockley in the Hole, and a billiard match at

the Greyhound Coffee-house near Monmouth Street. Apart from these public

sights, he found endless diversion in the ordinary street scenes: the

markets, the itinerant vendors, the acrobats, or posture-masters as they

were then called, who performed their dancing and tumbling in squares

remote from the traffic. It amused Harry that Sherebiah never tired of

these mountebank tricks, but would stand and watch them with unflagging

interest by the hour, applauding every neatly executed feat, and

criticising with unsparing severity every instance of clumsiness or

bungling. Soldiers, on the other hand, apparently did not interest

Sherebiah. Harry liked to watch them drilling on the Horse Guards'

parade or in Hyde Park; but on these occasions Sherebiah always strolled

away, waiting with impatience until his young master had satisfied his

curiosity.

"They won't kill you, Sherry," said Harry once, laughing as the man

sheered off. "Their muskets are not loaded."

"True. But 'tis no pleasure to me to see such men o' war. Feyther o'

mine were a trooper; he be always talken on it; I be a man o' peace, I

be."

Every day when he came down to breakfast, and when he returned in the

evening, Harry eagerly looked for a message from Lord Marlborough. But

the days passed; a week flew by; and still no message came. After the

second day he made no reference to the matter; Sherebiah and Grootz

considerately forbore to allude to it. But they watched him with shrewd

eyes, and saw, through all the curiosity and pleasure he took in his new

life, a growing sense of disappointment and anxiety. He had built high

hopes upon the interview at Godolphin's; as boys will, he had allowed

his fancy to outstrip his judgment, and had added a good deal of

embroidery to the simple facts. Already in imagination he saw himself

carrying the Queen's colours, performing heroic deeds in the field,

winning golden opinions from the general, coming home laden with honour

and substantial rewards, perhaps to gain, as the acme of bliss, an

approving smile from the Queen herself. And he would wake from these

day-dreams to the sober reality---that the desired message from

Marlborough had not come, and meanwhile time was fleeting by, and every

day saw his little stock of money diminished.

He had resisted Fanshawe's recommendation to change his lodging.

Charges were higher, Sherebiah informed him, in the more fashionable

parts, and he knew that he could not afford to run risks. At first he

had not been parsimonious; he was not extravagant by nature, but he had

not hesitated to buy a trifle that pleased him, to give largesse to the

ballad-singers and street musicians, to pay his eighteenpence for a seat

in the pit at Drury Lane or Lincoln's Inn Fields. But he gave all this

up, and thought twice about spending a penny. He bought only the

strictest necessaries, and for his amusement depended on the sights of

the streets, the parks, and the river, and such entertainment as could

be had at the coffee-houses, where for a penny he could obtain a dish of

coffee, read the _Daily Courant_ with its manuscript supplement, or

Dawks's _News Letter_, and hear all the news of the day discussed with

more heat than information by arm-chair politicians.

One day the _Courant_ announced that the Queen had been pleased to

confer the dignity of a dukedom upon the Earl of Marlborough, and that

the House of Commons would be asked to grant him an annual pension to

match his new rank. Harry remembered what he had heard pass between

Marlborough and Godolphin, and when the coffee-house gossips

supplemented the official intimation with the rumour that the Countess

Sarah had been violently opposed to her husband's elevation in the

peerage, he understood the meaning of the peculiar tone in which

Marlborough had spoken of acquainting her ladyship. The new duchess was

the theme of much conversation and many jests in these free-spoken

assemblies. Marlborough was a very great general; everybody was agreed

on that; but it was doubted whether he was master in his own house; some

said he was henpecked; one plain blunt fellow declared in Harry's

hearing that the duke was as much afraid of his missis as any Thames

bargee. Harry was not interested in Marlborough's domestic affairs, but

his heart sank when he reflected on his own insignificance beside the

great man whom the Queen was delighting to honour. After all, how could

he expect a man of such eminence, immersed in state affairs, with all

the responsibility for conducting a great campaign, to remember a

country youth whom he had seen once, and who had made, perhaps, as deep

an impression on him as a fly might make on a lion.

That night Harry was eating his supper, somewhat moodily, when Mynheer

Grootz, sitting opposite, made him a sudden proposition.

"I tell you dis," he said. "I go back to my country zoon. I have

business wid de armies; I sell hay for de horses, meal for de men. You

are quick, I see dat; you speak French, enough for my purpose; I give

you good wages if you come and help me in my business."

Harry flushed. The Dutchman dipped a hunk of bread into his soup and

filled his mouth with it, looking down at the bare deal board the while.

"I thank you, Mynheer," said Harry with some constraint. "I have

another purpose, as you know."

Up came the fat forefinger, moist with gravy.

"I speak plain to you. You have pride; I alzo. But I have mills, and

ships, and vields; dey are mine; I am rich--ja, rich; I, Jan Grootz. My

fader, he was a poor weaver in Dort; he work hard and die poor; I work

hard, and grow rich. I have what for to be proud. You are a gentleman;

dat is zo; it is good to be a gentleman; it is not good to be poor. And

more, it is not good to zee money go every day, every day, and wait for

some prince to fill de empty purse. You have pride; for what? For

white hands, and by and by an empty stomach. My hands, dey are not

white, naturlik; but my stomach is full, and I stand up before any

prince; Jan Grootz; zo!"

He spread his broad hands before Harry, as though he were proud even of

their horny skin. The action brought a smile to the lad's gloomy face

and dulled the edge of his irritation.

"I won't debate the matter with you," he said. "I'm not afraid of work,

I hope, and maybe my white hands may be red enough before long. I won't

despair of my lord Marlborough yet; and I know your intention is

friendly, Mynheer."

The Dutchman grunted, and applied himself again to his meal.

Great as were Harry's anxieties, Sherebiah's were perhaps even greater.

He also was disappointed by the forgetfulness or neglect of Marlborough,

and concerned at the constant drain upon his young master's purse; but

he had further causes of trouble of which Harry was unaware. Ever since

their arrival in London Sherebiah had been possessed by a dread of

impending ill. He had always in mind the interview between Captain

Aglionby and the squire's man at the White Hart tavern, and day by day

expected it to bear fruit to Harry's harm; but for reasons of his own he

hesitated to tell him the plain truth. He stuck like a leech to Harry

when he went walking, and many times when the lad would rather have been

alone with his dismal thoughts he found Sherebiah at his heel, like the

watch-dog to which he had compared him. He did not know that even when

he succeeded in eluding his too solicitous henchman, it was only in

appearance; for Sherebiah, armed with a stout ash cudgel, was seldom

many yards behind. Many a night after Harry had gone disconsolate to

his bed, the man wended his way to Southwark in the hope of making a

further discovery; but he never saw the captain or anyone whom he knew

to be connected with him, and when at last he found an opportunity of

making a discreet enquiry at the hostelry, he was more alarmed than

pleased to find that Captain Aglionby had departed some time before, and

that nothing had since been heard of him.

One morning, when they had been for about a month in London, when

Parliament had been prorogued, and a new year had opened, Sherebiah

surprised Harry by suggesting that they should remove to an inn near

Leicester fields.

"Why, you were against it when Mr. Fanshawe proposed it. How is it that

you have changed your mind, Sherry?"

"Well, sir, 'tis this way, if I med be so bold. Your money be gwine

fast, and 'twould never do to begin a more humble way o' liven here.

Nay, what I say is, if you must pare and scrape, go where you bean't so

well known, and then nobody'll think the worse on 'ee for't."

"Hang me, who talked of paring and scraping, Sherry?" cried Harry

impatiently.

"I axe your pardon, sir," said Sherebiah earnestly, "but I were not born

yesterday. Here are we, four weeks in Lun'on, and you know yourself how

many golden guineas you brought wi' 'ee, and how many be left. Sure I

bean't a great eater myself, but even my little small morsel ha' got to

be paid for. Master Harry, 'twill be best for 'ee to do as I say. Ay,

an' if I knowed 'ee wouldn't up and rate me, I'd say another thing, I

would so."

"Well--what's that?"

"Why, I'd say, hand over your purse to me. Nay, sir, don't be angry;

ye're not wasteful, no; but if we go to another house, I can save 'ee

many a penny here and penny there in ways you wouldn't so much as dream

on. I know Lun'on folk, you see; ay, I know 'em well."

In the upshot, Sherebiah had his way on both points. The reason for his

change of front was that on the previous afternoon he had seen the

squire's man Jock hanging about the inn, and had found out subsequently

that Captain Aglionby had returned to his old quarters at the White

Hart. It was just as well, he thought, to take one step further from

danger by changing their lodging. When this was done, and Sherebiah

kept the purse, Harry was amazed to find how much further his money

went. It would not have surprised him if the weekly bill had been

reduced by a small amount; but when he discovered that, though he fared

quite as well, the expenses were not half what they had been, he began

to think that Sherebiah possessed some talisman against the cupidity of

London innkeepers. He found, too, that he was left much more to

himself, and wondered why, with the change of lodging, Sherebiah's

watchfulness appeared to have diminished.

