thanks to the early tidings which the guardsman had brought with him, his little party was now ahead of the news. as they passed through the village of louvier in the early morning they caught a glimpse of a naked corpse upon a dunghill, and were told by a grinning watchman that it was that of a huguenot who had died impenitent, but that was a common enough occurrence already, and did not mean that there had been any change in the law. at rouen all was quiet, and captain ephraim savage before evening had brought both them and such property as they had saved aboard of his brigantine, the golden rod. it was but a little craft, some seventy tons burden, but at a time when so many were putting out to sea in open boats, preferring the wrath of nature to that of the king, it was a refuge indeed. the same night the seaman drew up his anchor and began to slowly make his way down the winding river.
and very slow work it was. there was half a moon shining and a breeze from the east, but the stream writhed and twisted and turned until sometimes they seemed to be sailing up rather than down. in the long reaches they set the yard square and ran, but often they had to lower their two boats and warp her painfully along, tomlinson of salem, the mate, and six grave, tobacco-chewing, new england seamen with their broad palmetto hats, tugging and straining at the oars. amos green, de catinat, and even the old merchant had to take their spell ere morning, when the sailors were needed aboard for the handling of the canvas. at last, however, with the early dawn the river broadened out and each bank trended away, leaving a long funnel-shaped estuary between. ephraim savage snuffed the air and paced the deck briskly with a twinkle in his keen gray eyes. the wind had fallen away, but there was still enough to drive them slowly upon their course.
“where’s the gal?” he asked.
“she is in my cabin,” said amos green. “i thought that maybe she could manage there until we got across.”
“where will you sleep yourself, then?”
“tut, a litter of spruce boughs and a sheet of birch bark over me have been enough all these years. what would i ask better than this deck of soft white pine and my blanket?”
“very good. the old man and his nephew, him with the blue coat, can have the two empty bunks. but you must speak to that man, amos. i’ll have no philandering aboard my ship, lad—no whispering or cuddling or any such foolishness. tell him that this ship is just a bit broke off from boston, and he’ll have to put up with boston ways until he gets off her. they’ve been good enough for better men than him. you give me the french for ‘no philandering,’ and i’ll bring him up with a round turn when he drifts.”
“it’s a pity we left so quick or they might have been married before we started. she’s a good girl, ephraim, and he is a fine man, for all that their ways are not the same as ours. they don’t seem to take life so hard as we, and maybe they get more pleasure out of it.”
“i never heard tell that we were put here to get pleasure out of it,” said the old puritan, shaking his head. “the valley of the shadow of death don’t seem to me to be the kind o’ name one would give to a play-ground. it is a trial and a chastening, that’s what it is, the gall of bitterness and the bond of iniquity. we’re bad from the beginning, like a stream that runs from a tamarack swamp, and we’ve enough to do to get ourselves to rights without any fool’s talk about pleasure.”
“it seems to me to be all mixed up,” said amos. “like the fat and the lean in a bag of pemmican. look at that sun just pushing its edge over the trees, and see the pink flush on the clouds and the river like a rosy ribbon behind us. it’s mighty pretty to our eyes, and very pleasing to us, and it wouldn’t be so to my mind if the creator hadn’t wanted it to be. many a time when i have lain in the woods in the fall and smoked my pipe, and felt how good the tobacco was, and how bright the yellow maples were, and the purple ash, and the red tupelo blazing among the bushwood, i’ve felt that the real fool’s talk was with the man who could doubt that all this was meant to make the world happier for us.”
