Sir Ludar

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  HOW WE SAILED INTO LEITH.

  A strange joy seized me as I sighted the unknown ship. For my hearttold me she was no friend, and I was just in the humour for a fight. Iwas one too many on board the _Misericorde_; and a brush with theQueen's foes just now would comfort me amazingly. And yet, when I cameto think of it, she lay in nearer the English coast than we, and waslike enough to be no Queen's enemy after all, but a Queen's cruiser onthe look-out for suspicious craft like ours. For we floated no coloursaloft. After the late fight Ludar had hauled down the Frenchman's flag;but it was in vain I begged him to hoist that of her royal Majesty inits place. He would not hear of it.

  "No," said he, "I sail under no false colours. This is a voyage forsafety, not for glory, else I know the flag would fly there. As it is,Humphrey, 'tis best for us all to fly nothing. The masts shall go bare.The blue of a maiden's eyes is colour enough for you and me to fightunder."

  I could not gainsay him. We were in no trim for receiving broadsides,or grappling with sea-dogs, however merry the ports might be for a manin my plight. Our business was to bring the _Misericorde_ safe intoLeith Roads, and to that venture we stood pledged.

  Ludar ordered the maiden to her quarters and me to my cabin.

  "In this calm," said he, "'twill be hours before we foregather ifforegather we may. So below, while the poet and I whistle for abreeze."

  Towards afternoon we lay much as we were, drifting a little westward.But then came some clouds up from the south-east and with them a puffinto our canvas.

  "We may be glad to take in a reef on her before daybreak, Captain," saidthe seaman.

  "Time, enough till then," said Ludar. "Take all you can now."

  We had not long to wait before the _Misericorde_ had way on once more.Then Ludar called his crew to him and said:

  "To-night, be yonder stranger who she may, we run a race. Maiden, youhave the keenest eyes; keep the watch forward. Humphrey, do you and thepoet see to the guns and have all ready in case we need to show ourteeth. Pilot, budge not one point out of the wind; but let her run. Wemay slip past in the dark, and then we are light-heeled enough to keepahead. Old nurse, I warrant you have loaded a piece before now--we mayneed you to do it again. Meanwhile, to bed with you."

  Then the race began. The wind behind us freshened fast, so that in anhour's time our timbers were creaking under stress of canvas. Beforethat, the stranger ship, though still a league and a half to larboard,had caught the breeze and was going too, canvas crowded, with her nose apoint out of the wind into our course. For a long while it seemed as ifwe were never to come nearer, so anxious was she to give us no moreadvantage than she could help. But towards sundown we may have been aleague asunder running neck and neck.

  "She's an English cruiser, Captain," cried the helmsman, "and takes usfor a Spaniard--that's flat."

  "Then run as if we were so," said Ludar. "Budge not an inch from yourcourse even if we scrape her bows as we pass."

  So we held on straight down the wind, while the Englishman, closing inat every mile, held on too; and no one was to say which of us gained aninch on the other.

  The sun tumbled into the sea and the brief twilight grew deeper, whilebehind us the wind gathered itself into a squall. Just before daylightfailed, we could perceive the cruiser, not two miles away, leaningforward on her course, with the Queen's flag on her poop, and a row ofportholes gaping our way. Then we lost her in the dusk.

  The poet, who stood near me at the gun, said:

  "Night is as a cave of which none seeth the end from the beginning; anda man hooded feeleth what he before saw. My Hollander, I bargained notfor this when I took passage here. I wish it were to-morrow. Why do wenot, under cover of night, change our course?"

  "Because, since that is what our pursuers will expect of us, it willdelude them the more if we keep straight on."

  "O truth, many are thy arts!" said he. "But if, my Soothsayer, thewolf's cunning be a match for that of the lamb? What then?"

  "Then you may want your match, and your knife too," said I.

  He shivered a little.

  "My Hollander," said he, "if I fall, say to my lady 'twas for her; and Ipray you give her the gem in my bonnet. Say to her its brightness wasdimmer than the remembrance of her eyes; and its price meaner than thedewdrop on her lip. Bring her to see me where I lie; and compose myface to greet her. Tell me, my Dutchman, doth a cannon ball give shortshrift, or were it easier to die by the steel?"

  "A peace to your nonsense," said I. "You have more sonnets to writebefore we need think of laying you out."