He was walking with Godfrey Fanshawe one cold January afternoon by Pye

Corner, when he was attracted by a crowd of people gazing at a street

show that, to judge by their laughter and applause, was exceedingly

entertaining. Elbowing their way through the stragglers on the

outskirts, the two young fellows arrived at a position whence they could

see what was going on. A group of posture-masters were performing, and

at the moment of Harry's arrival, a short thickset man, dressed in

fantastic costume, and with painted face, was dancing on his knees with

his toes in his hands, keeping time to the music of a flute and a

violin. The tune was a merry one, and the movements of the acrobat

irresistibly funny, so that every member of the crowd roared with

laughter.

"Adzooks!" exclaimed Fanshawe, "the fellow's face is the funniest part

of the performance. Look'ee, Harry, 'tis as sober as a judge's on

assize; one would think 'twere a hanging matter."

Harry had been so tickled by this odd mode of dancing that he had not

noticed the performer's features. He glanced at them now, started with

a sudden gasp, and cried:

"By the Lord Harry, 'tis----"

"'Tis what?" said Fanshawe, looking at him in surprise.

"Oh, nothing!"

"Come, I scent a mystery. Unravel, sir!"

"'Tis nothing. See, Fanshawe, the dance is over. Let us go on."

Without waiting for his companion, he pushed his way back through the

crowd.

"Faith, I don't understand you of late, Rochester," said Fanshawe in a

half-vexed tone, when he overtook him. "You're moody, full of whimsies,

all starts and surprises. Would to Heaven that the duke would bethink

him of that paper you gave him! You need settling in life. Why don't

you go to him, or to Lord Godolphin again? 'Tis few suitors but would

show more perseverance."

"Not I. 'Twas against the grain to beg even one favour. I'd rather

earn my bread by scraping a fiddle, or dancing on my knees like--like

the poor fellow there."

"Well, let me tell you, you'll rue your independence. Adsbud, who would

get on in this world if he didn't pay court to the great! Your

starveling poet writes a flattering dedication to a lord--for pay! Your

snivelling parson toadies to the lord of the manor--for a meal! I

except your father, Harry; he was a rare one. 'Tis the way o' the

world; we must all do it, or pay the penalty."

"Be the penalty what it will, I'll pay it rather than play lick-spittle

to any man."

Fanshawe shrugged. "By the way," he said, "Mr. Berkeley is in town--to

pay his court to someone, I swear. 'Tis said he is buying a commission

for that cub his son; pray Heaven it be not in my regiment! That's the

way o' the world again. Here's Piers Berkeley, the young popinjay, all

grins and frippery, like to carry the Queen's colours in a fine regiment

because his father has a long purse, and you, a deal more fit for it,

kicking your heels for want of a rich father or a richer patron. I fear

'tis all up with your chances now; but I wish you luck. I go to

Flanders in a week; home to-morrow to say good-bye; who knows when we

may meet again!"

The two friends bade each other a cordial farewell; then Harry returned

sadly to his lodging. Some two hours later Sherebiah came back.

"What do 'ee think, Master Harry?" he said. "I ha' seed old Squire."

"I knew he was in town," replied Harry. "And what do you think I've

seen, Sherry?"

Detecting a something strange in his tone, Sherebiah gave him a hard

look.

"I never was no good at guessen," he said. "Mebbe the German giant at

Hercules' Pillars, or the liven fairy in Bridges Street."

"No, 'twas no giant and no fairy, but a short man--about your height,

Sherry--with a round face--just as round as yours--and a solemn

look--like yours at whiles; and what think you he was doing? He was

dancing on his knees, with a crowd of numskulls round him grinning at

his capers, and----"

"There now, 'twas sure to be found out, I knowed it. 'Twas me--I don't

deny it, 'cos bean't no good."

"Now I know why you wanted to keep the purse, you old dissembler. You

eke out my little store with the pence your antics fetch. Sherry, I

love thee; I do indeed. But how did you learn those fantastic tricks

with your knees?"

"Oh, I ha' done a bit o' tumblen in my time; ay sure."

"You seem to have done a bit of everything. But when? and why? You

must tell me all about it."

"Some day mebbe. Ha' led a motley life for a man o' peace; so 'tis.

'Twould make old feyther o' mine drop all his old bones in a heap if so

be as he knowed all my lines o' life. The time'll come to tell 'ee,

sir, but 'tis not yet, no."

That was the end of Sherebiah's acrobatic performances. From that day he

stuck to Harry more closely than ever; and the weekly bills increased.

They had been in town now for nearly two months, and by dint of the

greatest economy Sherebiah thought that the money might last for a

fortnight longer. Then the wolf would be at the door. Harry had not

told his man of Jan Grootz's offer, though he surmised, from a word

Sherebiah let fall, that he knew of it. Hoping against hope, he waited

and longed for some sign from the duke. Every day Sherebiah went to the

Angel and Crown to see if a letter had come, and every day he came back

disappointed. He had not given the host his new address, for reasons of

his own; and when on one of his visits he learnt that a man had enquired

for the present whereabouts of Mr. Harry Rochester, he hugged himself on

his prudence. He would not have been so well pleased if he had known

that on the very next day, when he returned from the Angel and Crown by

a roundabout way to his inn in Leicester Fields, he was shadowed by a

man who had waited for several hours for the opportunity. And he would

undoubtedly have counselled a second change of abode if he had known

that the spy, after assuring himself that Harry Rochester was a guest of

the inn, had gone hotfoot to Captain Aglionby.

Another week went by. On Saturday night Sherebiah counted up the

contents of his purse, and found that by the end of the next week he

would have spent the uttermost farthing.

"I give it back to 'ee, sir," he said. "Come Monday morn, I go to find

work."

"Not so fast, Sherry. We share alike; when you go to find work, I go

too. The duke may send for me even at the eleventh hour."

"A plague on the duke! I wish I may never hear of dukes again to th'

end o' my mortal days. A duke's a bubble, and that's the truth on't.

Better be an honest man, as Mynheer Grootz says."

"'Tis mere forgetfulness, I am sure, Sherry. He has mislaid the paper,

I suspect, and his mind being filled with weightier matters, has

forgotten that even so insignificant a person as myself exists."

"'Tis my belief he never did a kindness to man, woman, or child in all

his born days. Why, all the chairmen and hackney coachmen know un; ay,

and madam his duchess too. My lady will haggle with an oyster-wench

over a ha'penny, and the only thing my lord gives away for nowt is his

smile. Hang dukes and duchesses, say I!"

"Well, Sherry, I can't gainsay you, because I don't know. We'll give

him three days' grace, and then----"

He sighed. The world looked black to him. He knew no trade, had

practised no art, had no means to enter a profession. He turned over in

his mind the possible openings. He could not apprentice himself to a

merchant or handicraftsman, for that needed money. He might perhaps get

a clerkship in a goldsmith's or a warehouse; Sir Godfrey Fanshawe, no

doubt, would vouch for his respectability! He almost envied the footmen

of gentlemen of quality, who wore a livery, earned six pounds a year,

and a crown a week extra for gloves and powder. He writhed on his

sleepless bed that night as he contrasted his present circumstances with

his former prospects and his recent imaginings. A clergyman,--an

officer of the Queen's, forsooth! he was a pauper, a beggar, with

nothing but his health and his wits. Then he rated himself for his

despondency. "Fancy snivelling," he said to himself, "because a duke

hasn't the grace or the time to remember a promise! What would my

father think of me? Here have I wasted precious time waiting on a duke's

pleasure when I might have been turning the weeks to some profit. And I

was too proud to accept the Dutchman's friendly offer. Egad, I'll go to

him on Monday and beg him to give me employment; sink my pride for good

and all."

So possessed was he by his determination that Sunday passed all too

slowly. On Monday morning he walked early to the Angel and Crown and

asked for Mynheer Grootz. The landlord replied that Mynheer Grootz had

left the inn on Friday, removing all his baggage. He was about to sail

for Holland, and, as the wind favoured, it was probable that his ship

had already left the Thames. This news was a terrible damper. Harry

had built confidently on the anticipated interview. Mingled with his

gratitude for the coming favour, he even felt a pleasant glow at his

condescension in accepting service so much beneath him. And now this new

house of cards was toppled down! He turned gloomily away, and wandered

aimlessly through the streets, disposed, under the first sting of the

disappointment, to believe that fate had indeed a spite against him. He

was glad he had said nothing to Sherebiah of his intention, being in no

mood to endure condolences, in word or look. "What a useless loon I

am!" he said to himself bitterly. "Sherry can earn his living by

tumbling in the streets, and maybe in dozens of other ways; I can do

nothing. Even Piers Berkeley has a commission in the army--that puppy!"

