The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  The shipmaster who was thus introduced seemed a very good specimen of his class, and his looks by no means belied the favourable description of him given by the host. Apparently, he was turned forty, but his features were so brown and weather-beaten that it was difficult to determine his age precisely. Squarely built, and somewhat under the middle size, he had a broad, good- humoured, honest-looking physiognomy, by no means destitute of shrewdness, and seemed every inch a seaman. He was rather roughly attired, his apparel consisting of a Guernsey shirt, a loose jacket of stout blue cloth, ample galligaskins, or slops of brown flannel, nether hose of the same colour, and square-toed shoes. On his head he had a cap, originally bright scarlet, though now somewhat weather-stained; but this he doffed on entering the room.

  “This is Captain Nicholas Tattersall, worthy sirs,” said Bridger, slapping the skipper familiarly on the back as he spoke; “as honest a shipmaster — I will say it to his face — as ever sailed.”

  “A truce to compliments, friend Absolom,” said Tattersall, bluntly — his voice was deep and hoarse, as might be expected from such a broad-chested personage. “You know I like them not. Your servant, gentlemen,” he added to the others. “You desire to speak to me, as I understand?”

  “We do,” Colonel Gunter replied. “Pray be seated, Captain Tattersall. Happy to make your acquaintance, sir. Bring another glass, Absolom. Will it please you to taste this sack, captain?”

  “The captain prefers brandy, worthy sir,” hastily interposed Bridger, “I have a runlet of rare old Nantz, given me by a French skipper, which I keep for his special drinking.”

  “Bring the brandy at once, then,” said Colonel Gunter, “and take care we be not interrupted.”

  Upon this the host departed, but almost immediately reappeared with a very promising-looking square-shaped bottle, the contents of which having been tasted by Tattersall, were pronounced by him to be the right sort. Having thus attended to all the requirements of his guests, Bridger left them and closed the door. As he went forth, Clavering satisfied himself that no eavesdropper was without. Pipes were next lighted, and glasses filled. After a few preliminary whiffs, Tattersall said,

  “Now, gentlemen, what may be your business with me?” adding, with rather a droll expression of countenance, “Nothing against the Republic, I hope?”

  “Oh no — nothing treasonable,” Colonel Gunter replied, with a laugh. Take another glass of brandy, captain, and then we’ll enter upon the business.”

  “Much obliged, but I’ve had enough for the present,” Tattersall rejoined, dryly. “Come, masters, speak out! You needn’t be palavering with me. Something’s in the wind, I can see plainly enough. What is it? You make believe to be Roundheads, but I know on which side your swords would be drawn if it came to a fight.”

  “And on which side, in your apprehension, would it be, Captain Tattersall?” demanded Clavering.

  “On the king’s, Master Clavering Maunsel,” the skipper replied, with a wink. “Lord bless me! though you have cropped your locks, and put on the raiments of the sanctified, do you think I don’t know you? Here’s your father’s health, young sir,” he proceeded, filling his glass from the square-shaped bottle, “and somebody else’s,” he added, in a whisper. “We understand each other now, gentlemen, I fancy.”

  “We very soon shall do so,” replied Colonel Gunter, with a laugh. “You are right in all your surmises, Captain Tattersall. I am a loyalist as well as my young friend Clavering Maunsel. Our business with you may be told in a word. We want you to convey two friends of ours — two particular friends — privily across the Channel.”

  “Two particular friends, eh!” cried Tattersall. “Oh yes! I do understand,” he added, with a wink. “Very intimate friends, no doubt. Why not call them relations — near relations — such as fathers, or brothers, or uncles?”

  “You mistake me, captain,” rejoined Colonel Gunter. “The gentlemen in question are relatives neither of Mr. Clavering Maunsel nor of myself. They are merely friends. They are not even fugitive Cavaliers; but having been engaged in a fatal duel, desire to get out of the way till the affair has blown over.”

  “That’s the plain English of it, eh?” exclaimed the skipper, somewhat incredulously. “I see you’re not inclined to trust me. Quite right to be cautious. But I thought young Mr. Maunsel knew me too well to doubt me.”

