Sea-Dogs All!

by Tom Bevan

  Chapter XV.

  A LETTER FROM COURT.

  Affairs in the forest had settled down; "excursions and alarums" wereno longer the order of the day and the dread of the night. Wounded menwere healed of the hurts gotten in the fray with the conspirators, andtheir whole-skinned neighbours had ceased to ask them how they did andenvy them the marks of patriotic valour that they carried on theirbodies. The dead were buried, and the tears of wives, mothers, andsisters were dried, and sad memories--when they came--called up only asigh of resignation: "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away!"They humbly thanked the Lord that He had given their men honourablepassage into the next world.

  The admiral was no longer at Gatcombe, but had gone to London, andthence to Plymouth. Raleigh had gone to London with him, and in Londonhad he stayed. After the solitude of the forest, the gaiety of thecourt attracted him strongly; and, as her most gracious Majesty wasdisposed to smile upon him, he had said to Drake, "The sun shines,Frank; beshrew me if I stray out of the circle of its warm rays." Towhich the seaman replied, "God forgive thee, Wat, for dancing so muchafter a woman's heels. The sea--as I know full well--can betreacherous, but I serve a less fickle mistress than thou."

  Raleigh laughed lightly, kissed the storm-roughened cheek of hisfriend, and bade him God-speed. "What would our royal mistress say ifshe heard thee call her 'fickle'?" he whispered.

  "I am not fool enough, Wat, to speak such words in her hearing. Buthave a care--courts are slippery places in which to walk. An honestman is safer on a ship's deck during a hurricane than on a palace flooreven when the royal sun is shining. Have a care of thyself, dearheart, if only for the sake of us rough sea-dogs of Devon that lovethee."

  Whereupon Raleigh kissed the admiral again, and sent loving messages toJack Hawkins and Dick Grenville and all the other gallant gentlementhat quaffed their ale with eyes on the sea on Plymouth Hoe.

  Johnnie Morgan stood watching the last wagon from his harvest field gocreaking and groaning into the rickyard in the rear of his house. Itwas quite early in the afternoon, and the September sun shone with anardour worthy of fierce July. There was a wind, but it came dead fromthe south, and its passage across the hot, moist sands of the river hadno cooling influence upon it. Johnnie mopped his brow and leantwearily upon a pitchfork whilst a maiden ran indoors for a flagon ofcider. She came back, followed closely by a dusty stranger.

  The farmer stared at the stranger. The latter surveyed Johnnie prettycoolly, measured him from head to heel, and then took off his hat witha sweeping forward movement of the arm. "By the look of thee thou artMaster Morgan, the yeoman of Blakeney, for whom I have hunted high andlow since noon," he exclaimed.

  "I am Master Morgan," replied Johnnie; "who art thou?"

  "Timothy Jeffreys, at your service. I serve the good knight, SirWalter Raleigh."

  "Say no more until thy throat be better moistened," cried Morgan,handing him the flagon of cider. "Let it never be said that a messagefrom the noble Sir Walter was spoken to me with dry lips."

  Master Jeffreys took the cider off at a draught. "Passable--on a hotday, palatable--to a man thirsty enough to lap from a wayside ditch;but--!" he shook his head expressively, "'tis not Devonshire juice,Master Morgan."

  "True; 'tis good Glo'stershire, and we humble forest folk keep soundheads and sound stomachs by quaffing it. I'm sorry 'tis not to yourliking; maybe I should cry 'faugh!' over your Devonshire tipple, goodsir." Johnnie was annoyed, for he prided himself on his apple-brew,and the airs and graces of Master Jeffreys were not altogether to hisliking. "You have a message to me," he said. "No doubt you will tellit better sitting than standing. Come into my parlour.--Meg, take thisgentleman's cloak and dust it, and bring him a brush for his boots."The maid took the horseman's cloak, and her master led his guestindoors. Meg was ready on the threshold to brush off the heavy coatingof red, forest dust.

  "Bachelor?" asked Jeffreys when he found himself lying back in a cosychair, a bowl of sweet, old-time flowers adjacent to his nose.

  "Bachelor!" answered Johnnie.

  "Pardon my question; but this room is so trim and neat that, methought,there must be some dainty housewife under the roof."

  "And thou wert curious to see her."

  "Exactly. I have travelled, Master Morgan, and I love to look about meand ponder upon what I see."

  "Thy conclusions are not always correct."

  "The wisest men make mistakes, Master Morgan."

  "What a comfort to us that are fools!" ejaculated the forester. "Butthy message, my good sir."

  "I like thy house; 'tis uncommon pretty."

  "A good enough nest," assented Morgan.

  "Wants another bird in it."

  "True!"

  "Thou hast no thought of quitting the homestead?"

  "Heaven forbid! 'twas my father's before me. I'll never leave it."

  "That's a pity."

  "How so?"

  "I've come down to fetch thee away."

  Johnnie was losing patience with his visitor. His thoughts were busywith the rick-makers in the yard, and Master Jeffreys was in no hurryto say his say and be gone. He gave himself more airs than the knighthis master. "Sit and rest thyself," exclaimed the farmer, getting up."I can see that thy story will keep another hour. I'll send the wenchinto thee with some ale and venison. Eat and drink and take thine easeuntil I come to thee again." Without another word he vanished.

  "A hasty fellow," commented Master Jeffreys. "A few trees and a muddyriver make up his world. A winter in London will open his eyes andgive him a broader view of life; then he will behave in a more leisuredmanner."