But Harry was never long in the dumps. He was only a boy, and the

misfortunes that had befallen him so suddenly were sufficient excuse for

his passing fits of moodiness; but his was naturally a sanguine temper,

and by the time he reached the inn his brow had cleared and he was able

to eat his dinner with good appetite.

"The last but one, Sherry," he said with a smile. "After to-morrow the

purse will be all but dry, and then I shall have to earn my bread. What

do you say? Will you teach me to stand on my head, to begin with?"

"Zooks, sir, dont'ee put it so terrible low. Look'ee, now, I ha' some

score o' guineas behind my belt; ye're welcome to the loan on 'em till

your ship do come home."

"You're a good fellow, Sherry, but I couldn't think of it. Do you want

to make me still more ashamed of myself?"

"Well then, sir, why not go to my lord Marlborough's noble house and

walk up and down outside till the duke comes out, and stand full in his

path and catch his eye--or mebbe his missis'; her med be taken wi' 'ee

and command her good man to remember 'ee, for by all accounts she----"

"Hold your tongue, sirrah!" cried Harry with a touch of anger. "Hang

about a great man's door, like Lazarus waiting for the offal! No

indeed. Nay. To-morrow we shall be adrift; pray God a fair breeze will

carry us into port. Sherry, you had better go and tell the landlord we

shall leave him to-morrow. Ask for the reckoning; we will pay the score

and begin the morning at least free men."

In half an hour Sherebiah returned with the bill. Harry pulled a long

face as he glanced at it. He untied the purse-strings and laid his

money out on the table.

"'Tis worse than I thought," he said ruefully. "In some unconscionable

fashion the bill mounts higher this week; I am ten shillings short

without vails to the servants."

"Ah, I know Lun'on folk, I do. But don't let that trouble 'ee, sir; ten

shillens won't make a great hole in my store."

"But I won't have your money. Nay, Sherry, call it a whim of mine; 'tis

our last day; the charges are mine; to-morrow we must start afresh. I

have some trinkets in my box; their worth I know not; but you can take

one or two to a goldsmith's and place them with him until the luck

turns. You will do that better than I."

He left the room and came back with a miniature set in gold and a brooch

of antique make. Sherebiah looked at them with a deliberative air.

"Baubles like these sell for next to nowt," he said. "'Tis not all gold

that glitters. But I'll take 'em, sir, and cheapen 'em as best I may.

Be I to pledge 'em in my name or yours?"

"It doesn't matter--whichever you like. I'll sit by the fire and read

while you are gone."

"Ay, 'tis a raw and nippen afternoon, and there be true comfort in a log

fire."

He flung his cloak over his shoulders and was gone. Harry went to his

room and brought down a volume of his father's containing Mr. John

Milton's poem of "Samson Agonistes". In the dark afternoon he read for

some time by the light of the fire, finding a certain melancholy

pleasure in fitting Samson's woeful laments to his own case.

"So much I feel my genial spirits droop,

My hopes all flat",

he murmured, and then closed the book over his finger and gazed into the

ruddy cavern of the fire till his eyes ached. Sherebiah seemed a long

time gone; a feeling of restlessness stole upon Harry. He let the book

fall from his hand, rose, and paced about the room, stopping once or

twice at the narrow window to look out into the street. The air was

misty, the pavement sticky with mud; every passing horse stepped under a

blanket of vapour; the wayfarers were muffled about their necks and

walked as though bent under a load. Harry fidgeted, wondering why

Sherebiah was so long. His reading had not cheered him; his musing did

but increase his gloom. At last, unable to endure inaction longer, he

put on his cloak and hat, took up the cudgel without which, in deference

to Sherebiah's advice, he seldom went abroad, and sallied forth into the

street, to walk off his fit of the dumps, if that might be.

By the flickering light above the door he saw three sailors lurching up

the street. He passed them, giving them but a casual glance, turned

into the Strand, and spent some time looking listlessly into the lighted

shops. At the door of a coffee-house he noticed a group gathered about a

newspaper pasted on the wall. A manuscript supplement had just been

affixed to it. When he could get near enough to see the writing, he

felt a momentary interest in the announcement he read.

"The Duke of Marlborough has rid post to Cambridge, call'd thither by

the desperate state of the Marquis of Blandford. It is now 'stablish'd

beyond doubt that the young Lord is suffering from the Small-Pox."

Even the great duke had his troubles. Lord Blandford was, as Harry

knew, Marlborough's only son; he was the Lord Churchill who had written

to Godolphin with boyish curiosity to know what his title would be when

his father became a duke. Harry passed on, more than ever convinced

that the great man, beset by cares public and domestic, could have no

time to think of the small concerns of a country parson's son.

He turned into the Savoy and came by and by to the Temple Gardens,

forlorn and desolate in the chill February evening. Not far behind him

three sailors were sauntering in the same direction, on their way

perhaps to rejoin their vessel in the Thames. The damp cold air struck

Harry to the bone; he shivered and drew his cloak closer around him, and

was on the point of turning to retrace his steps when there suddenly

stood before him a woman, thin-clad, bare-headed, with a whining child

in her arms.

"Spare a penny, kind sir, to buy bread. My lips have not touched food

the livelong day, and my little boy is fair starved. Oh, sir, have pity

on a poor lone woman; spare a penny, kind sir."

Harry stopped and looked at the thin haggard cheeks, the dark-rimmed

eyes, the hair hanging in loose damp wisps over the brow. The child's

feeble moans stabbed him like a knife; its poor pinched wizened face was

a speaking tale of woe. Loosening his cloak, the woman all the while

continuing her monotonous complaint, he untied his purse. It contained

a guinea and one crown piece. At that moment the three sailors passed

him, talking loudly, and laughing coarsely as they jostled the woman in

their path.

"The poor creature's need is greater than mine," he thought. "Sherry

will bring back some money. Here you are," he said, handing her the

guinea. "And for God's sake take your little one out of the damp and

cold! Good-night!"

Harry moved on, impressed by the spectacle of a misery deeper than his

own, and pursued by the voluble thanks of the poor woman. He had

forgotten his purpose to turn back; and was only recalled to it by the

sight of the three sailors rolling on ahead. They were walking arm in

arm, and from their gait Harry concluded that the middle one of the

three was intoxicated, and needed the support of his comrades. One of

them glanced back over his shoulder just as Harry was turning. The next

moment there was a heavy thud; the drunken sailor was on the ground, the

others bending over him. A hoarse cry for help caused Harry to hasten

to the group.

"What is amiss?" he asked.

"Be you a surgeon, mate?" replied the man, a thickset and powerful salt.

"Bill be taken wi' a fit, sure enough. A's foaming at the mouth."

"No, I'm not a surgeon. I thought he was drunk."

"Not him. Belay there; let the gentleman see."

Harry went to the man's head and leant over, peering into his face.

Instantly the fallen sailor flung his arms round Harry's legs and pulled

them violently towards him. Unable to recover himself Harry fell

backward, and before he could cry out a cloak was flung over his head

and a brawny hand had him by the throat. Through the folds of cloth he

heard the men with many oaths congratulate themselves on the ease with

which they had accomplished their job. For a few moments he struggled

violently, until he felt that resistance was hopeless. Then the cloak

was tied about his neck, and he felt himself carried by two of the

three, one having him by the head, the other by the heels. They walked

swiftly along, and, not troubling to keep step, jolted him unpleasantly.

There was a singing in his ears; he gasped for breath; and soon his

physical discomfort and his fears were alike annihilated. He had lost

consciousness.

*CHAPTER VIII*

*Flotsam*

Under the Leads--A Thames-side Attic--A Man of Law--A Matter of Form--A

Question of Identity--A Fine Mesh--A Dash for Freedom--Help in Need--For

the Plantations--Visitors on Board--Ned Bates--In the Foc'sle--Sailor's

Knots--An Old Coat--Odds and Ends--A Soft Answer--Overboard--A Dead

Heat--A Sea Lawyer--Grootz Protests--A Stern Chase--Sherry's Story--To

the Low Countries

When Harry recovered his senses he found himself tied hand and foot, and

with a cloth gag between his teeth. It was pitch dark; he could hear

nothing save a faint scratching near at hand; mice were evidently at

their nocturnal work. He lay still perforce; he found it impossible

even to wriggle over on to his side. Here was indeed a culmination of

his misfortunes.