  He was comforted at this, and we resumed our watch in silence.

  The night grew very dark, and at every gust our masts stooped furtherbefore the wind. The _Misericorde_ hissed her way through the water,and still our pilot turned not his helm an inch right or left.

  Presently, Ludar came up to where we stood. I could see his eyes flasheven in the dark.

  "Go forward now," said he to me. "Should we both be running as we were,and as I think we are our courses ought to meet not far hence. Send themaiden to me--I need her to take the helm while we three stand to theguns. Pray Heaven we win clear; if not, it will go hard with you,friend, in the prow. Let go your pistol at first sight of them, and, ifyou can, come abaft to join us before we strike."

  I could tell by the tone in which he spoke that he took in every inch ofour peril, and trembled, not for himself, but for some one else.

  The maiden was loth to quit her post; for she, too, knew the risk of itand claimed it as her right. But when I told her the Captain had soordered, and required her at the helm, she obeyed without another word.

  Then followed a quarter of an hour that seemed like a lifetime. As Istood craning my neck forward, gazing under my hands seaward, therecrowded into my memory visions of all my past life. I seemed to see thehome of my boyhood, and looked again into my mother's face. And I stoodonce more before my case in the shop outside Temple Bar, and listened toPeter Stoupe humming his psalm-tune, and heard my types click into thestick. I marched once more at the head of my clubs to Finsbury Fields,and there I saw Captain Merriman--drat him!--with his vile lips at amaiden's ear. And I passed, too, along the village street at Kingstonwhere met me my mistress and her sweet daughter; and as I looked back,Jeannette turned too and--

  What was that? Surely in the darkness I saw something! No. All waspitch black. The wind roared through the rigging, and the water seethedup at the plunging prow. But though I saw nothing, I felt the pursuernear; so near, I wondered not to hear the swish of her keel through thewaves. On we went and nearer and nearer we seemed together. Oh for onesign of them, were it even a gun across our path! But sign there camenone. The darkness seemed blacker than ever and--

  All of a sudden I seemed to detect something--a spark, or a glow, or theluminous break of a wave. So swiftly it came and went, that it was gonebefore I could look. A trick of my vision, thought I. No! there it wasagain, this time nothing but a spark, close by, on a level, perhaps,with our mizzen. So near was it, I wondered whether it might not be thelighting of a match at our own guns. It went again: and as it did so,my finger, almost without my knowing it, tightened on the trigger of mypistol and it went off.

  At the same moment, there was a blaze, a roar, a crash, and a shout.For an instant the _Misericorde_ reeled in her course and quivered fromstern to stern. Then, another shout and a wild irregular roar astern.Then our good ship gathered herself together and leapt forward once moreinto the darkness, and the peril was passed.

  All was over so suddenly that the pistol was still smoking in my hand asI leapt from the forecastle and rushed aft.

  "Is all well?" I shouted.

  "All well," said Ludar, quietly. "She grazed our poop and no more."

  "And the maiden?" said I.

  "All well," cried she, cheerily from the helm, "and fair in the wind."

  "Stand at your posts still," cried Luda
r.

  So for another half-hour yet we stood at our posts, just as we had stoodbefore the crisis came; and not a word said any one.

  Then in the stormy east came a faint flush of dawn, and we knew thatthis perilous night was over.

  "Seaman," said Ludar, "relieve the maiden at the helm, and bid her comehither."

  She came, radiant and triumphant.

  "Sir Ludar," she said, "I thank you for letting me hold the helm thisnight. You gave it me as the place of safety; but I had my revenge,since it proved the post of honour."

  "It was indeed the post of danger," said Ludar. "Had you swerved andnot held straight on, we might not have been here to honour you for it.But say, did none of the Englishman's shot reach the poop?"

  "Some of it. Witness the sail there and the rail and the stern windows;but it spared me."

  "I think," said Ludar, "we maimed them in one of their masts in passing,and their bowsprit broke short when it touched our stern. I doubt if weshall find them following us."

  "As for our Hollander," said the poet, who had been wondrous silent thusfar, "he hath this night proved himself twice a prophet. He said weshould win this race; he said, moreover, I should live to write anotherode. And lo! he spoke true. By your leave, Captain, I will gocelebrate this notable occasion in a strain worthy of it and to theglory of my fair Amazon who--"

  "Go below and cook this company some pottage," said Ludar, "and see yoube not long over it."