  “I have the most perfect confidence in you, Captain Tattersall,” said Clavering, “but—”

  “But you daren’t commit our friends,” supplied the skipper. “I understand. Well, I’ve no objection to take these unlucky duellists across the Channel, if you make it worth my while. What do you offer for the job?”

  “Fifty golden caroluses,” replied Colonel Gunter.

  “Humph! I might have been content with that sum if they had been political offenders — good men, with a price set upon their heads — but simple fugitives from justice must pay double.”

  “Well, we won’t haggle about the payment,” rejoined Gunter. “Let it be a bargain. Say a hundred caroluses.”

  “Fifty as earnest, or I won’t engage,” cried Tattersall.

  “Here they are!” replied Colonel Gunter, tossing him a bag of gold, which had originally come out of Zachary Trangmar’s chest. “Count them at your leisure.”

  “That’s the way to do business,” said Tattersall, laughing, as he took the bag. “But mark me!” he added, with a slight change of tone. “I make one condition. I must see the gentlemen before I agree to take them.”

  “But you have agreed! you are partly paid!” Colonel Gunter exclaimed, somewhat sharply.

  “The money shall be refunded, of course, if I can’t fulfil my engagement,” replied Tattersall, coolly. “But as I have just said, I must see the gentlemen. Seamen have strange fancies, and I mayn’t like their looks.”

  “I am sure you will, Tattersall,” remarked Clavering, laughing; “Colonel Gunter need not be uneasy as to your stipulation.”

  “Is this Colonel Gunter?” cried the skipper, eyeing the person named. “I was not aware of it. Your humble servant, colonel.”

  “Sir, I am yours,” replied Gunter, returning his bow. “Well, then, if the countenances of my friends please you, they are to have a passage? Is it so?”

  Tattersall nodded assent, but did not remove the pipe from his mouth.

  “When can you start?” pursued Gunter.

  “The wind is sou’-west, and not favourable for crossing the Channel,” the skipper replied; “and I must get in my cargo, for it won’t do to let my men into the scheme. My next trip is fixed for Poole, and I must ostensibly hold to the arrangement. But I may be ready in a couple of days, or three at the outside, if that will do.”

  “It must do, captain,” replied Gunter. “But don’t lose any time. My friends are very anxious to be off. You will never forgive yourself if anything should happen — to one of them in particular — in consequence of the delay.”

  “Shan’t I?” exclaimed Tattersall, with a knowing look; “then the ‘one in particular’ must be of vast interest to me. However, I won’t make any further inquiries, since you are not disposed to satisfy me. Where and when shall we meet again?”

  Colonel Gunter consulted Clavering by a look.

  “Let the meeting take place at my father’s house, at Ovingdean Grange, on the evening of the day after to-morrow,” said young Maunsel.

  “Good,” replied the skipper. “I know the Grange well, I often go to Rottingdean. I shall be glad to see your worthy father, Colonel Maunsel, for whom I have a high respect. I was sorry to hear he had got into some trouble of late. I was told he had been taken to Lewes Castle.”

  “Your information is not exactly correct, captain,” Clavering replied. “Our chaplain, Mr. Beard, the deprived pastor of Ovingdean, and his daughter, were taken in his stead, my father being nearly at death’s door when the Ironside leader, Stelfax, came to make him a prisoner. On his recovery, about a week ago, the colonel went to Lewes to surrender himsel
f and obtain the release of his hostages, and met with better treatment than he anticipated: not only did he procure the liberation of Mr. Beard and his daughter, but he was allowed to remain a prisoner on parole at Ovingdean, where all three now are.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” said Tattersall. “If all goes well, on the afternoon of the day after to-morrow — that is to say on Wednesday, it being now Monday — about five o’clock, I will be at Ovingdean Grange. If anything should prevent my coming, I will send. But your friends may hold themselves prepared to start. I will get all ready — if I can.”

  “You clog your promises with so many doubts, captain,” observed Colonel Gunter, “that you also must make me fear their fulfilment. However, I will hope for the best. At five o’clock on Wednesday next I shall expect to see you at Ovingdean Grange, and my friends must then abide your scrutiny.”

  “And if Captain Tattersall, when he does see them, be not delighted to lend them aid, he is not the man I take him for,” said Clavering.