“you’ve been thinking too much in them woods,” said ephraim savage, gazing at him uneasily. “don’t let your sail be too great for your boat, lad, nor trust to your own wisdom. your father was from the bay, and you were raised from a stock that cast the dust of england from their feet rather than bow down to baal. keep a grip on the word and don’t think beyond it. but what is the matter with the old man? he don’t seem easy in his mind.”
the old merchant had been leaning over the bulwarks, looking back with a drawn face and weary eyes at the red curving track behind them which marked the path to paris. adele had come up now, with not a thought to spare upon the dangers and troubles which lay in front of her as she chafed the old man’s thin cold hands, and whispered words of love and comfort into his ears. but they had come to the point where the gentle still-flowing river began for the first time to throb to the beat of the sea. the old man gazed forward with horror at the bowsprit as he saw it rise slowly upwards into the air, and clung frantically at the rail as it seemed to slip away from beneath him.
“we are always in the hollow of god’s hand,” he whispered, “but oh, adele, it is a dreadful thing to feel his fingers moving under us.”
“come with me, uncle,” said de catinat, passing his arm under that of the old man. “it is long since you have rested. and you, adele, i pray that you will go and sleep, my poor darling, for it has been a weary journey. go now, to please me, and when you wake, both france and your troubles will lie behind you.”
when father and daughter had left the deck, de catinat made his way aft again to where amos green and the captain were standing.
“i am glad to get them below, amos,” said he, “for i fear that we may have trouble yet.”
“and how?”
“you see the white road which runs by the southern bank of the river. twice within the last half-hour i have seen horsemen spurring for dear life along it. where the spires and smoke are yonder is honfleur, and thither it was that these men went. i know not who could ride so madly at such an hour unless they were the messengers of the king. oh, see, there is a third one!”
on the white band which wound among the green meadows a black dot could be seen which moved along with great rapidity, vanished behind a clump of trees, and then reappeared again, making for the distant city. captain savage drew out his glass and gazed at the rider.
“ay, ay,” said he, as he snapped it up again. “it is a soldier, sure enough. i can see the glint of the scabbard which he carries on his larboard side. i think we shall have more wind soon. with a breeze we can show our heels to anything in french waters, but a galley or an armed boat would overhaul us now.”
de catinat, who, though he could speak little english, had learned in america to understand it pretty well, looked anxiously at amos green. “i fear that we shall bring trouble on this good captain,” said he, “and that the loss of his cargo and ship may be his reward for having befriended us. ask him whether he would not prefer to land us on the north bank. with our money we might make our way into the lowlands.”
ephraim savage looked at his passenger with eyes which had lost something of their sternness. “young man,” said he, “i see that you can understand something of my talk.”
de catinat nodded.
“i tell you then that i am a bad man to beat. any man that was ever shipmates with me would tell you as much. i just jam my helm and keep my course as long as god will let me. d’ye see?”
de catinat again nodded, though in truth the seaman’s metaphors left him with but a very general sense of his meaning.
“we’re comin’ abreast of that there town, and in ten minutes we shall know if there is any trouble waiting for us. but i’ll tell you a story as we go that’ll show you what kind o’ man you’ve shipped with. it was ten years ago that i speak of, when i was in the speedwell, sixty-ton brig, tradin’ betwixt boston and jamestown, goin’ south with lumber and skins and fixin’s, d’ye see, and north again with tobacco and molasses. one night, blowin’ half a gale from the south’ard, we ran on a reef two miles to the east of cape may, and down we went with a hole in our bottom like as if she’d been spitted on the steeple o’ one o’ them honfleur churches. well, in the morning there i was washin’ about, nigh out of sight of land, clingin’ on to half the foreyard, without a sign either of my mates or of wreckage. i wasn’t so cold, for it was early fall, and i could get three parts of my body on to the spar, but i was hungry and thirsty and bruised, so i just took in two holes of my waist-belt, and put up a hymn, and had a look round for what i could see. well, i saw more than i cared for. within five paces of me there was a great fish, as long pretty nigh as the spar that i was grippin’. it’s a mighty pleasant thing to have your legs in the water and a beast like that all ready for a nibble at your toes.”
“mon dieu!” cried the french soldier. “and he have not eat you?”
ephraim savage’s little eyes twinkled at the reminiscence.
“i ate him,” said he.
“what!” cried amos.
