"WHY, WHO BUT YOU, JOHNNIE!"
Three weeks and two days had passed, and the _St. Iago_ was off Lisbon,
and at anchor.
The sun beat down upon the decks, the pitch bubbled in the seams, but
now and then a cool breeze came off the land. The city with its long
white terraces of houses shimmered in a haze of heat, but on the west
side of the valley in which the city lay, the florid gothic of the great
church of St. Jerome, built just five-and-fifty years before, was
perfectly clear-cut against the sapphire sky--burnt into a vast enamel
of blue, it seemed; bright grey upon blue, with here and there a
twinkling spot of gold crowning the towers.
Twenty-three days the ship had taken to cut through the long oily
Atlantic swell and come to port. There had been no rough winds in the
Bay, no tempests such as make it terrible for mariners at other times of
the year.
* * * * *
When they had arrived on board, and the ship had got out of the Thames,
none of the four fugitives had the slightest idea as to where they were
going--Madame La Motte least of all. The relief at their escape had
been too great; strangely enough, they had not even enquired.
The old Frenchwoman, as soon as the ship was under way, and Captain
Clark could attend to her, had gone below with him for half an hour;
while Johnnie, Hull, and Elizabeth remained upon the poop.
When La Motte returned, the captain was smiling. There was a genial
twinkle in his eye. He came up to the others in a very friendly fashion.
"S'death," he said, "I am in luck's way. Here you are, Master
Commendone, that are my owner's friend and bear a letter from him; and
here is Mistress La Motte, whom I have known long agone. By carrying ye
to Cadiz I shall be earning the Alderman's gratitude, and also good red
coins of the Mint, which Madame hath now paid me."
"Cadiz?" Johnnie said. "Cadiz in Spain?"
"That fair city and none other," the captain answered. "Heaven favouring
us, we shall bowl along to the city of wine, of fruit, and of fish. You
shall sip the sherries of Jerez and San Lucar, and eke taste the soup of
lobsters--langosta, they call it--and _bouillabaisse_ in the southern
parts of France--upon the island of San Leon, where the folk do go upon
a Sunday for that refection. But now come you down below and see to your
quarters. I have given up my cabin to the ladies, and you, sir," he
turned to Johnnie, "must turn in with me, to which end I have
commandeered the cabin of Master Mew, that is my chief officer, and a
merry fellow from the Isle of Wight, who will sing you a right good
catch of an evening, I'll warrant. And as for this your servant, the
bo'son will look to him, and he will not be among the men."
They had gone below, and everything was arranged accordingly. The
quarters were more comfortable than Commendone had expected, and as far
as this part of the expedition was concerned all was well.
Nevertheless, as Johnnie came up again upon the poop with the captain,
he was in great perturbation. They were sailing to Spain! To the very
country which was ruled by the man he had so evilly entreated. Might it
not well be that, escaping Scylla, they were sailing into the whirlpool
of Charybdis?
The captain seemed to divine something of the young man's thoughts. He
sat down upon a coil of rope and looked upward with a shrewd and
weather-beaten eye.
"Look you here, master," he said. "Why you came aboard my ship I know
not. You caught me as I was weighing anchor. Thou art a gentleman of
condition, and yet you come aboard with no mails, and nothing but that
in which you stand up. And you come aboard in company with that old Moll
of Flanders, La Motte--no fit company for a gentleman upon a voyage. And
furthermore, you have with you a young and well-looking lady, who also
hath no baggage with her. I tell you truly that I would not have
shipped you all had it not been for the letter of His Worship the
Alderman--whose hand of write I know very well upon bills of lading and
such. I like the look of you, and as Madame there has paid me well, 'tis
no business of mine what you are doing or have done. But look you here,
if that pretty young mistress is being forced to come with you against
her will--and what else can I think when I see her in the company of old
Moll?--then I will be a party to nothing of the sort. I am not a married
man, not regular church-sworn, that is, though I have a woman friend or
two in this port or that. And moreover, I have been oft-times to visit
the house with the red door. So you'll see I am no Puritan. But at the
same time I will be no help to the ravishing of maids of gentle blood,
and that I ask you well to believe, master."
Johnnie heard him patiently to the end.