  “Well, we shall see,” replied the skipper, rising. “Since time presses, I will go and see about getting in my cargo at once.”

  “Stay, Tattersall,” cried Clavering, filling the skipper’s glass. “One toast ere you go; I’m sure you won’t refuse it: May the king enjoy his own again!”

  “May the king enjoy his own again!” cried the skipper, emptying the glass; “and,” he added, significantly, “if I can help him to it, I will. What was that noise? I thought I heard some one suddenly start up in the next room.”

  “Very likely,” replied Clavering. “The room is occupied by an Independent minister, lately of Ovingdean. But he couldn’t overhear us.”

  “I hope not,” replied Tattersall. “I hate the Independents. Adieu, gentlemen. On Wednesday, at five.”

  “Till then adieu, captain,” said Gunter. “And harkye, don’t mention a word that has passed to your wife — if you happen to possess one.”

  “No fear of my blabbing, colonel,” replied Tattersall. And he quitted the room.

  Clavering went out immediately after him, and found that the door of the adjoining room was open, and the apartment vacant. Micklegift, if he had been there, was gone.

  The two gentlemen did not remain much longer at the Dolphin but paid their reckoning and called for their horses, which were soon brought out by John Habergeon. They then rode through Old Shoreham, and kept along the Bramber road, on the banks of the Arun, until they reached the bridge.

  Here they dismissed John Habergeon, who was directed by Clavering to pay a secret visit that night to Ovingdean Grange, and acquaint his father that all had been satisfactorily arranged, and that he and his friends might be expected on Wednesday afternoon. Charged with this message, of the importance of which, insignificant as it sounded, he was well aware, the old trooper rode up the acclivities on the right of the valley, and soon disappeared.

  Having crossed the bridge, the two gentlemen pursued the high road to Chichester, and reached Racton late in the day, without misadventure.

  BOOK VIII. CHARLES THE SECOND AT OVINGDEAN GRANGE

  CHAPTER I.

  The Paper Bullet

  ON their return to Racton that night, Colonel Gunter and his guest partook of supper, and were still seated over a flask of excellent Bordeaux, when a confidential servant entered, and informed his master that the messenger had just arrived, and craved admittance.

  The colonel looked surprised, but bade the man show the messenger in without delay. Whereupon the servant withdrew, and presently afterwards reappeared with Ninian Saxby.

  The young falconer had doffed the gay and becoming habiliments in which he appeared during the time of his service with Colonel Maunsel, and was now very soberly clad in a tight-fitting jerkin of black cloth, a long black cloak without plait or ornament, funnel-topped boots armed with large spurs, a small plain band, and a steeple-crowned hat. By his side he wore a long tuck — a weapon proper to the fanatical party to which he was now supposed to belong. His brown curling locks, once his ornament and pride, no longer offended the severe eye of the zealot. Shears, remorseless as those of Atropos, had cropped them off close to his head; rendering him, in Cavalier parlance, “a prick-eared cur.” But the merry eye, laughing features, and careless bearing of the young man somewhat belied his puritanical attire; though, no doubt, he could assume a more sedate look and deportment when occasion required.

  Colonel Gunter waited till the servant had retired, and then asked Ninian whence he came?

  “From Hambledon, in Hampshire,” was the answer.

  “Where does the king lodge to-night?” demanded Colonel Gunter. “Tarries he still at Hele House, near Amesbury, where my worthy cousin Hyde has been fortunate enough to afford him an asylum?”

  “No, your honour,” Ninian replied. “His Majesty quitted Hele House this morning, after remaining there for three or four days, and came on to Hambledon, on his way into Sussex. He and the noble Lord Wilmot will pass the night at the house of worshipful Master Symons, who, as I believe, married your honour’s sister; though, as far as I can guess, the lady only, and not her husband, will be made acquainted with the rank of her guests.”

  “And quite right too,” cried Colonel Gunter, with a laugh. “Tom Symons, though a worthy fellow, is too fond of the bottle to be trusted in a matter of such vital consequence. But my sister, though I say it, is a woman in a thousand, and entire reliance may be placed upon her judgment and discretion. But hast thou nothing for me?”