“it’s a mortal fact. i’d a jack-knife in my pocket, same as this one, and i kicked my legs to keep the brute off, and i whittled away at the spar until i’d got a good jagged bit off, sharp at each end, same as a nigger told me once down delaware way. then i waited for him, and stopped kicking, so he came at me like a hawk on a chick-a-dee. when he turned up his belly i jammed my left hand with the wood right into his great grinnin’ mouth, and i let him have it with my knife between the gills. he tried to break away then, but i held on, d’ye see, though he took me so deep i thought i’d never come up again. i was nigh gone when we got to the surface, but he was floatin’ with the white up, and twenty holes in his shirt front. then i got back to my spar, for we’d gone a long fifty fathoms under water, and when i reached it i fainted dead away.”
“and then?”
“well, when i came to, it was calm, and there was the dead shark floatin’ beside me. i paddled my spar over to him and i got loose a few yards of halliard that were hangin’ from one end of it. i made a clove-hitch round his tail, d’ye see, and got the end of it slung over the spar and fastened, so as i couldn’t lose him. then i set to work and i ate him in a week right up to his back fin, and i drank the rain that fell on my coat, and when i was picked up by the gracie of gloucester, i was that fat that i could scarce climb aboard. that’s what ephraim savage means, my lad, when he says that he is a baddish man to beat.”
whilst the puritan seaman had been detailing his reminiscence, his eyes had kept wandering from the clouds to the flapping sails and back. such wind as there was came in little short puffs, and the canvas either drew full or was absolutely slack. the fleecy shreds of cloud above, however, travelled swiftly across the blue sky. it was on these that the captain fixed his gaze, and he watched them like a man who is working out a problem in his mind. they were abreast of honfleur now, and about half a mile out from it. several sloops and brigs were lying there in a cluster, and a whole fleet of brown-sailed fishing-boats were tacking slowly in. yet all was quiet on the curving quay and on the half-moon fort over which floated the white flag with the golden fleur-delis. the port lay on their quarter now and they were drawing away more quickly as the breeze freshened. de catinat glancing back had almost made up his mind that their fears were quite groundless when they were brought back in an instant and more urgently than ever.
round the corner of the mole a great dark boat had dashed into view, ringed round with foam from her flying prow, and from the ten pairs of oars which swung from either side of her. a dainty white ensign drooped over her stern, and in her bows the sun’s light was caught by a heavy brass carronade. she was packed with men, and the gleam which twinkled every now and again from amongst them told that they were armed to the teeth. the captain brought his glass to bear upon them and whistled. then he glanced up at the clouds once more.
“thirty men,” said he, “and they go three paces to our two. you, sir, take your blue coat off this deck or you’ll bring trouble upon us. the lord will look after his own if they’ll only keep from foolishness. get these hatches off, tomlinson. so! where’s jim sturt and hiram jefferson? let them stand by to clap them on again when i whistle. starboard! starboard! keep her as full as she’ll draw. now, amos, and you, tomlinson, come here until i have a word with you.”
the three stood in consultation upon the poop, glancing back at their pursuers. there could be no doubt that the wind was freshening; it blew briskly in their faces as they looked back, but it was not steady yet, and the boat was rapidly overhauling them. already they could see the faces of the marines who sat in the stern, and the gleam of the lighted linstock which the gunner held in his hand.
“hola!” cried an officer in excellent english. “lay her to or we fire”
“who are you, and what do you want?” shouted ephraim savage, in a voice that might have been heard from the bank.
“we come in the king’s name, and we want a party of huguenots from paris who came on board of your vessel at rouen.”
“brace back the foreyard and lay her to,” shouted the captain. “drop a ladder over the side there and look smart! so! now we are ready for them.”
the yard was swung round and the vessel lay quietly rising and falling on the waves. the boat dashed alongside, her brass cannon trained upon the brigantine, and her squad of marines with their fingers upon their triggers ready to open fire. they grinned and shrugged their shoulders when they saw that their sole opponents were three unarmed men upon the poop. the officer, a young active fellow with a bristling moustache, like the whiskers of a cat, was on deck in an instant with his drawn sword in his hand.