  Whereat the poet, with the muse taken out of him, departed. We stoodwatching the dawn till there was light enough to look back on ournight's work. There was the Englishman with her main-mast gone, anddraggled about the bows, beating up under reefed sails for the coast.It was plain to see, although we were two long leagues away, that shehad had enough for one night and was going to leave us in peace. Formyself, as I looked, I could not wholly glory in having thus flouted herMajesty's flag; but I considered that we had run that night for ourlives, so I hoped the sin would be forgiven me.

  And now, when we come to look round us, we found the wind still runninghigh, and shifting a point or so to the eastward, promising a stormyday. So Ludar bade us shorten our canvas and put out our ship's head abit, so as to give the coast a wide berth.

  And, in truth, as the day wore on, the wind freshened into a gale, andthe gale into a tempest, so that if we had promised ourselves reliefafter the perils of last night, our hopes were dashed. The sea, whichso far had been easy, ran now high, and washed over our prow as we stoodacross the wind, and it was plain we were going to find out before longof what mettle our brave timbers were.

  'Twas no light thing to face a night like this, even with a good crew--how much less with but four men and a maid? Yet I never saw Ludar moreat his ease. In the danger of last night his face had been troubled andhis manner excited. Now he gave his orders as if this were a pleasuretrip on a quiet lake.

  "What is there to mind," said he, "in a capful of wind? 'Tis sent tohelp us on our way; whereas, had we been taken last night where shouldwe be now? Come, my men, help me shorten sail, for a little will go along way a night like this. Maiden, to you I trust the helm with alight heart. 'Twill tax your strength more to keep her head thus thanto run, as you did last night, clean before the wind; but you are strongand brave, and teach us to be the same."

  The subtlest courtier's speech could not have won her as did these bluntwords. She said no more than "I go, my Captain." But the look of hereyes as they met his spoke volumes of joy and gratitude, a tithe ofwhich would have gladdened me for a lifetime.

  Then we fell to shortening our canvas--a perilous task. When that wasdone, leaving only the topsails spread, Ludar bade us make good thehatches, and fall to and eat. Which we did, all but the poet, who,being either big with his ode, or misliking the wildness of the night,sat idle.

  "Come, Sir Popinjay," said Ludar. "Eat, for no man can work on an emptystomach, and even poetry will not help haul a rope."

  "We avoid Scylla, my Captain, only to fall into Charybdis. MethinksScylla were the better fate. At least I might have passed this nightrecumbent. The eagle, at the day's end, flieth to his nest, and thelion hath his den; to all toil cometh an evensong, save to theshuttlecocks of Aeolus."

  "Nay, Sir Poet, you did bravely last night. Fall to and eat now, and weshall see you do more bravely to-night."

  "Orpheus, his weapon, is a harp, not a gun. Nevertheless, I am one offive, and shall yield me to a man's bidding for the sake of her, mymistress, to whose glory I have this day indited my ode, and into whosesweet ear I will even now go recite it."

  "No, no," said Ludar, "stay here and eat, and then go make a better oneon the starboard bow, with your hand on the forestays, and your eyeseaward."

  He obeyed at length and swallowed his supper. Then, lamenting themaiden's fate at being deprived of his ode, he went gallantly forward.

  "There goes a brave man in the garb of a fool," said Ludar. "Humphrey,in this wind, the maiden will be hard put to it to keep her post on thepoop. 'Twould help her to lash her to her helm. Will you go and doit?"

  "That task belongs to the Captain," said I. "She will suffer it fromyou." He smiled at me grimly and went astern. And, as I said, themaiden let him have his way; and there she stood, as night closed, erectand steadfast, with her hands on the tiller and her brave face setseaward.

  'Twas a fearful night of shrieking wind and thundering wave. Often andoften as the brave _Misericorde_ reared and hung suspended on a wave'screst, we knew none of us if she would ever reach the next. Lucky forus we were a flush-decked ship and our hatches sound, for the seas thatpoured over us would have filled us to the brim in an hour. Lucky, too,the Frenchman's cargo had been snugly stowed, or we should have been onour beam-ends before midnight. Half-way through the night, there was aloud crack and over went our main top-mast with her sails in ribbons.We had scarce time, at great peril, to cut her away, when another burstsnapped our mizzen almost at the deck.