He tried to think, but the sudden attack and his subsequent

unconsciousness had left his brain in a whirl. Gradually the sequence of

events came back to him: his walk through the streets towards

Blackfriars, the beggar woman, the three sailors, the pretended fit.

What was the meaning of it? Had he been marked by the press-gang, and

trepanned to serve Her Majesty on the high seas? Had he been kidnapped,

to be robbed or held to ransom? Hardly the former, for a knock on the

head would have served the kidnappers' ends. Hardly the latter, for no

one could have taken the pains to waylay for such a purpose a penniless

youth with no friends.

Suddenly he remembered the vague uneasiness shown at times by Sherebiah;

his earnest warnings; the cudgel which after all had proved useless.

Sherebiah, it seemed, had had more definite reasons for alarm than he

had avowed; why then had the silly fellow not spoken his mind freely?

Who was the enemy? What motive could any person in the wide world have

for kidnapping one who was even yet a boy and had, so far as he knew,

done no harm to a living soul? The more he thought, the more he was

puzzled.

He was in pain. The cords cut into his flesh; his throat was parched;

he could not swallow. How long was this torture to continue? Where was

he? Where were his capturers? He longed for a light, so that he might

at least see the prison in which he was confined, and so diminish even

by one his terrible uncertainties. But no light came, no voice or

footfall sounded gratefully upon his ear; and presently a lethargy stole

upon his mind and all things were again in oblivion.

He was roused by a light flashed in his eyes. Dazed and still only half

conscious, he saw an unknown face bending towards him, and a hand

holding a candle. The man grunted as though with relief to find the

captive still alive; then, setting the candle upon the floor, he removed

the gag. Harry tried to speak, but no word issued from his lips. The

man went from the room, leaving the candle still burning. By its light

Harry saw that he was in a narrow attic, with rough beams supporting a

slanting roof, and whitewashed walls. There was a sky-light above him;

he could hear the first patters of a shower of hail.

Presently the man returned bearing a can and a hunk of bread. Lifting

Harry, he held the can to his lips. The prisoner drank the beer

greedily.

"Where am I?" he asked, recovering his voice.

"Hold your jaw!" was the surly answer. "You are where you are."

"Why am I brought here? What is to be done with me?"

"Hold your jaw, I say! Ye'll get nothing out of me. Keep a still

tongue; for if ye raise your voice someone I know will find means to

quiet ye."

"But I insist on knowing," cried Harry in indignation. "Why was I dogged

and attacked in the streets, and brought captive to----"

"Stow it! Least said soonest mended. Behave wi' sense and ye'll be

treated according; otherways--well, I won't answer for't."

"Loose my arms then."

"Well, I'll do that for 'ee, and legs too; don't think ye can run away,

'cos ye can't. Here's your supper; dry, but 'tis drier where there's

none. I'll leave ye to't."

Untying the cords, the man gave the bread into Harry's hand, took up the

candle, and went out, locking the door behind him. Harry could not eat;

his limbs were cramped with his long immobility; when he stood his knees

hardly supported him. But it was pleasant to be able to use arms and

legs once more, and after a time his aching pains abated. He groped

round the room, shook the door, and found it fast. He could just touch

the sky-light with his outstretched hand, and he felt that the glass was

loose; but he could not remove it unless he stood higher, and groping

failed to find any chair or stool. Escape was impossible; he could but

wait for the morning.

He lay awake the greater part of the night, but was sound asleep when

the same man re-entered with his meagre breakfast. The morning brought

no comfort. A gray dawn struggled through the grimy sky-light,

revealing the nakedness of the room. Cobwebs festooned the beams; the

boards of the floor were dirty and mouldered; the walls in places were

green with damp. Harry took silently the food offered him; he was not

encouraged by the previous night's experience to question his taciturn

jailer. The morning passed slowly, irksomely; when the man returned

with another meal at noon, Harry ventured to address him.

"How long am I to remain caged here?"

"I can't tell 'ee, 'cos I don't know."

"You're not one of the sailors who trapped me?"

"Lord, no. I wouldn't be a dirty swab for nothing 'cept to 'scape the

gallows."

"Who employs you in this turnkey business?"

"That's my business."

"Don't be surly. I've done nothing to you."

"Well, that's true. You ha'n't done nothing to me. That's true enough."

"Will you do something for me, then? You're a good fellow, I'm sure."

"Nay, nay, you don't come over me, young master. Soft speeches ain't no

good for a tough un like me. When I goes out I locks ye in, and if ye

holler till ye bust, 'tis no good, not at all."

"I didn't mean that. 'Tis dull as death lying on these rotten boards

with nothing to do; bring me the morning's paper and I'll thank you."

"Well, that's harmless enough, to be sure. Gi' me twopence and I'll buy

ye a _Courant_."

"'Tis only a penny."

"True; t'other penny's for me."

Harry smiled and felt for his purse. It was gone.

"Plucked clean, eh?" chuckled the man. "Trust your Wapping swab for

that. All the same you shall have the paper."

He returned with the morning's _Courant_, already well thumbed. Harry

ran his eye over the meagre half-sheet; there was nothing that

interested him except the announcement of Lord Blandford's death at

Cambridge.

"The duke has lost his heir," he thought. "He was a little older than

myself. Perhaps it is my turn next."

The day wore on. In the afternoon the door opened and a stranger

entered along with the custodian. By his cut Harry guessed him to be a

lawyer's clerk. His movements were soft and insinuating; his face was

wreathed into an artificial smile.

"Good-morning, sir!" he said softly, bowing. "I have waited upon you to

complete a little matter of business; a mere formality. The document is

quite ready; I have here inkhorn and quill; I have only to ask you to

write your name at the foot."

He unrolled the paper he carried, and signed to his companion to bring

the writing materials.

"Ah! there is no table, I see. You can hardly write on the floor, sir;

James, fetch a table from below.--Your furniture is scanty, sir," he

continued as the man went out; "in truth, there is nothing to recommend

your situation but its loftiness. You are near the sky, sir, and very

fortunately so, for 'tis murky and damp in the street.--Thank you,

James! Now, sir, everything is in order; you will, if you please, sign

your name where I place my finger, there."

Harry took the pen offered him, and dipped it in the inkhorn. He gave

no sign of his amazement.

"Yes," he said, "with pleasure--when I have read the paper."

"Surely, sir, at this stage it is unnecessary. Why delay? I assure you

that the document is perfectly in order, and the phraseology of us men

of law is--well, sir, you understand that a scrivener is paid so much a

folio, and he has no temptation to be unduly brief: he! he!"

"Still, if you do not object I will read the paper. It is merely a

form, as you say."

"Very well, sir," said the man with a patient shrug.

He lifted his hand from the paper, and Harry bent over the table to read

it. The writing was clerkly and precise; the sentences were long and

involved, with no support from punctuation; but, unfamiliar as he was

with legal diction, Harry had no difficulty in making out the gist of

the document so obligingly placed before him. His heart was thumping

uncomfortably, for all his cool exterior; and he deliberately read down

the close lines slowly in order to gain time to collect his thoughts.

The request to sign the paper had been surprising enough, but his

bewilderment was increased tenfold when he found what it was that he was

asked to sign.

Stripped of its verbiage, the document stated that whereas Christopher

Butler, gentleman, lately residing in Jermyn Street over against the

Garter Coffee-house, had been acquitted of all his debts by the good

offices of John Feggans, merchant of the City of London, the said

Christopher Butler hereby entered into an indenture to serve the said

John Feggans in his Plantations in the island of Barbados for a period

of five years. There were qualifications and provisos and penalties

which Harry passed over; then, having read the principal articles again,

he looked up and said:

"Why should I sign this?"

"Sir!" said the attorney in surprise.

"Why should I sign this? What have I to do with Christopher Butler or

John Feggans?"

The lawyer looked round at the other man as though asking whether he had

heard aright.

"I am at a loss to give you better reasons than you know already. Who

should sign it if not you?"

"I am afraid I must trouble you to explain. See, I find that

Christopher Butler, having incurred debts to a large amount, has

assigned these debts to John Feggans, who has paid them, and that

Christopher Butler indentures himself a slave to John Feggans, to win

his release by working in the Plantations. I ask you, what have I to do

with all this?"

"Christopher Butler asks that?"

"Who? What did you say?"

"Christopher Butler--yourself."

Harry laughed, so great was his sense of relief. It was all a mistake,

then; he had been seized by mistake for some poor wretched fellow who

had lost all his money and been forced to adopt this, the last resource

of impecunious spendthrifts.

"Pardon me," he said. "There has been a mistake. My name is not

Christopher Butler."

He smiled in the attorney's face. The little man looked staggered.

"Not Christopher Butler?"

"Certainly not. My name is----"

Harry stopped. Some instinct of caution warned him not to disclose his

real name at present.