"Let me tell you this, captain," he said, "that in what I am doing there
is no harm of any sort. Mistress Taylor, which is the name of the
younger lady, is the ward of Mr. Robert Cressemer. The Alderman is my
very good friend. My father, Sir Henry Commendone, of Commendone in
Kent, is his constant friend and correspondent. The young lady was taken
away yesterday from her guardian's care, taken in secret by some one
high about the Court--from which I also come, being a Gentleman in the
following of King Philip. Late last night, I received a letter from the
Alderman, telling me of this, upon which I and my servant immediately
set out for where we thought to find the stolen lady, in that we might
rescue her. She had been taken, shame that it should be said, to the
house of Madame La Motte in Duck Lane. From there we took her, but in
the taking I slew a most unknightly knight of the Court, and offered a
grave indignity to one placed even more highly than he was. Of
necessity, therefore, we fled from that ill-famed house. Madame La Motte
brought us to your ship, knowing you. Her we had to take with us, for if
not, vengeance would doubtless have fallen upon her for what I did. And
that, Captain Clark, is my whole story. As regards the future, Madame La
Motte, you say, hath paid you well. I have no money with me, but I am
the son of a rich man, and moreover, I can draw upon Mr. Cressemer for
anything I require. Gin you take us safely to Cadiz, I will give you
such a letter to the Alderman as will ensure your promotion in his
service, and will also be productive of a sum of money for you. I well
know that Master Cressemer would give a bag of ducats more than you
could lift, to secure the safety of Mistress Taylor."
The captain nodded. "Hast explained thyself very well, sir," he replied.
"As for the money, I am already paid, though if there is more to come,
the better I shall be pleased. But now that I know your state and
condition, and have heard your story, rest assured that I will do all I
can to help you. We touch at Lisbon first. There you can purchase
proper clothing for yourself and those who are with you, and there also
you can indite a letter to the Alderman, which will go to him by an
English ship very speedily. You have told your tale, and I ask to know
no more. I would not know any more, i' faith, even if thou wert to press
the knowledge on me. Now do not answer me in what I am about to say,
which, in brief, is this: We of the riverside have heard talk and
rumours. We know very well who hath now and then been a patron of La
Motte. It may be that you have come across and offered indignity to the
person of whom I speak--I am no fool, Mr. Commendone, and gentlemen of
your degree do not generally come aboard a vessel in the tideway at
early dawn in company of a mistress of a house with a red door! If what
I say is true--and I do not wish you to deny or to affirm upon the
same--then you are as well in Cadiz as anywhere else. It is, indeed, a
far cry from the Tower of London, and no one will know who you are in
Spain."
Instinctively Johnnie held out his hand, and the big seaman clasped it
in his brown and tarry fist.
"Yes," he said slowly, in answer, weighing his words as he did so,
"doubtless we shall be safe in Spain for a time, until advices can reach
us from England with money and reports of what has happened."
"I said so," Captain Clark answered, "and now you see it also. Mark
you, any vengeance that might fall upon you could only be secret,
because--if it is as I think, and, indeed, well believe--the person who
has suffered indignity at your hands could not confess to it, for reason
of his state, and where it was he suffered it. In Spain it would be
different, but who's to know that you are in Spain--for a long time, at
any rate?"
"And by that time," Johnnie replied, "I shall hope to have gone farther
afield, and be out of the fire of any one to hurt me. But there is this,
captain, which you must consider, sith you have opened your mind to me
as I to you. Enquiry will be made; the wharfingers who brought us aboard
may be discovered, and will speak. It will be known--at any rate it
_may_ be known--that you and your ship were the instruments of our
escape. And how will you do then?"
"I like you for saying that," said the captain, "seeing that you are, as
it were, in my power. But alarm yourself not at all, Master Commendone."
He rose from the coil of hemp where he had been sitting and spat out
into the sea.
"By'r Lady," he cried, "and dost think that an honest British seafaring
man fears anything that a rascally, yellow-faced, jelly-gutted lot of
Spanish toads, that have fastened them on to our fair England, can do?
Why! as thinking is now, in the City of London, my owner, Master
Cressemer, and three or four others with him, could put such pressure
upon Whitehall that ne'er a word would be said. It is them that hath the
money, and the train bands at their back, that both pay the piper and
call the tune in London City."
"I'm glad you take it that way, captain," Commendone said, "but I felt
bound in duty to put your risk before you. Yet if it is as you say, and
the power of the merchant princes of the City is so great, why do those
about the Queen burn and throw in prison so many good men for their
religion?"
"Ah, there you have me," said the captain. "Religion is a very different
thing--a plague to religion, say I--though I would not say it unless I
were walking my own deck and upon the high seas. But, look you, religion
is very different. They can burn a man for his religion in England, but
if he is in otherwise right, according to the powers that be, they
cannot make religion a mere excuse for burning him. Now I myself am a
good Catholic mariner"--he put his tongue in his cheek as he
spoke--"when I am ashore I take very good care--these days--to be
regular at Mass. And this ship hath been baptised by a priest withal!