  “This little ball, your honour, which I should have swallowed if I had fallen into the hands of the Philistines,” Ninian replied.

  So saying, he produced a small paper bullet, and handed it with the points of his fingers to Colonel Gunter, who, having unfolded the tightly-compressed sheet of tissue paper, and carefully smoothed its creases, soon made himself master of the contents of the letter, which then became apparent. This done, he crushed the dispatch in his hand, and tossed it into the wood fire blazing cheerily on the hearth, where it was instantly consumed.

  “Lord Wilmot writes that his Majesty is eager to embark,” the colonel observed to Clavering, “and fully calculating upon our success in hiring Tattersall’s brig, proposes to go on board tomorrow night. His lordship assigns no reason for thus advancing the hour of departure; but the king may, perhaps, have taken alarm at some movement of the enemy, or it may only be a natural anxiety on his Majesty’s part to get out of harm’s way. Was aught said on the subject to thee, Ninian?”

  “His lordship told me that the king desires most ardently to embark to-morrow night,” replied Ninian, “or early in the morning, as his Majesty entertains the notion that the moment will be propitious for his escape, and that, if deferred, ill consequences may ensue.”

  “But how are we to carry out the king’s wishes?” cried Gunter. “We have arranged with Tattersall for Wednesday night, not Wednesday morning, and it will be scarcely possible, I fear, to prevail upon the stubborn skipper to set sail earlier. Besides, the rascal stipulated for an interview with his two passengers before he would agree to convey them across the Channel.”

  “True,” replied Clavering; “but Tattersall is a loyal fellow, and I believe him to be only desirous of satisfying himself that it is the king who is to sail with him. Had he been trusted, in my opinion he would not have made the stipulation; but you did not deem such a course prudent.”

  “I judged it better not to tell him too much,” replied Gunter. “Not that I believe for a moment that the reward offered by the Council of state would tempt him to betray the king. He is too loyal and honest for such a detestable act. But when the penalties of high treason stare him in the face — when loss of life and confiscation of property may follow his complicity in a scheme like the present — I feel unwilling to alarm him, lest he may decline altogether.”

  “I have no fear of him,” cried Clavering. “Animated by the same spirit of loyalty as ourselves, he will run all risks to save his sovereign. Should we hesitate if placed
in a similar situation? Would the fear of death affright us? Assuredly not. We should rather rejoice in the opportunity afforded of proving our loyalty and devotion. Such I firmly believe to be Tattersall’s sentiments. But come what may, he must be ready to take his Majesty and Lord Wilmot on board to-morrow night, and to set sail on the following day.”

  “I will engage that Captain Tattersall shall be ready, if your honours choose to confide in me,” said Ninian.

  “Thou!” exclaimed both his auditors.

  “Yes, I,” the young falconer replied; “and that without further compromising his Majesty than has been done at present. I will ride over to Shoreham to- night, see Captain Tattersall early in the morning, and make all straight with him. The Swiftsure shall be ready to receive her royal passenger at midnight to- morrow, and to sail ere daybreak.”

  “Accomplish this, and thou wilt earn a title to thy sovereign’s gratitude,” said Colonel Gunter. “In any case, thou mayst rest assured of a good reward from me.”

  “And from me also,” said Clavering. “Hark thee, Ninian, so soon as thou hast arranged matters with Tattersall, ride on to the Grange, and acquaint my father with the change of plans. John Habergeon will have led him to expect us on Wednesday afternoon.”

  “Your commands shall be obeyed,” replied Ninian, turning to depart.

  “Stay!” exclaimed Colonel Gunter; “thou hast not yet told us where we are to meet Lord Wilmot and his Majesty to-morrow morning.”

  “I thought his lordship’s letter might have mentioned the place of rendezvous,” replied Ninian. “At five o’clock in the morning, the king and his escort will leave Mr. Symons’s house, near Hambledon, and your honour and Captain Clavering are to meet them, an hour later, in the central avenue of Stanstead Forest.”

  “It is well,” said Colonel Gunter. “We must be astir betimes, Clavering. And now, Ninian, I will not detain thee longer than shall enable thee to drink a bumper of canary to his Majesty’s prosperous voyage across the Channel.”