"My name is neither Butler nor Christopher," he added. "Now, pray let me

go."

"Sir, I have my instructions. I must make enquiries. This is unlooked

for, most perplexing. Pray excuse me for one moment."

He hurried from the room, leaving the door open. The surly custodian,

who had followed the colloquy with evident interest, showed that he was

not a bad fellow at bottom.

"I'm right glad, that I am," he said. "'Twas my own thought you was too

young to be such a wild dog, or else you was a most desperate wild one."

Harry did not reply. Through the open door he heard loud voices

proceeding from a room below. He could not catch the words, but there

was something in the tone of the loudest voice that sounded familiar.

He had no opportunity of forming a conclusion on the matter, for the

speaker's tone was instantly moderated, as though in response to a

warning. Immediately afterwards the attorney returned, accompanied by a

low-browed fellow in a lackey's livery. The lawyer's smile was as bland

as ever as he came into the room.

"'Tis not unusual for a man to change his mind, Mr. Butler, but in this

case I fear 't will be a little awkward. I am instructed that you are

the Christopher Butler named in this indenture, and have to insist on

your affixing your signature to it."

"Nonsense!" said Harry impatiently. "I tell you my name is not Butler,

and I refuse to sign the paper. 'Tis a preposterous error. I never was

in debt in my life; I know nothing of Feggans; indeed, know hardly a

soul in London; why, I never was in London till a month or two ago."

"My dear sir, my dear sir," said the lawyer, as though expostulating

with a hardened liar. Turning to the lackey, he asked: "You see this

young gentleman?"

"Ay, ay, I do so."

Harry started. The accent was pure Wiltshire, and fell on his ears like

a message from home. He scanned the man's features, but did not

recognize him.

"What is his name?" went on the lawyer.

"Butler; ay, 'tis Butler, sure enough."

"Where did you see him last?"

"In the Fleet prison, to be sure, ay, and on the common side, too."

"You are sure of this?"

"Ay, faith, sure enough. I seed the gentleman often at maister's;

many's the time I called a hackney for'n in the darkest hour o' night,

thinken as them as goo fast won't goo long."

"And you were present with your master when this little matter of

business was arranged?"

"I was so, ay."

The lawyer looked with his eternal smile at Harry.

"Now, sir," he said, "you will no longer delay to put your hand to this

document."

Harry had been thinking rapidly. He gave up the hypothesis of error;

the lawyer's visit was clearly part of a deliberate plot; it mattered

little whether he was privy to it, or was innocently carrying out his

instructions. No doubt there was a _Christopher Butler_ who had thus

sold himself to pay his debts, but somebody had determined to substitute

Harry for the real man. He had noticed that the name Christopher Butler

was written in pencil every time it occurred in the document, all else

being in ink; and it suddenly flashed upon him that the object had been

to entrap him into signing his real name, which would then be

substituted for the name pencilled in. He gave the lawyer a long look,

put his hands behind his back, and said:

"It is waste of time. I refuse."

Again the lawyer smiled and shrugged.

"'Tis immaterial, sir. This is but a duplicate; the original was signed

three days ago in the Fleet. I have now to----"

"Liar!" shouted Harry, springing forward, his face aflame. The door

stood open; only the lackey was in a direct line between the prisoner

and freedom. Before the man's slow rustic mind had accommodated itself

to the situation, he was sent reeling against the wall by a straight

blow between the eyes. Harry was already out of the room, at the top of

the staircase, when the little attorney seized him from behind and

shouted for help. The taciturn jailer stood looking on. There were

cries from below and a stampede of feet, and before Harry, with the

lawyer clinging to him, had descended more than four steps he was met by

the three sailors. Swearing hearty oaths they threw themselves upon

him, and in five minutes he was back in the attic securely trussed up.

Even his surly jailer, bringing him food, looked at him with a touch of

sympathy. Harry's haggard eyes met his with a mute appeal for help.

"Odsbud!" exclaimed the man, "'tis hard on a mere stripling. If your

name bean't Christopher Butler, what be it?"

"My name is Harry Rochester. 'Tis a vile plot. You believe me?"

"Ay, I believe ye. Tain't in reason that a boy should ha' got ocean

deep in debt."

"Will you help me? You see what a snare is about me. Will you go to

the Star and Garter in Leicester fields and ask for Sherebiah Minshull?

Tell him where I am, and what they are going to do with me."

"But what'd be the good, mister?"

"He would find a way to help me. You would know that if you knew him."

"And how much might ye be willing to pay, now?"

"I haven't a penny, as you know, but he had some money. Lose no time;

pray go now, at once."

"Well, the truth on't is I'm paid by t'other party."

"Who is it? What is the name of the man who has hired you?"

"Faith, I don't know, but he have a fine long purse, and 'tis a fine

swashing gentleman. Howsomever, I'll go to the Star and Garter as you

say, and see your man--what be his name? Minshull; good; I'll go soon,

and--Coming, sir, coming," he added in answer to a hail from below.

"I'll go afore 'tis dark, 'struth, I will."

He left the room, and Harry felt a momentary glow of hope. It was

dulled immediately. The three sailors re-entered. Without ado they

again bound his arms, which had been loosed to allow of his lifting his

food, and carried him downstairs. Daylight was fading. At the door

Harry looked eagerly around for some person whom a cry might bring to

his rescue. Alas! the house was in a blind alley, and no one but his

captors was in sight. He did raise his voice and give one resounding

call. A gag was instantly slipped into his mouth, and he was hurried to

the open end of the alley, where a hackney coach stood waiting. Into

this he was thrown; two of the sailors got in with him, the third

mounted to a place beside the driver, and the vehicle rumbled and jolted

over the rough cobbles.

Some twenty minutes later it pulled up at the Tower Wharf, where Harry

had vainly sought for Jan Grootz a few days before. It was now night,

and as he was lifted out and borne towards the wharf side, Harry saw by

the light of naphtha torches a busy scene. Sailors, lightermen,

stevedores were moving hither and thither; the ground was strewn with

bales and packages; the last portions of a cargo were being transferred

to the hold of a barque that lay alongside. No one paid attention to

the not unusual spectacle of a young fellow going unwillingly to a

vessel bound for the Plantations. Harry's captors, joking, chewing,

spitting, shoved him with no tender hands on to the gangway. At the

other end of it stood a dark-featured, beetle-browed old seaman, the

captain of the vessel, bawling orders to this and that member of his

crew.

"Ha!" he cried, as he saw the new-comer hauled along in the sailors'

arms; "this be the springald? Zooks! ye are none too soon: tide turns

in half an hour."

"Here we be, sir, true; and this be Christopher Butler, mark you, for

the Plantations."

"Papers?" roared the captain, spitting into the river.

"All taut, sir," replied the man, producing the document that Harry had

refused to sign; it bore a signature now.

"Obstropolous, eh?"

"Changed his mind, sir, it seems, since signing on; ha' give us some

trouble."

"Oons! We'll cure that. All aboard! Stow the cockerel in the foc'sle;

strap un to a plank; we'll have no 'tarnal tricks."

As Harry was lugged forward he noticed two figures standing beneath a

lamp swinging to one of the yards. He started, and involuntarily

increased his weight upon his bearers. One of the two came forward a

step towards the captain and, tapping a snuff-box, said:

"Whom have we here, captain?"

"A young puppy as ha' run through a duke's fortune and goes as

redemptioner where I've carried many a man before him."

"Indeed! So young! 'Tis sad, the wastefulness of young men in this

age."

He took a pinch of snuff and stepped back again. Harry had scanned his

features and heard what he said. His heart almost stopped beating with

surprise, for the speaker was Mr. Berkeley, the squire, and his

companion was Captain Aglionby. "Did they not recognize me?" he

thought. Surely if he could appeal to the squire he might even yet, at

the last moment, be saved. He struggled with his captors, but they

tightened their hold upon him and wrenched his limbs with brutal

callousness. He was carried to the sailors' quarters in the foc'sle.

His bonds were loosed for a moment; then he was laid on a plank and

lashed to it. There was a sudden commotion. The captain roared an order

to his men, then went to the side to meet a custom-house officer who had

just come aboard with two men. An observer would have noticed that Mr.

Berkeley hastily turned his back and retreated into the shadow.

"Thought you'd forgot us, sir," said the captain.

"No, no. But we won't keep you long; you want to catch the tide."

The rummaging crew began a perfunctory inspection of the vessel. When

they were out of sight Mr. Berkeley came forward and spoke in a low tone

to the captain.

"Right, sir," he replied, and sent a man forward with orders to place

Harry in a bunk in the darkest part of the foc'sle and cover him up.

Consequently, when the custom-house officer reached the sailors'

quarters, where several of the crew were lolling about, Harry lay

hidden, half-stifled beneath a tarpaulin.