  Johnnie saw to the unlading of his last wagon and the shaping off ofhis wheat-rick. Then he went indoors again, and found his visitorready to deliver his message without any more beating about the bush.It was short, but pointed. Jeffreys--who described himself as a poorgentleman of Devon attached to the fortunes of his more famousneighbour--was instructed to invite, or rather command, Master Morgan'spresence in London. Raleigh had spoken of him to the Queen, and theadmiral had also written concerning him. Her Majesty was anxious tosee the valiant forester, and Jeffreys duly impressed upon him thenecessity of seizing so glorious a chance to push his fortunes.

  But Morgan was not so eager; in fact, he told the messenger that, muchas he loved Raleigh and honoured the Queen, he did not propose toventure into London. Jeffreys argued. Morgan was firm. "I'll notcome except at the direct command of the good Sir Walter or the Queen.If I am left any choice in the matter, I choose to abide in the forest."

  "Very well," said Jeffreys, "then I'll be going. My steed will berested. Canst give me a guide to Newnham? I want a Captain Dawe."

  "Ah!" cried Johnnie, all ears in a moment.

  "The knight hath commissioned me to deliver a letter to a MistressDorothy Dawe."

  "Then I'll get me out of my workday suit and walk to Newnham withthee," exclaimed the farmer. "There's nought so refreshing as a trampalong the shaded, woodland ways, and I have a little business of mineown to do with Captain Dawe. I shall serve thee and myself at the sametime." So much the yeoman said aloud. Inwardly he muttered, "I'll nothave this bowing and scraping image ducking and bobbing before myDolly, and sniffing round her parlour like a dog that hopes to startsome quarry from behind chair or table. He'll be in luck if hismessage-carrying doesn't get him a cracked crown. I hope the knighthath not many such as he in his train."

  Jeffreys stared when his guide came again into the sunny parlourprepared for his walk to Newnham. The rough farmer in hodden gray haddisappeared, and in his place stood a stalwart and handsome younggentleman in green slashed doublet and hosen of soft cream cloth. Agreen cap with a white swan's feather perched jauntily on the dark,curling hair, and from a belt of pale buckskin hung a sword with adelicately chased handle. The "poor gentleman of Devon" fresh fromLondon and the court felt as gay as a dusty barndoor fowl might feelbeside a lordly peacock.

  "La! Master Mor
gan," he cried, "I'm glad thou hast no mind for Londonin my company. In good sooth, I've no wish to walk down Chepe orWhitehall with thee at my elbow. Ne'er a wench would give an eye tome. Even through the forest, with nought save the birds and beasts toquiz at us, I think I'll come along humbly in the rear with my cap inmy hand. You foresters go a-visiting in as smart a guise as a towngallant goes to the play. Dost mind if I wash my face, comb my locks,and have another brushing ere we set forth?"

  "Ha' done with thy jesting, good sir; thou art a traveller from afar,and lookest the part to perfection. I am at mine ease at home going topay a call to a pretty neighbour. Let us be jogging; 'tis a long walkto Newnham, and the afternoon is wearing late."

  The two young men set out for the little river town. Morgan at firsthad little to say, and let his companion rattle on as he pleased aboutLondon--its streets, shops, taverns, and theatres. But, by-and-by, hebecame eager over the wild beauties of river and forest, and he toldtales of cave and cliff and pool, of boar and deer, pirate andfisherman, and forced Master Jeffreys to listen. And so they got toNewnham and the pretty cottage with fair flowers outside and a fairerflower within. "This is Captain Dawe's house," said Johnnie.

  "I thank thee heartily. I can knock and introduce myself and mineerrand, and leave thee free to go at once to the pretty maid in whosehonour thou hast decked thyself so gallantly."

  "Trouble not thyself, Master Jeffreys; I shall do my business thebetter by coming in to quicken thine. Follow me; I am in the habit ofentering this house without going through the ceremony of knocking."Saying this, the forester lifted the latch and stood aside for hiscompanion to cross the threshold first. A sound of singing came fromthe kitchen.

  "A pretty bird in a pretty cage," said Jeffreys.

  "E'en so," commented Morgan; "thine eyes and ears are passably good fora townsman. Pardon me leaving thee for a moment."

  Morgan strode off kitchenwards. There was a sudden, "La, Jack! thoudost look like a feast day. Mind the flour!" After that Jeffreysalways declared that he heard the sound of a vigorous kiss. Silencefollowed; then excited whisperings; then a scamper of light feet; andMorgan returned and ushered his waiting companion into the parlour."Captain Dawe is down by the river," he said; "Mistress Dorothy will bewith us anon."

  "And the pretty bird that sang in the kitchen over the flour tub?"

  "Was Mistress Dorothy."

  "Thy sleeve is whitened, Master Morgan."

  Johnnie coolly brushed away the tell-tale smudge. "Women alwayssmother a room up on baking-day," he replied.

  Dorothy came in.

  "This is Sir Walter's man, who hath a packet for thee.--MasterJeffreys, this is Mistress Dawe."

  Dorothy curtsied, and the messenger bowed. "Never had long journey sopretty and pleasant an ending," he said. "Here is a packet from mymaster, the gallant knight Sir Walter Raleigh. I am to take back ananswer."

  Dorothy took the packet, blushing at the sight of the pretty ribbonswherewith it was tied. "I am honoured indeed," she murmured; "pray yoube seated, fair sir."