“come up, two of you!” he cried. “you stand here at the head of the ladder, sergeant. throw up a rope and you can fix it to this stanchion. keep awake down there and be all ready to fire! you come with me, corporal lemoine. who is captain of this ship?”
“i am, sir,” said ephraim savage submissively.
“you have three huguenots aboard?”
“tut! tut! huguenots, are they? i thought they were very anxious to get away, but as long as they paid their passage it was no business of mine. an old man, his daughter, and a young fellow about your age in some sort of livery.”
“in uniform, sir! the uniform of the king’s guard. those are the folk i have come for.”
“and you wish to take them back?”
“most certainly.”
“poor folk! i am sorry for them.”
“and so am i, but orders are orders and must be done.”
“quite so. well, the old man is in his bunk asleep. the maid is in a cabin below. and the other is sleeping down the hold there where we had to put him, for there is no room elsewhere.”
“sleeping, you say? we had best surprise him.”
“but think you that you dare do it alone! he has no arms, it is true, but he is a well-grown young fellow. will you not have twenty men up from the boat?”
some such thought had passed through the officer’s head, but the captain’s remark put him upon his mettle.
“come with me, corporal,” said he. “down this ladder, you say?”
“yes, down the ladder and straight on. he lies between those two cloth bales.” ephraim savage looked up with a smile playing about the corners of his grim mouth. the wind was whistling now in the rigging, and the stays of the mast were humming like two harp strings. amos green lounged beside the french sergeant who guarded the end of the rope ladder, while tomlinson, the mate, stood with a bucket of water in his hand exchanging remarks in very bad french with the crew of the boat beneath him.
the officer made his way slowly down the ladder which led into the hold, and the corporal followed him, and had his chest level with the deck when the other had reached the bottom. it may have been something in ephraim savage’s face, or it may have been the gloom around him which startled the young frenchman, but a sudden suspicion flashed into his mind.
“up again, corporal!” he shouted, “i think that you are best at the top.”
“and i think that you are best down below, my friend,” said the puritan, who gathered the officer’s meaning from his gesture. putting the sole of his boot against the man’s chest he gave a shove which sent both him and the ladder crashing down on to the officer beneath him. as he did so he blew his whistle, and in a moment the hatch was back in its place and clamped down on each side with iron bars.
the sergeant had swung round at the sound of the crash, but amos green, who had waited for the movement, threw his arms about him and hurled him overboard into the sea. at the same instant the connecting rope was severed, the foreyard creaked back into position again, and the bucketful of salt water soused down over the gunner and his gun, putting out his linstock and wetting his priming. a shower of balls from the marines piped through the air or rapped up against the planks, but the boat was tossing and jerking in the short choppy waves and to aim was impossible. in vain the men tugged and strained at their oars while the gunner worked like a maniac to relight his linstock and to replace his priming. the boat had lost its weigh, while the brigantine was flying along now with every sail bulging and swelling to bursting-point. crack! went the carronade at last, and five little slits in the mainsail showed that her charge of grape had flown high. her second shot left no trace behind it, and at the third she was at the limit of her range. half an hour afterwards a little dark dot upon the horizon with a golden speck at one end of it was all that could be seen of the honfleur guard-boat. wider and wider grew the low-lying shores, broader and broader was the vast spread of blue waters ahead, the smoke of havre lay like a little cloud upon the northern horizon, and captain ephraim savage paced his deck with his face as grim as ever, but with a dancing light in his gray eyes.
“i knew that the lord would look after his own,” said he complacently. “we’ve got her beak straight now, and there’s not as much as a dab of mud betwixt this and the three hills of boston. you’ve had too much of these french wines of late, amos, lad. come down and try a real boston brewing with a double stroke of malt in the mash tub.”