"What's this?" asked the officer.

"That!" cried the ship's mate with an oath. "That's Ned Bates, come

aboard mad drunk after a spree. 'Tis the same every voyage, and the

medicine's a dose of rope's end to-morrow."

The officer laughed and passed on. The inspection was soon completed;

the officer accepted a pinch of the captain's snuff and left the vessel

with his crew, watched by Mr. Berkeley and Captain Aglionby from the

corner of a shed on the wharf. In a few minutes the ropes were cast

off, and with creakings and heavings the ship moved into the current and

began to float down on the ebb-tide towards the sea.

The tarpaulin was pulled off Harry by a man who took the opportunity to

curse him. The gag was removed from his mouth; then he was left to

himself. He thought he had reached the lowest depths of misery.

Something he had learnt of the awful fate in store for him in the

Plantations. Many such poor wretches as himself had sailed across the

seas in the hope of redeeming themselves from debt by years of

unremitting toil. On their arrival they had become, body and soul, the

property of their masters. Treated as no better than convicts, they were

put to the most degrading labour, and their employers contrived to keep

them, even as labourers, so deeply in debt for clothes and the common

necessaries of life that the day of redemption never dawned for them,

and they lived and died in abject slavery. This was to be his fate!

What a declension from the bright destiny that seemed to be before him

but a few months ago!

The foc'sle was dark and noisome. The smell of bilge water and the reek

of the lamp affixed to the side nauseated Harry. Physically and

mentally, he was desperately wretched. And through all his misery he

was overcome by sheer puzzlement. Hitherto he had surmised that, being

young and strong, he had been marked as an easy prey by the professional

kidnappers who prowled the streets of London, trepanning unfortunate

young men likely to fetch a good price with shipmasters or unscrupulous

colonial merchants. But the unexpected sight of Mr. Berkeley in Captain

Aglionby's company on deck had startled him into a new theory. Many

things recurred to his mind. He remembered the bitter feud that had

subsisted between his father and the squire; the disappearance of

Captain Aglionby after a quarrel, as village gossip said, with Mr.

Berkeley; the horseman riding after the coach; the strange warnings he

had received from Sherebiah. He could not but feel that these incidents

were in some way connected; he began to be convinced that his present

situation was due ultimately to the enmity of the squire--the gaunt,

sinister old man who was indirectly responsible for his father's death.

But though this was his conclusion, he was none the less puzzled. Why

should the malignity of the squire pursue the son, now that the father

was removed? What harm had _he_ ever done, or could he ever do, to the

lord of the manor? Was the squire so unrelenting, was his malice so

remorseless, that he must bring black ruin upon a boy in vengeance for

his baulked will? It seemed inconceivable. Yet what other motive could

he have? The more he thought of it, the more puzzled Harry became.

The vessel was slowly threading its way down the river among the many

vessels, large and small, that lay at their moorings. At times it

stopped altogether, and from the deck resounded shouts and oaths at the

obstacles that checked its course. By and by some of the sailors came

forward for a spell of sleep, and Harry, kept wide awake by his hunger

and discomfort, saw them tumble into their bunks and soon heard their

snores.

It would take several hours to reach the open sea. Was there a chance

that, before the vessel left the Thames, he might even yet escape? To

make the attempt was mere instinct with a high-spirited boy. The odds

seemed all against him. To begin with, he was bound hand and foot to a

plank, so that it was impossible even to bend his body. Suppose he rid

himself of his bonds, there would be many of the crew on deck while the

vessel threaded the crowded water-way, and he would be seen if he sprang

overboard; and how could he free himself from the ropes? The idea had

not come to him for the first time. When he was being trussed up he had

remembered an old trick taught him by Sherebiah, acquired during his

mountebank days, when he had mystified rustic spectators by escaping

from ropes tied by the most expert hands in the village. He had so

stiffened his muscles that he could wriggle out of any ordinary knot.

But the situation was rendered more difficult by the plank. He could

not lift himself, nor turn on his side. Lying on his back, he tried to

ease the pressure of the ropes by the muscular movements he had

practised with Sherebiah in sport. But he found, not to his surprise,

that sailors were more skilful than anyone who had previously

experimented with him. The tension was so great that he had the barest

margin to work upon. Force was useless; it would only have the effect of

cutting into his flesh and causing his hands and wrists to swell. But

his whole mind was now bent upon one desperate venture, and, while the

men snored around him, he began to strain on the ropes.

For some time all his straining was of no avail. At last he felt the

rope about his wrists give a little. Taking advantage of the slackened

tension, he contrived, after what seemed an hour to him, to turn his

joined wrists outwards, and in a few more minutes they were free. They

ached intolerably; he felt as if all power was gone from them,--as if he

could never grip anything firmly again. He waited until the numbing pain

was abated, then set to work to free his elbows. These had been

separately tied, and after many unsuccessful efforts he almost

despaired. At length, however, he managed to shift his elbows down over

the edges of the plank, which he was then able to use as fulcrums.

Pressing as hard as possible, he forced the ropes slightly slack, then

jerked himself sideways and almost on to his face. In doing so he more

than once interrupted the snores of the man beneath him, and once

desisted in alarm as the fellow growled out an oath. At last his elbows

were free, and he lay panting with exertion and hope.

But now that the upper part of his body was unbound, he found himself

confronted by an unexpected difficulty. The board to which he was

strapped extended down to his heels, and the knot being tied at the far

end, he was unable to reach it. A man is never so agile with his ankles

as with his wrists, and the plank had effectually prevented Harry from

making use of Sherebiah's trick in regard to his feet. It was

impossible to reach the knots with his hands, for the roof of the

foc'sle was so low that he could not rise to an upright posture in the

bunk. He worked away at the upper part of the rope, but it was so taut

that he could not ease it appreciably. He found himself making even

more noise than before, and dreaded lest one of the crew should awaken

too soon. Breathless with his exertions, he lay still to think. Was he

to be baffled after all? Some hours must have passed since the vessel

left her moorings, and though her progress had been interrupted and was

always slow, yet she was drawing nearer and nearer to the mouth of the

river, bringing him nearer and nearer to his doom.

A dull dazed hopelessness was gaining possession of him. He lay with

wide-open eyes, staring at nothing; then caught himself following the

slight pendulous motion of a seaman's coat that hung from a nail in one

of the beams. To and fro it swung, with a regularity that became at

last desperately annoying. But all at once that rough stained garment

became to him the most interesting and important thing in the world. It

seemed to shed a bright ray of hope. Never a seaman but had a knife;

fervently did Harry pray that the owner of this coat had not emptied its

pockets. Stealthily he bent over. The right-hand pocket was easily

within reach. He put his hand in, and drew out one after another a

pipe, a pouch, a flint, a steel, a tinder-box, a string of beads, a

corner of mouldy biscuit, a horn snuff-box, a tattered letter, a plug of

black tobacco, a broken comb, a red handkerchief, and a nutmeg; but no

knife. He could only just touch the left-hand pocket; he could not put

his hand in. He pulled at the coat, and held it with one hand, bringing

the pocket within reach; then he plunged the other hand into its depths.

He touched a metal case; it clicked against something, and he held his

breath, hoping the sound had not been heard. No one spoke or moved. He

felt further; his heart gave a great leap for joy, for he could not

mistake the touch of the rugged handle of a clasp-knife. Eagerly he

drew it out; to cut the rope was the work of an instant; he was free.

But he was not yet out of danger. His limbs were loosed, but he was

still imprisoned in an outward-bound ship. There was only one way of

reaching safety: to gain the deck, spring overboard, and swim to land.

He knew nothing about ships; he could row and swim, but till he came to

London he had seen no vessel larger than a rowing boat. He guessed that

while the barque was still in the Thames only a small portion of the

crew would be on duty; but he did not know at what part of the ship they

would be, nor where he would run least danger of detection. It was

still dark; he might easily stumble as he moved about amid unfamiliar

surroundings, and there was the risk that, even if he reached the

bulwarks safely and sprang over, he might never succeed in reaching land

alive. He did not know the width of the stream; he had been so long

without food and had expended so much energy during the last few hours

that he was in no condition to endure long fatigue. It would perhaps be

better to rest for a little, and seize a moment as day was breaking,

when there would be light enough to guide his steps.

His body was still tingling from the strain of the ropes, but with the

passing minutes his physical ease increased, and he was able to think

more and more calmly. He heard the clang of a bell. Immediately

afterwards a sailor came into the foc'sle, woke the man below Harry,

and, when he had tumbled grumbling out of his berth, lay down in his

place. It was a change of watch.

"Where are we, Bill?" asked the man who had been roused.

"Opening up Gravesend," was the reply; "and a dirty night. Raining

hard, a following wind; we'll make a good run out."