Make your mind at rest; they cannot touch me in England for taking of
you away. There is too much at my back! And they cannot touch me in
Spain because no one will know anything about it there. And now 'tis
time for dinner. So come you down. There's a piece of pickled beef that
hath been in the pot this long time, and good green herbs with it
too--the want of which you will feel ere ever you make the Tagus."
* * * * *
It is astonishing--although the observation is trite--how soon people
adapt themselves to entirely new conditions of life. The environment of
yesterday seems like the experience of another life; that of to-day,
though we have but just experienced it, becomes already a thing of use
and wont.
It was thus with the fugitives. They were not three days out from London
River before they had shaken down into their places and life had become
normal to them all.
It was not, of course, without its discomforts. Hull, messing with the
bo'son, was very well off and speedily became popular with every one.
The brightness and cheeriness of the fellow's disposition made him hail
and happy met with all of them, while his great personal strength and
general handiness detracted nothing from his popularity. Madame La
Motte, wicked old soldier of fortune as she was, adapted herself to her
surroundings with true and cynical French philosophy. She, who was used
to live in the greatest personal luxury, put up with the rough fare, the
confined quarters, with equanimity, though it was fortunate that their
passage was smooth, and that all the time the sea was tranquil as a
pond. She was accustomed to drink fine French and Italian wines--and to
drink a great deal of them. Now she found, perforce, consolation in
Captain Clark's puncheons of Antwerp spirit, the white fiery _schiedam_.
She was a drunkard, this engaging lady, and imbibed great quantities of
liquor, much to the satisfaction of the captain, who was paid for it in
good coin of the realm.
The woman never became confused or intoxicated by what she drank.
Towards the end of the day she became a little sentimental, and was wont
to talk overmuch of her good birth, to expatiate upon the fallen glories
of her family. Nevertheless, no single word escaped her which could
shock or enlighten the sensitive purity of the young girl who was now in
her charge. There must have been some truth in her stories, because
Commendone, who was a thoroughly well-bred man, could see that her
manners were those of his own class. There was certainly a
free-and-easiness, a rakish _bonhomie_, and a caustic wit which was no
part of the attributes of the great ladies Johnnie had met--always
excepting the wit. This side of the old woman came from the depths into
which she had descended; but in other essentials she was a lady, and the
young man, with his limited experience of life, marvelled at it, and
more than once thanked God that things were no worse.
It was during this strange voyage that he learnt, or began to learn,
that great lesson of _tolerance_, which was to serve him so well in his
after life. He realised that there was good even in this unclean old
procuress; that she had virtues which some decent women he had known had
lacked. She tended Elizabeth with a maternal care; the girl clung to
her, became fond of her at once, and often said to Johnnie how kind the
woman was to her and what an affection she inspired.
Reflecting on these things in the lonely watches of the night,
Commendone saw his views of life perceptibly changing and becoming
softened. This young man, so carefully trained, so highly educated, so
exquisitely refined in thought and behaviour, found himself feeling a
real friendship and something akin to tenderness for this kindly,
battered jetsam of life.
She spoke frankly to him about her dreadful trade of the past, regarding
it philosophically. There was a demand; fortune or fate had put her in
the position of supplying that demand. _Il faut vivre_--and there you
were! And yet it was a most singular contradiction that this woman, who
for so long had exploited and sold womanhood, was now as kind and
tender, as scrupulous and loving to Elizabeth Taylor as if the girl was
her own daughter.
It was not without great significance, Johnnie remembered, that the soul
of the Canaanitish harlot was the first that Christ redeemed.
With Elizabeth--and surely there was never a stranger courting--Johnnie
sank at once into the position of her devoted lover. It seemed
inevitable. There was no prelude to it; there were no hesitations; it
just happened, as if it were a thing pre-ordained.
From the very first the girl accepted him as her natural protector; she
looked up to him in all things; he became her present and her horizon.
It was on one lovely night, when the moon was rising, the winds were
soft and low, and the stars came out in the dark sky like golden rain,
that he first spoke to her of what was to happen.
It was all quite simple, though inexpressibly sweet.
They were alone together in the forward part of the ship, and suddenly
he took her slim white hand--like a thing of carved and living
ivory--and held it close to his heart.