  "That lightens us still more," said Ludar. "Let go all the forwardcanvas, and cut away. We must put her into the wind and let her driveunder bare poles."

  With that he went to the helm, where indeed the maiden must have neededsuccour. And there he stayed beside her till the night passed.

  Afterwards he told me that he found her there, half stunned by the wind,but never flinching, or yielding a point out of the course. "I know notif she was pleased to see me there," said he. "She said little enough,and hardly surrendered me the tiller. But when we put the ship into thewind, there was little to do, save to stand and watch the sea, andshield ourselves as best we might from the force of the waves that leaptover the poop."

  And fierce enough they were, in truth. But what was worse was that ourcourse now lay due west, bringing us every league nearer the coast.Should the tempest last much longer we might have a sterner peril toface on the iron Northumbrian shore than ever we had escaped in the opensea.

  The night passed and morning saw us driving headlong, with but one maststanding and not a sail to bless it. The maiden who had stood at herpost since sundown yielded at last and came down, pale and drenched, toher quarters. The poet too, who had clung all night to the halyards,looking faithfully ahead and polishing his ode inwardly at the sametime, also crawled abaft, half frozen and stupid with drowsiness.Indeed, there was little any of us could do, and one by one Ludarordered us to rest, while he, whom no labour seemed to daunt, clungdoggedly to the helm.

  Thus half that day the wind flung us forward, till presently, far on thehorizon, we could discern the sullen outline of a cliff.

  "We are lost!" said I.

  "Humphrey, you are a fool," said Ludar. "See you not the wind isbacking fast?"

  So it was, and as we drove on, ever nearer the fatal coast, it swunground again to the southerly, and the sun above us blazed out fitfullyfrom among the breaking clouds.

  "Heaven fights for us," said Ludar. "Quick, rig up a sail forward andfly a yard; and do you, seaman, look t
o your charts and say where weare."

  "That I have done long since," said the sailor. "We are scarce a leaguefrom the Holy Island, and 'tis full time we put her head out, sir."

  "Come and take the helm then."

  For a while it seemed as if we were to expect as wild a tempest from thesouth as ever we had met from the east. But towards evening, the windslackened a bit, and, veering south-east, enabled us to stand clear ofthe coast, and make, battered and ill canvassed as we were, straight forthe Scotch Forth.

  The maiden slept all through that night, and when at dawn she came ondeck, fresh and singing, we were tumbling merrily through a slackeningsea, with the Bass Rock looming on the horizon.

  "Methinks the jaded Greek felt not otherwise when, leaving behind himthe blood-stained plains of Troy, he espied the cloud-topped mountainsof Hellas," said the poet, who joined us as we stood.

  "Which means," said the maiden, "you are glad?"

  "Shall Pyramus rejoice to see the wall that hides him from his Thisbe?or Hector leap at the trumpet which parts him from his Andromache?Mistress mine, in yonder rock shall I read my doom?"

  "Rather read us your ode, Sir Poet," said she. "It has had a stormyhatching, and should be a tempestuous outburst."

  "As indeed you shall find it, if I have your leave to rehearse it," saidhe.

  "I beg no greater favour," said she.

  Then the poet poured out this brave sonnet:--

  "Go, grievous gales, your heads that heave, Ye foam-flaked furies of the wasty deep. Ye loud-tongued Tritons, wind and wave. Go fan my love where she doth sleep, And tell her, tell her in her ear Her Corydon sits sighing here.

  "The tempest stalks the stormy sea, The lightning leaps with lurid light, The glad gull calls from lea to lea, The whistling whirlwind fills the night; Bears each a message to my love, Whose stony heart I faint to move."

  "'Tis too short," said the maiden, "we shall be friends, I hope, longenough to hear more of it."

  "Meanwhile, Sir Poet," said Ludar, who chafed at these civilities, "goforward again, and keep the watch. Call if you spy aught, and keep youreyes well open."

  Fortune favoured us that day, as she had handled us roughly in the daysbefore. The wind held good, and filled our slender canvas. The pilot'scharts deceived not; nor did friend or enemy stand across our path.Before night we had swept round the rock and found the channel of theForth, up which, on a favouring tide, we dropped quietly that evening;and at nightfall let go our anchor with grateful hearts, albeit wearybodies, in Leith Roads, where for a season the _Misericorde_ and we hadrest from our labours.