The man was asleep as soon as he had finished the sentence, and Harry

was reassured by his snores. Gravesend, he supposed, was a river-side

village; if he could make his dive there he might find helping hands on

shore. He wondered what the time was; the bells that he heard at

intervals conveyed no information to him. He raised himself on his

elbow and glanced round. It seemed to him that, in the opening to his

left, the darkness was thinning; and the vessel was heaving to. The

time had come for his venture.

He sat up as high as his confined quarters allowed and surveyed his

position. There were five men within the narrow space, all asleep,

snoring in various keys. From above came now and then the sound of a

voice and the tramp of feet; nothing else was to be heard. Slipping his

leg over the side of the bunk, Harry paused for a moment, then slid to

the floor. His knee knocked the edge of the bunk below; the seaman

turned over with a grunt and asked sleepily, "Be it time already?" It

was better to answer than to remain silent, thought Harry. Making his

voice as gruff as possible, he said quickly:

"No; keep still, you lubber."

"Lubber yourself; I'll split your----"

His threat ended with a snore. Harry waited a moment to assure himself

that all was quiet again; then, divesting himself of his long coat,

which he knew would be a serious encumbrance in the water, he groped

cautiously towards the opening, now showing as a gray patch in the

gloom. Rain and sleet beat in upon him as he halted for a moment and

threw a quick glance around before emerging on to the deck. In the

waist of the vessel on the port side two men were hauling up casks,

probably belated provisions, from a river craft lashed alongside; three

or four seamen were high up in the rigging, and the mate was bellowing

to them hoarse commands in what to Harry's landsman's ears was a foreign

tongue. Harry felt that it was now or never; but, even as he prepared

to spring, there was a heavy footfall above, and a man dropped from the

foc'sle deck and alighted a couple of yards away. He swung on his heel

to enter the foc'sle, and the two stood face to face.

Harry recognized the broad coarse features of the sailor to whose

feigned fit his easy capture was due. The man's first impression was

evidently that Harry was one of the crew; he quickly saw his mistake,

but before his thought could translate itself into action Harry, who had

the advantage of being strung up for just such a meeting, sprang upon

him as a bolt from a bow. Reeling under a deftly planted blow the man

slipped and fell heavily to the deck. Harry was past him in an instant,

gained the side of the vessel, and, vaulting lightly on to the bulwark,

had dived into the river before the astonished seaman could recover his

breath to shout an alarm. In a few seconds Harry rose to the surface,

shook the water from his face, and struck out for the shore.

Behind him he heard the angry shouts of the sailors, and afterwards the

click of oars working in the row-locks. A boat was evidently in

pursuit. No doubt the craft alongside had been cast loose, for there

could not have been time to lower a boat. Could he reach land in time?

His dive had been so hasty that he had not had time to look around and

select his course. But now, through the pelting rain, he gazed ahead to

find the nearest way to safety. Judging by the noise of the oars, the

boat was rapidly overhauling him, for although he had left his coat

behind, he made but slow progress in his water-logged clothes. His view

of the shore was intercepted by a few small one-masted vessels lying at

anchor, and by a large brig moored about a hundred yards off the clump

of trees that formed the western boundary of Gravesend. If he could

gain the other side of the brig he thought he might dodge his pursuers.

But he doubted whether his strength and speed could be sustained so

long. The seamen were pulling with a will; the master himself was in

the boat urging them on with oaths and execrations.

Harry swam on gamely, changing his stroke in the effort to husband his

strength. But he had only had a couple of minutes' start, and looking

over his shoulder he saw that with the best will in the world he must

soon be overtaken. Only twenty yards separated him from the boat; he

had just come opposite the poop of the stationary brig; he wondered

whether a shout would bring anyone to his assistance, when a small skiff

appeared from round the stern of the vessel, only a few feet distant

from him. It had just put off from the brig and was swinging round

towards the shore. Harry gave a hail; the men in the boat rested on

their oars; collecting his remaining strength in a few desperate strokes

he got alongside, and clutched the gunwale just as he felt himself at

his last gasp. At the same moment the pursuing boat came up, and the

man at the tiller had some ado to avoid a collision.

[Illustration: At the Last Gasp]

"Back water!" roared the master.

The way on the boat was checked; it came to a stop a few yards beyond

the skiff and nearer the shore. Meanwhile Harry had been dragged on

board the skiff, and lay drenched, shivering, gasping across the

thwarts.

"Cotched, the villain!" cried the ship's master exultantly. "Pull

alongside, men."

A few strokes brought the two boats together.

"I'll thank ye to hand un over," said the master. "Zooks! he shall pay

for this."

He received no reply, but instead a voice which Harry, half dead as he

was from cold and fatigue, recognized with a leaping heart, ordered the

crew of the skiff to pull back to the brig.

"Hi!" roared the master, as the boats parted, "are ye deaf or what?

Hand over that there runaway; 'tis a deserter. Pull after 'em, men."

The boat started in pursuit, the master shouting with increasing anger.

The skiff came below the brig's stern, where a rope ladder was hanging

over the side.

"Gi' un up, d'ye hear? Gi' un up, or 'twill be the worse for ye."

"Gif him up! Ja, ja; certainly, but not now, mine vrient; not now, and

not to you. Dat is not my way. We do not dings zo in Holland."

"What in thunder are ye gibbering about?" roared the master--"you dirty

swab of a Dutchman, you! I tell you he is a deserter. Hand un over, or

I'll have the law of ye."

"De law! Zo, mine vrient. We will talk over dis matter as good

vrients."

Grootz sat down, while the men on the brig prepared to haul Harry, now

limp with utter exhaustion, on deck.

"I, Jan Grootz, find dis young man in de river; ver well. He float in

de river; well again; he is what de law call flotsam--dat is zo. Now,

mine vrient,"--here Grootz's fat forefinger began to waggle--"flotsam,

say de law, belong to de sovereign, dat is, to de lady Queen Anne. What

is for me to do in such a case--for me, Jan Grootz? I render to

Caesar--who is de Queen--dat which is Caesar's--dat which belong to de

gracious majesty Queen Anne. Derefore I gif up dis young man to de

Queen's officer at Gravesend--perhaps, when he is dry. Zo!"

While this speech was being delivered in the Dutchman's slow drawl, with

a placid persuasiveness suited to a discussion between friends who did

not see quite eye to eye, the master had been growing purple with rage.

He was about to explode into invective when he saw that Harry was being

swung up.

"Give way, men!" he shouted. "Run her alongside."

He held himself in readiness to board the skiff as soon as he came

within leaping distance. But Grootz, with an activity little to be

expected in so burly a frame, seized an oar that had been shipped by one

of his men now lending a hand in hoisting Harry on board, and, springing

to his feet, with a shrewd thrust sent the master spinning over the side

of his boat into the river. He came up nearly a dozen yards away; his

crew pulled towards him, and when he was at last hauled into the boat he

was fifty yards down the river. He had evidently shipped a good deal of

water, for Grootz's blow must have knocked the breath out of his body;

the purple hue of his cheeks had given place to a mottled sickliness.

He gasped and puffed and swore; but Harry was by this time safe on board

the brig; to take him by main force was clearly impossible; and the

discomfited master had no alternative but to regain his own vessel.

Harry was carried to the cabin, his wet clothes were taken off, he was

wrapped in blankets and forced to swallow a good bumper of cordial

before the Dutchman would allow him to speak.

"Zo!" exclaimed Grootz when he was comfortable.

"You saved my life, sir," said Harry warmly. "I was nearly done."

"Zo!"

"They were taking me to the Plantations. I never heard from Lord

Marlborough. They trapped me. All my money was gone. I went to the

Angel and Crown to find you, to ask you to give me work; you had

sailed."

"Zo! talk no more. Flotsam! Gunst! I tell you dis, my vrient; put not

your drust in princes: every man learn dis zoon or late: better zoon.

Zo!"

The honest Dutchman left Harry to sleep while he resumed his interrupted

journey to the shore. But he had barely reached the deck when he heard

himself hailed by a stentorian voice from a wherry sweeping by under

full sail and the rapid ply of oars.

"Ahoy there! Ha' ye seed a ship named the _Merry Maid_ a-sailen

down-along this way?"

"Ja, ja!" cried Grootz, chuckling; "what for you ask?"

But the man gave him no answer; only called to the two men rowing the

wherry to pull more lustily.

"Hi!" shouted the Dutchman in his turn; and though his voice was usually

low he could roar at need. "Hi! you be too late!"

The man did not turn his head.

"Hi! she is two mile ahead!"

Sherebiah gave no sign. He was rapidly passing out of earshot.

"Hi!" shouted Grootz still more loudly. "Sherebiah, stop! Mynheer

Harry is here!"