"My dear," he said, in a voice tremulous with feeling, "my dear Lizzie,
you are my love and my lady. When first I saw you outside St. Botolph
his Church, so slim and sorrowful in the grey dawning, my heart was
pierced with love for you, and during the sad day that came I vowed that
I would devote my life to loving you, and that if God pleased thou
shouldst be my little wife. Wilt marry me, darling? nay, thou _must_
marry me, for I need you so sore, to be mine for ever both here in this
mortal world and afterwards with God and His Angels. Tell me,
sweetheart, wilt marry me?"
She looked up in his face, and the little hand upon his heart trembled
as she did so.
"Why, Johnnie," she answered at length, "why, Johnnie, who could I marry
but you?"
He gathered the sweet and fragrant Simplicity to him; he kissed the soft
scarlet mouth, his strong arms were a home for her.
"Or ever we get to Seville," he said, "we will be married, sweetheart,
and never will we part from that day."
She echoed him. "Never part!" she said. "Oh, Johnnie, my true love; my
dear and darling Johnnie!"
* * * * *
At Lisbon, where they lay five days, Madame La Motte and Elizabeth went
ashore, and purchased suitable clothes and portmanteaux, while Johnnie
also fitted himself out afresh. Madame La Motte had brought a very large
sum with her in carefully hoarded gold, while she had also carried away
all her jewels, which, in themselves, were worth a small fortune. She
placed the whole of her money at Commendone's disposal, and made him
take charge of it, with an airy generosity which much touched the young
man. He explained to her that in the course of three months or so any
money that he needed would reach him from England, and that she would be
repaid, but she hardly seemed to hear him and waved such suggestion
away. And it is a most curious thing that not till a long time afterward
did it ever occur to the young man how and in what way the money he was
using had been earned. The realisation of that was to come to him later;
the time was not yet.
At Lisbon the passengers on board the _St. Iago_ were added to. A small
yellow-faced Spaniard of very pleasant manners--Don Pedro Perez by
name--bought a passage to Cadiz from Captain Clark, and there was
another fellow of the lower classes, a tall, athletic young man, very
much of Johnnie's build, though with a heavy and rather cruel face, who
also joined the vessel. This person, who paid the captain a small sum to
be carried to the great port, lived with the sailors, and interfered
nothing with the life of the others.
Don Perez proved himself an amusing companion and was very courteous to
the ladies.
From him Johnnie made many enquiries and learnt a good deal of what he
wanted to know. It will be remembered that Commendone's mother was a
Spaniard, a girl of the Senebria family of Seville. Johnnie knew little
of his relations on his mother's side, but old Sir Henry still kept up
some slight intercourse with Don Jose Senebria, the brother of his late
wife. Now and again a cask of wine and some pottles of olives arrived at
Commendone, and occasionally the knight returned the present, sending
out bales of Flemish cloth. It was Johnnie's purpose to immediately
proceed from Cadiz to Seville after their arrival at the port. He learnt
with satisfaction that Don Jose still inhabited the old family palace by
the Giralda, and he felt that he would at least be among friends and
sure of a welcome.
While the _St. Iago_ lay at Lisbon, two days before she set sail from
there, an English ship arrived, and from that time until she weighed
anchor Johnnie and none of his companions went ashore. It was extremely
unlikely that they would incur any danger, for the _Queen Mary_, which
was the name of the ship, must have sailed at very much the same time as
they did. It was as well, however, to undergo no unnecessary risks.
On the day before the _St. Iago_ sailed for Cadiz a great Spanish galley
came up the Tagus, a long and splendid ship, gliding swiftly up the
river with its two banks of oars. It was the first galley Johnnie had
ever seen, and he shuddered as he thought of the chained slaves below,
who propelled that sort of vessel, which was spoken of in England as a
floating hell. The galley lay at Lisbon for several hours, and then at
evening left the wharf where she had been tied and once more went down
the river for the open sea.
Johnnie was on deck as she passed, just about sunset, and watched with
great interest, for the galley crossed the stern of the _St. Iago_ only
fifty yards away from him.
He heard the regular machine-like chunking of the oars; he heard also a
sharper, more pistol-like sound, which he knew was none other than the
cracking of the overseers' whips, as they flogged the slaves to greater
exertions.
He did not see that among a little group of people upon the high
castellated poop of the galley there was one figure, a tall figure,
muffled in a cloak, and with a broad-brimmed Spanish hat low upon its
face, who started and peered eagerly at him as the ship went by.
Nor did he hear a low chuckle of amusement which came from that cloaked
figure.
Elizabeth was standing by his side. He turned to her.
"Let us go below," he said; "they will be bringing supper. Sweetheart, I
feel sad to think of those wretched men that pull that splendid ship so
swiftly through the seas."