Sherebiah jumped up so violently that, heavy as the wherry was, he

almost upset it.

"Master Harry?" he roared.

"Ja! I tell you."

The wherry slewed round and headed toward the brig. Grootz lit his pipe

and watched, his little eyes twinkling with amusement. Sherebiah looked

positively aggrieved when he came aboard.

"Oons! 'tis sinful to tear a poor mortal man's heart out, 'tis so. Here

be I, a-chasen a villanous creature, the _Merry Maid_ by name, thinken

as Master Harry were a forsaken prisoner aboard on her, and 'tis all

much ado about nothen, and he a-laughen in his sleeve along o' your

cargo! I wouldn' ha' thowt it, not I. Where be the deceiven

trickster?"

"Asleep," said Grootz, with a puff of smoke. "Flotsam!" He chuckled

and guffawed; it was a joke that would last his lifetime.

"What your meanen may be I don't know, Mynheer; but 'tis me as ought to

be sleepen. No sleep ha' I had, not a wink, since Master Harry played

this trick on me; ay, 'twas sinful. And I'll punch Ralph Aglionby's

costard, I will so, first chance I gets."

"Tell me about it," said Grootz.

Sherebiah related how, on returning to his inn with the money for which

he had pledged Harry's trinkets, he was surprised to find his young

master absent. As time passed on, and he did not make his appearance,

Sherebiah became thoroughly alarmed. About seven o'clock in the evening

he hurried off to Southwark, and enquired of the porter at the White

Hart whether Captain Aglionby was within. The captain had left a week

before, said the porter, in company with a tall, bent, shabby old

gentleman. Sherebiah's worst fears were realized. For weeks he had

expected the stroke, and now it had fallen suddenly, and at a time when

he was not at hand to parry it. He hastened at once to the house in

which, as he had made it his business to know, Mr. Berkeley was staying.

Neither the squire nor Captain Aglionby was at home. Sherebiah

thereupon took his station at a convenient spot near the house whence he

could see without being seen, and some time after midnight was rewarded.

The two men he sought returned together. Allowing a little time to

elapse, he went to the house and asked to see Captain Aglionby, giving

the servant a vague message which he believed would bring the captain to

the door. Instead of him, however, Mr. Berkeley himself appeared. To

Sherebiah's question as to what had become of Harry, the squire replied

coldly that he knew nothing about him, and shut the door in his

questioner's face.

"Ay, I were a fool to ask un," admitted Sherebiah ruefully. "I had

ought to ha' thowt o' poor old feyther o' mine."

Sherebiah was determined to have his question answered somehow. He was

early at his post next morning, keeping a careful eye upon the door of

the house. He saw the squire and Captain Aglionby issue forth together

and visit a lawyer up four flights of stairs in a house near Holborn

Bars. He followed all three to a house in a blind alley farther east,

never suspecting that Harry was there confined. He shadowed them when

they left, saw them enter a coffee-house, followed them when they came

out, and then lost sight of them. Returning to his own inn to enquire

whether anything had been heard of Harry, he found that a man had called

an hour before and left a message for him, asking him to call without

delay at an address in Smithfield. Hastening there at once, he learnt

from Harry's late jailer how he had been kidnapped and shipped off to

the Plantations. At full speed he rushed to the wharf, only to learn

that the _Merry Maid_, William Shovel master, had just taken the tide

and was now on her way to the sea.

"You med ha' knocked me down wi' a feather. I sat me down on a box

under a gashly torch, and thinks I, 'Rafe Aglionby be too much for 'ee

this time, Sherebiah Stand-up-and-bless.' I stood up, I did; time an'

tide waits for no man; 'twas a sudden thought; I seed a sailen wherry

alongside wharf, and two big swabs hangen round. I showed 'em a crown

a-piece, and said there's more to foller, and mebbe summat out o' the

Queen's purse too; and here I be, all my poor mortal flesh a-wamblen

like a aspen. 'Tis tooken a year off my life, ay, 'tis so."

Jan Grootz smiled.

"Mine good vrient," he said, "I tell you dis. You will come ashore with

me; we will go to your inn and fetch your goods. It will delay us, but

only one day. Den my ship sails; Amsterdam; you will come?"

"Sakes! What about Master Harry, then?"

"He alzo."

"Oons! Be that th' order o' the day? Well, 'tis a long lane has no

turnen. Will there be time for me to go and ha' a few words wi' Rafe

Aglionby?"

"No."

"Well, I'll save 'em up. A rod bean't none the wuss for bein' salted.

Ay, and I were not always a man o' peace!"

*CHAPTER IX*

*Monsieur de Polignac Presses his Suit*

Scenes in Holland--Feeding an Army--A Tulip Bulb--On the Road--The

Captain's Man--A Break-Down--Double Dutch--The Captain Again--A

Diversion--An Entry--An Exit--Hospitality--Confidences--Rejected

Addresses--Palmam qui Meruit--Persuaded--Adele

"Hundred barrels pork, tousand quarters flour, five hunderdweight

sausages, twenty gallon schnapps, for de garrison of Breda. Ver well,

Monsieur de Tilly, de order shall be done."

Mynheer Jan Grootz put down the paper from which he had been

translating, and pushed a pair of horn spectacles up his brow.

"Mynheer Harry," he continued, "you will see to dis. Such an order

yesterday could not have been met--no. But wid Peter Kolp's man coming

from Helmund it is to-day anoder ding. In Helmund, wid Peter Kolp, dere

is pork, flour--plenty; yes, my poor vrient Kolp dink dere is too much;

he alzo would supply de army. 'Grootz,' he say, 'ask too high prices.

As for me, Kolp, I am a cheap man. But Grootz, he is a sad rascal.'

But I tell you dis: dey say my poor vrient Kolp forget his measures and

weights, he dink fourteen ounces weigh one pound, and sometimes, dey

say, he dink ten barrel bad pork make twelve good; so my poor vrient is

not now permitted to contract no more; and he sell me his stores.

Truly, he is a cheap man! Zo!"

There was a chuckle of satisfaction in the concluding word.

"You will start early in de morning, Mynheer Harry," he resumed, "wid

ten carts; Helmund is twenty mile beyond Tilburg, and Tilburg fifteen

beyond Breda. You will get de stores from Kolp at Helmund and return

wid dem to Breda and hand dem over to the commissary dere. Take wid you

your man Sherebiah, and Piet Brinker to show you de road; he will pick

drivers for de carts. We hear noding of forayers lately; zo I hope you

have a safe journey, And, Mynheer Harry, never forget dat poor Kolp

cannot count, and do not know good pork from bad, and mistake chalk for

flour. You will examine dese little matters wid much care; zo?"

The merchant replaced his glasses on his nose and proceeded to dictate

an invoice to one of his clerks. He sat at a desk in a low-pitched room

next to the roof of a gabled house near the Gevangen Poort in

Bergen-op-Zoom. The lower floors were devoted to the living apartments;

the warehouse and offices were at the top, goods being raised and

lowered by means of a crane-like apparatus that projected from the wall

like a yard-arm. It was not Mynheer Grootz's home; that was at the

Hague; but Bergen-op-Zoom at the head of the eastern arm of the Scheldt

was for the present his business head-quarters, conveniently situated in

regard to the scattered armies whose wants he had to supply.

[Illustration: Map of Part of the LOW COUNTRIES in 1703.]

It was early in the month of June. For more than three months Harry

Rochester had been engaged with the worthy Dutchman, who was kept busy

morning, noon, and night in provisioning the allied forces now entering

upon a new campaign. He found his employment very much to his taste,

and his employer the best of friends. Grootz never alluded to the time

when his offer of employment had been slighted, and Harry often smiled

as he remembered the pride with which, in the days of his high

expectations, he had refused to cast in his lot with a mere merchant.

The novelty of the scenes amid which he found himself on his arrival in

Holland had banished his ambitions for the time. The flat country, with

its dunes and dykes, its endless canals and innumerable windmills; its

quaint towns, in which chimneys and steeples and masts seemed so

curiously jumbled; the stolid, hospitable people--the men with their big

pipes and snuff-boxes, the women with their characteristic head-dress,

the girls with the riband of maidenhood at their right brow; the strange

customs--the _spionnen_ at the windows, an arrangement of mirrors by

which from the upper rooms all that passed in the street below could be

seen within; the placard at the door when a child was born; the

incessant scrubbing that went on indoors and out; the _trekschuiten_ and

_pakschuiten_ that conveyed goods and passengers along the canals, drawn

sometimes by horses, more often by a stout mynheer and his vrouw; the

storks nesting among the chimney-pots; the stiff formal gardens with

their beds of tulips--everything interested him; his low spirits

vanished into thin air, and he enjoyed life with a zest he had never

known before.